FIRST STEPS

by Soledad

A "Pathways in the Dark" story

Part 04 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Negotiations".

For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.

Rating: Adult, for this part.

Summary: Brian settles in LA, and Clan Toreador – Alain DeLaigle in particular – begins to court him for the Clan. He also has an unexpected – and not very pleasant – reunion with Justin.

When in the next morning the wake-up call came, Brian felt as if he'd been run over by a truck. He hurt in places he'd forgotten to exist and could barely walk to the bathroom. However, when he finally stood under the hot spray, he couldn't deny the lazy satisfaction filling every single cell of his body.

Who'd have thought the old guy had such stamina, he thought, holding his face into the spray and enjoying the hot water flowing down his naked body, plastering his hair against his skull. Navital looked barely older than he, but boy, was the man experienced! And beautiful, too… smooth, limber, finely muscled and surprisingly strong. Brian rarely had anyone of his own age – although, in this particular case, one would have said that Navital had had him. For the first time since his early teens, Brian had allowed a partner to take complete control. It was… liberating.

He'd never do that in Pittsburgh. Back home, he had a reputation to keep up. But here, in this almost foreign city, he could be someone he'd not been for a very long time. Not Brian the Stud, the king of Liberty Avenue; just plain Brian Kinney, a successful young businessman. Without any emotional baggage. Without the masks and defence mechanisms he'd been hiding behind for so long. Here, he didn't have to prove his manliness. Here he could relax and let himself be spoiled by a skilled lover who knew what he was doing.

The hot water eased his aches enough to risk rubbing himself dry – everywhere – and he lifted his eyebrows in surprise, discovering a small jar with some sort of herbal numbing salve on the nightstand. Could these guys really be this prepared all the time? Like the fucking little boy scouts? Well, since it was there anyway, he could as well put it to good use…

Room service brought him a generous breakfast, and Emmett joined him shortly thereafter, chatting excitedly about his "amazing" evening. Apparently, the nelly had gotten the scenic tour home from Claude Bellamy… including a heated tumble on the back seat.

"I could get used to this life," Emmett finished his story, told in his usual, innocently shameless manner, and downed his coffee.

"Well, let's do our best to nail a permanent job then, shouldn't we?" Brian replied from the bathroom already, brushing his teeth. Emmett waltzed back to his own room to do the same. One could never know what would be coming up later, after all, and fresh breath was one of the basic requirements.

Barely had they finished those small tasks of personal hygiene, when someone knocked on the door. Brian tore it open, and looked directly into the stormy grey-blue eyes of Alain DeLaigle. The artist looked even better in the daylight, although he seemed a little pale for someone who lived in California. But perhaps it was just the contrast with the thick, wavy mahogany hair. If Phillipe Navital was handsome, there could be only one word to describe Alain DeLaigle: beautiful. In a cold, distant, sensual and predatory way. For some reason, Brian got the strange feeling that this man could be very, very dangerous.

"Ready to go?" the artist asked with a sleazy smile that could have loosened the thighs of a monk.

Brian nodded. "Emmett will be here in a moment."

Just like the lawyer, the artist, too, had a corvette, but his was deep burgundy red, with a black leather sliding top lid, in case of bad weather. Strangely enough, however, the car also had tinted glass windows.

"Do you happen to suffer from the same skin condition as Mr. Girard?" Brian asked in suspicion, although secretly relieved that the herbal salve had worked nicely, so that he was now able to sit with a minimum of discomfort.

"In fact, I do," the artist replied, unperturbed. "Many people here do. It's said to be the result of the weakened ozone layer above the city. Too much pollution."

"Why do you drive a corvette then?" Emmett asked in honest confusion.

"I like to feel the wind on my face," DeLaigle shrugged. "Besides, as a known artist, I need to keep up certain appearances. It's all right when the sunlight isn't too bright; and I always can pull up the lid."

He drove them to an airy villa in West Hollywood, in an area usually populated by actors, artists, various movie and art studios and the likes.

"Is this your house?" Emmett asked in awe. DeLaigle nodded.

"The atelier and the studios are in the ground level. I live upstairs."

He parked the car in the basement garage and led them up to the designer studio, where five or six people were working at their desks.

"Our designers are already working on the new collection named Californian Summer," he explained. "It is supposed to be a combination of bathing suits and very light city clothing for the hot days, as well as fancy umbrellas against too bright sunlight, a new cologne for men and small, refreshing cosmetic tissues for women that won't smear their make-up."

"That sounds like an ambitious project," Brian said, impressed. "How far are you with it?"

"We have the cosmetic tissues and the cologne ready for the shops; they only need a good ad campaign," DeLaigle answered. "And we also have a few ideas for the clothes and the umbrellas, too. Our people are talented, and we do have our own contacts in the local gay community… we just lack a person who'd have what the Germans call 'das gewisse Etwas' – that special touch that would make the collection unique."

He turned to Emmett. "I've told the people about you. Feel free to walk around and tell your opinion, share you ideas, no matter how crazy they might seem at first. We'll see in the end what could be used and what not. What we need is input, a fresh perspective."

Emmett seemed a bit unsure first, but soon he was chatting amiably with he designers, who seemed surprisingly open for his sometimes hair-raising suggestions, and half an hour later everyone was sketching furiously, giggling as they worked. Emmett flattered from desk to desk like an oversized, much too colourful butterfly, flirting with the designers, swaying his hips to the music that played in the background, and generally having a grand old time. The collection had been extended and now included extravagant straw hats and oversized strand bags in shocking colours.

"He's hilarious," DeLaigle said with detached amusement. "I hope Victor won't get a heart attack when he sees the finished drawings. The man had definitely grown too old-fashioned in the recent years. I think we should leave the creative minds alone. Diego is waiting in his studio for you to talk about the campaign. I have to look after my students in the meantime. They tend to become lazy without stern supervision, and my assistant just isn't heavy-handed enough to keep them in line."

Brian gave him a searching look. "A firm hand, eh?"

"They need it," the artist replied with a shrug. "They do have the talent, but no discipline. I provide guidance and the necessary discipline."

"You are fond of discipline, aren't you?" Brian asked, double meaning clear in his voice. "I remember what you've said yesterday about Diego… that you'd teach him punctuality, if he was yours…"

"And you're dying to know what I meant with that, aren't you?" DeLaigle laughed – it made his cold, angular face positively charming for a moment. "Well, maybe later. We've got work to do first."

Diego Martinez turned out a handsome black guy in his late twenties – and an absolute wizard when it came to computers. Brian wished he had someone of Diego's skills back home. Unfortunately, the guy also seemed immune against the infamous Kinney charm – or was just too afraid of DeLaigle to fool around at work – and so they talked shop for the next three hours, swapping ideas and discussing designs, fonts, music, video cutting and the likes. Apparently, Victor Girard wanted posters as well as a summer hit for the collection – and video clips, and whatever Brian could think of.

In the early afternoon, they had the general idea worked out – a series of clips to be shown on TV, just like a serial, so that it would give some sort of simple story in the end – and started talking about the details. With the basic clip theme created, Brian wanted to see some of the available models and make a series of pictures: single scenes, just to give his employer a general impression.

"Well, one of the male models is in the atelier right now," Diego offered. "We can walk over and take a look. The fact that he's bare-assed naked might prove… inspiring."

"Art can be so beautiful," Brian agreed, grinning. "Nowhere do you get to see so many hot, naked guys as in a gallery."

They both laughed, and Diego showed the way to the atelier. It was a large, circular room, with tall windows directly under the ceiling, to provide the best possible illumination. The art students were standing in a half circle with their canvasses, drawing with charcoal a long-haired, nude young man in the middle. The model looked familiar to Brian.

"Isn't that the waiter from D'Oblique?" he asked in surprise.

Diego nodded. "Alain engages him from time to time. He doesn't like those bemuscled Californian types as models. He says their bodies are out of natural proportions."

Brian gave the young model a critical look. The guy had a nice enough ass and strong legs, which was understandable, considering he had to run around all day, his soft belly ever so slightly rounded – no unpleasant at all, but not Brian's usual type, either. Still a cute sight… and he was nicely endowed, too.

"We can have Emmett as ersatz partner for the photos," Brian decided. "Em is used to TV appearances, and he isn't one of those overmuscled idiots, either."

Diego grinned in agreement. "Alain would love the idea. Oh, watch, he's giving one of his famous instructions!"

DeLaigle walked over to the model and stroked his back and thighs – that got the students' attention at once.

"You have to study the back and leg muscles carefully, before you start the actual drawing," he explained. "Otherwise your picture would lack the necessary balance. Try to imagine how the muscles move under the skin; how they would shift, were the model allowed to shift positions. Watch," he gave one bare asscheek a smack. "See how the flesh trembles from the impact? Even if you have to draw him in a passive position, you need to know how it would move. You are drawing a living being, not a piece of rock. Of course," he added, kneading the same asscheek gently, "intimate knowledge about the working of your model's body can be helpful. But it's not necessary to produce a decent picture."

He gave the asscheek a last, affectionate pat and walked around to take a look at the student's works. Brian nearly collapsed in helpless, soundless laughter. Some art school instructions, indeed.

"If that's helpful, then all guys should draw Justin instead," one of the students called, laughing. "He helped each and everyone of them to… intimate knowledge."

They all laughed and looked at a blond young man in their midst, who was grinning smugly, apparently proud of his conquerings. Brian's head jerked into that direction as well, and his heart nearly stopped from shock as he took a closer look at the young guy. It was indeed Justin, his twice ex-lover, who'd left him repeatedly. First for that lying little bitch, that Heifetz wannabe Ethan, and then for some fucking art school scholarship.

So, this was where the little shit had gone!

As if feeling his eyes on himself, Justin looked up and recognized him. That smug little grin vanished from his face at once, and he became deathly pale, with red spots glowing on his cheeks – from anger, from embarrassment? It was hard to tell.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Brian?" he hissed, a nasty snarl distorting his usually perfect young face. "Have I not told you that I don't want you interfering with my fucking life anymore? When will you stop following me around like a bitch in the heat?"

Before Brian could have answered – well, if he weren't in shock, that is – Alain DeLaigle whirled around, grabbed Justin by the throat and lifted him off his feet effortlessly.

"And I have told you to watch that filthy mouth of yours around me, kid," the artist growled, his eyes burning in an unholy, silver glow. "I don't tolerate this sort of behaviour from anyone, no matter how talented they are. My school isn't the back alley of some hustling bar. If you can't behave, you can go back in the gutter where I've found you. Your sex life, past or present, is not my concern, but you leave your filth outside my house, or you're outta here, never to return, do you understand me?!"

Justin couldn't answer; he was chocking, his lips getting a disturbing shade of purple already. One of the other students – a black-haired man with a hawkish face – hurried over to them and wrestled one of DeLaigle's hand from his neck.

"Maestro, don't kill the kid," he said in a low, even voice. It sounded almost… hypnotic.

DeLaigle dropped Justin to the floor like a wet rag, twisted around and grabbed the thick mane of the other man instead, snatching him close and kissing him on the mouth with such a brutal force that the man's lips were bleeding afterwards. DeLaigle licked the blood from the student's mouth, his eyes now blue-grey and calm again.

"Thank you, Peppone," he murmured; the student nodded and returned to his canvas. The others kept working as if nothing had happened, while Justin slowly got to his feet, coughing and feeling his neck, on which the finger marks were still angry red. They'd become blue and purple in the next days, for sure.

"Is this normal around here?" Brian asked, still somewhat in a shock. "Why do these guys put up with such abuse?"

Diego shrugged. "Alain has his tempers, but his controls usually work much better. That blond kid must have provoked him repeatedly in recent times. I never saw him lose it like this."

"And that other man? The one who tried to restrain him?"

"He's his assistant, a distant cousin of him," Diego lied smoothly; in truth, the man was a Toreador, too, old and strong enough to face DeLaigle's infamous wrath attacks. "Alain keeps him around exactly for the purpose to stop him, if necessary."

"This is sick," Brian shuddered, remembering the blood-licking thing. "I've seen my fair share of kink, but what these two do…"

"Alain is into kinky stuff," Diego grinned; he couldn't tell the mortal that DeLaigle was actually feeding from his clansman and that his temper tantrum had actually been a side effect of the Thirst, resulting from having spent too much time in direct sunlight. In front of everyone, that wasn't an easy trick to pull, but he and Peppone had a great deal of practice in it.

"There's kink and there's kink," Brian shook his head. "This was way beyond kink."

But Diego just laughed. "Don't diss it until you've tried it," he said. "A little pain isn't always an unpleasant thing, you know."

Brian shot him an unbelieving look. "You too?"

"Nah," Diego replied, "Alain absolutely despises me, thank God. But I pay the leather and fetish clubs the one or other visit myself. Just in friendlier company." He leaned over the railig and called down to DeLaigle. "Alain, are you having a lunch break any time soon? I want to introduce Sergio to Brian here. He has an idea."

DeLaigle, calm and cool and distant once again, glanced at his watch. "We can have it right now. Let's go to the photo studio, I want to hear about this idea of yours."

The model put on a robe and followed them to the photo studio, which, as everything else in the studios, was up-to-date and in perfect order. Someone here had to be a real technology freak and anal retentive beyond help, but in this particular case it was an advantage.

DeLaigle took a look at the hastily sketched versions of the video clips and nodded in satisfaction. "Looks good. I'll request an experienced team from the Vignes studios. I understand you want to make a few stands?"

"Yeah, for the designers, mostly. And for Mr. Girard, too, so that he can get the general idea."

"All right. What do you need for it?"

"Just a web camera, a bowl of ice cubes, a bottle of water or two, and a string tanga for the model," Brian replied. "Oh, and if someone could fetch Emmett and give him a tanga, too…"

DeLaigle gave the necessary orders, and ten minutes later, Emmett and Sergio were standing in front of Brian's camera, just a hair's breadth from being completely nude. They made a nice contrast, Emmett being lanky and pale, with short, light brown hair and Sergio a head shorter, olive skinned and just a bit chubby, his long, jet-black curls bound together on the nape of his neck with a silver string.

"Turn around," Brian instructed Sergio. "Stand close to Emmett, but turn your face away from him. We'll need a full back view from you. Good. Em, grab his asscheek – not that one, the one closer to you, but turn your face away, too. Look angry, guys, you can even pout a little. Okay. Perfect."

Flash. Flash. Flash.

"Good. Now, we're trying something else. Shift positions. Sergio, you facing me, and you, Em, with your back to me. Look each other in the eyes. Em, cup his cock with your hand. With your left hand, silly, we want to see the rest of his body. And no smiling yet. That's it, guys. You're doing great."

Flash. Flash. Flash.

"Okay, now turn around again, but you, Sergio, only so that we can have a side view of you. Em, bend your head and kiss him. Sergio, pinch his nipple. No, the other one, so that your arm would lay across his chest. Yes, like that. Aren't the colours nice? Stay that way!"

Flash. Flash. Flash.

"Em, took a piece of ice and rub his nipples with it. I want them steel hard and erect. Okay. Now, Diego, pour a bottle of water over their heads. I want them nice and wet and delicious, so that the customers would start drooling from the mere sight of them. Yeah, just like that. That's enough. Now, Sergio, lean against that bar stool and tilt your head back. Em, go to your knees, hug his legs and press your face against his belly. Not like that, please, turn your head to the side, so hat I can see your face, and shut your eyes. I want a fashion pic, not porn. Yes, that's perfect."

Flash. Flash. Flash.

Brian took several more pictures, and then copied them all to Diego's computer.

"Upload the designs from today here, too," he said, "and search your database for pretty beach photos for the background. We can compare them all, search for the best combination, and hopefully, we'll even get more new ideas."

"It looks promising," DeLaigle decided. "You really have an eye for hot stuff. If you do half this good a job with the girls, we'll sweep the market clean."

"Don't worry," Brian grinned, "I spend an unhealthy amount of my spare time with lesbian friends, and so I know exactly what turns the dykes on."

"I hope so," DeLaigle said. "I've booked Sarina, Alice and Bai-ling for tomorrow; they are very exotic, all three of them, we'll see what they'll inspire you to do. By the way, we've been looking for the perfect face for the new cologne, an item called Summer Rain, for weeks. I think I've just found it. Would you like to be on the bottle, Brian?"

"Me?" Brian asked in surprise. "I'm not a model."

"No, but you're a fresh face, and you're beautiful," DeLaigle pointed out matter-of-factly; this time, his tone was purely business. "You, a wet shirt and a blood red rose… that'd be perfection."

"Well, you could do it yourself," Brian said. "You've got a gorgeous face, too."

"Perhaps, but my face is already on our winter deodorant," the artist replied. "Cold shades are more my style, and I won't sell anything with the same face twice. But if we put you in front of a red sunset, in a wet silk shirt, every woman in this city will buy cologne for his husband or lover, just to drool over the picture."

"And each and every queer will buy a battle for himself, for the same reason," Emmett giggled.

Brian was still hesitating a bit, but after a while he gave in. His vanity was definitely flattered, and even he had to admit that he looked like a wet dream on the finished pictures. Not to mention that he'd be paid extra money for it, which was a bonus.

"You realize, of course, that Victor now would want a video clip for the cologne as well," DeLaigle grinned. "But enough work for today. I have to go back to my lazy students, and you people need to eat and to rest. I'll call Phillipe to extend your contracts, so that you got paid for the modelling job as well. For now, the photos are enough, we can shoot the video clips later in this week."

"Oh, no," Brian groaned. "Being a TV star is Emmett's ambition, not mine."

"Why not?" DeLaigle asked, skimming a thumb over his nipples through the wet silk of his borrowed mauve shirt; it sent tiny jolts directly to Brian's groin. "You are in a perfect shape, and not like all that faceless young flesh that gets exposed all the time. You have a face that can't be easily forgotten… You have lived, you have a history, and it shows."

"Like the bags under my eyes," Brian replied self-mockingly.

"Well, that, too," DeLaigle agreed bluntly. "But that's a problem that can be solved – with less alcohol, less drugs and more sleep. At least right now. After forty, not even that would help, of course."

"Geez, thanks for reminding me," Brian pulled a face. The artist shrugged.

"That's reality. The only way to avoid getting old is to die young. But you've already tried that, haven't you?"

Brian paled. "How in hell can you…"

The artist picked up his right hand and pulled his seashell bracelet higher, revealing the faded knife marks on the inside of his wrist. "I've got good eyes, although these are old… at least a decade or more. Besides, your general behaviour is a dead giveaway."

He lifted Brian's wrist to his mouth and licked the healed marks slowly, sensuously, like a cat lapping its milk. Once again, Brian felt a jolt of arousal going through his entire body with lightning speed. On the other hand, the gesture reminded him of the recent scene: DeLaigle licking blood from the lips of his assistant… cousin… whatever… and shivered, but not in a good way. That was not a pleasant memory.

"What sort of weird oral fixation do you have anyway?" he asked nervously. "And if you as much as try to bite me, I'll kill you. I'm negative, and I intend to stay that way for a long time yet."

The artist kissed his wrist and laughed quietly – it sounded like a low, throaty purr.

"Oh, I don't intend to bite you… yet", he murmured, letting Brian's wrist go. "You smell of Phillipe, and we've made it our policy not to violate each other's territory."

"Really," sarcasm dripped from Brian's voice. "Does the 'territory' have a say in your little game or do you piss on his leg to mark your borders?"

"Brian!" Emmett squealed, absolutely mortified, but DeLaigle laughed.

"You've got spunk, I'll give you that," he said to Brian. "But my time with you will come. I have time. I can wait."

"Does that mean that I've now officially been marked as prey and the hunting season has been opened?" Brian asked in a deceptively mild voice, but his eyes were flashing.

"Yes," the artist replied simply. "Does it make you nervous?"

"Not too much," Brian said languidly. "Being chased can be exciting… as long as I still have the option to say no."

"Bien sûr," DeLaigle purred, his rolling accent growing stronger. "I never touch one who's not willing. You'll come to me… voluntarily… on your own time."

"We'll see," Brian said, but even he felt the weakness of his riposte. To his relief, DeLaigle didn't push him. The silver gleam vanished from the stormy eyes, and he artist put on his no-nonsense business manner again.

"Very well, then," he said, "let's meet tomorrow afternoon again. I'll organize the female models, and you can shot a series of stands with them. You can ask Catherine to get a rental car for you – I assume you'll find the way back here alone."

Recognizing a dismissal when given one, Brian and Emmett shook hands with the artist and gladly accepted Diego's offer to drive them back to the D'Oblique.

They've barely reached the garage when Justin came up running behind them and grabbed Brian's arm with an almost bruising force.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Why must you follow me everywhere? Haven't I been beaten up because of you enough times already? Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?"

Brian gave the now purplish finger marks on the boy's neck an uneasy look. No, he didn't want Justin to be hurt again, not because of him. But he wasn't going to take this shit from him, either.

He freed his arm from the boy's grip with practiced ease.

"Hard as it might be for you to imagine, Sunshine," that once fondly used pet name had an almost nasty sound from his mouth now, "the world doesn't revolve around you. What I'm doing here is my business; it has nothing to do with you."

"When has it ever?" Justin replied, his voice bitter and cold.

"I was on my way to that," Brian said with a shrug. "You almost had me there, before you dumped me. I even took you back for the first time. I won't do so again, so leave it alone."

"Yeah, because I'm not your precious Mikey," Justin hissed, his cornflower-blue eyes darkening with hatred. "Because I won't put up with all your shit and run back to you every time like a lovesick puppy."

"You've done so often enough," Brian said tiredly. The excitement over the new challenge was suddenly gone; all he wanted was to get out of here. "You were the one who's wormed yourself into my life, whether I wanted you there or not. You set up your silly rules and you were the one who broke them first, so get the fuck out of my life. I'm not interested in your little mind games anymore. But if you dare to take Mikey's name in your mouth again, I'll punch your nose into your brains, understood?"

"Go on, do it!" Justin challenged. "Won't be the first time I ended up in the IC for the questionable pleasure of having been in connection with the great Brian Kinney, right?"

Brian didn't find the strength to answer. He shook his head in defeat, turned away and climbed into Diego's car, sliding back into the foul mood he'd been in Pittsburgh before being offered this new job. Suddenly, living in LA seemed to lose its attraction. If it meant to run into Justin all the time, it probably wasn't such a good idea."

Standing in the shadows of his garage, Alain DeLaigle looked after the leaving car for a long time. He'd followed Justin here, fearing just such a nasty little scene, and when he saw Brian's face turn blank again and those beautiful, hazel eyes grow cold and empty, he was very close to killing the blond kid on the spot.

He shook his head in mild dismay. This possessive streak had been his greatest failure all his unlife; something he'd kept from his Warm days. The very thing that had made him follow his beloved Maestro into the Dark. Something he'd often felt since Leonardo died in 1519 in Amboise, crippled and drained by a failed Toreador artist who was jealous of his unique talent beyond help, but never this strong.

He realized with a mild shock that he was already considering Brian Kinney his. This was ridiculous. Granted, there was a sound possibility that Brian would accept Embrace, but that was a long way to go yet. Still, he didn't like those who were his get hurt – well, not by anyone else, that is. He knew, though, that right now he wasn't the best choice to offer Brian comfort. In his current state the young mortal needed a gentler hand than his. His time will come later; he strongly believed that.

Flipping open his cell phone, he punched in Phillipe's number.

"Navital," a tired voice said.

"Alain here. I'm sorry, were you sleeping?" he asked in French. They always used their mother tongue among themselves.

"No, I just got up," the lawyer replied tiredly. "It was a long day yesterday, and I had to work till sunrise afterwards to catch up with things. What's up?"

"I was wondering if you had any specific plans for tonight."

"So far, I haven't. Why?"

"I think Brian will need you," DeLaigle gave his friend a quick summary of the most recent events."

"You could try to make him feel better yourself," the smile in Phillipe's voice was evident.

"Not yet," DeLaigle said. "We've barely reached square one. He knows I'm interested, but I think I freaked him out with that little display with Peppone. But that couldn't be helped. You know how fierce my Beast can be when the Thirst comes over me. So, you'd be better for him for a while yet. Safer."

"All right," Phillipe said, "I'll look after him. It's no hardship, he could be pleasant company. Where's he now?"

"Diego is driving him back to the D'Oblique… both of them."

"I see. Well, Catherine should be there already, she always starts work early. I'll see that she organizes some company for that Emmett character; he's a loose cannon, that one, and needs to be watched. I'll keep an eye on Brian myself."

"Thanks, mon ami."

"What for? I like the man. He's smart, and he's a great laid," Phillipe laughed tiredly and hung up.

DeLaigle rubbed his temples. He felt tired, too, but was too wound up to sleep. Maybe Sarina would be willing to provide some company. They could open a bottle of bloodwine and have a nice, relaxing roll in the sack afterwards.

Decision made, he lightly run up the steps to the large apartment he shared with his foster Childe.

The End - for now