Hmmm...Lessee....A description, huh? Well, an eenie-weenie little sprite isn't much to go on, so I'm figuring I can take significant artistic license here...(as can anyone else, obviously). The Olrox for this story is about 6' to 6'5", willowy, with an olive complexion (as a mortal, anyway), dark brown eyes, and dark brown hair that's sort of curly, but not really... You know, it's a lot easier to see him in my mind than to try to describe him. Oh well. Damn it, this story could go five different directions from here...And I can't remember how Olrox's Chambers were laid out, so I'm just making crap up.
'I slept in my clothes again...'
The only way Olrox could take his mind away from the events of the last few day (and thereby retain his sanity) was to concentrate on mundane trivialities. As he threw the covers off of his legs and swung them over the side of the bed, he'd noticed that not only was he wearing his shirt and pants, but his vest, coat, and boots also. The strange thing was: although he'd slept in them, they weren't wrinkled in the slightest, at least, nothing worse than he could smooth out with his hands. It was as though he'd never moved during the night. He stood and studied the room.
It was different than the one he'd awoken in last time. The bedroom was larger, and the stone floor had been covered with marble. The furniture was all cherry hardwood. The bed itself had drapery of black crushed velvet, and diamonds had been sewn into the canopy to look like stars. A fire burned in the hearth, and Olrox sat on the hearthstones to warm himself. The constant coldness he felt was becoming tiresome very quickly. Two identical lamps rested on the carved mantelpiece, each one with a sitting lady holding a parasol and a man sitting beside her carved in relief out of ivory, and hung with teardrop emeralds and sapphires, so that, when lit, the lamp light would shine through them. Above the mantel, there was a painting of a foxhunt, with the tail of the fox just visible in the lower corner. It was startlingly realistic, the sheaves of grass, the creases in the riders' clothing, even the sweat gleaming on the horses looked believable unless studied closely. Then, of course, his improved vision ruined the illusion by showing him the individual brushstrokes and scratches, but it was very pretty nonetheless.
The north wall contained a writing desk, a bookcase that appeared decidedly empty, and a tapestry. This was a bit perplexing. It depicted two men, probably in their early thirties, both in clothing and armor from what seemed to be the twelfth or thirteenth century. They were standing on a balcony or wall. The taller man was wearing a crown, or perhaps it was a helmet, that reminded Olrox of an upside-down acorn. Aside from the hair and eye color of jet black, the man looked almost exactly like Vlad. 'I suppose if the prince of Wallachia fought the Ottoman Empire, that would be the proper time period.' The human Vlad had softer features than the one Olrox knew; he almost looked kindly. The other man bore a startling resemblance to Olrox himself, only older. One gauntleted hand rested on the human Vlad's arm, while the other pointed off toward the horizon. The tapestry Olrox looked worried and tense, as though he was trying to explain something to Vlad. Vlad stood, arms crossed, peering off in the direction the tapestry Olrox was pointing attentively. He seemed calm and majestic, the very antithesis of his companion. Olrox carefully traced the threads of the wall hanging with his hand. The similarity between himself and the man in the tapestry was deeply disturbing, so he decided not to dwell on it for the moment.
On the south wall was a wardrobe with drawers underneath, and beside it stood a washstand, which held a basin of black stone and a crystal pitcher. Above this hung a mirror of polished bronze. Olrox smoothed his hair, which had, once again, escaped the confines of its ribbon. Even in the gold tone of the bronze, his skin looked abnormally pale, right down to his lips, pale and bloodless looking. His hair, which now framed his face, had gotten slightly curlier, and subtle honey and red tones glinted through the predominant deep bay color. Compulsively, he bared his teeth.
"Oh, God," Olrox whimpered. He turned away. There they had been, unmistakable. His canines were now around a half-inch long, smooth and sharp as tiny knives. Knowing they were there and seeing them were two entirely different things. Seeing himself as he now was, in fact, was intensely distressing. He looked as alien to himself as he felt. The thought of his fangs had also reminded him of his kill the day before. How could he have done something so savage? Leaning against the wardrobe and sliding to the floor, he stared glumly at the marble, at a loss of what to do.
'This cannot possibly get any worse...I guess that should be some small comfort.'
He remained like that for two hours, finally closing his eyes, when he heard someone walk into the room. 'I don't care...' A smart tip-tap of shoes suddenly stopped and a female voice spoke, very timidly. "Oh! Master...what...Is there anything the matter?"
Olrox was not in a gentlemanly mood. "Go away."
The maidservant seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Master Dracula expressed a wish to see you..." she stammered, obviously nervous, if not afraid of Olrox.
Olrox snarled. "Then 'Master Dracula' can come here himself." His tone showed argument to be futile in his combative state. He never bothered to even look at the maid.
"Please, Master Olrox..." she pleaded.
This woman was becoming annoying. Olrox snapped his gaze up to her. "I said..." He couldn't finish the tirade. He stared at the maid with dropped jaw and eyes as wide as saucers.
Standing in the middle of the room was a skeleton, wringing the bones of its hands.
With an abrupt, frightened yelp, Olrox instinctively jumped, finding himself on top of the wardrobe. The skeleton let out a little cry and hurried through a door on the far end of the south wall, the bones of her feet heard tip-tapping through the room beyond. Though muffled, Olrox could make out words.
"You there! Go fetch Master Dracula. Hurry! Don't stand there looking at me like a bloody fool, go!"
Meanwhile, Olrox sat, back pressed against the wall, shivering and panting for breath. His mind reeled; this was too much. 'It can't be real. It simply can't be real! I've gone insane! Oh God in heaven, how could such a horror be suffered to exist?' He felt a tingling sensation crawl over his body, most strongly in his fingertips. He saw the skeleton return through the open doorway.
Seeing Olrox on top of the wardrobe, a coiled viper, the skeleton tried to calm the panicked vampire. "I'm terribly sorry if I've startled you, Master," she began, deathly afraid of his reaction. He seemed paralyzed. She grew bolder. "I know everything here must be coming as a terrible fright." She took a step forward, her fatal error.
That one step had done it. Incredibly quickly, electricity flew from Olrox's right hand, filling the room with blinding light and a sharp snap of static charge. The tingling sensation greatly lessened. Olrox sat still, eyes shut, in shock for just a moment. Tentatively, he opened his eyes. There lay the skeleton, on the floor, a jumbled pile of bones with no signs of movement. With a deep sigh, Olrox leaned back against to wall and ran a hand through his hair. What had just happened? 'How the hell did I do that? What the hell did I do, for that matter?' His thoughts were interrupted as he caught sight of Vlad entering through the same door that the skeleton had. He purposely ignored the unwelcome visitor.
Vlad glanced at the pile of bones on the floor, then up to Olrox, inferring in a second what had transpired. With an irritated sigh, he said, "Olrox, what are you doing up there?"
The fractious side of Olrox's personality bubbled to the surface. He snarled, "I hardly think that you are in a position to be asking questions of me, 'Master Dracula.'" Quick as a flash, Vlad had crossed the room and caught Olrox by the throat in one powerful hand, pulling him off the wardrobe to dangle from the elder vampire's grasp. Olrox gasped, clawing at Vlad's hand in an effort to ease the crushing pressure on his airway. His only protest besides a silent grimace was a tiny squeak.
Vlad held Olrox up at arm's length, glaring steadily. His voice was slightly raised, his anger palpable. "I could have sworn that you had taken a snide tone with me. It is a very irritating bad habit of yours, copil, and very rude. If I were you, I would disabuse myself of it!" That said he unceremoniously dropped Olrox. The younger vampire landed on his knees and fell to all fours, drawing air into his lungs gratefully and gently rubbing his sore neck, which Vlad's fingers had deeply bruised, leaving slight dents in the flesh.
After some thirty seconds, Olrox heard the rustle of material, and Vlad was on his knees beside him, pulling Olrox into an embrace. Stressed to exhaustion, Olrox sighed tiredly and relaxed, letting Vlad hold him upright. A hand stroked Olrox's hair, and some of his tension melted away. Never mind that that same hand had threatened to break his neck not a minute before, it was the first comfort since the whole nightmare had begun. Now he felt strangely protected. After a few minutes of this, Vlad spoke, so softly that Olrox wasn't sure whether he was hearing it, or if it was only in his own mind.
"I'm sorry, Olrox. I'm sorry for losing my temper." Fingers brushed over Olrox's bruises, which, even in that short span, had lightened considerably. "It was so long ago...I keep forgetting how hard it was." Olrox couldn't manage an answer other than another mournful sigh. Vlad's voice assumed a reassuring quality. "You'll get used to it, eventually."
Olrox shook his head, looking up at Vlad. "I don't WANT to get used to...to this!" He gestured toward the skeleton and dropped his gaze to the floor, continuing more quietly than he thought himself capable. "Would that I were dead! I cannot possibly live like this."
"I think that you will surprise yourself." Vlad gave Olrox a brief squeeze, then stood, lifting Olrox to his feet as well, and pulled away. Olrox was a bit disappointed, and found himself missing his mother's slightly overenthusiastic English hugs. Even one of Alex's rough slaps on the back would have been cheering at the moment... His reminiscence was shattered once again by Vlad's voice. "I had wanted to show you around a bit and describe your duties to you, but if you are not up to it, I should let you rest."
Olrox waved a hand dismissively. "No, go on. I must have something to occupy myself with, or I will go mad."
Vlad smiled. "Good. I was hoping you'd say that." He walked silently through the south door, Olrox following, eyes downcast. They remained thus until Vlad had led them into a small study, probably one of dozens. Olrox woke up a bit and took note of his surroundings. This study was furnished in much the same way as its predecessor, if not in a bit better repair. Vlad bade Olrox sit down, while he flitted over to a desk and searched through a drawer full to the brim with papers of all sizes and description. With a small, triumphant sound, he found what he was looking for, and took a chair himself, handing a rolled paper to Olrox. Upon unrolling it, and figuring out which side was 'up,' Olrox saw that it was a map. A large cluster of rooms near the center was outlined with red ink. "That," Vlad said, "is a map of the third floor. I think you'll find it useful, at least until you learn the lay of the castle. The outlined area is yours, and you also have rooms on the second and first floors."
"What do you mean, 'mine?'" Olrox didn't look up, endeavoring to memorize as much of the floor plan as he could.
"Well, you know how a manor works, don't you?"
"I was raised on one."
"Of course. So you will understand this. This castle is so large; I can't manage it very well on my own. You can think of this place as a manor-one that is enclosed within a single building." Olrox nodded in comprehension. Vlad continued. "Instead of granting vassals land, I choose those of my servants that have proved themselves trustworthy and competent, and I assign them sections of the castle to govern for me." This all made sense enough. 'In fact, it's one of the few things that's made sense these past days.' Vlad explained further. "Up until now, this is what I have been doing: giving servants tracts of the castle, making them each answerable only to me. Unfortunately, the castle is so large that I have wound up with roughly two dozen overworked vassals beating down my door on top of all the other servants who are discontented with their overseers."
Olrox jumped in. "Forgive me, but I fail to see how adding me to that number will help you in any way."
"I was getting to that," Vlad said. "As you will discover, your area is only about half the size of the others'. I have taken rooms from their old domains to create yours in the hopes of relieving them of some of their responsibility. Further, I have established an overseer for each floor to which all others on that floor will report. The third floor is yours. You also have dominion over all overseers on the lower floors; you will answer only to me. I'm hoping that this will make life easier for all of us, and let me get something done besides settle disputes. You will handle complications from the lower vassals, and consult me if you can't reach a decision. Do you understand?"
Olrox nodded and leaned back in his chair. "I believe so. It's enough to go on for now, I suppose."
They talked over the details of Olrox's new position, and the castle in general, for hours, and Olrox was still hopelessly lost. The place seemed, to him, to be a nonsensical mishmash of various walking abominations from storybooks, but then, he was now an abomination from a storybook... Suddenly, Vlad started in his seat. "How long have we been talking?"
Olrox shrugged. "I haven't been paying attention, to be honest."
Vlad sighed. "Well, at any rate, I don't think I'll be able to show you your territory today. If I haven't missed it, I'll have an important meeting shortly..." Olrox wondered what sort of important meeting a vampire could possibly have; Vlad stood. "I deeply apologize. I shall lead you back to your chambers." After meandering through nondescript hallways (passing the odd skeleton, or bones thereof, slumped against the walls). Olrox stayed close to Vlad the entire way, lest one of them decide to jump him. At a door Olrox took to be his own, Vlad bid him farewell for the time being and turned to leave. Curiosity getting the best of him, Olrox called after Vlad. "Vlad?"
Vlad stopped, cape swirling about his legs. He looked back over his shoulder.
Olrox found himself afraid to ask his question, but something between his pride and the decidedly self-conscious feeling Vlad's gaze was giving him prompted him to throw caution to the wind and ask anyway. Still, he didn't sound as sure of himself as he wished. "Am...am I....Is this...," he gestured at the halls surrounding them. "...Why you brought me here?"
Vlad looked thoughtful for a moment, as though wording his answer in his head. He glanced back at Olrox as he continued walking. "Partially."
Quirking his eyebrow at that impossibly vague statement, Olrox turned the handle and entered his apartments. He hadn't had the chance to explore his own rooms, so he took this opportunity to do so. The first room was a short, nondescript hallway terminating in large double doors. They were oak, and were probably very heavy indeed. It was carved with trees, a willow on one door and an oak on the other; birds of different species roosted in the branches. After staring at it for a few minutes, trying to name the birds (which was abandoned, since half the birds were types he had never seen), he noticed that the trees had faces. Further inspection revealed bodies, hidden cunningly in the bark. The willow was a woman, wispy leaves cascading down as hair, arms outstretched as branches for the birds. The oak was male, and his arms also supported the birds. Both seemed very tranquil, as though they could stand there forever. 'Trees don't really move, of course...' The handles didn't turn, so Olrox simply set a shoulder to the willow door and gave it a shove. It opened fairly easily, a feat that was impressive, considering that the door must have weighed several hundred pounds.
"Good heavens..." During their conversation, Vlad had comforted Olrox with regards to anything he might see wandering the halls. The elder vampire had insisted that, no matter how disturbing many of the inhabitants might appear, none of them were to be considered dangerous. The room he had emerged in was a large hall, with huge stained glass windows set in one wall. Gathered in this hall were what could be assumed to be humans, skeletons and horrible beasts of several varieties meandering from group to group, talking or fighting. A nervous sweat beaded Olrox's brow, and he trembled despite Vlad's words. He was about to quietly go back the way he came, and try to find another route to his rooms, when a skeleton caught sight of him, pointed indiscreetly, and said something to a rather large...canine sort of fellow nearby.
"Oye! Shut up, you lot, damn ye!" bellowed the canine. Immediately, threats and obscenities were hurled at the speaker. The canine raised his voice and pointed at Olrox. "Still yer noise, you sorry sons a' bitches! It's Master Olrox!"
A hush fell over the room as a hundred heads snapped to stare at Olrox. He flushed, and took a few steps out into the hall, letting the torchlight fall on him fully. 'What's so fascinating?'
"Ah......Hello," Olrox couldn't believe that no one had endeavored to rip him to shreds. "I'm...just acquainting myself with the castle; pretend I'm not here." What a devious way to get out of speaking, and yet, not one of them moved. "You can go back to what you were doing." No response. Getting annoyed, Olrox turned the suggestion into a command. "Go about your business." Something in his tone must have had the desired effect, because the terrible occupants of the hall couldn't get back to their conversations quickly enough, though they sounded decidedly more guarded than before. Finding the windows to be the only comely things in the room, and a distraction from his fellow creatures, Olrox leant against a pillar, to study yet another object with his new eyes.
They were simple enough windows, their sheer size made them unique, however. The first featured a group of angels, winged giants set in lead. One was in the foreground, robed in gold with pristine white wings. Its long hair was a frosty wheat color, the eyes, blue. It gently embraced a golden orb, as though carrying it through the air. The sister window showed the same angel, only this time, it knelt on a grassy hill, supporting itself with one arm. The wings, once white, were stained with blood and dirt, ripped and useless, hanging at the angel's sides. The joyous face was set in a look of shame; a tear trickled down its cheek. 'Windows are usually biblical, but I can't remember anything like this...'
His ears hadn't been deaf while his eyes were occupied. Between appraising, fearful, or flirtatious glances his way, many of the conversations in the hall centered on him. Tuning out the other noise, he focused on one group nearby, never taking his eyes off of the windows.
"So that's the Master's new pet, eh? Don't look like much to me..." a gruff, growling voice announced.
A silky female voice joined in. "Speak for yourself. Why, I wouldn't mind tying him down and-"
"Augh! Enough! No one needs the details, Sylvia!" the growling voice cut in. Olrox tried to control the blush creeping into his face. The female chuckled softly at her comrade's disgust. The growl retorted. "Besides, I doubt that the Master would be willing to share with you."
'I resent that.' With that last statement, Olrox decided that he'd had enough company for one day. Looking at the floor, he stalked across the hall to a smaller set of doors at the far end. When he was about twenty feet from them, a new voice accosted him in thickly accented French, though what accent it was Olrox hadn't a clue. 'Perhaps I should pay a bit more attention.' Whoever it was had caught him off guard.
"Excuse me."
Olrox turned to see a tall, robed man with aquiline features and a rather prominent nose. His skin was coal black, as was his scruffy hair, and his almond-shaped eyes were a bright yellow, without whites. Olrox tried not to stare. "Yes?" He replied in French.
The (quite literally) black man flashed a grin. "Ah, you speak French. It's been so hard to speak with others here." The man bowed stiffly at the waist, in a manner Olrox thought to be most odd. After blinking confusedly for a moment, the man laughed. "Oh. I am sorry. That isn't done here, is it?" The man held out his hand, and Olrox, just a bit hesitantly, shook it. 'If he'd meant bowing wasn't done, I could argue, but I haven't any idea what that was supposed to be.' "You are Olrox-sama, right?"
"Uh...It's just Olrox, actually."
The man blinked again. He reminded Olrox of a bird, like a parrot, or something of that nature. "That's what I said, wasn't it?"
Olrox shook his head and forced a smile. "Never mind, it's not important. I don't believe I caught your name." Bird-brained as this strange person was, at least he was friendly, and he wasn't nearly as smelly or frightful as the other denizens of this hall.
"Oh! I'm sorry; you didn't catch it because I didn't give it. Malphas Torio. I've only been here six months, so I'm very awkward."
Olrox grinned, trying not to show his fangs. "You have found a sympathizer, Torio. I am awkward regardless of where I am or the time spent."
'What a nice fellow.' Olrox opened the door leading into his bedroom. His conversation with Mr. Malphas had been rather pleasant. He had even overlooked, for a minute, the fact that they were both, to use a depressing term, he thought, hellspawn, and had enjoyed talking with someone who did not look as though he was about to try to bite off Olrox's arm. Torio called himself a 'tengu,' a bird spirit, and said that he had come here from Japan, which was right off the edge of the world in Olrox's estimation. The tengu was in charge of the northeast tower, wherever that was. Olrox crossed the room and experimentally opened a door on the north wall. It turned out to be a bath. 'Doesn't sound like a bad idea.' He had gotten a bit dusty in the castle corridors, many of which seemed sadly neglected, and the time spent in the hall where all those other monsters were had made him feel more than a little sullied. He made a mental note to avoid anyone named Slyvia. Peeling off the clothes he'd worn for two straight days (not that they smelled bad, but really...), he hung them up in the wardrobe.
Olrox hadn't realized how cold he was until the hot water of the bath elicited a small yelp from him. He gratefully let the heat warm him, gazing lazily around the room. Instead of painted plaster, the room was tiled from floor to ceiling. The floor tiles resembled sand. The walls, instead of frescoes, were mosaic. Trees twisted upward towards the ceiling, branches hung with roses or heavy with blossoms. Birds hid in the trees or traversed the ceiling while flowers and animals peopled the ground. And there were three angels, there were always angels, it seemed. One was mostly obscured by trees, and looked as though he was walking away down some barely seen path. On the opposite wall, another perched in a tree. She was wearing a daisy chain around her head and weaving another, and a tiny bird sat on her left wing. On another wall, a yellow haired angel sat on a rock. After looking at it for a while, Olrox realized that it was the same angel as the one in the windows. This time, the angel was whole and happy, stroking the velvet nose of a doe with one hand; a daisy chain (no doubt given to him by his friend in the tree) dangled from his other wrist. A small, green snake curled slumbering around his shoulders, as though an ornament to the gold robes. 'I wish I could remember anything about that...' There had to be some significance to that particular angel; trivial as it was, it was something to pull Olrox's thoughts away from the present.
Snagging a robe on the way out, Olrox walked back through his bedroom. On nearing the bed, he noticed another door on the east wall. It was small, easily overlooked. A different smell came from its direction; curious, Olrox tried the handle. It was unlocked, and opened easily.
The Carpathian Mountains lifted their proud, snowy peaks to the sky for as far as the eye could see, glowing faintly in the pre-dawn light. Purple, green, and brown mingled with the gray of rocky crags, and a weak glint here and there denoted falling water. 'How far has he brought me? The mountains are away off in the east back home...' Olrox decided that he must be somewhere near Transylvania's eastern border to be this high in the Carpathians. It seemed an odd place to have a castle.
Stepping out onto the small balcony, Olrox looked up at the fading stars, and watched the gathering warmth in the east staining the peaks' snow pink. He smiled. Seeing something of the real world again in what seemed ages was comforting, even as it assured Olrox that, if the mountains and sky were real, then so was everything else, fangs included. He admired the changing colors of the sky, and stifled a yawn.
Shielding his eyes against the sudden brightness of the sun, Olrox basked in the light and warmth, too drowsy to panic when he sank to the floor, soon slipping into darkness. He lay, too weak to move, until sleep overcame him.
Ha! That's right, Stoker's vampires (that's Dracula, kiddies) aren't killed by sunlight. Ha, I say! Don't believe me? Read Varney the Vampire, that fruit walks around slapping people upside the head in broad daylight. But I digress. I hope I didn't confuse anyone with Karasuman's little name change, but I couldn't really see a tengu walking around calling himself "Crow Man." It's a tad stupid.
'I slept in my clothes again...'
The only way Olrox could take his mind away from the events of the last few day (and thereby retain his sanity) was to concentrate on mundane trivialities. As he threw the covers off of his legs and swung them over the side of the bed, he'd noticed that not only was he wearing his shirt and pants, but his vest, coat, and boots also. The strange thing was: although he'd slept in them, they weren't wrinkled in the slightest, at least, nothing worse than he could smooth out with his hands. It was as though he'd never moved during the night. He stood and studied the room.
It was different than the one he'd awoken in last time. The bedroom was larger, and the stone floor had been covered with marble. The furniture was all cherry hardwood. The bed itself had drapery of black crushed velvet, and diamonds had been sewn into the canopy to look like stars. A fire burned in the hearth, and Olrox sat on the hearthstones to warm himself. The constant coldness he felt was becoming tiresome very quickly. Two identical lamps rested on the carved mantelpiece, each one with a sitting lady holding a parasol and a man sitting beside her carved in relief out of ivory, and hung with teardrop emeralds and sapphires, so that, when lit, the lamp light would shine through them. Above the mantel, there was a painting of a foxhunt, with the tail of the fox just visible in the lower corner. It was startlingly realistic, the sheaves of grass, the creases in the riders' clothing, even the sweat gleaming on the horses looked believable unless studied closely. Then, of course, his improved vision ruined the illusion by showing him the individual brushstrokes and scratches, but it was very pretty nonetheless.
The north wall contained a writing desk, a bookcase that appeared decidedly empty, and a tapestry. This was a bit perplexing. It depicted two men, probably in their early thirties, both in clothing and armor from what seemed to be the twelfth or thirteenth century. They were standing on a balcony or wall. The taller man was wearing a crown, or perhaps it was a helmet, that reminded Olrox of an upside-down acorn. Aside from the hair and eye color of jet black, the man looked almost exactly like Vlad. 'I suppose if the prince of Wallachia fought the Ottoman Empire, that would be the proper time period.' The human Vlad had softer features than the one Olrox knew; he almost looked kindly. The other man bore a startling resemblance to Olrox himself, only older. One gauntleted hand rested on the human Vlad's arm, while the other pointed off toward the horizon. The tapestry Olrox looked worried and tense, as though he was trying to explain something to Vlad. Vlad stood, arms crossed, peering off in the direction the tapestry Olrox was pointing attentively. He seemed calm and majestic, the very antithesis of his companion. Olrox carefully traced the threads of the wall hanging with his hand. The similarity between himself and the man in the tapestry was deeply disturbing, so he decided not to dwell on it for the moment.
On the south wall was a wardrobe with drawers underneath, and beside it stood a washstand, which held a basin of black stone and a crystal pitcher. Above this hung a mirror of polished bronze. Olrox smoothed his hair, which had, once again, escaped the confines of its ribbon. Even in the gold tone of the bronze, his skin looked abnormally pale, right down to his lips, pale and bloodless looking. His hair, which now framed his face, had gotten slightly curlier, and subtle honey and red tones glinted through the predominant deep bay color. Compulsively, he bared his teeth.
"Oh, God," Olrox whimpered. He turned away. There they had been, unmistakable. His canines were now around a half-inch long, smooth and sharp as tiny knives. Knowing they were there and seeing them were two entirely different things. Seeing himself as he now was, in fact, was intensely distressing. He looked as alien to himself as he felt. The thought of his fangs had also reminded him of his kill the day before. How could he have done something so savage? Leaning against the wardrobe and sliding to the floor, he stared glumly at the marble, at a loss of what to do.
'This cannot possibly get any worse...I guess that should be some small comfort.'
He remained like that for two hours, finally closing his eyes, when he heard someone walk into the room. 'I don't care...' A smart tip-tap of shoes suddenly stopped and a female voice spoke, very timidly. "Oh! Master...what...Is there anything the matter?"
Olrox was not in a gentlemanly mood. "Go away."
The maidservant seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Master Dracula expressed a wish to see you..." she stammered, obviously nervous, if not afraid of Olrox.
Olrox snarled. "Then 'Master Dracula' can come here himself." His tone showed argument to be futile in his combative state. He never bothered to even look at the maid.
"Please, Master Olrox..." she pleaded.
This woman was becoming annoying. Olrox snapped his gaze up to her. "I said..." He couldn't finish the tirade. He stared at the maid with dropped jaw and eyes as wide as saucers.
Standing in the middle of the room was a skeleton, wringing the bones of its hands.
With an abrupt, frightened yelp, Olrox instinctively jumped, finding himself on top of the wardrobe. The skeleton let out a little cry and hurried through a door on the far end of the south wall, the bones of her feet heard tip-tapping through the room beyond. Though muffled, Olrox could make out words.
"You there! Go fetch Master Dracula. Hurry! Don't stand there looking at me like a bloody fool, go!"
Meanwhile, Olrox sat, back pressed against the wall, shivering and panting for breath. His mind reeled; this was too much. 'It can't be real. It simply can't be real! I've gone insane! Oh God in heaven, how could such a horror be suffered to exist?' He felt a tingling sensation crawl over his body, most strongly in his fingertips. He saw the skeleton return through the open doorway.
Seeing Olrox on top of the wardrobe, a coiled viper, the skeleton tried to calm the panicked vampire. "I'm terribly sorry if I've startled you, Master," she began, deathly afraid of his reaction. He seemed paralyzed. She grew bolder. "I know everything here must be coming as a terrible fright." She took a step forward, her fatal error.
That one step had done it. Incredibly quickly, electricity flew from Olrox's right hand, filling the room with blinding light and a sharp snap of static charge. The tingling sensation greatly lessened. Olrox sat still, eyes shut, in shock for just a moment. Tentatively, he opened his eyes. There lay the skeleton, on the floor, a jumbled pile of bones with no signs of movement. With a deep sigh, Olrox leaned back against to wall and ran a hand through his hair. What had just happened? 'How the hell did I do that? What the hell did I do, for that matter?' His thoughts were interrupted as he caught sight of Vlad entering through the same door that the skeleton had. He purposely ignored the unwelcome visitor.
Vlad glanced at the pile of bones on the floor, then up to Olrox, inferring in a second what had transpired. With an irritated sigh, he said, "Olrox, what are you doing up there?"
The fractious side of Olrox's personality bubbled to the surface. He snarled, "I hardly think that you are in a position to be asking questions of me, 'Master Dracula.'" Quick as a flash, Vlad had crossed the room and caught Olrox by the throat in one powerful hand, pulling him off the wardrobe to dangle from the elder vampire's grasp. Olrox gasped, clawing at Vlad's hand in an effort to ease the crushing pressure on his airway. His only protest besides a silent grimace was a tiny squeak.
Vlad held Olrox up at arm's length, glaring steadily. His voice was slightly raised, his anger palpable. "I could have sworn that you had taken a snide tone with me. It is a very irritating bad habit of yours, copil, and very rude. If I were you, I would disabuse myself of it!" That said he unceremoniously dropped Olrox. The younger vampire landed on his knees and fell to all fours, drawing air into his lungs gratefully and gently rubbing his sore neck, which Vlad's fingers had deeply bruised, leaving slight dents in the flesh.
After some thirty seconds, Olrox heard the rustle of material, and Vlad was on his knees beside him, pulling Olrox into an embrace. Stressed to exhaustion, Olrox sighed tiredly and relaxed, letting Vlad hold him upright. A hand stroked Olrox's hair, and some of his tension melted away. Never mind that that same hand had threatened to break his neck not a minute before, it was the first comfort since the whole nightmare had begun. Now he felt strangely protected. After a few minutes of this, Vlad spoke, so softly that Olrox wasn't sure whether he was hearing it, or if it was only in his own mind.
"I'm sorry, Olrox. I'm sorry for losing my temper." Fingers brushed over Olrox's bruises, which, even in that short span, had lightened considerably. "It was so long ago...I keep forgetting how hard it was." Olrox couldn't manage an answer other than another mournful sigh. Vlad's voice assumed a reassuring quality. "You'll get used to it, eventually."
Olrox shook his head, looking up at Vlad. "I don't WANT to get used to...to this!" He gestured toward the skeleton and dropped his gaze to the floor, continuing more quietly than he thought himself capable. "Would that I were dead! I cannot possibly live like this."
"I think that you will surprise yourself." Vlad gave Olrox a brief squeeze, then stood, lifting Olrox to his feet as well, and pulled away. Olrox was a bit disappointed, and found himself missing his mother's slightly overenthusiastic English hugs. Even one of Alex's rough slaps on the back would have been cheering at the moment... His reminiscence was shattered once again by Vlad's voice. "I had wanted to show you around a bit and describe your duties to you, but if you are not up to it, I should let you rest."
Olrox waved a hand dismissively. "No, go on. I must have something to occupy myself with, or I will go mad."
Vlad smiled. "Good. I was hoping you'd say that." He walked silently through the south door, Olrox following, eyes downcast. They remained thus until Vlad had led them into a small study, probably one of dozens. Olrox woke up a bit and took note of his surroundings. This study was furnished in much the same way as its predecessor, if not in a bit better repair. Vlad bade Olrox sit down, while he flitted over to a desk and searched through a drawer full to the brim with papers of all sizes and description. With a small, triumphant sound, he found what he was looking for, and took a chair himself, handing a rolled paper to Olrox. Upon unrolling it, and figuring out which side was 'up,' Olrox saw that it was a map. A large cluster of rooms near the center was outlined with red ink. "That," Vlad said, "is a map of the third floor. I think you'll find it useful, at least until you learn the lay of the castle. The outlined area is yours, and you also have rooms on the second and first floors."
"What do you mean, 'mine?'" Olrox didn't look up, endeavoring to memorize as much of the floor plan as he could.
"Well, you know how a manor works, don't you?"
"I was raised on one."
"Of course. So you will understand this. This castle is so large; I can't manage it very well on my own. You can think of this place as a manor-one that is enclosed within a single building." Olrox nodded in comprehension. Vlad continued. "Instead of granting vassals land, I choose those of my servants that have proved themselves trustworthy and competent, and I assign them sections of the castle to govern for me." This all made sense enough. 'In fact, it's one of the few things that's made sense these past days.' Vlad explained further. "Up until now, this is what I have been doing: giving servants tracts of the castle, making them each answerable only to me. Unfortunately, the castle is so large that I have wound up with roughly two dozen overworked vassals beating down my door on top of all the other servants who are discontented with their overseers."
Olrox jumped in. "Forgive me, but I fail to see how adding me to that number will help you in any way."
"I was getting to that," Vlad said. "As you will discover, your area is only about half the size of the others'. I have taken rooms from their old domains to create yours in the hopes of relieving them of some of their responsibility. Further, I have established an overseer for each floor to which all others on that floor will report. The third floor is yours. You also have dominion over all overseers on the lower floors; you will answer only to me. I'm hoping that this will make life easier for all of us, and let me get something done besides settle disputes. You will handle complications from the lower vassals, and consult me if you can't reach a decision. Do you understand?"
Olrox nodded and leaned back in his chair. "I believe so. It's enough to go on for now, I suppose."
They talked over the details of Olrox's new position, and the castle in general, for hours, and Olrox was still hopelessly lost. The place seemed, to him, to be a nonsensical mishmash of various walking abominations from storybooks, but then, he was now an abomination from a storybook... Suddenly, Vlad started in his seat. "How long have we been talking?"
Olrox shrugged. "I haven't been paying attention, to be honest."
Vlad sighed. "Well, at any rate, I don't think I'll be able to show you your territory today. If I haven't missed it, I'll have an important meeting shortly..." Olrox wondered what sort of important meeting a vampire could possibly have; Vlad stood. "I deeply apologize. I shall lead you back to your chambers." After meandering through nondescript hallways (passing the odd skeleton, or bones thereof, slumped against the walls). Olrox stayed close to Vlad the entire way, lest one of them decide to jump him. At a door Olrox took to be his own, Vlad bid him farewell for the time being and turned to leave. Curiosity getting the best of him, Olrox called after Vlad. "Vlad?"
Vlad stopped, cape swirling about his legs. He looked back over his shoulder.
Olrox found himself afraid to ask his question, but something between his pride and the decidedly self-conscious feeling Vlad's gaze was giving him prompted him to throw caution to the wind and ask anyway. Still, he didn't sound as sure of himself as he wished. "Am...am I....Is this...," he gestured at the halls surrounding them. "...Why you brought me here?"
Vlad looked thoughtful for a moment, as though wording his answer in his head. He glanced back at Olrox as he continued walking. "Partially."
Quirking his eyebrow at that impossibly vague statement, Olrox turned the handle and entered his apartments. He hadn't had the chance to explore his own rooms, so he took this opportunity to do so. The first room was a short, nondescript hallway terminating in large double doors. They were oak, and were probably very heavy indeed. It was carved with trees, a willow on one door and an oak on the other; birds of different species roosted in the branches. After staring at it for a few minutes, trying to name the birds (which was abandoned, since half the birds were types he had never seen), he noticed that the trees had faces. Further inspection revealed bodies, hidden cunningly in the bark. The willow was a woman, wispy leaves cascading down as hair, arms outstretched as branches for the birds. The oak was male, and his arms also supported the birds. Both seemed very tranquil, as though they could stand there forever. 'Trees don't really move, of course...' The handles didn't turn, so Olrox simply set a shoulder to the willow door and gave it a shove. It opened fairly easily, a feat that was impressive, considering that the door must have weighed several hundred pounds.
"Good heavens..." During their conversation, Vlad had comforted Olrox with regards to anything he might see wandering the halls. The elder vampire had insisted that, no matter how disturbing many of the inhabitants might appear, none of them were to be considered dangerous. The room he had emerged in was a large hall, with huge stained glass windows set in one wall. Gathered in this hall were what could be assumed to be humans, skeletons and horrible beasts of several varieties meandering from group to group, talking or fighting. A nervous sweat beaded Olrox's brow, and he trembled despite Vlad's words. He was about to quietly go back the way he came, and try to find another route to his rooms, when a skeleton caught sight of him, pointed indiscreetly, and said something to a rather large...canine sort of fellow nearby.
"Oye! Shut up, you lot, damn ye!" bellowed the canine. Immediately, threats and obscenities were hurled at the speaker. The canine raised his voice and pointed at Olrox. "Still yer noise, you sorry sons a' bitches! It's Master Olrox!"
A hush fell over the room as a hundred heads snapped to stare at Olrox. He flushed, and took a few steps out into the hall, letting the torchlight fall on him fully. 'What's so fascinating?'
"Ah......Hello," Olrox couldn't believe that no one had endeavored to rip him to shreds. "I'm...just acquainting myself with the castle; pretend I'm not here." What a devious way to get out of speaking, and yet, not one of them moved. "You can go back to what you were doing." No response. Getting annoyed, Olrox turned the suggestion into a command. "Go about your business." Something in his tone must have had the desired effect, because the terrible occupants of the hall couldn't get back to their conversations quickly enough, though they sounded decidedly more guarded than before. Finding the windows to be the only comely things in the room, and a distraction from his fellow creatures, Olrox leant against a pillar, to study yet another object with his new eyes.
They were simple enough windows, their sheer size made them unique, however. The first featured a group of angels, winged giants set in lead. One was in the foreground, robed in gold with pristine white wings. Its long hair was a frosty wheat color, the eyes, blue. It gently embraced a golden orb, as though carrying it through the air. The sister window showed the same angel, only this time, it knelt on a grassy hill, supporting itself with one arm. The wings, once white, were stained with blood and dirt, ripped and useless, hanging at the angel's sides. The joyous face was set in a look of shame; a tear trickled down its cheek. 'Windows are usually biblical, but I can't remember anything like this...'
His ears hadn't been deaf while his eyes were occupied. Between appraising, fearful, or flirtatious glances his way, many of the conversations in the hall centered on him. Tuning out the other noise, he focused on one group nearby, never taking his eyes off of the windows.
"So that's the Master's new pet, eh? Don't look like much to me..." a gruff, growling voice announced.
A silky female voice joined in. "Speak for yourself. Why, I wouldn't mind tying him down and-"
"Augh! Enough! No one needs the details, Sylvia!" the growling voice cut in. Olrox tried to control the blush creeping into his face. The female chuckled softly at her comrade's disgust. The growl retorted. "Besides, I doubt that the Master would be willing to share with you."
'I resent that.' With that last statement, Olrox decided that he'd had enough company for one day. Looking at the floor, he stalked across the hall to a smaller set of doors at the far end. When he was about twenty feet from them, a new voice accosted him in thickly accented French, though what accent it was Olrox hadn't a clue. 'Perhaps I should pay a bit more attention.' Whoever it was had caught him off guard.
"Excuse me."
Olrox turned to see a tall, robed man with aquiline features and a rather prominent nose. His skin was coal black, as was his scruffy hair, and his almond-shaped eyes were a bright yellow, without whites. Olrox tried not to stare. "Yes?" He replied in French.
The (quite literally) black man flashed a grin. "Ah, you speak French. It's been so hard to speak with others here." The man bowed stiffly at the waist, in a manner Olrox thought to be most odd. After blinking confusedly for a moment, the man laughed. "Oh. I am sorry. That isn't done here, is it?" The man held out his hand, and Olrox, just a bit hesitantly, shook it. 'If he'd meant bowing wasn't done, I could argue, but I haven't any idea what that was supposed to be.' "You are Olrox-sama, right?"
"Uh...It's just Olrox, actually."
The man blinked again. He reminded Olrox of a bird, like a parrot, or something of that nature. "That's what I said, wasn't it?"
Olrox shook his head and forced a smile. "Never mind, it's not important. I don't believe I caught your name." Bird-brained as this strange person was, at least he was friendly, and he wasn't nearly as smelly or frightful as the other denizens of this hall.
"Oh! I'm sorry; you didn't catch it because I didn't give it. Malphas Torio. I've only been here six months, so I'm very awkward."
Olrox grinned, trying not to show his fangs. "You have found a sympathizer, Torio. I am awkward regardless of where I am or the time spent."
'What a nice fellow.' Olrox opened the door leading into his bedroom. His conversation with Mr. Malphas had been rather pleasant. He had even overlooked, for a minute, the fact that they were both, to use a depressing term, he thought, hellspawn, and had enjoyed talking with someone who did not look as though he was about to try to bite off Olrox's arm. Torio called himself a 'tengu,' a bird spirit, and said that he had come here from Japan, which was right off the edge of the world in Olrox's estimation. The tengu was in charge of the northeast tower, wherever that was. Olrox crossed the room and experimentally opened a door on the north wall. It turned out to be a bath. 'Doesn't sound like a bad idea.' He had gotten a bit dusty in the castle corridors, many of which seemed sadly neglected, and the time spent in the hall where all those other monsters were had made him feel more than a little sullied. He made a mental note to avoid anyone named Slyvia. Peeling off the clothes he'd worn for two straight days (not that they smelled bad, but really...), he hung them up in the wardrobe.
Olrox hadn't realized how cold he was until the hot water of the bath elicited a small yelp from him. He gratefully let the heat warm him, gazing lazily around the room. Instead of painted plaster, the room was tiled from floor to ceiling. The floor tiles resembled sand. The walls, instead of frescoes, were mosaic. Trees twisted upward towards the ceiling, branches hung with roses or heavy with blossoms. Birds hid in the trees or traversed the ceiling while flowers and animals peopled the ground. And there were three angels, there were always angels, it seemed. One was mostly obscured by trees, and looked as though he was walking away down some barely seen path. On the opposite wall, another perched in a tree. She was wearing a daisy chain around her head and weaving another, and a tiny bird sat on her left wing. On another wall, a yellow haired angel sat on a rock. After looking at it for a while, Olrox realized that it was the same angel as the one in the windows. This time, the angel was whole and happy, stroking the velvet nose of a doe with one hand; a daisy chain (no doubt given to him by his friend in the tree) dangled from his other wrist. A small, green snake curled slumbering around his shoulders, as though an ornament to the gold robes. 'I wish I could remember anything about that...' There had to be some significance to that particular angel; trivial as it was, it was something to pull Olrox's thoughts away from the present.
Snagging a robe on the way out, Olrox walked back through his bedroom. On nearing the bed, he noticed another door on the east wall. It was small, easily overlooked. A different smell came from its direction; curious, Olrox tried the handle. It was unlocked, and opened easily.
The Carpathian Mountains lifted their proud, snowy peaks to the sky for as far as the eye could see, glowing faintly in the pre-dawn light. Purple, green, and brown mingled with the gray of rocky crags, and a weak glint here and there denoted falling water. 'How far has he brought me? The mountains are away off in the east back home...' Olrox decided that he must be somewhere near Transylvania's eastern border to be this high in the Carpathians. It seemed an odd place to have a castle.
Stepping out onto the small balcony, Olrox looked up at the fading stars, and watched the gathering warmth in the east staining the peaks' snow pink. He smiled. Seeing something of the real world again in what seemed ages was comforting, even as it assured Olrox that, if the mountains and sky were real, then so was everything else, fangs included. He admired the changing colors of the sky, and stifled a yawn.
Shielding his eyes against the sudden brightness of the sun, Olrox basked in the light and warmth, too drowsy to panic when he sank to the floor, soon slipping into darkness. He lay, too weak to move, until sleep overcame him.
Ha! That's right, Stoker's vampires (that's Dracula, kiddies) aren't killed by sunlight. Ha, I say! Don't believe me? Read Varney the Vampire, that fruit walks around slapping people upside the head in broad daylight. But I digress. I hope I didn't confuse anyone with Karasuman's little name change, but I couldn't really see a tengu walking around calling himself "Crow Man." It's a tad stupid.