Opening remarks: This started as a re-write of one of the original chapters but it really spiralled into its own thing. I did leave one original scene in, but the tone is pretty different. I'm kind exploring some sensitive themes here. It might go a little deep for what's meant to be a lighthearted prequel series, but the more I thought about it the more it intrigued me. So I wrote this chapter with as much tact and love as I possibly could while keeping the focus on the less-than-lovely canonical truths about the vampire clan. I really hope I did an okay job. Also I really needed to get this finished so I can focus on Bloodline again :):):) it's coming I promise.
Chapter 13: Read Label, Use Accordingly
Vampires are funny. Kurda's been openly gay for just about his entire life, and he's always been surprised by how little the clan seems to care. That might be the one and only area where vampires have progressed further than humans. Radical politics, on the other hand… if Kurda had a nickel for every time he's been belittled, slandered, degraded, and outright bullied for that, he could buy his own mountain somewhere else.
One thing the vampire clan and the human race are on the same page about? The convenience of stereotypes. Generalizations. Labels. And the expectations that come with them.
Meet the test subjects:
Vampire A enjoys dangerous full-contact sports, and getting hammered with as many friends as can be crammed into one room. Vampire A shaves his face with a dagger blade and thinks owning 47 identical black t-shirts is a fashion statement. Vampire A can and will rock your jaw if you give them reason to. Career-wise, Vampire A holds a high-profile position (which would surely come with an obscene salary if vampires used currency) and despite being younger than others in the same field, Vampire A's competence has never been questioned.
Vampire B is partial to activities that don't provide opportunities to cause bodily harm to others. Visual arts, reading, etc. Vampire B is refined and dresses sharply. While not opposed to revelry, their idea of a fun night is a bit of wine with a few good friends. Where conflict resolution is concerned, Vampire B invented taking the high road in the face of sheer ignorance. Career-wise, Vampire B is successful for their age. Despite this, Vampire B is asked at least once a month, "Why do you even work here? Are you sure you know what you're doing? Shouldn't you be drawing pictures or something?"
We didn't name names. We didn't even specify gender. Which profile screams stereotypically masculine? How about stereotypically feminine? (Key word: stereotypically. Don't overthink it.)
For the purposes of the study we're conducting, we have to factor in the vampire clan's fixation on traditional masculinity. If you were a cave-dwelling barbarian casually observing Vampires A and B going about the business of raising a small child, you'd consider these profiles, draw your conclusion in two seconds or less, and not give it a shred of thought beyond that. Because when you have limited brain cells, applying traditional labels helps you make sense of the world - even if the labels don't really fit.
It doesn't necessarily bother Kurda that the peanut gallery has taken it upon themselves to designate him the mother of their unconventional family dynamic. After all, he doesn't think there's anything wrong with being considered more feminine than his co-parenting counterpart. Kurda's mother was the strongest person he ever knew. That's why he holds his head high and wears the occasional Gracie's mom comment as a badge of honour. And for the most part, they mean well. What gets under Kurda's skin is when they say it like it's something he should be embarrassed about. And it doesn't happen often. But it happens.
Kurda casually broached this topic with Mika the first time it happened, a few months back. Maybe it was because Mika was elbow-deep in a barrel of ale at the time, but he failed to comprehend what the issue even was. Because as smart as Mika was, he simply couldn't relate to anything of Kurda's life experiences. He sort of tried, though.
"There's no mom in this situation. You're a dad. I'm also a dad. You're thinking too hard about it." Said Mika emphatically, like he was trying to explain simple math, when Kurda was talking about social sciences. "Unless you want her to call you mom? I mean, you could try. But I think that'd just confuse her. Up to you, though." Mika added as an earnest afterthought.
Mika missed the point entirely, but Kurda didn't push it. Mika respected Kurda and adored Gracie, and that was enough for Kurda to coexist with him peacefully. And interestingly enough, Mika Ver Leth, who radiated stereotypical manliness, had never once made a tasteless joke for which Kurda's sexuality or masculinity was the punchline. Sure he still teased Kurda as often as he breathed, but not about that.
Case Study: The Party
Several days after Kurda's return from his four-month diplomacy mission, Paris had the staff organize a party to celebrate his success. Kurda hadn't exactly been expecting it, much less looking forward to it.
"I don't know why you're so surprised. You know we'll jump on any excuse to have a feast and get drunk." Mika commented disinterestedly as he folded his way through a crate of freshly washed Gracie clothes. Mika may have blended in with his fellow barbarians for the most part, but one of his few redeeming qualities was that he maintained a tidy living space.
"Considering half the clan hates me, I think my astonishment is warranted." Kurda retorted from the next room as he dusted off the cobwebs that had formed around his coffin while he was away.
"And you think I'm melodramatic?" Mika replied. "I can only think of like four vampires who actively hate you. The majority just thinks you're strange. Harmless, but strange."
"Thank you, Mika. Really. I feel so much better now."
"Daddy party?" Gracie chimed in. Kurda's heart swelled as he felt a little pair of arms wrap themselves around his leg.
"Yes, love." Kurda sighed, smiling as he scooped her up and hugged her. "Daddy party."
"That's the spirit." Said Mika decisively.
Kurda wanted to want to go to the party, but he'd learned long ago it never lives up to the anticipation. Just because the party was for him didn't mean he was going to feel like any less of an outsider.
When Mika walks into a room holding Gracie in one arm and a diaper bag in the other, the overall public reception goes something like: Wow, there goes Sire Ver Leth with the poor, defenceless human orphan he took in after her family was slaughtered by a mad vampaneze. He was far too honourable to leave her behind, so now he's raising her as his own while still bearing the responsibilities of a Prince. Iconic. A true hero. And he makes that diaper bag look so badass.
When Kurda walks into the same room holding the same baby and the same diaper bag, it's more like Wow, there goes the pacifist weirdo with his pretty blond hair and matching baby. He already did nothing but draw pictures and complain about tradition, and now he spends half his time changing diapers while his fellow Generals do real work? Please. If he wanted to settle down and live a soft life, he should've thought of that before joining the clan.
Why has Mika made it a full year into parenthood without once having his credibility scrutinized, but when Kurda shows up to a party holding a baby, it's nothing short of hilarious? How is that fair?
Let's dig into that.
Five minutes into this party, the party held in honour of Kurda's own mission Kurda found himself stuck at a corner table with an annoying senior General who was more interested in making passive-aggressive remarks than hearing about Kurda's groundbreaking negotiations.
"It was nice of Sire Ver Leth to babysit that whole time, just so you could have your moment of glory. He must have a soft spot for you." Said Thaddeus Hill, grinning as he slurped ale across from Kurda.
"He doesn't. And it's not babysitting when she's just as much his kid as mine. That's just called parenting. This is, and has always been a joint venture." Kurda countered evenly. His smile didn't falter, but it became forced. "Anyway, back to my discussions with the vampaneze diplomats on the possibility of amending their feeding rituals-"
"Must've been exciting to finally get back to work. Traded pacifiers for pacifism for a few months, aye?" Thaddeus cut him off. Then he winked, threw his head back and guffawed as though he'd revolutionized comedy.
Kurda didn't laugh. Partially on principle, and partially because Mika had already invented the pacifism/pacifier joke like six months ago and Kurda had heard it at least a thousand times. But just for the record, Kurda laughed when Mika said it. Because Mika didn't say it like that.
"I enjoyed the change of pace. Diplomacy endeavours have always been very important to me." Said Kurda evenly. "But to say I got back to work implies there was a time I stopped working. And that isn't the case."
"Oh, you know what I mean!" Thaddeus chortled, flavouring it with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I know Seba has you drafting up all kinds of maps and blueprints to help with his renovations here, and I'm sure you're very efficient at getting those done between diaper changes. The kid's adorable, I'll give you that! But your career's been sidelined for over a year. Don't you miss doing real work?"
While Kurda tried to pick his jaw up off the table and process that, it just so happened he had a clear view of Mika. Mika was over at the next table with Gracie on his shoulders. He was having a serious conversation with another of the older Generals. He was hanging on to every word Mika was saying, despite the fact that Gracie was swinging her feet carelessly and booting Mika in the chin every so often. Yet the other vampire was focused reverently upon Mika as if Gracie wasn't even there.
No one ever asked Mika condescending questions like don't you miss doing real work? And sure, Mika's professional status means people are obligated to address him with respect. But it's important to note that nobody asked Mika condescending questions when he was a General, either. Because the double standard actually has nothing to do with rank. Kurda only wishes it did, because then it wouldn't be nearly this frustrating.
"Why's your face doing that?" Mika inquired bluntly about an hour later when Kurda caught up with him.
"Doing what?" Kurda growled, sitting down across from Mika.
"You look like someone pissed in your wine. This is supposed to be your party. Fuck, did Paris forget to tell you that? Guess I have to do everything myself."
"Do you think I sidelined my career when we adopted Gracie?" Kurda asked point-blank, staring across the table at Mika, hoping he didn't look too manic. Because truth be told, he felt a little manic. And that didn't feel good.
Mika gawked back at Kurda as though the latter was spouting a foreign language.
"Do I think you what?"
"You heard me! Do you think my career has suffered? Do the other Generals think I'm slipping?"
"I think you're bad at partying." Said Mika benignly after blinking in confusion a few times. "Where the hell is this coming from?"
"Answer the question." Said Kurda through gritted teeth. A look of resigned understanding crossed Mika's face, and he sighed.
"Did someone say something to you?" Mika asked, arching an eyebrow as his steely gaze began to scan the crowd around them.
Kurda thought about describing the conversation he had with Thaddeus Hill. Or the handful snide vampaneze-related comments he overheard earlier. He thought about standing up on the table and screaming at the crowd, "I'm trying to help. I don't know what you people want from me." And mostly he thought about how much time and energy he'd put into into serving this clan, only for them to tolerate him in return. Even Gracie had a more enthusiastic fan club than Kurda did. But you have to factor in the Ver Leth influence. Even now, while curled up in Mika's arms, Gracie was playing Peek-A-Boo with some crusty old guard captain across the room. The same one who called Kurda an idiot to his face during a meeting two years ago, yet now looked positively enamoured with Gracie's antics.
Kurda was grateful that Mika's power imbued Gracie with unspoken, automatic protection in this clan of ruffians. But Kurda would be lying if he said he never felt bitter over how Mika just breezed through life. He didn't simply become popular when he became a Prince. He became a Prince because he's simply popular. It just comes so damn easily to him.
In times like these, Kurda just had to take a deep breath and remind himself he wasn't put on this earth to fall in line with the masses. He didn't desire to be revered or hero-worshipped the way the Princes were. But was a little respect so much to ask?
He drained his glass of wine and smiled thinly at Mika. Mika didn't smile back and continued to regard Kurda with a mixture of suspicion and exasperation.
"Nobody said anything I haven't heard a thousand times before. Sorry I bothered you." Said Kurda tonelessly.
Mika looked skeptical, but didn't press the issue. And Kurda knew Mika was smart enough to pick up on the fact that there was an issue.
"Go have another drink. Looks like you need one. We're good here." Mika suggested. He gently repositioned Gracie so she could sit upright on his shoulder and have a better look at her surroundings while Mika sipped his mug of cider. Mika was a more frequent social drinker than Kurda was, but Kurda enjoyed a hearty glass of wine (or four) every now and then. During these functions they always made sure one of them remained sober for Gracie purposes, and this was Kurda's night to let loose.
So he did just that. When in Rome, right?
Case Study: Mika's Friends
(The Next Day)
All things considered Kurda had a pretty good time at the party once he caved to his baser instincts. At least from what he could remember. The following night found him far too hungover to deal with people. With council less than a year away, the mountain was beginning to welcome a host of over-eager guests taking an extended stay. That meant a few things: the place was more crowded than usual, and Kurda suddenly had a few extra Mikas to tolerate. And as Kurda's supreme luck would have it, he was forced to interact with Mika's friends during the worst hangover of his life.
Oh gods, Mika's friends. Where do we even start? Kurda had only just made peace with the fact that Arrow was now a fixture in his life. Then he found out Mika has other friends.
"Friends" is a loose term for someone like Mika. He has loads of acquaintances, and there's never a shortage of people who want exist in his presence. But Mika tends to be very selective about who he actually considers a friend. The hard truth is that when you're powerful, everyone wants something from you. This factors into why Mika and Arrow are still as close as they were in their cub years. They don't need or want anything from each other, besides a bestest buddy.
Mika's friends were mostly high-profile Generals who'd known him long enough that they weren't intimidated by his status. And Mika, being so accustomed to vampires tiptoeing politely around him, loved the change. There was a core group of three who'd evidently all travelled here together. And the sole purpose of their early arrival seemed to be orbiting Mika as if he was the sun and they were a bunch of rowdy stars. Their names were Cavan Crane, Drakov Varland, and Adrian Barbossa. Kurda had met all of them once or twice over the decades. He didn't think there was anything overly special about them.
When Kurda finally dragged his bedraggled, hungover carcass down to the Hall of Khledon Lurt to pick Gracie up from Mika, there they all were. A neat little row of jar-headed barbarians.
The last thing Kurda wanted to do was socialize with less sophisticated and more annoying versions of Mika, and the last thing he wanted to hear was an ear-splitting chorus of "Kurda Fuckin' Smahlt!" as he approached the table. He wrinkled his nose in disdain; affectionate profanity was for baser creatures than he.
Normally, Kurda was amicable even in the face of idiocy. Had he not been suffering an excruciating hangover, he would've at least greeted them with an obligatory smile and made some small talk. But today was not the day, and Kurda was not the one.
"Did you just forget she can hear you?" Kurda grunted as he snatched a giggling Gracie out of Mika's arms. "I promise, Mika. The minute she starts cussing like you, I'm shipping you both to the orphanage." Which was a little unfair, because he hadn't actually seen Mika's lips move. It was the others - but Kurda wasn't exactly at his best.
Mika's friends all cracked up at, but Mika wasn't phased.
"Good morning, sunshine." He commented sardonically (albeit not unpleasantly). "I'd ask how you're feeling, but I heard you projectile vomiting as I was getting ready to head up to the Hall earlier. Hope you got at least some of that in the bucket. Also, you look terrible."
"Thanks for that. Sorry I'm late." Said Kurda through gritted teeth. "My schedule's clear now. I'll take her for the rest of the night so you can get back to work."
"No rush." Mika replied, shrugging. "She's not done her breakfast. Sit down for a bit. You look hungry."
The thought of food made Kurda's stomach churn, and he shook his head.
"Just let me know when she's finished eating. I'll come back."
"Your other half's too good for us, eh Mika?" Drakov smirked, and Kurda took an immediate dislike to him. Kurda looked to Mika, expecting him to bristle at the lighthearted insinuation that he had an other half, and that the other half was Kurda. But to his surprise, Mika merely rolled his eyes.
"You mean the other half of Gracie's maintenance staff. Takes a lot of work to run this show." Said Mika.
"What's the matter, Smahlt? Itching to go brush your hair?" Cavan Crane chipped in, words barely intelligible because his mouth was full.
"Yes, Crane. That's what I do. I sit in my room and brush my hair. It's a full-time job." Kurda deadpanned, even as he sat down so Gracie could carry on with her breakfast.
"All that experience with hair management and I still braid better than you." Mika remarked. "Right, Gracie?"
Gracie - her hair done up in two neat braids - giggled and nodded affirmatively.
"So, part-time Prince, part-time dad? That's what the legendary life of Mika Ver Leth looks like these days?" Adrian commented as he refilled his mug of breakfast ale. (Yeah. Breakfast ale.)
"Full-time both, actually." Mika replied without skipping a single fucking beat. And that was one of the few reasons Kurda had tolerated him this long. As obstinate and difficult as Mika could be, he took the Gracie stuff just as seriously as everything else. Mika was still smiling as amicably as before, but there was a bite of warning to his voice. Adrian picked up on it, and he chuckled rather awkwardly.
"An even more impressive feat, then!" He replied, grinning at Mika and clapping him merrily on the shoulder across the table.
"I don't buy it. Can't imagine you changing diapers after a long night in the Hall of Princes! But I suppose that's why you keep the mother around, isn't it?" Drakov smirked, winking at Kurda and elbowed him in the ribs.
Kurda's blood boiled so rapidly it didn't even occur to him to look over at Mika and gauge his reaction to that comment. But he reined himself in and took a deep breath. This wasn't the first time he had to take the high road, and it wouldn't be the last.
"I'm afraid you've been misinformed. Gracie's mother was a human, and died tragically in the mad vampaneze attack along with the rest of her family." Said Kurda icily. Combat via spoken word had always been his weapon of choice. And even in a world where brawn and blades ruled all, his silver tongue rarely let him down.
"I realize that. I just meant… because you're… you know." Drakov was stammering now, to Kurda's grim satisfaction. Clearly he'd been expecting Kurda to get flustered.
"Because I'm what? Please, enlighten me. What exactly makes me the mother in this situation?" Kurda replied, shrewdly holding Drakov's gaze.
"Well, you're… you're not like most vampires. Come on, that can't be news to you!" Drakov was blushing now. It was a little pathetic. And Kurda, in pain, exhausted, and beyond done with this shit, was living for it.
"Explain it to me anyway."
"Come on, Smahlt! Isn't half your job just drawing maps? No offence, seriously. You're not exactly on the same level as Mika. He's Sire Ver Leth, a hero to the clan. He runs this entire place and splits baby chores with you?! When was the last time you got your hands dirty and actually did something that matters?"
Wow. This was the moment Kurda had been waiting for. Even though the words plunged through the rawest part of his soul like a hot knife through butter, he was ready for this. He was going to eviscerate Drakov without raising a hand or even getting up from his seat. The words were at the tip of his tongue, acidic and ready to burn. Kurda inhaled as he prepared to let those words fly, and then Mika opened his fucking mouth and diffused the situation like a one-man bomb squad.
"Personally, I'd make the argument that Kurda works harder than I do." Mika interrupted, as calmly as ever. Kurda glanced over at him for the first time since Drakov's questionable comment, and was mildly surprised to see how Mika's expression no longer matched the calmness in his voice. Lightning flashed in his steely eyes as he stared his friend down and added, "I don't pretend to be entirely on the same page as Kurda where politics are concerned, but I have no doubt he's done more for the clan this year than you have all decade."
Mika let those words hang in the air for a few minutes, as his herd of heathens gawked back at him like he'd sprouted a second head. Clearly it hadn't occurred to them that Mika wouldn't immediately hop on the Let's Bully Kurda bandwagon. Hell, it hadn't even occurred to Kurda because he still didn't have that much faith in Mika. And yet, Kurda felt himself bristle even more. He knew Mika meant well, but all he could think in that moment was how Mika was proving their point by stepping in before Kurda even had a chance to defend himself.
"And everything he's accomplished is despite half the vampires in this place working against him. Even though he's easily the smartest person in this mountain." Mika continued matter-of-factly as though discussing the weather. "Remember that new bar section you were so impressed with earlier, Drakov? You said you couldn't wait to try it. Who do you think designed that? If you think maps and diagrams don't qualify as real work, why don't you give it a shot? Or I could save you the trouble and let you know that Paris, Arrow, and I can't do in a week what Kurda alone can do in an evening. We know, because we've tried."
Drakov's face turned as red as the wine Kurda overindulged himself in last night, while Cavan and Adrian glanced awkwardly back and forth at each other. But Kurda's own face was burning so badly he couldn't even appreciate the sight of Drakov cringing in shame.
"My apologies for speaking out of turn. I meant no disrespect." Drakov muttered, staring down at his plate and pushing a piece of egg around in circles with his fork.
"Sorry, didn't quite catch that." Mika replied pointedly.
"My apologies." Drakov repeated through gritted teeth as he looked across the table at Mika.
"What are you looking at me for?" Mika pressed, like a school teacher challenging a difficult pupil. "Kurda's right there."
But Kurda wasn't right there. He was up and out of his seat before the words were even out of Mika's mouth. And it was only by instinct that he remembered to take Gracie with him, because his head was pounding with an unholy combination of pain, indignation, and righteous fury as he stalked away.
Kurda found himself in the Hall of Rush Flon'x practicing stress relief. Because you're still technically a pacifist as long as the thing you're punching is a practice dummy instead of a live target.
Normally Kurda didn't come down here with Gracie. Normally Kurda didn't come down here at all. But if he didn't find an outlet for the frustration, it would break him from the inside out. Besides, this always seemed to work for Mika. And Mika apparently knew everything.
So Kurda was here, hammering his fists into the dummy over and over and over, trying and failing not to picture Drakov's face on the shapeless, leather-wrapped opponent. He lost track of time, only glancing up every now and then to make sure Gracie was still where he left her - sitting happily on a nearby bench with Lovely the tarantula, a box of cookies, crayons, and note paper. Just another day in paradise for her.
Kurda could literally taste the sweat pouring down his forehead, but he didn't stop. Not even when his fists hurt so much he knew he wouldn't even be able to hold a pencil tomorrow. But hey, if he wanted to be taken seriously, the general consensus suggested he should man up. Because you can be the most eloquent, educated, accomplished person at the table but unless you ooze traditional masculinity from your very pores, you're inferior. He wasn't angry at the implication that he was more feminine than the average vampire. He was exhausted of it being the basis of their barely disguised insults. Not just today. Every day.
He didn't hear Mika approach, nor did he turn around when he realized he had company.
"What am I looking at? I didn't even know you knew where we store the practice dummies." Came Mika's voice from a few feet behind him. There was incredulity in it, but also concern. And he could shove his concern up his ass because Kurda didn't need or want it right now. What he wanted was to keep slamming his knuckles into this dummy til they were bloody and raw.
"This feels illegal. Is there like, a grand council of elder pacifists I need to report you to for violating the code or whatever?" Mika added. He was standing beside Kurda now. Kurda could feel Mika's eyes on him, but he refused to shift his focus from the dummy.
"What's wrong, Kurda?" Mika had clearly decided it was time to quit beating around the bush. And Kurda was pretty sure Mika already knew exactly what was wrong. So Kurda figured the sooner he put it out there, the sooner Mika would fuck off and return to his adoring fan club.
Kurda whipped around to face Mika head-on, and his outrage must've been vividly apparent because Mika's eyes widened in mild alarm and he took a step back.
"I am tired, Mika! I'm so fucking tired of being the punchline to a joke that isn't even funny!" Kurda snarled. The words burned on their way out and reminded him that on top of everything else, he was still painfully hungover.
Mika didn't match Kurda's energy. He nodded contemplatively as he processed the outburst.
"I could point out that you just swore in front of Gracie. But you look like you might just rip my face off and wear it, so I won't go there today." Mika commented drily.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Kurda huffed, facing the dummy again and picking up where he'd left off.
"Not til later. Figured I should make sure you were still here. You looked like you were ready to leave the mountain, not just the room. Normally I wouldn't care, but you took Gracie with you. And I kind of like her." Said Mika. His tone was unassuming as ever, but there was a shade of seriousness to it.
"Hi, Daddy!" Gracie chirped from over on the bench, perking up at the sound of her name.
"Hi, Princess." Mika greeted her. Kurda was no longer looking at him, but could still hear the smile in his voice. "Listen, Kurda. You don't have to talk to me about your problems. But if you're going to picture my shockingly ignorant friend's face on that dummy, do it properly. Punch with your whole body, not just your arms."
Kurda paused his assault, tentatively flexing his sore arms. He shot Mika a sideways glance but didn't drop his guard.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I'd show you if you'd listen. But I know you won't." Said Mika.
"Try me."
"First, fix your stance. Vanez trained you better than this. It looks like you're going out of your way to do it wrong. Angle your body like this…" He unceremoniously prodded Kurda's shoulder, forcing him to change his angle. "And your right foot needs to be here…" Mika used his foot to nudge Kurda's into the correct position. "And move your other foot a little to the left - no, my left. Alright. That'll work."
"I'm punching a leather bag. Why does it matter what my feet are doing?"
"You're killing me, Smahlt. All of your power comes from your stance. That's boxing 101. Just because the dummy can't fight back doesn't excuse shitty form. Especially when I know you know better."
"I don't exactly come down here to practice beating people up for hours on end! Violence isn't my religion, unlike the rest of you."
"I know that. But you're here now, aren't you?" Said Mika with finality and an arched eyebrow. Kurda glared daggers at him, but Mika's mildly skeptical expression didn't change.
"So besides stance, how else am I failing miserably?" Kurda grunted at last.
"Your hands are a mess." Mika replied swifly. "You have no idea how to make a fist, do you?"
"There's a wrong way to make a fist?"
"Only if you don't want two broken thumbs. Charna's guts. Give me that thing. And relax your grip." The thing Mika was referring to was Kurda's right hand. Mika grabbed the hand and repositioned Kurda's fingers and thumb into what was apparently a correct fist. "Thumb stays outside the closed fist. If you tuck your thumb under your fingers, you'll shatter the bone if you hit something hard enough. That's literally the first thing they teach the cubs."
Kurda nodded curtly and prepared to say "Thanks". But what came out instead was:
"I swear you just make this up as you go."
Mika sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.
"Just punch the dummy. Take a deep breath, think about where your feet are, and drive with your core - not your arms."
Kurda obliged, and landed a deft punch in the middle of the dummy's shapeless face.
"Didn't that feel smoother?"
"No." Kurda lied.
"Do it again, but don't lock your elbows. You're already going to be sore enough tomorrow without fucking up your tendons too."
Kurda hated how much better he felt after the impromptu boxing lesson. When his knuckles ached too much to continue, he trudged over to the bench beside the ring and took a seat. A few feet away, Gracie continued to sing and colour happily. Mika disappeared into the locker room for a moment and returned with a bowl of ice-cold water.
"Leave your hands in there for as long as you can. It'll help keep the swelling down." Mika instructed Kurda seriously. "You went pretty hard for having no built-up stamina."
Kurda flinched as he dunked his aching hands into the water, but Mika was absolutely right. Within seconds the pain began to subside.
"Do you think I should start spending more time in here? I don't want to fight living people, but maybe if I got a better handle on the technique at least… would it get me further with the clan?" Kurda asked resignedly as Mika sat down a few feet away and glanced scathingly over at Kurda.
"Obviously. That's a stupid question."
"Your tactfulness is impeccable as always, Sire."
"I'm not done. You're smart, Kurda. You're fast and agile enough to hold your own against someone bigger than you - which is almost everyone. You could be a legendary fighter if you put in the work. So yes, if you refocused your efforts and prioritized training, your fellow Generals would show you more respect because that's just how the clan works. But you already knew that."
"Doesn't make it any easier to accept."
"I guess you'd just have to decide if compromising your identity is worth the popularity points. And that really doesn't sound like something you'd do. I may not understand what makes you tick, but it's been working for you so far."
"It's not working, Mika! Everyone in this place treats me like a lesser life form! How am I ever supposed to accomplish anything when nobody takes me seriously?"
"Of course they take you seriously. Why else would they try so hard to bring you down to their level?"
Kurda didn't really have anything to say to that.
"I appreciate you taking the time to give me some pointers. I know I give you a hard time, but you're a very competent tutor." He told Mika stiffly.
"All I did was refresh you on the basics. If you really want to get a better handle on this stuff, Vanez would probably work with you one-on-one. He's got a lot on his plate but he'd do it if I asked. Want me to talk to him?" Said Mika.
"Because that's what I need! More Sire Ver Leth pity protection!" Kurda snarled. He thought his anger had abated, but he thought wrong. It was all still there blistering his skin from the inside out.
Mika gawked back at him, jaw slack and eyes wide in indignant disbelief.
"More what now?"
"Don't be dense. Drakov wasn't sorry for what he said! He only backed down because you defended me!" Kurda countered vehemently.
"…I know that. That's why I stepped in." Said Mika incredulously. "What was I supposed to do, sit there and enjoy my breakfast while my friends ripped you apart? In front of our kid?"
"Yes! I've been dealing with this for my entire life! You just didn't notice or care til Gracie came along! I would've shut him down on my own. If you think I can't handle myself around boneheaded idiots, you don't know me at all."
"So you're angry at me for using my influence to protect you? Is that supposed to be my takeaway from this?"
Not for the first time, Kurda looked at Mika and asked the universe how someone so supremely clever could also be so stupid.
"I'm not angry at you! I'm just angry! Because no matter what I accomplish, this is always going to be my life!" Kurda fired back, hating how plaintive he sounded. "Do you really think they're going to automatically respect me just because you put in a good word? It'll only give them more ammunition to come at me once you're out of earshot!"
"So what the hell do you want me to do about it?!" Mika snapped back. Kurda didn't know how to read the strange hitch in his voice or the bitterness on his face.
"I don't want or need you to do anything! What part of that don't you understand? Gods, Mika… just… just forget about all of this. I'm sorry. Go be you, and I'll be me. It's what they expect from us." Kurda groaned, bowing his head in defeat and wishing he could bury his face in his hands. But alas they were still submerged in their ice bath.
"You know it's just a rank thing, right? I'm sure they'd have comments for me too, if I didn't have the power to make their lives difficult." Mika offered after a moment of heavy silence.
Kurda laughed bitterly. Of course Mika would think that. Once again, despite what seemed to be an earnest effort, he was missing the point.
"Please. Don't even try to tell me it's only because you're a Prince and I'm not. That's a cop-out and you know it."
"No, it isn't! That's just the way it is!"
"Right. Okay, Mika. Take the throne out of the equation for a minute. Look me in the eye and tell me your General years looked anything like mine. Tell me you know what it's like for someone to stare down their nose at you and imply you're inferior because you don't match their idea of what a vampire, or a man is supposed to be. Tell me that this situation would be any different if you and I were both Generals."
"It'd be a little different if we were both Generals. We wouldn't have the three-cavern suite with a fireplace and private water source." Mika deadpanned, rather evasively.
Kurda didn't laugh. Mika said nothing else for several long moments. He held Kurda's gaze steadily, til something in his eyes shifted. Then he exhaled wearily and ran a hand through his hair.
"You're right, Kurda. I don't know what that feels like. I realize that there's a double standard that has nothing to do with professional status. You shouldn't have to put up with it, but I get why you want me to stay in my lane."
"That's all I wanted to hear." Said Kurda quietly. And he felt himself grow lighter as the last of the spite finally evaporated from his body leaving only the comparatively manageable pain of hangover and bloody knuckles. Kurda didn't need Mika to fix it - he just needed him to get it. And he finally did.
"I don't know if I've ever told you, but it doesn't really bother me when people call me Gracie's mom. If they see traditionally motherly qualities in me, I choose to be proud of that. And usually they mean well. But when they blatantly use it as an insult, because being compared to a woman is the worst thing they can think of… that gets to me. My mother was the strongest person I've ever known. If I can be half what she was, Gracie will be fine."
Mika didn't speak for a long time.
"The best parent I had was the nanny who died of the plague when I was five." Said Mika at last with an air of forced casualness "Although I have to credit some of my success to my father, who modelled work ethic by throwing liquor glasses at our heads if we interrupted his meetings. I'd love to say my mother was the bright spot in all that, but she felt more fulfilled as a socialite than a parent. She stopped committing our names to memory around the fourth kid. And I was sixth, so I didn't stand a chance." Mika was smiling wryly, but there was a tired bitterness about him. That was the most open he'd ever been about his childhood.
"That's terrible. I'm sorry." Kurda sighed. "I can't imagine treating a child like-"
"Don't feel sorry for me. They're dead and I'm still here." Mika cut Kurda off. "My point is I don't really give a shit what Gracie calls me, or what label anyone else puts on it. As long as Gracie knows she's safe with me, I'm doing something right." Said Mika evenly.
"Hey, remember Gracie's the one who woke up one day and decided we were both Dad. We didn't put that word in her mouth. We weren't even ready to hear it, but she chose for us. And she'd know better than anyone. Isn't that right, baby girl?" Kurda called as he glanced over his shoulder at the tiny, smiling light of his life. The missing piece of his heart he didn't know he needed til it was there.
"Right!" Said Gracie, looking up from her colouring and giggling at him.
"Gracie, you have no idea what you just agreed to, do you?" Mika added, arching an eyebrow at her even though he was smiling almost as much as she was.
"No idea!" She echoed, still laughing.
"We'll have to work on developing her critical thinking skills." Kurda remarked in an undertone.
"Apparently we have a lot to work on. Like your boxing technique." Said Mika as he glanced down at Kurda's rapidly bruising hands which were still submerged in the ice water.
"Remind me when I asked." Kurda replied though gritted teeth.
"Talk tough while you still can. This time tomorrow your hands will be so seized up you won't even be able to hold a pencil. I have a bottle of herbal draught in my room that'll reduce the inflammation a bit. Remind me later and I'll give you some."
"…Thank you, Mika. I appreciate it. You don't have to help me with this stuff, you know."
"Just because you drive me up the wall doesn't mean I enjoy watching you suffer. I'm difficult, not sadistic."
"You're giving yourself way too much credit. You're not even that difficult."
Case Study: Dean's Jaw.
(Three Weeks Later)
After using the dummy as an outlet for his frustration, Kurda's hands hurt exactly as much as Mika told him they would. But the pain eventually faded, as did the bruising on Kurda's ego. Kurda kept his distance from Mika's stupid friends. But more significantly, it seemed Mika was also keeping a distance from his stupid friends. They still flocked to him whenever he walked into the room and he'd greet them politely, but he no longer spent hours lounging, drinking, and laughing raucously at their table.
The mountain grew busier with every passing night as council approached. It was still many months away, but the time would disappear faster than anyone ever anticipated. Both Mika and Kurda had increasingly busy schedules and they found themselves seeing less and less of each other, crossing paths only to pass Gracie back and forth. The overall mood in the mountain was beginning to take an upbeat, festive turn as everyone scurried around helping with preparations. The last six months before council was to Vampire Mountain what the month of November was to Christmas. It was hectic, but they were fine. Kurda would even go so far as to say he felt better since the night they talked in the Hall of Rush Flon'x - although he'd never tell Mika that.
For the purpose of this case study, we're taking a closer look at a night about three weeks post dummy incident. On this particular night, Mika was coaching a few cubs through the finer points of shield work in the Hall of Baker Wrent. Kurda had just finished breakfast after being awake for almost twenty-four hours. He'd grabbed a snack-to-go for Mika, who'd been awake for about thirty-two. This was just how their lives looked these days - 'tis the season. Gracie was with Mika at that point but Kurda was about to take over. The goal was to get her down for a nap, so Kurda could do the same.
Kurda watched Mika from the doorway for a minute before heading in. Because Mika had Gracie he remained on the sidelines, pacing back and forth while she perched on his shoulders happily. Mika was snapping feedback at the cubs like:
"Put your back into it, Edward! My gods, it's like you WANT to fracture your clavicle!"
"Terrance, it's a shield. Not a frisbee. You only throw it as a last resort!"
"Gareth, are you sure this is the right line of work for you?"
Kurda knew Mika was itching to get in the ring and really show them how it was done, no matter how tired he was. He lived for this shit and he was so good at it. Arrogant and annoying as he was, Kurda couldn't help but enjoy observing him in his element.
When Kurda finally did make his way over, Gracie waved happily from atop Mika's shoulders. Even Mika shot him a quick grin as he gently passed Gracie into Kurda's welcoming arms.
"Did you have fun with Daddy?" Kurda asked, giving her a tender forehead kiss.
"Yeah! Daddy yell at bad boys." Gracie chuckled, pointing at the cubs.
"He loves doing that, doesn't he? Sorry I'm late, by the way. Going over blueprints with Seba and the architecture team took longer than I expected. Seba thinks we can expand the south access tunnel before council starts - on top of all the other half-finished renovations." Said Kurda with a weary chuckle. "By the way, they asked me to go over the proposal with at least one of Princes later tonight so you can sign off on it and the architects can start the process. Paris and Arrow are both booked up, so it'll have to be you."
"I don't know anything about digging tunnels. If you think the renovation is possible on that timeline, forge my signature and get it started. One less meeting for me to go to." Said Mika with a dismissive shrug.
"You're joking, right?"
"What am I going to do, arrest you and report you to myself?"
"I'm not forging your signature, Mika."
"Then I was joking. Fine, I'll add it to my schedule. Guess I'll sleep when I'm dead."
"Does it help that I brought breakfast?" Said Kurda, discreetly handing him a little paper-wrapped package containing a few slices of bacon and two biscuits. Because believe it or not, sometimes they did in fact do nice things for each other. It wasn't that deep. Neither of them put as much thought into it as Dean Warwent apparently did, because Dean is the poster child for cave-dwelling barbarians with two brain cells to rub together. Nobody likes Dean. The Princes ignore him. The Generals avoid him. Even his own apprentice - Gareth - cringes at half the shit Dean says.
"Alright, Gracie. Let's leave Daddy to it, shall we?" Said Kurda. "See you later, Mika."
Kurda turned to go, Gracie in his arms.
"Oi! Hope you're heading back to the kitchen to fetch breakfast for the rest of us!" Dean hollered at Kurda's retreating back.
"I think you're mistaken, Warwent. I don't work in the kitchens. I'm a General. But I wouldn't expect you to know all the Generals, seeing as you could never complete the training yourself." Kurda replied without turning around.
"General? You sure about that? You look an awful lot like a royal trophy wife from where I'm standing!"
The comment landed on Kurda like a bucket of ice water. The room fell silent. So silent you could have heard a spider slowly rotated on the spot, an icy smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
"What was that, Dean? I'm afraid I didn't hear you."
"Don't play dumb, blondie. I don't know what arrangement you've made behind closed doors, and I don't much care. But just because you fancy yourself as some kind of Princess doesn't mean you can strut around with your nose in the air like you're so much better than us, you fuckin' -"
Dean punctuated that statement with a very loud, very ugly slur. And it's worth reiterating that most of the vampire clan is fairly progressive as far as the spectrum of sexuality goes. Compared to humans, anyway. Sure they draw the line at pacifism so Kurda isn't really any further ahead, but still. Dean's remark was met with mutters of shock from across the room. This was not the first time Dean had been the subject of disapproval - he'd been disciplined by a few Generals over the years for speaking out of turn. But it was the first time he'd run his month in front of a Prince.
Arrow, Vanez, and a few of the more senior Generals started shouting furiously at Dean, but their voices all blurred together. Only one stood out to Kurda above all the rest.
"Do you want to die, Warwent? Have you decided it's your time to go?" Mika's voice cut through the noise like a razorblade, sharp and deadly. "I'll help you on your way. Get in the ring."
Dean nodded grimly, knowing he couldn't exactly say no to Mika's challenge. This time Kurda knew Mika was well within his rights to interfere. Dean had publicly crossed an invisible line, and someone had to put him in his place. Mika was typically cool-headed, and far slower to lose his temper than his colleagues. He spoke as calmly as ever, but there was no mistaking the vicious gleam in his eyes. Mika cracked his knuckles as he advanced on Dean and prepared to do exactly what everyone expected. But what nobody expected was for Kurda to say very calmly:
"Oh, no. I don't think so. Mika, hold the baby." And his voice was laced with every bit as much lethal confidence as Mika's had been. Kurda deftly passed Gracie back before Mika could register what was occurring. "Let's go, Dean! You and me, hand-to-hand duel. challenge you."
There's a time and a place for taking the high road, and it's almost always. As in almost but not always.
"Oho! That's not very pacifist of you!" Dean crowed obnoxiously. Kurda felt his temper spike - that line was only funny when Mika said it. Dean glared as trudged into the ring. As if he was disappointed that he wouldn't have to square up with Mika after all.
"Well, Dean, I'm an exceptionally good negotiator but I find there's only one way to get through to people like you." Said Kurda lightly as he joined Dean in the ring. "I understand that you have difficulty comprehending spoken words, but don't stress yourself out. I can get down on your level."
Mika stepped up to the side of the ring, having passed Gracie to Arrow. Mika's brow was furrowed in concern and he didn't look like he had a hell of a lot of faith in Kurda. Kurda didn't exactly blame him, but he'd show him.
"Are we absolutely sure about this?" Mika ventured.
"Don't even start." Kurda snapped out of the corner of his mouth.
Mika rolled his eyes, but a wicked glint flashed within them as he smirked,
"I was talking to Dean."
The corner of Kurda's lip twitched at that, but his focus didn't linger on Mika. He took a deep, steadying breath as he squared up with Dean. Kurda wasn't afraid. Not even a little bit.
"I'll give you one more chance to back down." Dean hissed under his breath, winking. "It's not too late to ask your baby daddy to trade places. I see far more honour in losing to him than winning against you. Leave the sporting halls to the real men, hmm? I'd hate to mess up that pretty -"
Strong stance. Eyes on target. Drive from the core. Follow through. And for the love of the gods, don't tuck your thumb under your fingers.
Dean went reeling back as Kurda's first made direct contact with his face. It was a flawlessly executed punch. Gracie saw nothing; Mika's hands were over her eyes while Arrow's covered her ears. But everyone else saw it. And the room erupted in a cacophony of cheering, applause, and toasts to Kurda's good health.
It didn't feel good. Kurda hated the way he could literally feel Dean's jaw break under his fist. Hated the way blood spewed from his mouth and nose as he gasped in pain. Hated the way it felt as if Kurda's own hand had shattered on impact. Thank the gods it only took one hit to send Dean to his knees because Kurda didn't think he had a second one in him. His hand had barely recovered from his last sparring session, and the first punch only worked because Dean didn't see it coming. The man was enormous and Kurda wouldn't have stood a chance if Dean hadn't already written him off.
As much as Kurda loathed everything about this, he was damn sure Dean would think twice before running his mouth again. And seeing as his jaw was shattered, it'd be a while before he'd be able to talk properly at all.
This moment in the spotlight didn't feel good, but it felt worth it.
"I don't think I'm better than everyone in this clan, Dean. Not by a long shot. But I do know without a shadow of a doubt that I am better than you." Said Kurda tonelessly as Dean struggled to his feet, swaying and choking out what were probably obscenities, but nobody could understand him.
"See that, class? That's what a broken jaw looks like." Vanez noted casually from the sidelines with a bloodthirsty gleam of approval in his one remaining eye as Arrow clapped enthusiastically beside him.
"Take a good look at him. Perfect example of complete and utter embarrassment. As you all embark on your careers, I want you to remember how not to do it." Mika addressed the younger vampires with cold satisfaction. "Alright, Dean. I'm tired of looking at you. Go see the medics. They'll bandage your jaw closed. About time someone shut you up. After that, I'd recommend you leave the mountain for a while. I strongly suggest - actually no, order you to stay far away from this year's council. Otherwise it'll be me in that ring with you, and you won't be getting back up."
Dean was half-carried from the ring by a few reluctant guards, and Kurda returned to the sidelines where his unlikely semblance of a family unit was waiting for him.
"Please tell me she didn't see any of that." Kurda winced as soon as he was within earshot of Mika and Gracie.
"Yes, Kurda. I thought she should witness her dad caving someone's face in." Mika snorted sarcastically. "Of course I covered her eyes, you maniac! But I fully intend on telling her this story twenty years from now, because it was incredible."
"And yet, the appeal of these blood sports continues to escape me." Kurda replied through gritted teeth, cradling his injured hand against his chest and glaring as a well-meaning Arrow clapped him proudly on the shoulder as he passed. Mika caught Arrow's eye.
"A, can you and Vanez finish this session without me? I think I'm going to take the rest of the night off."
"I always figured I'd be your first victim once you finally snapped and threw the pacifism out the window." Mika commented lightly as he bandaged Kurda's hand. Following the altercation they'd retired to home base, the three-cavern suite near the top of the mountain. The one they were only ever supposed to share for a few months. It felt like purgatory at first. And now it felt too quiet unless all three of them were in there at the same time.
Gracie was down for a nap in her own room. Kurda was in the chair, right arm stretched out on the desk so Mika could assess the damage. He was no medic but he'd spent enough in the sporting halls to know his way around an injury. And luckily it wasn't extensive enough to require a real medic. They were all busy with Dean anyway.
"Please. The most offensive thing you've ever done was use my fine parchment paper for your meeting notes." Kurda chuckled. "Or maybe it was when you chugged that priceless wine straight from the bottle. Or when you -"
"I get the picture. I'm annoying."
"Intensely. You make me want to rip my hair out in clumps on a regular basis. And don't worry, I know the feeling is mutual." Kurda caught Mika's eye when he glanced up from bandaging. Kurda took a breath and added, "But despite all your power and ego complex, you still don't make me feel inferior. And you've never, ever made me feel like Dean did today."
Mika froze, and his widened in confusion. Then he seemed to catch himself and overcorrect; his gaze turned stony and serious as he regarded Kurda.
"I… I really fucking hope I've never made you feel like that, Kurda. And from now on, I hope I never give you reason to question whether or not I have your back." There was a strangely wounded look in Mika's eyes, like the possibility of him ever being lumped in with Dean Warwent was causing him physical pain.
"It's okay." Kurda replied, meeting Mika's gaze earnestly and managing a thin smile. "I know I regularly tell you that you're the worst. But it's been a while since I've actually meant it."
Mika seemed to take comfort in that. He nodded slowly, taking Kurda's words at face value.
"I know how important it is to be able to stand up for yourself, and I promise I'll stay out of your way. But if you ever want me to put someone in their place for you, even if it's Arrow or Vancha, I'm there. Just say the word."
"Let's just hope it never comes to that. I'd hate to take you up on that offer, but I don't plan on ever throwing another punch for as long as I live."
"Fair enough. Your boxing career was short, but at least you went out on a high note. Happy retirement, General Smahlt." Mika chuckled as he finished wrapping Kurda's hand.
"Couldn't have done it without your elite coaching, Sire Ver Leth." Said Kurda, smiling contentedly. Mika rolled his eyes but he was smiling too.
"I gave you a basic recap of what the cubs learn on day one. If I tried the elite version you would've lost interest and walked out in the first five minutes." Said Mika.
"You're probably right. But I dare you to tell me you'd do better if the tables were turned and I was giving you a crash course in cartography."
"I'd be gone before you even handed me the pencil."
"I'd still like to test that theory. I broke someone's face today and it's going to haunt me for weeks. Least you could do is try my thing so I have something to laugh at." Said Kurda wryly.
"So you're assuming my attempt at cartography would be as pitiful as when I walked in on you bitch-slapping that dummy a few weeks ago? Please. The real reason I don't do maps is because I don't want to embarrass you in front of Gracie." Mika snorted. But there was a sparkle buried under the sarcasm.
And Kurda found himself laughing harder than he had in weeks, and it took his entire force of willpower to choke out the words,
"You're the worst."
I seriously considered leaving the Dean's Jaw storyline out of the rewrite. In hindsight, part of me knows that no matter how much he deserved it, it's still out of character for Kurda to solve a problem with his fists and I can only retcon something so much. But everyone who's read the original seemed to really enjoy this part so I couldn't bring myself to chop it.
Once again, chapter 28 of Bloodline is coming I swear! We don't know when, but it's finally starting to look like something.
Happy Halloween Weekend!
- Roxy