A/N: K.J. Callahan edited this for me once again. Also, she chose the song lyrics for today.
. . . . . . . . . . .
"I don't like walking around this old and empty house
So hold my hand, I'll walk with you, my dear
The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake
It's the house telling you to close your eyes"
-Of Monsters and Men, "Little Talks"
. . . . . . . . . . .
Stepping out of the car, Quinn looked around with interested glances and light touches. As Brendon (who wasn't really all that bad, though after their conversation in the car had been strangely quiet and sending disconcerting looks her way) led her up to the whole mansion, she caught herself before saying it looked like the X-Mansion from the X-Men comics. She was way too old to still be fantasizing about being part of a fictional group in which she would be hated by most of the world.
The mansion was made of tan bricks, with four lions made of stone snarling at her in front of the steps to the mahogany doors. The doors were carved with many figures and weird writing, but Quinn didn't have time to read it, she was so busy looking up at the large towers and gargoyles. When Brendon opened the front door, that's when she noticed that the handle was a lion's head. She brushed her fingers along it. Suddenly, her fingers touched against something cold and soft and definitely not the doorknob.
Jerking her hand back abruptly, she looked at Brendon, who flashed her a mischievous smile. He finished pushing the door open all the way, and then offered her the hand she had accidently brushed.
Quinn gave him a playful glare, though a grin slowly spread across her face. His smile was just so infectious that she felt compelled to return it. She placed her slender (though very shabby looking – she had a habit of picking at her cuticles) fingers in his big hand. It was rough and reminded her of her grandfather's work worn hands, but his were still young; Brendon probably was only ten years older than her if he hadn't been bitten. But it was hard to know how old vampires were without asking. He probably had known her grandfather.
The vampire led Quinn through the great hall, which was enough to take her breath away. The polished black-and-white tiles shone in the combined candlelight and electric lighting. Tall columns of peachy marble held a navy blue vaulted ceiling up, the ceiling covered in tiny gold seven-pointed stars. A quiet bustle of people dressed in varying degrees of finery from the late 19th century or early 20th century moved around – more than she had seen in town last time that she'd been there. They didn't give her a second glance, either (the people in town always gave a double-dosing of hostile eyes whenever the group went in).
Brendon smiled proudly as she looked around. "Pretty impressive, don't you think?"
"If only I had a camera or something." Quinn replied breathlessly. "How in the world did nobody find out about this place?"
"Ah." Brendon winked, leading her further into the house. "That's a trade secret."
"Okay." Quinn was too enraptured to really care that he hadn't answered her question, instead focusing on the many statues, beautiful paintings, and complete lack of interest in her by the others. It was refreshing and felt good.
When she was thirteen, the then dirty-blonde Quinn had said she was a self-proclaimed bookmouse. A cross between a bookworm and a mouse, a bookmouse was characterized by always bringing a notebook or book to a social event and then becoming completely invisible no matter how obviously they sat. Now she was having a taste of it again, and it felt so good to be able to move through a place without anyone noticing.
Suddenly, Quinn realized she was wearing her thick glasses, her hair was tangled, and she was wearing pajamas. Not to mention her hair was blue and she had a very obvious tattoo on her face. Panicking, she voiced her concerns to Brendon, who laughed out loud in an infectious way, though for some reason it sounded like a shy laugh, of someone who doesn't talk that often and is unused to attention. He seemed pretty extroverted in the car though, but Quinn put those questions away for later.
"Do you think the Baron expects you to be dressed up when we woke you up in the middle of the night? He at least understands human sleep cycles." Brendon put a lot of emphasis on 'human', as if many vampires had forgotten what it was to be like Quinn's race. Still seeing a worried look on the teen's face, he hurried to reassure her even more. "Don't worry about it. If you'd like me to, I'll see if the Baron would let me sit in."
Quinn, rather than feel grateful or ask him if he was sure, nodded immediately. She gave a sigh of relief when they reached the main doors and Brendon stayed right next to her the whole time. She took a minute to look up at the ornately carved doors (she was sure that they were made out of some very expensive wood and – wait, was that gold leaf?) and look at Brendon, who for some reason felt like the person she trusted most in the world.
She nodded at him and he pushed the doors open.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Whatever Quinn was expecting from the Baron, it certainly hadn't included a boy around her own age. But as soon as she saw his eyes, she immediately stopped calling him a boy in her mind. There were ancient and menacing, but clever at the same time. A fox in human form would probably have those same eyes. But for all his eyes looked like, he certainly looked young.
His hair (a deep brown color) hung to his shoulders in slight waves (more than Quinn could make her hair do, it was so straight) and his face was young and rather girlish looking, as if half-way through God decided he wanted a boy instead of a girl but decided not to trash his rough sketch. He was wearing the same kind of hat as Brendon, though his was even fancier. The Baron wore a short black cloak that swirled around his waist and a fancy fur was draped over one shoulder.
He was shorter than average, but not by much, and he wore white gloves and a cane was propped next to his chair. One thing that really stood out to Quinn, though, was the fact that he had a small dark mark next to his left eye that was shaped like a heart. Rather than look at his eyes (which understandingly frightened her) Quinn fixed her eyes on that dark place.
Brendon bowed, and Quinn quickly followed suit. Respect seemed rather key to surviving this encounter.
"My lord." Quinn jerked her head to look at Brendon, whose eyes were fixed on the ground. Since when did he have a British accent? But he wasn't sparing her any glances.
"Only Ms. Berkley consented to come back with me, and on the condition that I stay in her presence at all times."
Well, in not quite so elegant terms. Quinn agreed silently. It was almost disconcerting to see how easily Brendon slipped from comforting companion to cold and aloof servant to a legend.
"Very well." The Baron's voice surprised her, too. She had imagined it to be high and girlish as well (at least higher than her own voice which, though not unnaturally deep, was fairly low for a girl), but instead it sounded normal, if in a dignified English accent that put her at ease and on edge simultaneously. Quinn had had an affection for Loki (played by Tom Hiddleston) when she was younger and that made her feel at ease, but too many bad guys in movies were played by Brits to put her in a comfortable position.
"Please, sit." She looked up to see the Baron gesturing to two seats (two more were on the other side, presumably for the rest of the Bear Force) next to a table filled with what looked like fixings for some sort of drink and a suspiciously red liquid in a crystal flask about the same size as a sports water bottle.
Cautiously Quinn stepped closer to him, but still took the embroidered and elaborately carved chair furthest from him, having Brendon sit closest to him. Quinn itched to put out a hand and for him to grasp it, but held back. She'd never been good at judging how much physical contact she or the other person wanted. Instead, she shifted in the red-cushioned chair until she was sitting cross-legged, her hands clasped around her ankles with the tenseness of someone who's just waiting for a hailstorm of words to beat them to the ground.
But the Baron's first words were, "Would care for some tea?" He gestured to the pot and cups on the table. "Some of the men here haven't developed a taste for the finer beverages, so normally I drink alone."
"Um, sure." Quinn agreed with some trepidation. She loved tea, but her mother used to give her grief about how much sugar she put in it. For the sake of not looking like a glutton, Quinn resolved to only ask for two lumps of sugar when asked.
But strangely, the Baron put three lumps in before even asking her. He stirred it with one calm, gloved hand before handing her a cup and saucer decorated with gold leaf and roses and birds. Quinn thanked him politely and took a sip. Maybe not as sweet as she liked it, but she could choke it down.
"Now, let us begin…"
. . . . . . . . . . .
They talked for hours. It eventually became easier to talk to the Baron, who was very genteel and polite. Quinn talked about how she and Di managed to survive on their own (leaving out some painful details), about Braeden and Donnie and about how they were always her closest guy friends. She even told him about Braeden and her short-lived mutual crush (she had gotten over being embarrassed about it long ago).
He talked about what life was like back in the early 1900's, when he had first been bitten (of course, he called it something much grander, but that was what had happened, plain and simple). He talked about the Great Depression and about the eighties, which interested Quinn greatly. Her parents' and some of her favorite music had come from that era and though the Baron confessed that he hadn't ever really been into that type of music, he tried his best and answered her questions and listened to her problems.
It was surreal to have someone she didn't fear telling the fact that she might be a sociopath or psychopath to, or the fact that sometimes her most disturbing dreams were her favorite. The Baron and Brendon listened and told things about themselves back to her. Of course, the Baron seemed more like the much older brother who's away at college and rather unreachable while Brendon was much more like her other guy friends, though he would rather talk, or, as she discovered, play guitar and sing, than go outside for a game of soccer.
The night passed quickly, until Brendon interrupted the conversation by yawning loudly, trying to cover it up but failing. The Baron looked up at a clock the size of a small dining room table and exclaimed in surprise.
"I'm sorry to have kept you here all night Ms. Berkley. It's almost light out now! I'll have Spencer drive you back home. Maybe we could talk again tomorrow night?" He kissed her hand, his ancient eyes sparkling with intelligence. Quinn smiled in an embarrassed way; not even her grandfather had given her such a send off. Sure, at fifteen he still swung her around like a little girl and kissed her goodbye. They would curl up on the couch and watch Hercule Poirot together, his arm either around her or in her lap, her fingers running over and over his work-worn hands. But he had never kissed her hand goodbye.
"I guess so… there's really nothing else I was planning to do." Quinn wasn't lying, but it was just an excuse at the same time. Who knew that two strangers (okay, she had spent a whole night talking to them and quite clearly couldn't call them strangers anymore, but they certainly would never be friends, because that was reserved for the Bear Force) – vampires at that – could be such nice company?
"Excellent!" The Baron seemed quite pleased. He gave her a small smile, more of a grin, really, as Brendon ushered her out to the car. "I hope to see you again soon!"
"Me too!" Quinn hurriedly followed Brendon out through the huge hallways. As they went, she asked him, "How is it that everyone thinks he's such a bad guy? I had such a great time!"
"Perhaps they don't stop to talk to him before making assumptions." Brendon suggested, sliding them both through a clump of what looked like two of the Baron's men and about half a dozen servants.
"Yeah, I know what that's like." Quinn snorted, her entire statement soaked in poisonous acrimony.
"Do you?" Brendon asked mildly, opening the door for her outside.
"Mmhm." She didn't elaborate on it and they stood in the rather chilly breeze of the early morning, carrying with it a scent of another hot day. The sky overhead was still speckled with stars and the moon like a huge silver pendant catching the light of the sun shone overhead, but in the east the deep blue sky was turning shades of teal green and a subdued purple.
The grounds were just as impressive as the house, and Quinn observed them in the pale morning light with interest part derived from their beauty and half from a concentration of not talking to Brendon about making assumptions.
The pale cobblestones at the base of the stairs to the front doors (in front of the lions) was already swept clean and there was a circular drive filled with white and off-white pebbles curving up to the front of the mansion and then curving back to the road – Quinn didn't know where in town they were, but she could see the road in the distance: an expanse of black pavement that cut through the desert like a knife.
In the middle of the circular driveway was a small garden, and she could hear a fountain trickling, though she couldn't see it in the middle of the white gazebo or courtyard or whatever was at the middle of the mess of vines and foliage (some containing quite beautiful flowers). There were dusty red bricks leading into the middle of the jungle, and along both sides of the driveway were many different gold (maybe fake gold, but it glittered coldly in the morning light) statues, each holding a lantern that was lit and flickered with enthusiasm. Maybe they didn't know that soon they would all be outshone by something much more powerful, but the flames looked happy and alive for the time being.
"Maybe sometime we can go into the actual gardens." Quinn looked back at the slim vampire. He shrugged. "You seemed enthralled by the little one, so maybe the bigger one would impress you even more."
"There's more?" Quinn asked unbelievingly. How far on did the Baron's property go?
"He's been building up his empire for over a century, Quinn. What did you expect?" The use of her first name didn't slip past her and she gave him a look that said, "why haven't you been using it this whole time?"
Brendon rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "The Baron's made it clear we have to act like perfect little gentleman whenever we're in his presence. Talk about the most classy objects of all time. Maybe the Mona Lisa would interest him."
"That would probably catch his interest. Maybe you could write him a song? I'd love to hear it."
Brendon laughed at that. "Yeah… guitars are too late 20th century for him. But maybe you could help me at some point?"
"Really?" Quinn looked at him, pushing her glasses further up her nose. He didn't seem to be kidding. "I'm not that good…"
"Let me be the judge of that." He winked at her, then continued. "Of course, we'll need bass and drums at least. Maybe even another guitar player."
"You make it sound like we're making a band, not writing a song. I should also warn you that I've never written a song before. Stories, sure. But never a song."
Brendon shrugged, taking off his hat to slick his hair back and then putting it back on. "Maybe we should make a band. It would be a lot of fun." He looked at her with a lot of hinting in his gaze.
"I'd love to," Quinn began. "but I've got my own group that I'm loyal to first and foremost. I could be one of your featured artists if you're that dead set on me performing with you. I can't just be expected to drop everything for a night to record with you guys. You do remember I'm not one of you, right? I still sleep at night and work during the day."
"Yeah, yeah." He mumbled. The sun was coming closer to bathing the whole estate in light. Brendon was obviously a little nervous, though he stoically refused to go inside until Spencer (the person that the Baron had said was bringing the car around) pulled up. It was rather admirable of him, really.
The golden statues' lanterns were being snuffed out one by one as the sunrise approached. It was only about a three minute wait after the last one (a siren on a rock holding the lantern over the ledge to peer underneath her rock) became darkness for the same car that took the blue-haired teen there to pick her up.
"I'll see you tomorrow!" She called out as she got into the car. The pale boy waved her until the car turned onto the road. He waited a few more seconds, then disappeared back into the mansion as the sun peaked over the horizon.
