Disclaimer: I own very little within.
Hello! Sorry for slow updates. Again.
In this chapter there's a flashback with The Baron, for all you Billy Baron fans (you know who you are)! For anyone who cares (should you exist), I was him for Halloween. Tell me in your reviews what you were for Halloween (and yes, this is an attempt to reach out to you beyond the boundaries of discussing this fic).
Amy sat alone in a café. She had stopped her mysterious movement outside this random city right before sunrise and had stayed in that poor little small town café then entire day. The employees had noticed her being a vampire and tried to ignore her, pretending not to notice her just sitting there for twelve hours straight, having only ordered one cappuccino.
She decided to eavesdrop on a conversation between a young clerk who had been there for a couple hours and the store manager, who had just walked in.
"Um, sir, can I leave early? Please?"
"Your shift isn't anywhere near over! Not yet."
"Please? Look, I just, I, um… need… to study."
"Your midterms aren't for weeks."
"I'll work overtime all week. I just… um… uh…"
Someone came to sit over at her booth. He was a decently sized young man with short cut hair, a black sleeveless shirt, and sunglasses. "Hi."
"Hi." She smiled.
"You're a vampire."
"You're quite the observer."
"And I know who you are."
She looked him over again. "Do you seriously I think would know you?"
He continued. He may have heard that kind of insult before. "My name is Shadows. I'm a bounty hunter. And you go by 'Amy'. You're the only sibling of The Baron."
"I'd like to think I've a better name for myself than that!" She peeked under the table and sneered at his dirty boots and jeans, seated across from her black ballet shoes with shiny black ribbons wrapping up around her legs. They stopped at her knee length black billowing skirt and sleeved red corset top.
"You have," He showed her a copy of a 'Wanted' poster with her face and name on it. The bounty on the poster would allow anybody who claimed it to take a bath of Benjamins.
"That came out well!" She smiled back at herself. "That'll show Billy Boy who the photogenic one is." She proudly flipped her thick black hair.
Continuing to ignore her words as if she had no mouth, he pointed at the price. "They're not fucking around. This price-"
"Language!"
"-Is jacked up above Sorel's price. This is your first poster. It was printed just today. The authorities got word that The Baron is dead after all this time. Now that he's gone, they're wasting no time in keeping your face off the wall." He rolled up her poster and put it in his pocket. "You were too foolish and proud to bother getting yourself associated with the feds like The Baron did. And you're paying for it now."
"It sounds more like the feds are," She snickered at her own joke. "And don't kid yourself; Bills has just as much pride as I do. He's just better at networking and threatening. So what's your point? Why are you here?"
"I'm here to take your head."
She cracked up. "Ohhh wow. Oh boy. That's just- oh, are you trying to be serious?"
He had a stake in his hand. "Damn straight."
She reached out toward the stake, grabbed it, and used a small thread-like bit of her powers to snap it in two. Then she held up a belt with stakes hanging off of every inch of it. A grin broke out across her face. "This is usually the part where people start screaming."
He remained totally calm. "Hey. You got me. I admit it. I've learned not to let a couple of mistakes get to me. Lose a partner or a toe here and there, maybe get your eyebrows burned off. All that matters is that I win the big one in the end."
She got up to leave, still inspecting his Belt O' Stakes. "I like your attitude. Enough to leave you alive this time." She opened the door and left, sending a collective sigh of relief sweeping across the employees behind the counter. And when Shadows slowly lifted himself and up and followed her, she was gone by the time he got outside.
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The Baron's tea was sweetened with one lump of sugar and half of the drink being made up blood, the latter being sweeter than the sugar, of course. Even sweeter than that, however, was the feeling of success in the first couple steps of his plan.
"You certainly don't like to wait, do you, Peter?"
He was grinning at the small-framed young man who stood in front of his favorite tea table: the black lacquered wood one with the thin, curved base and floral-engraved top. It wasn't meant for tea, disappointingly enough, but it was cute. It matched the chaise and wardrobe. So it had that going for it.
"My name is Pete," He bit his lip with his newly acquired fangs. VERY newly acquired in fact. This was apparent in that his lip bled upon his tensed biting, him not being used to the fangs.
"And why are you here, lad?" The Baron stood up from the table and straightened out his tight, highly formal tan suit and fur scarf (real fur, obviously). "To ask questions, I predict." He pulled up a chair similar to his. "Have a seat."
Pete didn't take the seat and didn't even verbally refuse. "WHY did you… turn… me?" His speech was broken. Either Pete didn't quite know how to word it in the proper fashion or refused to say it.
"I'll answer all your questions if you'll answer mine… and if you'll be kind enough to take a seat. You must be tired. Besides, it'll make both of us more comfortable." He grinned and gestured again. "Go on. Sit."
His last word had a note of finality and Pete bared his teeth in a bitter scowl as he yanked his seat out and sat down. He refused to look up at The Baron and looked down, burying his face in his old-looking, tight green jacket and red-and-black striped tee. "I need to know why you did this. To me. Why me? Why couldn't you have just sucked my blood and moved on?" He couldn't hold himself back any longer. "Causing physical pain just isn't enough for you? You need to screw up entire lives at the same time?"
"Alright, still. I'll tell you if you settle down." He waited for Pete to gather himself and look the senior vampire in the eye. "You're not one to beat around the bush, are you? It must not be twenty-four hours since your rebirth yet." He sipped the tea and paused before speaking up again. "I turned you for quite a few small reasons. I don't want my kind to die out. And I did you a favor by giving you this; you should be thanking me, not complaining. Besides, you have a certain I-don't-know-what about you that I just find so endearing. But my most important reason is that I won't be on top forever. I will lose this position on my empire, and someone's going to have to take over. My lieutenants have skill, but I don't assign the position of lieutenant to someone in my group who I actually think is 'management material'. It'll go to their heads."
"But why did you have to do it-"
"Ah ah ah!" The Baron held up his finger. "Now answer my question. When I fed off of you, I could smell certain other people's scents on you. Now you stink of those ratty punks in its place. And you've come to me afterwards. Do those back at home not accept the new you?" His voice was one of sympathy, though Pete couldn't tell how much he was being mocked.
He shook with suppressed emotions that he refused to let come to the surface. "But… what if I… go after them?"
"Well, you should. They should try wearing turtlenecks if they want to continue living with a vampire. It's just selfish to expect you not to feel the lust because you're a friend. Why, it doesn't make any sense, does it? What made them react in such a way that you would want to stay with whom you show so much scorn?"
"I'm NOT STAYING WITH YOU!" Pete let his voice rise. "I had to leave the other three, I didn't even stay to see how they would react, because… because…" He faced difficulty forming the words and had to take a few seconds. "I can't put them at risk like that. When…when I woke up… Patrick was standing over me and I saw Patrick- no, the point is I DIDN'T see Patrick. I saw blood." He was so distressed he didn't seem to notice he just offered Patrick's name to the enemy.
"Is that all you need to hear? And you can cry, boy, I don't care."
"No way," Pete was completely collected after hearing that. "You know what? I don't know why I bothered to come. You're a bastard. I'm leaving."
Before he could rise, The Baron gestured again. "Oh no, I wouldn't think of having you leave yet. Please stay. You have to feed and have a little rest or you'll break down. Have some tea."
Pete was silent and stared at the tea with a hatred unseen as far as towards tea went.
"I have cream and sugar,"
Silence.
"It's still hoooot…" The Baron sang.
Silence.
"If you mix it with blood it takes the tang out of the first feed,"
Upon hearing there was blood in it, Pete whipped his arm across the table in a quick movement and sent three white teacups and a metal kettle crashing against the wall, leaving ugly reddish-brown stains. The Baron looked at it, his face not yet expressing anger, only as if he was thinking, "Oh, that's too bad."
Pete jumped up and back, knocking the chair back and almost tripping over it. "What do you mean FEED? I don't need to feed! You're all monsters! I'm NOT like you! I have-" Pete's speech was interrupted. The Baron stood up and grabbed Pete's throat in one gloved hand.
The Baron spoke to Pete as he struggled and panicked. "Whatever you call us, you must acknowledge that you're insulting yourself at the same time now. Whether you like it or not, you can't run from your fate any longer. And you certainly can't run from me." He tossed Pete on the floor. Even if The Baron didn't know him, a dead giveaway to Pete being an immature vampire would've been his reaction to being choked. Even a less experienced vampire knows that breathing is not a necessity in the afterlife. Almost all vampires continue to do it when they can only because it's more comfortable to do so, or out of force of habit.
"Now, since you'll be staying for the night, you'll need a place to nap." The Baron didn't bother asking Pete what his preference was as far as staying the night. "Go out the door, into the hall, first door on your left. Ask for Sorel, he knows what to do."
As a very dazed, confused, and defeated Pete left, The Baron picked up the plate for his tea and put it by the door for a servant to pick it up. He knew tonight would be a test for Pete. If he were to stay and be back the next day, then his fate would be sealed: He was a Dandy immediately and could start further training as soon as possible. But if he's to escape to go back to his friends, then The Baron knew he would still eventually be a Dandy, it would just take a little more work.
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"Ah!" Pete awoke with a start, hot with fear and the lingering feeling of an invasion of his territory. As he worked to catch his breath in the darkness, he grabbed his T-shirt off the table directly next to him and pulled it on with shaking hands. What was left of the comforter he had already thrown off after his abrupt wake fell off of the small couch like a clump snow falling lazily from a branch. Then Pete glanced outside, in the thin strip of light between the heavy blinds, being careful not to get in the way of the sunlight, and saw a thin sheet of ice covering the window, reminding him of the late winter weather and of how cold he was.
In a move more caused by his subconscious, Pete leaned forward from his seat to peek at where his friends were sleeping to make sure they were still there. Heaving a sigh of relief after finally catching his breath, he flopped back onto the makeshift bed. It had been a while since he had any nightmares with The Baron involved. Lately, they had been infected with images of Sorel, Amy, and himself hurting or killing the other vigilantes.
He briefly let his forearm sit in the beam of sunlight and waited to see how long until the slightly painful tingling became a harsh burning sensation that he had to move his arm out of. Pete sat on his messed up oversized quilt until he heard the "Sshhff sshhff tmp" of someone getting up, then more noises of them pulling clothes on. Having no desire to talk about why he was up, the vampire grabbed his comforter and rolled up himself up inside it until no part of his body, not a single lock of hair, was visible.
Patrick laughed. "You look like sushi,"
"How did you know I was up?" Pete only uncovered his mouth.
"I didn't, really. I just guessed. You're a total insomniac. But other than that, I guess I was just talking to myself."
"What? Again?" Pete teased. "I think you need a little help."
Patrick laughed again. "Damn, it's cold!" He pulled a map out from near the driver's seat. "Now, let's get this show on the road. We still need Redwood leaves more than anything."
"Buy them online," Pete totally uncovered himself and tossed the comforter to the side. He looked at the small TV set on the table and grabbed the remote, not waiting for the screen to fully gain its color before flipping channels. He turned it on to an old rerun of Seinfeld.
"How would we get them delivered?"
"Pay a little more for the fast shipping and we'll set up camp somewhere."
"Where would we set up camp?"
"How about here?"
"Do they deliver here?"
"Who cares?" Pete turned his attention back to the TV.
Patrick, seemingly satisfied with this slightly bizarre reasoning, tossed the map to the side. "Whoa, I woke up at like, the perfect time. The sun is just now setting."
Pete realized he should be a little freaked out that this was now considered the perfect time to wake up amongst him and his crew since they had changed their biological schedules to better fit his. Pete made a mental note to add that to the list of things to thank them for once he got the cure, but for now he flipped the channel. As Patrick made coffee, Pete stared at an old CSI: Miami rerun, made a face, and changed the channel. After finding nothing, he flicked off the TV and sat in overly acted disappointment. He looked up and caught a dim reflection in the black TV screen, not of himself, but of the couch behind him.
Not even in a TV screen.
But it's not like this was all that bad. Pete knew what he looked like by now anyway. Pale skin, dark eyes and hair and a pair of glistening fangs that his fingers reached toward under his lip in a nervous subliminal move.
Normally you would think one would follow the stereotypical nervous habits. In his life, Pete had worked through the whole list, his mind subconsciously putting him into a habit then pushing him out once it realized it did nothing to bring an end to the tension in his body. Biting his nails never worked for Pete, and his fangs got in the way nowadays. Tugging on his hair was boring, and his hair wasn't as long as Andy's or Patrick's anyway. Drumming his fingers on a surface only pissed other people off, as did cracking his knuckles. Picking at his cuticles worked about as well as biting his nails.
He even tried one of the most desperate moves to release emotion, what he had read about before: cutting. But he was a vampire; it healed right back up anyway. Besides, what they said online was totally untrue… it didn't help, it made it worse! It hurt, don't need Sherlock to figure that one out! So screw that.
His signature nervous habit was tugging on his fangs.
And he was tugging so much, he was about to face the same thing that happens to those who tug their hair so much they pull out a few strands, who pick their cuticles so much the skin around the nail becomes pink and raw, and one who cuts does it so much that one day they accidentally hit an important vein.
With one final tug, his left fang snapped out of the gum.
Pete closed his mouth to stop the rush of blood and shoved his fang under his pillow (please spare him your tooth fairy jokes) before Patrick could see.
"Want coffee?"
Pete nodded his head.
"Okay. Black?"
Another nod.
"Here," Patrick handed it to him. "Oh, and Pete, a couple things?"
Yet another nod.
"You should change your clothes; you wore that tee for like three days now." He paused to sip his own coffee. "And also, if you want blood, we can stop and steal from hospitals."