I accidentally fell deep in to the Doctor Who fandom, and now I'm trying to resist the urge to dive in to writing loads of fics for it cus I have so much left to do already.
Like this.
-YD-
Sighing dramatically, Vlad stared at his suit and cape, hanging up and waiting. Ingrid had left him alone so he could shower, hair scrubbed dry with a towel and combed out. The Coronation was only an hour away, so he had to finish getting ready before the sun went down and those who had travelled from all over arrived in expectation of appointing a new Grand High Vampire.
As he stepped in to his trousers, noting they were a little loose as he'd lost some of the puppy fat around his middle over the last few months, Vlad reflected on the dreams, his inner knowledge of the Chosen One thing. It was, oddly, a little easier to acknowledge himself as such a thing when he was dressed, the outfit making him look at least vaguely like a member of the great, historical clan of Dracula. He laced his boots, then reluctantly grabbed hold of his cape and fastened it. After checking his belt was tightened enough to hold up loose trousers, Vlad patted down his damp hair and cajoled himself in to heading down from the tower, entering the main room of the castle.
Ingrid looked stunned to see him, probably because it was so scarce he wore something black.
"You don't even look like the same person."
"That's probably intentional. I don't enjoy looking like this."
Her fangs were visible. Vlad tried to ignore a spark of heat that spread across his skin, the instinct still within him to offer his throat to her - regardless of the fact she was his sister - and feel her bite him, mark him, claim him...
Clearing his throat, Vlad tried to ignore the Count fussing over him, going on about how he looked so much like a Dracula now, that he was going to throw out all Vlad's colourful clothes so he had to wear "this sort of thing more". Vlad glared.
"If you do, the first thing I will do when I turn sixteen is cram an entire garlic bread in my mouth and explode all over your coffin."
Scowling, his father stalked off to preen himself about hosting the Coronation again, shouting at Renfield to tidy this and put more dust on that, to haul up crates of vintage blood. There was a fancy cushion to rest the Crown of Power upon. Ingrid somehow managed to move closer to him without really looking at him or giving away any indication she wanted to be nearer to him.
"What's actually going to happen?"
"Everyone will arrive. Depending on who turns up, there might be a drink first. Then we basically all line up and dad uses the Bloodline Parchment, which will select the new Grand High Vampire. Obviously, you could do that right away as soon as the investigation in to the slaying of the previous Grand High Vampire was over, but vampires like to pass the endless years of immortality with making an event out of everything."
Ingrid wrinkled her nose, confused.
"The what parchment?"
"Oh. It's this kind of magic paper that knows all the vampire bloodlines. Nobody is entirely sure how. Anyone who worked on it was slain so seems the secrets are lost. You drop a bit of blood on, and it chooses someone. They try the Crown on. If the Crown accepts them, you'll know, and thats our new Grand High Vampire."
Vlad tried to ignore the sweat prickling on the back of his neck, absolutely petrified that his name would come up.
"Has there ever been one of these where someone immediately assassinated the new one?"
"Once, but generally, there's a huge amount of respect and deferrence to the old magic involved. Plus, it's not called the Crown of Power for nothing. It does give you a boost, to help you reign. Honestly, we don't have to do a lot other than look like vampires and try not to embarrass dad."
"That doesn't sound fun."
The Count growled. Vlad snorted. Ingrid smirked.
"Yeah, well, we're not meant to have fun. Plus, the better behaved you are, the sooner it's over."
She hummed.
"That does sound like a plus."
Chuckling, Vlad made the most of no other vampires being present to get a normal, non-blood-based drink. The fact his teenaged, untransformed body couldn't really digest blood yet did not seem to matter to most vampires, who were by then so old they had forgotten about the early years of their unlives.
Ingrid was quite content to sip elegantly at a goblet of someone dark and thick, the scent potent enough that Vlad could smell it from several feet away. He wasn't terribly surprised to find Ingrid had high-end taste in blood. She was high-maintenance like that.
Loathe as he was for the event itself, Vlad wished it would hurry up and get dark out so the whole thing could be over. With any luck, his Chosen One dreams had just been a series of vivid hallucinations, a new Grand High Vampire would be picked, and they could all go on with eternity with nobody any the wiser. The sun finally sank in the sky, and it wasn't much longer before the screeching sound of bats swarming through the air could be heard. Renfield had to endure the labour-intensive task of inviting them in one by one, then rushing in to offer them all drinks.
In his element as the chosen host, the Count swanned amongst them, bigging himself up about the entire affair to anyone who would listen, and several who wouldn't. Vlad stayed close to Ingrid, just in case anyone started asking questions about the Count's surprise second child. Thankfully, most were too distracted by the impending coronation to do more than make the occasional creepy, leering comment at Ingrid, who simply scowled and ignored them, smirking in to her glass whenever one was caught and swatted by a nearby wife.
"Blood brothers and sisters, it is time!"
Everyone rushed to line up, the order of the two lines dictated first by political power, then by age of clan. Which were often the same thing. Vlad and Ingrid got to be pretty close to the front by dint of being part of the clan of the host. As they were shuffled close together, Ingrid couldn't exactly miss how tense Vlad was growing with each passing second, watching as the Crown was carried down between the lines, as the Count prepared to let the blood make the choice.
Please don't say my name. Please don't say my name.
His heart was pounding so hard he was amazed nobody noticed. His dad shook the bottle, before letting a single drop fall on to the parchment.
"Chieftain MacDonald."
Vlad sagged with absolute relief, though nobody noticed as there was a faint, disdainful groan shared by most. The MacDonald clan were known as rather eccentric weirdos, living in the depths of Scotland mostly hunting animals. Nobody really liked them. The Chief stepped down to the front, kneeling down to receive his Crown.
"Do you solemnly swear to be evil, bloodthirsty and cruel, now and forevermore?"
He saw his dad roll his eyes, completely disillusioned of glamour and excitement already.
"Aye, I do."
MacDonald confirmed, and he didn't even take off his tartan cap before the Crown was lowered down. There was a strange hum in the air right before the vampire went to pieces, rather literally. He crumbled to dust before all of them, and there were gasps of shock.
"It's the prophecy!"
Ingrid leant in.
"What prophecy?"
"Old vampire nonsense" he lied "when the bloodlines start dropping, it's a sign of some special vampire coming."
He was standing right there. Ingrid scoffed lightly, and the Count shook it off as Renfield swept up the dust pile.
"Let's see if we choose someone less... combustible this time."
A shaky chuckle ran through the room, and another splash of blood landed down on the parchment. The Count blinked, leaning forward and tapping the parchment as though it would change, rubbing his eyes and staring for a good minute or two.
"Well?"
Someone prompted, bored of waiting. The Count lifted his head, eyes wide and surprised as he looked toward his son.
"Vladimir Dracula."
-YD-
Dun dun dunnnn.
