Wester was lovely. Darren couldn't fault him. As the group stalked towards Tenth Street and familiarized themselves with whores and wenches, Wester stayed by Darren's side and reassured him. They found themselves in a dark and seedy brothel house, the sort of place where men wore their finest suits whilst the women wore dated, cheap dresses with corsets so tight around their chests that they pushed their goods out for punters.

Darren had never witnessed a club like this before, particularly one with velvet curtains leading to private booths. He gulped. The last time he had been in a situation like this was back at his old school discos where he and his group of boys stood awkwardly at the far side of the hall, not sure what to do.

"More Port," Larten slurred, Wester hooking him to his hip to keep him steady, "More port then-hick!-a fellatio. You want one, Da-Hick!-Darren?"

Darren could barely understand what he had been asked. He looked at Wester before looking back at Larten who was staring at him like he was an idiot.

"Sure?"

"Good lad!" Larten grinned, tearing himself from Wester's grasp and staggering towards the bar.

"Does he get this drunk often?" Darren asked as Wester led them to a table.

"Yes, he does." Wester said with an obvious sigh, "Sometimes it gets a lot worse. He made a fool of himself last council and since then…I think he's pushing himself, trying to see how much that body of his will take."

"What happened at Council?" Darren asked with obvious curiosity. He couldn't ever imagine his Mentor getting himself into a downward spiral like he was.

"He got huffy," Wester said simply, "He continued to lose fights, made himself out to be something he wasn't, and was defeated. He wasn't a gracious loser either. He didn't keep trying like a true vampire, instead he gave up, blamed everyone but himself, and skulked off with a broken ego."

Darren looked over at Larten now, downing a scotch, checking out the House women, chatting away to a suspicious looking male, before taking back a few rounds to the table. His eyes weren't focusing, the lids heavy as the alcohol started numbing out his system. His orange hair was sweaty, face glowing red. He continued to drink, however, Wester looking a little disapproving as he sipped his own drink carefully.

"You not drinkin' that? I bought that for you, Darren," Larten slurred, a wobbly hand pointing at the pint sized mug before his future assistant, "What sort of name is Darren?"

"A better one than Larten," Darren retorted, taking a deep gulp of port and fighting to hide his shudder, "You not think you've had enough? You can't even sit still,"

"Shut it," Larten growled, scratching his skin irritably before grinning as a hefty built man approached the table and handed over a small tin for holding cigarettes.

Wester moaned softly, shaking his head, "Larten…"

"What's in there?" Darren frowned.

"Opium," Larten nodded, opening the tin to show off to Darren, "It will save till tomorrow, however." He finished his drink, ignoring the looks of disgust Darren gave him. "So, are we going to get fellated or not?" he asked, pulling out a roll of money –most likely ill gotten- and stood.

Darren shrugged, copying him. "Sure, whatever."

He followed Larten, ready to catch him the minute the drunk fell. Surprisingly, he made it all the way towards the velvet curtains without tripping over his own feet. Darren frowned, unsure what was about to happen.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" a whore greeted with a wide, toothless smile that saw Larten's eyes light up.

"You free to give me oral?" he handed over the entire wad of money, "Someone for my friend too, please. We have no problems sharing a stall either,"

"What?" Darren frowned as a woman suddenly appeared from nowhere and took his arm, dragging him into the same booth as Larten, blushing crimson red when he saw the orange haired vamp going to unbuckle his trousers…

-le line-

Wester slept deeply, his snoring keeping Darren awake that morning. Well, he pretended it was Wester's restless sleeping. In reality, Darren's mind was swimming and unsettled.

He and Mr Crepsley in the velvet booth…

It had been a night of firsts for Darren.

First drink.

First smoke.

First sexual experience.

He grumbled and sat up, leaning over and dunking his face in a bucket of frozen water. With a deep breath, he tried to ignore that horrible, nauseating event; Stood beside Larten, trousers at their ankles, women at their feet.

Shuddering, Darren sat up and stretched. He was about to stand when he spied Larten perched on the window ledge, smoking something that was definitely not a Tabaco.

"Do you ever stop destroying your body?" Darren grumbled, going over and taking a leak in a chamber pot. "I mean, seriously, do you really need to do that?"

Larten looked a little spaced out, giving Darren a puzzled look, "W-What?"

"Nothing," Darren spat, throwing the contents of the pot out of the window.

"You want to try a bit of this?" Larten asked, offering his pipe, "Worth the extra price; everything is just, amazing. So pain free and stress-less suddenly."

"What've you got to be stressed about? You go out and get wrecked every night. It's hardly a terrible life," Darren commented, clearly unimpressed by Larten's behaviour.

"It helps calm the voices," Larten admitted, tapping his head and making Darren double take. "The voices of the past I mean. I still hear them mocking me like some wicked ghoul. I can still hear the boys at the workshop chanting my name, wanting my head on a stake for murdering our supervisor."

Darren sat down on a stool beside Larten, looking at his dazed expression and dim eyes, willing him to continue his story. "How old were you?"

"Maybe eight, nine? That bastard killed my cousin and I can still see it all happening in my mind," he took a deep draw of whatever drug he was smoking, "I just snapped and murdered our Master,"

"An eye for an eye," Darren said firmly.

"Not always so." Larten said with that intellect that Darren had always loved about his mentor, "Only the gods can chose who may live or die. I stole a life of a man as far as I am concerned."

"Wester said you were planning to go to Scotland?" Darren nodded, sensing he should change subject.

"Aye. I think Wester wants me to leave the Cubs with him; he is always worrying, so he is," Larten nodded, laying his back up against the window frame, hanging a leg out of the window and swinging it as he watched the noon market, "Where are you heading?"

"Wester said I could tag along with you two; I want an adventure before I really focus on becoming a General," Darren said, glad to see his mentor nodding at the idea.

"I have always wanted to see Canada," Larten commented, "Or Greenland. Somewhere that poses a challenge to us vampires. Somewhere far from everyone,"

"Do you not want to meet new people? Maybe find a mate?" Darren asked, recalling his mentor's tears over Arra Sail's death.

When Larten merely shrugged and took a deeper draw from his pipe, Darren decided he best not push Larten to disclose such personal information. It was probably for the best as well.

Darren dropped down on his bed and let out a sigh.

"I am not one of those daisy men, Darren. In case you thought about trying anything funny," Larten said, exhaling smoke, "You know, one of those homosexuals."

"I'm not one either!" Darren laughed loud, fixing Larten with a smile. "Did I ever give you that impression?"

"Slightly. You did not seem as interested in the whore at all last night," Larten nodded.

"I couldn't get in to it whilst you were moaning as loudly as you were. Now, good day to you, Sir!" Darren declared before rolling over and going back to sleep.