Oy, but the musi are ganging up on me. This chapter's short, but mostly because it's a filler chapter. So, yes, I'm aware that this chapter sucks, but the next one will be better, I promise. :)
------
"You are without a doubt the strangest and quite possibly most deranged person I have ever had the misfortune to know."
"I vant to suck your blood!"
"Christian, either take that silly thing off or I'm going to kill you. Slowly."
"Dracula is not amused and he vants to suck your blood!"
"I am about --this-- close to scattering your entrails around the country, little one."
"Are you not entertained?"
"Edge! Don't encourage him!"
"Don't worry, Grel. I don't think Dracula would fit in Gladiator, anyway."
Christian snickered, easily sidestepping Gangrel's half-hearted attempt to snatch the cape away from him. The three stood in Gangrel's living room, Edge perched atop the back of the couch and twirling his car keys around his finger. A half hour earlier Christian had found a cape in his bedroom closet and had since donned it and refused to take it off for any reason. In fact, he insisted on spreading it out with his arms and adopting a bad Romanian accent while chasing his companions around the house. Gangrel had been willing to overlook it until Christian tripped over the back
of it and went sailing gracelessly over the stair railing. The shock had triggered reflexes given from an ancient source, and he hovered in midair, wide-eyed and excited.
"Look!" He'd cried, contorting himself into a karate pose, arms in the air and one leg halfway drawn to his chest. "It's Dracula meets the Matrix!" His mistake was when he tried to do a three-sixty spin. His concentration collapsed and his mind registered that it wasn't supposed to yet know how to fly, and he finished his plummet to the hardwood floor.
That had, more or less, been the moment when Gangrel began trying to wrench the cape away from him for the boy's own safety.
"Pretty snazzy getup here, Grel," Christian announced suddenly, pulling the cape open and gesturing to the fine red silk lining the inside of the black fabric. Gangrel rolled his eyes. "So when do I get mine?"
"I've told you, Christian, it's only for decoration."
"You had to have it for a reason."
"I knew someday a boy was going to steal it and torture me into my grave with it," Gangrel snapped irritably, crooking a bony finger at Christian and motioning inward. "Over here. Now."
"Spoil sport," Christian mumbled, obediently making his way over to Gangrel and letting him remove the cape. "I was getting bored with it anyway."
"It comes in handy at costume parties. I never have to buy an outfit."
"Because you're cheap."
"I prefer the term resourceful."
"Cheap-o."
Gangrel scowled and folded the cape, then set it on the desk behind him. "You're testing me, boy." He stood back with his hands on his hips, taking in the two young men before him with a nod. "Well then. I suppose you're ready to go, aren't you?"
"Not that you're hinting or anything..."
"Of course not." He waved his hand. "I'm just tired of the Martha Stewart jokes. She wouldn't know burgundy from cherry plum if it bit her on the ass."
Christian raised an eyebrow and grinned, but Edge's hand clamping over his mouth prevented any sort of sarcastic retort.
"Anyway, I want you both to know that you're more than welcome to come back whenever you like. I'm not promising that I'll always be here, but I'm sure you can find your own way in."
"You're probably too cheap to pay for locks on the doors."
Gangrel scowled and pointed a threatening finger at Christian. "I meant what I said about liking you better when you were silent and never spoke." Shaking his head, he bent and pulled an old chest from underneath the desk, opened it, and then pulled out another smaller box that fit in one hand. Then he walked to the couch where Christian had seated himself beside his brother, pushing it into his hands. "Here. Take this with you."
"This had so better be a little tiny cape or something." Christian paused, eyes lighting. "Dude! What if it is? I gotta go get a hamster or guinea pig or --"
"Christian."
"Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly, pulling the delicate latch at the front and sliding the top of the box back. He blinked at the contents, turning a narrowed brow up to Gangrel. "It's dirt."
"My, aren't you the observant one? Yes, Christian, it's dirt. But it's your native soil."
Christian made a face. "Ew. That sounds vaguely gross."
Gangrel, in a tremendous show of patience, ignored him. "Keep a little of it with you at all times. You'll draw strength from it."
"From dirt."
"Yes."
Christian turned questioning eyes up at Edge, who pulled at a necklace around his neck to show a tiny vial dangling from it, filled with dark brown dirt. "Okay, Grel, uh...thanks for the gift. I thought you were just getting me back for giving you a blender for your birthday that one year."
"I'm not that petty, little one."
"That's good, 'cause --"
"I exact my revenge in much better ways than to give you dirt." Gangrel offered a disarming grin. "Here. I want you to take this, too." He pulled a chain off his neck and slid it over Christian's head. "It marks you as one of mine."
"...Excuse me?"
Gangrel flicked curious eyes up to Edge, not too surprised to see him immediately look to the floor. "You didn't tell him about the Council."
"I didn't really think it was my place."
"Council? Hey, hello? I'd like to know if some group of psycho vampires are gonna try to kill me when I step out the door."
"Forgive us for not explaining it to you sooner, Christian," Gangrel urged, taking a seat in the desk chair and turning to face his comrades. He took a deep breath, tapped his fingers against his kneecaps, and began his speech. "To make a very complicated story somewhat easier to understand, the short of it all is that there are very few vampires in this world, when taken in proportion with the rest of the population. Because we are all typically far and few between at all corners of the globe, some would try to take advantage of the situation and take the risk of exposing us to mortals. Because of *that*, it's been necessary to keep a council of elders to monitor how we deal with each other and the humans we live with. If one of us is found to be acting foolishly..." He shrugged. "They are dealt with accordingly."
"And you need to mark me because..."
"Really, that's probably just more paranoid overprotection on my part. You're a new, very young addition to our kind, and if you happen to run into others, they might try to . . ."
"Freshman initiation crap, huh?"
"Basically. I happen to be one of the oldest acting members of the Council, and other vampires would be wise not to cross me...or my friends," he added with a nod to Edge. "Does that explain everything?"
Christian put a hand to his forehead and slid backwards onto the couch. "I think my brain's melting."
"Melting! Melting!" Edge called in a high voice, shrinking away from some unseen horror apparently coming from the ceiling. Christian laughed from the front of the sofa.
"Ding dong, the witch is dead..."
Gangrel closed his eyes, counted to ten, and turned on his heel to go into the kitchen. "Get out of my house, you morons. The remodlers are supposed to be here any minute, and I'd rather they not show up to see me end your miserable lives."
Fifteen minutes later, both brothers sat in Edge's Rodeo, which had inexplicably shown up a few days earlier. Christian tried not to think about it too much, realizing that he had spent the past couple weeks with two borderline psychotic vampires. A car showing up from thin air shouldn't be too surprising, given the situation.
"Hey!" Christian cried victoriously, stopping his search for a decent radio station when a familiar song caught his attention. "It's Jewel!"
"And I should care because..."
"She's cute, man."
"She's Alaskan."
"So? That's, like, practically Canadian."
Edge rolled his eyes and kept driving in silence, not speaking again until a sudden thought occurred to him and made him frown. "Um...Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"What are we gonna tell Shane when we get back?"
"The truth."
"Somehow, I don't think he'd be understanding about us running from Dracula."
"Good point." Christian paused, drumming his fingers restlessly along the dashboard. "I dunno. Family crisis or something. That always works for everyone else." He paused for another moment, yawned, and looked out the window. "Um...Where are we, exactly?"
"Toledo." When met with a blank stare, Edge laughed lightly. "Ohio."
"Uh...huh. So where are we going?"
"Pittsburgh. I called Matt last night and, supposedly, that's where the next show is."
Christian snorted. "And you trust that backwater hick to know what he's talking about?"
"Not really, no, but he was the only person I could reach."
------
"You are without a doubt the strangest and quite possibly most deranged person I have ever had the misfortune to know."
"I vant to suck your blood!"
"Christian, either take that silly thing off or I'm going to kill you. Slowly."
"Dracula is not amused and he vants to suck your blood!"
"I am about --this-- close to scattering your entrails around the country, little one."
"Are you not entertained?"
"Edge! Don't encourage him!"
"Don't worry, Grel. I don't think Dracula would fit in Gladiator, anyway."
Christian snickered, easily sidestepping Gangrel's half-hearted attempt to snatch the cape away from him. The three stood in Gangrel's living room, Edge perched atop the back of the couch and twirling his car keys around his finger. A half hour earlier Christian had found a cape in his bedroom closet and had since donned it and refused to take it off for any reason. In fact, he insisted on spreading it out with his arms and adopting a bad Romanian accent while chasing his companions around the house. Gangrel had been willing to overlook it until Christian tripped over the back
of it and went sailing gracelessly over the stair railing. The shock had triggered reflexes given from an ancient source, and he hovered in midair, wide-eyed and excited.
"Look!" He'd cried, contorting himself into a karate pose, arms in the air and one leg halfway drawn to his chest. "It's Dracula meets the Matrix!" His mistake was when he tried to do a three-sixty spin. His concentration collapsed and his mind registered that it wasn't supposed to yet know how to fly, and he finished his plummet to the hardwood floor.
That had, more or less, been the moment when Gangrel began trying to wrench the cape away from him for the boy's own safety.
"Pretty snazzy getup here, Grel," Christian announced suddenly, pulling the cape open and gesturing to the fine red silk lining the inside of the black fabric. Gangrel rolled his eyes. "So when do I get mine?"
"I've told you, Christian, it's only for decoration."
"You had to have it for a reason."
"I knew someday a boy was going to steal it and torture me into my grave with it," Gangrel snapped irritably, crooking a bony finger at Christian and motioning inward. "Over here. Now."
"Spoil sport," Christian mumbled, obediently making his way over to Gangrel and letting him remove the cape. "I was getting bored with it anyway."
"It comes in handy at costume parties. I never have to buy an outfit."
"Because you're cheap."
"I prefer the term resourceful."
"Cheap-o."
Gangrel scowled and folded the cape, then set it on the desk behind him. "You're testing me, boy." He stood back with his hands on his hips, taking in the two young men before him with a nod. "Well then. I suppose you're ready to go, aren't you?"
"Not that you're hinting or anything..."
"Of course not." He waved his hand. "I'm just tired of the Martha Stewart jokes. She wouldn't know burgundy from cherry plum if it bit her on the ass."
Christian raised an eyebrow and grinned, but Edge's hand clamping over his mouth prevented any sort of sarcastic retort.
"Anyway, I want you both to know that you're more than welcome to come back whenever you like. I'm not promising that I'll always be here, but I'm sure you can find your own way in."
"You're probably too cheap to pay for locks on the doors."
Gangrel scowled and pointed a threatening finger at Christian. "I meant what I said about liking you better when you were silent and never spoke." Shaking his head, he bent and pulled an old chest from underneath the desk, opened it, and then pulled out another smaller box that fit in one hand. Then he walked to the couch where Christian had seated himself beside his brother, pushing it into his hands. "Here. Take this with you."
"This had so better be a little tiny cape or something." Christian paused, eyes lighting. "Dude! What if it is? I gotta go get a hamster or guinea pig or --"
"Christian."
"Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly, pulling the delicate latch at the front and sliding the top of the box back. He blinked at the contents, turning a narrowed brow up to Gangrel. "It's dirt."
"My, aren't you the observant one? Yes, Christian, it's dirt. But it's your native soil."
Christian made a face. "Ew. That sounds vaguely gross."
Gangrel, in a tremendous show of patience, ignored him. "Keep a little of it with you at all times. You'll draw strength from it."
"From dirt."
"Yes."
Christian turned questioning eyes up at Edge, who pulled at a necklace around his neck to show a tiny vial dangling from it, filled with dark brown dirt. "Okay, Grel, uh...thanks for the gift. I thought you were just getting me back for giving you a blender for your birthday that one year."
"I'm not that petty, little one."
"That's good, 'cause --"
"I exact my revenge in much better ways than to give you dirt." Gangrel offered a disarming grin. "Here. I want you to take this, too." He pulled a chain off his neck and slid it over Christian's head. "It marks you as one of mine."
"...Excuse me?"
Gangrel flicked curious eyes up to Edge, not too surprised to see him immediately look to the floor. "You didn't tell him about the Council."
"I didn't really think it was my place."
"Council? Hey, hello? I'd like to know if some group of psycho vampires are gonna try to kill me when I step out the door."
"Forgive us for not explaining it to you sooner, Christian," Gangrel urged, taking a seat in the desk chair and turning to face his comrades. He took a deep breath, tapped his fingers against his kneecaps, and began his speech. "To make a very complicated story somewhat easier to understand, the short of it all is that there are very few vampires in this world, when taken in proportion with the rest of the population. Because we are all typically far and few between at all corners of the globe, some would try to take advantage of the situation and take the risk of exposing us to mortals. Because of *that*, it's been necessary to keep a council of elders to monitor how we deal with each other and the humans we live with. If one of us is found to be acting foolishly..." He shrugged. "They are dealt with accordingly."
"And you need to mark me because..."
"Really, that's probably just more paranoid overprotection on my part. You're a new, very young addition to our kind, and if you happen to run into others, they might try to . . ."
"Freshman initiation crap, huh?"
"Basically. I happen to be one of the oldest acting members of the Council, and other vampires would be wise not to cross me...or my friends," he added with a nod to Edge. "Does that explain everything?"
Christian put a hand to his forehead and slid backwards onto the couch. "I think my brain's melting."
"Melting! Melting!" Edge called in a high voice, shrinking away from some unseen horror apparently coming from the ceiling. Christian laughed from the front of the sofa.
"Ding dong, the witch is dead..."
Gangrel closed his eyes, counted to ten, and turned on his heel to go into the kitchen. "Get out of my house, you morons. The remodlers are supposed to be here any minute, and I'd rather they not show up to see me end your miserable lives."
Fifteen minutes later, both brothers sat in Edge's Rodeo, which had inexplicably shown up a few days earlier. Christian tried not to think about it too much, realizing that he had spent the past couple weeks with two borderline psychotic vampires. A car showing up from thin air shouldn't be too surprising, given the situation.
"Hey!" Christian cried victoriously, stopping his search for a decent radio station when a familiar song caught his attention. "It's Jewel!"
"And I should care because..."
"She's cute, man."
"She's Alaskan."
"So? That's, like, practically Canadian."
Edge rolled his eyes and kept driving in silence, not speaking again until a sudden thought occurred to him and made him frown. "Um...Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"What are we gonna tell Shane when we get back?"
"The truth."
"Somehow, I don't think he'd be understanding about us running from Dracula."
"Good point." Christian paused, drumming his fingers restlessly along the dashboard. "I dunno. Family crisis or something. That always works for everyone else." He paused for another moment, yawned, and looked out the window. "Um...Where are we, exactly?"
"Toledo." When met with a blank stare, Edge laughed lightly. "Ohio."
"Uh...huh. So where are we going?"
"Pittsburgh. I called Matt last night and, supposedly, that's where the next show is."
Christian snorted. "And you trust that backwater hick to know what he's talking about?"
"Not really, no, but he was the only person I could reach."