TAMING THE VAGABOND 1
by Soledad
A "Pathways in the Dark" story
Part 12a of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Forging the Bond".
For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.
Rating: Adults only, for this part.
Author's notes: Vagabond comes from the Latin word vagabundus. In its original meaning it's a restless person who wanders from one place to another, trying his luck in different places.
Ash Rivers is a game canon character. In canon, he was Embraced in 2003, at the age of twenty-eight. I ignored the exact time of his Embrace – well, it's perhaps more accurate to say that I kept it vague – so that I could include him into this story.
Summary: The casting for the Rage movie starts. Brian makes the acquaintance of the ill-fated undead movie star, Ash Rivers, and comes to the perhaps most profound decision in his existence.
After the fighting had ended, life returned to the usual hectic pace for Brian. They worked feverishly on the winter collection with Victor Girard's designers, Emmett and Diego, delivering the ads and posters and video clips well before schedule, so that Brian could focus on the campaign for the upcoming Rage movie.
All parties involved would prefer Michael's direct participation in the casting process. But as it often happened whenever Michael would need to work on his film-writing career in earnest, Ben had gotten a turn to the worse and had to go to the hospital. Which meant that Michael had to stay with him. Brian suspected in his darker moments that the Nutty Professor was producing psychosomatic symptoms, in order to chain Michael to his bedside – and keep him away from Brian. Based on the resignation in Michael's voice when he called to cancel his appointment with the studio bosses, bran was not alone with this suspicion.
Since the car was rolling already, Michael signed a contract that gave Brian free hand with casting choices, commenting that Brian was the person best suited to know whom – or what – Michael would like. On the same occasion, Brian managed to talk Michael (per phone) into transferring his legal issues to Navital & Waters. As much as they both liked Lindz, not even Michael was naïve enough to believe that Melanie wouldn't try to manipulate things the way it would match her interests the best. Besides, she was very pregnant already and not really interested in anything else at the moment.
Fortunately, Michael not only had delivered his script – basically the dialogues of the movie, without all the technical details – before schedule; he'd also created character sheets that described the detailed personal background and the physical appearance of each character, including a sketched psychological profile. That made it easier for Edward Blount, who'd been chosen as the executive producer of the movie, and Brett Keller to invite certain types of actors for the interviews, and Brian was usually called in to help pick the best candidate from the remaining handful in the last round.
The three starring roles – namely Rage, Zephyr and JT – had already been cast. Brian particularly liked the slim, beautiful Latino actor chosen to play Zephyr. The guy had large dark eyes almost as beautiful as Michael's own, collar length, wavy dark hair and an exotic Spanish accent. The blond twink chosen for JT's part was an excellent choice, too: very pretty, falsely innocent and vaguely annoying. The Rage actor was handsome enough to flatter Brian's ego; it was strange to choose someone who would practically play him, though.
For Shadow, they'd found a sculpted black actor who'd have put Tyr Anasazi to shame, complete with dreadlocks and goatee. Suzie Wong practically nailed the part of Dragonfly, the blind seer and katana fighter – which was funny, considering that she was Chinese, not Japanese. Bai-Ling also got her chance as Dragonfly's caretaker… best friend… scholarly counterpart… whatever. She practically had nothing else to do as to appear in very eccentric and extremely revealing clothes and listen to Dragonfly's philosophical musings, as her character was mute, and the two were supposed to communicate through a complicated series of touches on the hands and forearms. Their relationship wasn't closer defined, as Brett wanted to focus on the male love triangle in the first movie. He kept the possibility of bringing the strange and exotic couple back in the sequel, though.
The minor characters were also easily cast, as they were either Shadow's thugs or weird creatures populating the underbelly of Gayopolis. In the first case Brett simply called in a few of the local Brujah who occasionally worked as stuntmen (as long as no fires were involved, understandably enough). For the weird folks they contacted Lady Heather's Goth barkeeper girl who spread the word among her friends. That about took care of the problem.
That left only one major character to cast: Shadow's human slave, from which he regularly drained life energy to continue his existence. This was a completely clueless invention from Michael's side, one that the vampires found very amusing. After all, it mirrored their own unlife in a certain way. The Thrall was an important character and a complex one: a victim for whom one would feel sorry, if only he had any redeeming qualities. Which the Thrall hand not. It was conceived as a vile, sadistic character; in certain things worse than Shadow himself, and immensely beautiful, but also weak and whiny and corrupted to the bone. Finding an actor who could bring out all those aspects wasn't an easy thing.
"We should go to the Asp Hole tonight," Edward Blount suggested to Brett. "It's always full of actors and other artists. We could just sit there for a while and watch."
"Do you think Ash would be interested?" Brett asked. Blount shrugged.
"If we can play his ego right, he'd jump at the chance. A role in a big blockbuster movie could move him back to the spotlights and make him happy. And if Ash is happy, Isaac is happy. And if Isaac is happy, he might be interested in financing the sequel, which would mean a really big budget."
"True," Brett admitted, "but I'm not so sure about Ash. With his depressions and suicidal stupidity lately… I don't know if we can count on him."
"Brett, he's an actor," Edward Blount argued. "He used to be a good actor before he destroyed himself with excesses."
"Yeah, before that," Brett growled. "Now he's just vegetable. It would have been better, for both of them, had Isaac left him die."
"He's still a big name," Blount pointed out, "and Absolute Zero still sells like crazy. He's a superstar; he just misses being in the spotlight."
"And a few million brain cells," Brett commented. Blount shook his head.
"That's where you're wrong. The talent is still there. Give him the chance, and he'll rise above his broken hull again."
The mentioning of Absolute Zero finally rang a bell in Brian's head. That had been the last movie he and Mikey had gotten to watch together before he left the Pitts.
"Wait a minute," he said. "Are you talking about Ash Rivers? The guy declared the 'Sexiest Man Alive" by the movie press?"
"Well... not exactly alive," Brett replied dryly. "Not anymore."
"Ugh," Brian pulled a face. "An undead movie star. Now I've seen all."
"No, you haven't," Edward Blount replied. "You haven't even begun to realize what kind of creatures swarm in the night," he glanced at Brett. "Perhaps we should take him with us to the Asp Hole tonight. Him and Emmett, too – so that they learn."
"Good idea," Brett agree4d. "But you better check with Alain first. I don't want him to think we're trespassing his territory."
"Hey!" Brian protested indignantly. "I don't belong to Alain. It's not like he's pissed on my foot to mark me or whatnot!"
The two vampires exchanged amused looks. The mortal was still so clueless, despite everything he'd seen and experienced already… they find this level of naïveté highly entertaining.
"Brian," Brett explained patiently, "ever since Alain was suicidal enough to pick a fight with Yitzhak over you, every kindred in this city knows that he has… intentions towards you. In a sense, yes, he has marked you as his. According to Kindred customs, no other vampire would approach you – unless, of course, they really want to fight Alain for that privilege. And few would be stupid enough to do so – Alain is old and strong and ruthless, even for one of us."
"Does it mean my fate is sealed, whatever I might say to the whole thing?" Brian asked sarcastically. Brett shook his head.
"Nobody would dare to force the Embrace upon you, now that the Sabbat is out of the picture. The First Commandment of Kindred law forbids that, and Angelus takes this Commandment very seriously."
"Call Alain," Edward Blount said, "and I'll have the limousine waiting for us. With Ash, we need to make an impression."
The Asp Hole turned out very different from Brian's expectations. Sure, it was a night club, but a lot less seedy than Brian would have thought, and without the expected Goth scenario. It was a place for the upper class of Tinsel Town, full of the usual movie industry glory spread generously all across the rooms. It had a bar, a dance floor, a small stage for solo artists or small groups to perform, and several private soirees, the exact purpose of whose better remained unknown.
The general style was that of a cabaret form the mid-twentieth century, just with a little more glitter. The waitresses were wearing multiple layers of knee-length gauze skirts in moss green or electric blue, with shoulder-free, skin-tight tops in a darker hue of the same colour and were running around in such high-heeled pumps that it almost hurt to watch. They had identical, bee-hive hairdos, and long, intricate earrings jingling just about an inch above their shoulders.
"Stylish," Brian commented, thinking of the spring collection already," but a little bit suicidal."
"That's Ash for you," Brett replied. "Now, let's move inside. I've reserved a table from where we can watch the clientele discretely."
Said clientele was very mixed, consisting – according to Brett and Edward Blount who seemed to know just about everyone, at least from sight – of aspiring young actors, aspiring young artists, a few temporary rock stars surrounded by their groupies; even a couple of sports celebrities could be found among them. Not counting the usual party girls and playboys who loved to be seen with stars, even with minor ones.
"Another room full of bloodsuckers," Brian grumbled under his breath, but still not low enough for the acute vampire hearing.
"Actually, most of the clientele is mortal," Brett said. "Ash doesn't socialize much with his own kind. He hates what he's become and keeps trying to remain in the spotlight – even if it's only reflected in these nights."
"Why did he accept the Embrace, then?" Brian asked with a shrug.
"He wasn't exactly lucid in the all-deciding moment," Edward Blount replied dryly. "One seldom is when dying from heroin overdose.
"In that case he couldn't have given his consent, either," Brian pointed out logically. Edward Blount shrugged.
"Neither could he protest," he said cynically. "Isaac thought it would be a criminal waste to let him die so young." He shrugged again. "I'm not sure I agree. Ash couldn't cope with success and fame at all. Putting him out of his misery would have been better than dealing with a petulant Childe who can't value the gift he's been given. But Isaac was so besotted with the little brat he didn't think clearly."
"Can you blame him?" Emmett stared at the owner of the club with his mouth literally open. "Who could let that die?"
Brian usually found Emmett's constant drooling over pretty guys ridiculous, not to mention annoying, but this time he had to agree. The young man approaching them in skin-tight leather pants and an iridescent burgundy shirt through which one could see like through clear water, looked like Stuart Townsend's Lestat in "The Queen of the Damned" – just a lot better. Brian suspected that the similarity was intended, in fact, actively sought for, and the result was beyond gorgeous.
The face of the young man – the vampire, Brian reminded himself – was thinner than it had been during the Absolute Zero movie, bringing the killer cheekbones to full effect, and the dark rings under his large, hazel eyes made them look even larger. His collar-length, auburn locks were a little mussed, creating a delicate frame around his face, and the full mouth seemed almost shockingly red, opposed to his pale skin.
"Well, well," he said a low, sing-song voice that had a nasty overtone, despite of its mellow quality, "it that isn't the star director himself, stooping to the fallen star… What gives me the questionable honour?"
Brett shook his head in apparent distaste. "Ash, you're annoying."
"Am I?" the ex-superstar leaned against a nearby column of false marble, arching his body slightly, an effect that didn't get lost on any of the four customers. "And how is that my fault? I don't remember asking to be drafted in the Army of the Dead."
"It's a miracle that you still can remember anything, considering the number of brain cells you've killed off with alcohol and drug excesses," Brett replied sharply, and Brian winced because the angry remark of the Brujah his uncomfortable close to home. Did he really want to end up like Ash Rivers? Like a pretty but empty husk, burned out and cast away? He'd been there – well, almost there – on his thirtieth birthday… did he want to get there again?
Granted, Alain had said he wouldn't Embrace Brian, should he come to such a sorry state, but the mortal version of it wasn't any better, Worse, in fact, as it had the additional disadvantage of getting old and wrinkled and impotent. He wondered if he'd hate unlife as much as Ash seemed to hate it. The others – even Emmett and Owen who hadn't originally chosen to become vampires – seemed to cope well enough.
"Stop being a spoiled brat, Ash," Edward Blount intervened, interrupting the staring match between director and ex-superstar. "We're not here to listen to your whining. It's disgusting, and you can only blame yourself. Now, the question is: do you want to spend the rest of your unlife – and that's a damn long time, let me tell you! – wallowing in self-pity, or are you willing to put what little of your talent and charisma is still there to good use?"
The affected boredom fell from the actor's face like a discarded mask, replaced by desperate hunger.
"You've… you've a role for me?" he asked in the manner of a drowning man grasping for a straw.
Brian could see through the translucent shirt his large, flat nipples hardening to little peaks in excitement.
"Perhaps," Edward Blount replied. "We'll have to check with Isaac, of course, as you're not independent. But if he gives his okay and you want the part, we can negotiate."
That seemed to excite Ash even more; it seemed that the mere possibility of returning to fame turned him on, big time, if the sudden tightness of his leather pants was any indication.
"A script… do you have a script for me?" he asked almost frantically.
"Not a finished one, but close enough," Brett took a copy of Michael's draft from his briefcase and handed him. "We'd like to try you for the part of the Thrall. It's not a starring role, but I think between you and Dawn Cavanaugh you can make something truly memorable of it."
Ash was only half-listening, devouring the lines of dialogue with his eyes greedily.
"Hey, this is actually witty and funny, for such a ridiculous genre," he said absent-mindedly, after a few pages. "Who's this Novotny guy who wrote it? I've never heard of him before. Some first-time freelancer?"
"Something like that," Edward Blount answered. "The creator of the original comic the movie is based on."
"There was a comic?" Ash looked up in surprise. "Never mind, I'm not interested in comics anyway. They make good basis for action movies, though. Who're these guys, by the way?" he asked, realizing Emmett and Brian's presence for the first time.
"Emmett Honeycutt helps with the costume designs," Edward Blount said smoothly; that part hadn't been negotiated yet, but Ash seemed to like Emmett's flamboyant clothing style, and besides, as the executive producer, he could always hire his own foster Childe for the job. "And Mr. Kinney is our new PR director."
"Sharp," Ash commented with an expert glance that took in Brian's assets in seconds. But in the next moment, he was back on the script. "Hmmm, so I'm supposed to be kept in his Shadow guy's lair… and he feeds off my life energy? Cool… what, he gets to fuck me, too?"
"He's evil," Brett pointed out, giving Edward Blount an amused glance. "You're his slave, and he does nasty things to you. Like binding you up and torturing you, and yes, even fucking you, although none of this would be really shown on the big screen. Do you have a problem with that?"
"Nah, been there, done all that already," Ash studied the script. "Oh, cool, so I hate queers and organize the bashing of this JT character? And manipulate Shadow to kidnap Zephyr? Who the hell is Zephyr anyway?"
"The best friend of Rage," Brian commented quietly. "The only one he would kill… or die for."
There was something in his tone that caught the actor's fleeting attention.
"Autobiographic much?" Ash asked absent-mindedly. "Those are the best scripts, usually. Have drama and character interaction and all that. More than just spectacular effects –though we'd need those, too, for a superhero movie like that. The dumb majority of moviegoers need their candy."
"Let that be my concern," Brett said. "So, does this mean you're interested?"
Ash stared at him in surprise. "Are you kidding? Of course I'm interested – this is a fucking brilliant part. It's a good thing that artificial light can't harm us; as long as I don't have to make outdoor shots, yeah, I can do this."
"Do what?" a voice with a slight southern accent asked, and a short, slightly balding man in an Armani suit appeared next to their table, seemingly out of thin air. He looked like a younger, much thinner version of the known actor Danny De Vito and was probably in his early forties. Despite his simple, elegant looks, he practically reeked of money and power, and Brian, who'd learned long ago how to find the biggest fish in every pond, realized at once that this man was the most powerful and influential person he'd met in L:A. so far.
"Isaac," Edward Blount nodded with a certain degree of respect. "How good of you to join us. I assume you've heard about the upcoming Rage movie?"
The film mogul nodded. "Gary may have lost his prettiness, but as a Nosferatu, he's the best-informed person in the city. His network is invaluable for us. So, I understand that you want Ash for a part in this movie?"
"For a character part," Brett replied. "He won't have to go out into direct sunlight, or anywhere near the pyrotechnics."
"I see," the film mogul extended a hand. "Show me the script, Childe."
Ash hurriedly handed him the document, and in the next twenty minutes Isaac Abrams – a pioneer to Hollywood since 1920, a Toreador vampire since 1926 and a devout Anarch for almost as long – studied it thoroughly. With his vast experience, he didn't need the little technical details added to imagine what the movie could become.
"It's a good story," he finally judged, "and the dialogues are excellent. Very well, you can have Ash for it if you want. But should you cut his scenes afterwards, I'll see that you never make a film in Hollywood again." With that, he handed back the script to his errant Childe and left, without any further comment.
"Can he do that?" Brian asked. "Ruin you, I mean?"
"Oh, yeah!" Brett laughed quietly. "Nobody can make a movie in Hollywood without Isaac's consent. He practically owns the American Film Association."
"But why do you need his blessing to offer Ash the part?" Brian asked.
"Ash is still a fledgling, unable to survive in the Dark alone," Edward Blount explained. "His behaviour was borderline suicidal after his Becoming, so Isaac had to Blood Bond him. Even so, he was foolish enough to fall into the hands of vampire hunters – the cross-shaped burns on his face took weeks – and lots of alchemy – to heal without permanent scarring."
Brian shot a slightly agitated look at the actor who was now completely submerged in the script, his face unblemished once again.
"He won't hear us," Brett said. "You see, he didn't get away unharmed from his heroin overdosing. There was some permanent damage. He hasn't been able to focus on more than one thing ever since. That's why Isaac had to bond him; so that he'd always know where Ash is and what he's doing."
"But what when he become independent?" Brian asked, remembering what Owen had explained him about the development of an undead fledgling.
Brett shook his head. "He won't. Ash will always remain a thrall – more than a lover, less than a slave – to Isaac. His whole existence depends on Isaac."
"Does he know that?"
"Of course; that's why he hates Isaac so much."
"I can't say that I blame him," Brian said grimly. "I'd also rather be dead than a slave."
"He's not a slave," Edward Blount corrected. "Slaves, at the very least, have their own thoughts to themselves. Bonded thralls don't even have that luxury. Of course," he added cynically, "in Ash's case there wasn't much to begin with."
"And why should this… ownership mean a status higher than that of a lover?" Emmett asked doubtfully, eyeing Edward Blount in deep suspicion. His foster Sire smiled.
"Because the regnant's – the master's – thoughts aren't his own either. They share on a level so deep no outsider could even begin to understand. But don't wet yourself, Childe; I have no intention to do that to you. I'm afraid the chaos in your mind would drive me insane within days."
Emmett, not one to be easily insulted, just grinned and shrugged his bare shoulders; he was wearing a shoulder-free, glittering top today that matched the slightly crazy trend of the Asp Hole perfectly.
"I am what I am," he declared. "You've adopted the belle of the ball, not some mousy wallflower, you know."
Edward Blount shook his head tolerantly. No matter how outrageous Emmett could be, one couldn't stay mad at him too long. Behind all that Southern belle mannerism, the fledgling was surprisingly brave and resilient.
"Well," he said, "it seems we've wrapped the casting process. Ash will be at his role single-mindedly, and I think he'll ad something to the movie that wouldn't be there without him. Now all we'll need is a seasoned screenwriter who can add all the technical details to Mr. Novotny's script, and we'll be on the roll."
"I already have my eyes on someone with great experience and not too much ego," Brett replied. "He won't touch plot or dialogue, and he's used to work with Dawn. I'm getting optimistic about the whole project."
"Good," Edward Blount yawned. "We should go. I have to read another couple of scripts before going to bed, and the night isn't getting any younger."
"I'll go Hunting," Brett said. "Tomorrow, I'll have an outdoor shooting, and it won't b a good idea to spontaneously combust in the front of my entire crew."
Emmett giggled at that, and even his foster Sire suppressed a grin. For his part, Brian didn't really understood what could be so funny in the prospect of a violent and extremely painful Final Death, but perhaps it was a vampire thing. And who was he to judge small talk of the bloodsucker kind?
"Are you coming, Bri?" Emmett asked, already on his feet.
"I don't know," Brian replied, eyeing Ash Rivers with vague interest. "Do you think his…owner would mind if I nailed the guy's ass?"
"Perhaps not," Edward Blunt said with a shrug, "but he would certainly listen, through their mental link; it's said he always does. For 'safety reasons', whatever that might be. Personally, I think he's just jealous, and since Ash doesn't offer his ass voluntarily, this is the only way Isaac can share his passion."
Emmett pulled a face. "Ewww… that's so sick!"
"In a way, Isaac is as much Ash' slave as the other way round," his foster Sire said thoughtfully. "I couldn't live like that, on either end of the bargain. But we're different people, and if Isaac finds the meagre results worth the effort to keep Ash, it's his decision."
Brett touched Brian's elbow lightly.
"You should leave with us," he said seriously. "Trust me, this particular net of hornets isn't the place where you want to put your hand… or whatever body part of yours."
"I take my own risks," Brian said, vaguely pissed that they would patronize him. Brett rolled his eyes.
"How independent of you. But pissing off Isaac isn't your personal risk. You would harm our existence, and that's something we don't take kindly. If you want a fuck, I can give you one that you'll walk funny for a week. But don't cross us where our business is concerned – we're a lot less forgiving towards your antics as Alain would be."
The threat was unmistakable, and for the first time in his life, Brian Kinney realized that it was a better idea to back off. So he dropped his original intent to jump Ash Rivers' bones and went home like a sensible man, dissatisfied but alive.
Back home, he called Michael in Pittsburgh and informed him that the Rage movie was practically a go. Michael was properly impressed by the fact that they'd managed to get Ash Rivers for the part of The Thrall. Absolute Zero had been the last movie he and Brian saw together, and he'd been blown away by Ash's performance in it.
"I can't say that I had him before my mind's eye while creating The Thrall," he admitted honestly, "but I was definitely thinking of a similar character. How did you manage to get him for the part? He hasn't been seen in anything lately."
"It seems stardom didn't become him," Brian explained. "He was on a downwards spiral, they say: drugs, booze, other excesses. The really big suits of Hollywood drop a new star just as quickly as they create him, should he become a liability. So, Ash practically jumped at the chance to play in something big again."
There was a short pause, then Michael asked, a little uncertainly. "You really think this is gonna be something big, Bri?"
Brian rolled his eyes – in vain, of course, as Michael couldn't see him.
"Mikey," he said with forced patience," it is a good story. If it wasn't, the Vignes Studios wouldn't have bought it. With Dawn Cavanaugh behind the camera and Brett Keller in the director's chair you can bet that cute ass of yours that it will be something big. And the guy playing Zephyr, Daimon Olivarez, is so hot that every queer's gonna come into their pants the moment he appears on the big screen. So don't fret, it will be great."
Michael laughed. "I like it when you talk dirty to me," he said.
He sounded so carefree that Brian risked asking about Ben's welfare. Unsurprisingly enough, now that Michael had no chance to fly to LA and enjoy his success, or be involved in the Rage movie in any way, the Nutty Professor seemed to be on the mend. At least he was well enough to be released from the hospital in a day or two. Michael didn't sound particularly upset about the whole thing – in fact, there was tolerant forgiveness in his voice, surprisingly similar to that of a loving parent for its errant child, for all that Ben was the older the better educated and the more worldly one of the two of them.
Well, not so much of a surprise for Brian, who knew his Mikey's generous nature better than anyone else. He knew that when Mikey gave his heart, in love or in friendship, that was unconditional, and it would take more than some petty selfishness from Ben's side to make Mikey turn away from him. A lot more. And even though it angered Brian that Michael would allow others (including Brian himself) to use him that way, it was part of the reason he had always loved Michael so much. It was what made Michael so unique.
And in that rare moment of absolute clarity Brian suddenly understood that he'd never be able to let Michael go. Ever. The Dynamic Duo, the "Michael and Brian Show", as Melanie liked to call them, with more than a little malevolence, a pinch of jealousy and a great deal of bitterness, knowing she would never experience the same level of devotion – it had to prevail. There was no other choice, certainly not for Brian, and he could be reasonably sure that Michael felt the same way.
This closeness had survived Doctor Dave, despite Debbie's well-meant but cruel interference. It had survived Justin – again, despite Debbie's considerable efforts to break them up on Justin's behalf – which in itself was a strange thing for a mother to do, although considering his own mother Brian surely wasn't the right person to judge maternal intentions. It had survived Brian's own shitty behaviour towards Michael. It would survive the Nutty Professor as well.
As much as Brian disliked facing uncomfortable truths – especially if they concerned his own person – he knew that Alain had been right. He did count on the time when Ben wouldn't be standing between him and Michael anymore, though he didn't exactly want it to happen, knowing how devastated Michael would be. But once it happened, Brian would be there for Michael to catch him – and to never let him go again.
That was something he knew with absolute certainty now. As if all the years of drifting and seeking a purpose, the years during which Michael had been the singular stable factor in his life, had been nothing but a slow process to bring him to this particular understanding; to his sudden revelation that he must not allow Michael to seek elsewhere again, once Ben was out of the equation.
Oh, he knew he would have to wait. Michael was as loyal a husband as he was a friend; he would never leave Ben as long as Ben needed him, and Ben seemed to grow more and more dependant on Michael's faithful presence. But, as Alain had put it with the brutal honesty of a being half a millennium old and way beyond white lies, it wouldn't last forever. Perhaps not even too long. So all Brian had to do was to wait.
There was another aspect, however, that Alain had mentioned earlier: time didn't stand still while he waited. Did he truly want to offer Michael a burned-out husk, no better than an older version of Ash Rivers, when Michael was free again? After having refused him the years of his prime? In a year or two, would he still be a worthy offering?
As Kindred, you have the time to wait, Alain's casual remark echoed in his mind like a siren's song.
He stood and walked into the bathroom, eyeing himself critically in the large mirror. He still looked well enough; in fact better than for a ling time. The enforced inactivity in the Hyperion – including the absence of drugs – had done a great deal of good for him, despite the haunting dreams. The rings had vanished from under his eyes; he appeared sleek and smooth and younger than his actual years.
He would remain like this for eternity if he accepted Alain's offer to take him over to the creatures of the Dark. Just as Alain himself had been permanently twenty-nine for the last five hundred years. Yep, the thought did have its attraction, despite the liquid diet and the impossibility of sunbathing.
There were other disadvantages, of course. Becoming a vampire would mean that he'd also become a pawn in the eternal struggle between Alain's side and the freaky monsters like Yitzhak. But Brian had leaned the hard way that remaining mortal wouldn't necessarily mean that he'd be spared. The choice was to remain cattle or to become one of the wolves. And Brian Kinney was not a man to bear cattle status well.
Neither did he want the same status for his Mikey. And he most certainly didn't wish for Michael to grow old and feeble in the Pitts, and then die there, before he'd have truly lived at all. Michael did have a gift in him that could grow to full bloom if not the hampering presence of Debbie, Ben, Ted, the munchers – and all the mediocre queers of Liberty Avenue. A spark, so well-hidden under the layers of his modesty and his mundane tasks that nobody seemed to recognize it, not even after the first, unexpected success of Rage. Especially not that stupid cow of a mother of his who was too busy raving about her precious Sunshine to realize what an incredible treasure she had in her own son.
Brett Keller had been the first person to recognize the true driving force behind Rage. And Brett Keller was a vampire, with who knows how many years of talent-seeking experience under his belt. Vera Vignes, Edward Blount and all the other bloodsuckers from the movie industry, also recognized Michael's talent. If Michael became one of them, he'd have uncounted years to make up for all the time wasted in the Big Q, wasted with Doctor Dave, wasted with Ben.
It was a certain irony that he would have to die first. But he would follow Brian into the Dark trustingly, just like he'd followed him to practically everywhere all their life. And, bar unexpected disasters, they would have eternity to make up for the time they had been too stupid to put to better use in their youth.
Mildly surprised by the decision that had come to him almost unexpectedly, Brian left his rooms to speak to Alain. There were certain points in this business that still needed clarification.
TBC