Sins of the Father (Lancaster)

[Marquand (DELETED 9450)]

Evening was upon him. Without looking at a clock, he had always been able to tell when the sun's golden fingers retracted, allowing for dusk's crisp and tender embrace to begin.

Marquand glanced up from the book he had been studying, his eyes lingering on the warm pink and orange skyline. The day seemed to linger longer than normal. While this should have left him feeling whimsical and sentimental, it instead concerned him. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, a sense of foreboding causing said lump to feel jagged and painful.

His workday had finished over an hour ago and he had felt the dire need to retreat to the bench outside of his office building rather than heading home for the night. The small, well-kept, tucked-away-from-the-public-eye park had always felt like a safe haven for him. The lushness of the flowers, the emerald green of the grass, the welcoming willows whose branches hung like a mermaid's cascading hair - it was the only place he felt he could find peace. Besides, the park sat on top of a hill, giving one the perfect view of the city. Sunsets and sunrises always seemed more potent there.

Marquand inhaled a deep breath, noting the sweet, refreshing fragrances of climbing jasmine and lavender. As he stared longingly at the sun's departure, he couldn't help the deluge of thoughts that plagued his mind.

He could always hold them at bay while he worked, but as soon as his guard was down, they came, relentlessly prodding him into madness.

His father, whom he had adored and idolized, had been taken from him while Marquand had been far too young. He recalled that night his body had been discovered as tremors of sadness raked their way through his memories.

Marquand had been named after his father, Louis LeCroix Marquand IV. His father had worked tirelessly as a paranormal investigator, dedicating his life's purpose to informing the mortal race of supernatural creatures, and creating a mutual, amicable understanding between the two. He had always felt that knowledge and education were the fundamental pillars of a functioning society. There had been others, hunters, who strongly disagreed with his father's work and had set out to destroy all of his findings. His father, strong-willed as he was, wouldn't give up his research so easily. The fundamentalist hunters, who were indirectly associated with the CIA and went under the secretive name of the Central Paranormal Research Facility, or the CPRF, had murdered his father.

They hadn't stopped there, though. They had targeted Marquand himself, who had been a boy of only eight years old, as well as his older sister, Jaqueline and his mother, Selene. For years they hounded them, never allowing his family to develop any sense of security. As Marquand had approached his eighteenth year of life, he had found a way to throw the CPRF off their trail. He had called in a favor, sending his sister and mother away for a chance at peace and safety to a place even he didn't know the exact locale of. Marquand had taken it upon himself to keep the CPRF focused instead on him.

And they had taken the bait for nearly fourteen years. He had stayed constantly on the move, never staying in one place, or one country for that matter, long enough for them to catch him. It was an exhausting life, a life he no longer felt motivated to uphold.

He sighed as the sun kissed his face one last time before he reluctantly stood and began for his car.

Tonight was the night. He had left an easy trail for the CPRF to follow. It had been planned for several weeks. What had been the point of living anymore? He couldn't settle down in one place, hold a meaningful relationship for longer than a couple of months, or even own a house outright.

As he reached for the door handle of his brand new gun metal gray luxury Jaguar, he froze at the sound of a familiar gruff voice.

"Not another move." the rough male voice warned.

Purposely not armed, Marquand closed his eyes for a moment, holding his breath.

He was done.

"This was almost too easy." the man said, stepping into Marquand's peripheral. "You've been running for too long. Looks like this is the end of the road."

There was little enjoyment in his hurried existence, Marquand thought solemnly. So much so that Marquand's hand went slack by his side and he turned slowly to face the man, who held a gun pointed at his chest.

"Sins of the father," Marquand whispered to himself, shaking his head.

The man cocked his head to the side, not fully understanding. "Can't say I'm sorry to see you die, Marquand. At least your poor old daddy put up a fight when we offed him. You're easy pickings." There was a clicking sound.

Marquand held his breath and brought his head up to face the bullets head on. He always imagined he would die in a blaze of glory, not like this. Not so... so anticlimactic. Perhaps he had made a mistake, he thought, suddenly overcome by a surge of anxiety. His heart thudded in his chest. This was wrong. He couldn't die, not now. The thought of dying had been on thing, actually staring Death in the face, was an entirely different beast altogether.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed himself to succumb to failure? What the hell had possessed him to get to this point, to get into this current situation?

Panicked, he turned on his heel and began to run as fast as he could, but it was too late. The gun shot off a round of bullets into his back, piercing through his chest and stomach. They pelted Marquand as he fell to the ground, his back colliding with the rough asphalt. He gasped and coughed up bouts of blood.

The man laughed victoriously, walked up alongside Marquand's spasming body and gave his rib cage a hard, swift kick, breaking a couple of ribs in the process.

He bent to say something to the dying Marquand, but heard some sort of noise in the not too far distance. He looked up and ran for it, disappearing into the darkening night. The whole thing was sloppy.

Marquand wasn't going to die quickly or pleasantly. The man had strategically shot the bullets, expertly making sure he would suffer for a good, long while before he finally met Death. He laid there helplessly, blood oozing from the four bullet wounds, and streaming from his mouth. How could he have been so foolish to just let them take his life like this? His father would have been ashamed. Marquand was overwhelmed by guilt, remorse and bitterness.

He would have given anything, anything at all, if only he could have one more chance. One more chance to redeem his lapse of judgment. One more chance to avenge his father.

One more chance to live, truly live.

[Lancaster]

Now that he had clothes on his back and a semi-working knowledge of what he could do, the vampire who now called himself ‘Freddie’ took to the streets. Hannah could not keep him entertained at all hours. She had to work, and he would not keep her from her work. It was noble work, and to take up more of her time than he should, he would be depriving her patients of their care.

The sun set late these days, around eight o’clock at night. As a way to repay Hannah for her hospitality, Freddie offered his own blood to her. A blood thief and trained in the art of extracting and using vampire blood, Hannah required a vampire’s blood. No, maybe she didn’t require it, not to survive, but it was something that she craved. And, if Freddie could help her in her needs, then he would do so.

Now, he had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, long legs traversing the pavement as his bright eyes searched the buildings. Every window, every face. Did anyone recognise him? Was he even from Harper Rock? He didn’t even realise there were whole suburbs he avoided in his meanderings; his subconscious choices regarding left or right always chose the direction that led him away from Swansdale, in particular. Swansdale and Redwood. Even Wickbridge was mildly skirted. If he’d wandered into Swansdale he might have stumbled across a pub with his name splayed across its headboard. There’d be employees who’d shout his name. In Wickbridge was home – a home his subconscious had worked hard to forget. Because, unbeknownst to the vampire now known as Freddie, it had long ago stopped feeling anything like a home. Had it ever?

Now, he wasn’t unhappy. Sure, yes, being bereft of one’s own memories was something to be disconcerted about. But the seasons were changing and the breeze was pleasant. It wasn’t too cold, and nor was it too hot. From somewhere there drifted the scent of roast meat. Or fried chips? It didn’t matter. It was a glorious night and, after a good ten minutes of walking, the vampire stopped trying to prod at the missing memories. He instead, vaguely, wondered if he should just start trying to make new ones. If his past wanted to catch up with him, it could do so at its own leisure.

The serenity was broken, however, by the sound of gunshots. Several gunshots. Too curious for his own good and too full of the knowledge of his own power, the vampire wandered toward the noise rather than away from it.

Blood. He could smell blood. Around the next corner and there emerged a shape. No, two – one man on the ground, and another leaning over him. There was a gun in the man’s hand. Someone had been shot, and Freddie doubted that one man was helping the other.

”Hey!” he called. Well, there’s yet another thing he had now discovered. He was not one to shy away from possibly dangerous confrontation. The guy with the gun, on the other hand, seemed to have other proclivities. Danger was not on his list of priorities, and as soon as he thought that he might be caught he ran. Freddie approached the body prone on the ground and crouched down, assessing the damage. It was… well, not good. The blood was pooling. Too much of it.

Freddie reached into his pocket, reaching for something that should be there but wasn’t. Once upon a time the phone had come with him everywhere. Now he didn’t have a phone anymore. It hadn’t bothered him until now.

”It’s going to be okay. I’ll get you some help,” he said, patting the man on the shoulder while also looking up, looking around. He needed to find a phone…

[Marquand (DELETED 9450)]

Life was slowly slipping away. He spasmed as he coughed up what felt like a river of blood. Marquand closed his eyes, reflecting on how completely idiotic he had been. This was his fault. This could have been avoided if he had only put in a minor bit of effort to save himself.

His consciousness became a battleground. On one side, he was beating himself up for his recent decisions, on the other side memories of the past swarmed, at first like a light breeze, but quickly swirling into a hurricane.

He could see flashes of his childhood, his family home, at first beautiful and bright, appearing as it had when he was a boy and then flames. The whole house was burning, the beams crashing down to the ground in smoke, the roof collapsing, the paint melting, his belonging turned to ash. He could see the woman he had once loved years previously, standing in the flames, her luscious blonde hair blackened and burnt, her sparkling green eyes missing, he body decaying.

He could see he mother, beautiful and ethereal, with hair the color of a glistening onyx stone and eyes blue and warm. His sister, who had always looked so much like his mother, was twirling around in those ridiculous ballet tutus she used to wear as a girl, laughing, her voice sweet and melodic.

He could see his father, dark brown hair and eyes that shone like the palest ice blue water. He wasn't smiling. He looked as disappointed as Marquand had ever seen him. His broad shoulders were slumped with sadness, his great height withering as he faded from Marquand's internal sight.

He could see creatures, dozens of them. Supernatural beings in a forest, dashing here and there, while Marquand could only attempt to catch little glimpses of their forms. There was a vampire, hunched on a large stone boulder before him, his eyes glowing amber in the darkness, eyes that stared at him as if trying to tell him something. He could hear him speak, but couldn't make out the words. The vampire's deep voice echoed in his mind, and then faded into nothingness.

The memories and images kept coming and they were overwhelming him, assaulting him, choking him of what little life force he had left.

"No..." he murmured, not intending for the sound to be audible.

He opened his eyes, his hands frantically shaking as he tried to press themselves against the open wounds in his core. Never had he felt so helpless. His death was as painful as it was shameful. Marquand felt as though he were drowning, his lungs were filling with fluid, he realized with a sense of horror. It was as if he were stranded in the middle of the deepest ocean during a raging storm. His thoughts were grabbing at his ankles like starving sharks, pulling him down into the depths of despair, hopelessness and utter madness. But no matter how hard they yanked at him, he struggled with all of his might to keep from going under.

A shadow shaded his eyes from the burning of the awakening street lamps. He looked up, expecting to see the man who had taken his life come back for one last scathing remark, for one last smearing of his beloved father's name.

But the man, from what Marquand could make out, was not one he had ever seen before. The man's hand came to Marquand's shoulders and rather than reeling from the pain of his touch, he felt a strange sense of comfort.

Was this the Angel of Death, come to relieve him of his torture?

Marquand managed a smile, albeit hardly noticeable, as the word "help" trickled into his ear.

"Help..." Marquand breathlessly whispered. "Please... I need..." He tried to grasp at the man, but realized that his hand never came into contact with anything more than air.

"Give me... chance... please... one chance..." he struggled to get the words out, but perhaps the Angel of Death would take pity on him and revive him somehow. He figured it was worth at least the risk. What did he have to lose?

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, staring up at the man, his vision beginning to darken along the edges, "So sorry..."

[Lancaster]

The vampire seized up. Staring at this body so bereft of its own blood, its voice gasping for one more chance – and there was no one else around. The sweeping gaze had found no other living body in the vicinity, the buildings all around belonging to offices that were closed hours ago. If there was anyone behind those shining class windows who had seen, they shied away from the responsibility of help.

And here Freddie was, feeling so much like a ‘new’ vampire but with so much to indicate he was anything but new. He had a strong mind, he had power both in spirit and in limb. Allurist, they’d called him. At first he had laughed. What did that mean? That he was some kind of Johnny Bravo, seducing women left right and centre? No, it just meant that people were drawn to him. And that didn’t necessarily mean it had to be in a sexual way. They were drawn to him because…

Well, he still had to fill in the blanks.

As an allurist, however, they’d informed him that he experienced things differently to others. His emotions were prone to overreacting, heightened to excruciating limit. And as he crouched here with his hand propped against the dying man’s shoulder, he could feel. These couldn’t possibly be his own emotions, could they? There was fear mixed in with a quiet but strong desperation; there was guilt and shame, so much ******* shame. What did Freddie have to be guilty for, or ashamed of? Plenty, he might eventually discover, but right now he had no memory of anything he had done or failed to do. All he had was this moment, this human and his gasping struggle to live. And the vampire knew, instinctively, that these emotions were not his own. No, they belonged to the man on the ground whose blood was slowly coagulating, thickening on the pavement to provide a grotesque and artistic scene for some poor runner to discover on their daily jog in the morning.

Memories were scarce but instinct remained intact. The vampire shifted to make himself more comfortable, shaking the human by the shoulder to keep him awake if only for another five seconds. Another ten.

”Hey. I think I can save you,” he said hastily. Was this something he truly wanted to do? This man was a stranger and Freddie’s life right now was kind of turbulent. He had nowhere to take a fledgling, he had no room to offer that was his own, he had no money. He had only what Hannah had given to him out of the kindness of her own heart. But, the vampire did have blood. Blood that could save a dying human. All that guilt and shame sparked something deep inside the vampire; a voice that could not deny the man another chance. A way to fix the wrongs he thought he’d done in a way that Freddie could not, or had failed to do. There existed only a feeling, one of his own, which was soon swamped and overwhelmed by foreign emotion.

”You’ll be a vampire,” he said, the word slipping easily from his tongue – even as it sounded so obscure. ”Immortality, blood, no sun, all that jazz…” he said, and even as he said it he knew that time was slipping away from them. He lifted his hand to his mouth, sharp teeth tearing into flesh, blood oozing to the surface – the fountain of eternal youth. He held it near the human’s mouth but did not force it. He knew what to do like a baby knows how to breathe, like a bird knows that it should fly.

”But you have to be willing…”

[Marquand (DELETED 9450)]

Marquand could see flashes of color filling his vision. Beautiful hues of golds, pinks, greens and blues. There were vivid purples and sunset oranges, warm yellows and vibrant reds. It was as though he were floating in a vast sea of cosmos, finding everything and nothing all at once. The beauty overwhelmed his sense as he fought for control of his life. It would be so easy to give in to the swirling rainbow galaxy, to fall lovingly into its colorful embrace. He could hear the voices of people he knew in years gone by, who were no longer apart of the realm of the living, beckoning him to submerge himself in this place.

"I..." he whispered, the sensation of peace taking a hold of him, relaxing him, turning the stabbing, throbbing bouts of pain into nothing. He couldn't feel the bullets that were lodged inside of his body any longer. He couldn't feel the ground under his back. He couldn't even remember what touch felt like in this state.

He blinked hard, trying with all of his willpower to stay in his body, to keep his soul from slipping out of his solar plexus to join the voices of the dead. He was fighting a seemingly losing battle, but still he tried.

"Save me..." he echoed as the Angel of Death spoke, his deep voice anchoring the thin thread of Marquand's life to earth.

Marquand forced himself to stay with the Angel, to clear his vision and focus on his savior's blue eyes. There was a comfort there, some sort of understanding that Marquand, if he were in his right logical frame of mind, couldn't quite pin point.

The Angel spoke again, this time more fluidly, his words flowing from his mouth with no restraint and utter ease.

Vampire. The word rang inside of his mind like a hollow melodic bell, pleasant to the ears and filled with an underlying music. Marquand's mind flashed to images, things he had seen on articles of his father's research, photographs that had been thumbtacked to cork boards in his father's office. He remembered hearing his father speak of several supernatural beings, not least of all vampires. They had always held a different sort of meaning to Marquand. Instead of the terrifying Dracula-like vampires his friends had always been wary of, he had seen beings similar to humans, gifted with immortality, limited in certain aspects, misunderstood and curious, whom Marquand had always wanted to sit down and talk to, learn from.

The Angel, the Vampire, he should rephrase, bit into his wrist and held his arm out to Marquand, the slit beneath the base of his palm open and dripping with blood.

"I am..." he said, in a voice just shy of a whisper, "I am... willing."

Marquand's eyes were falling closed against his will, but he summoned every last ounce of strength he had left within him and cradled the Vampire's hand, bringing it to his lips. His mouth parted slightly and tasted the warm, metallic crimson liquid spilling from the Vampire's arm and he began to drank. The more he drank, the more alive he felt, the more alert he became. He drank until the darkness dissipated and his eyes shot wide open.

[Lancaster]

Save me, he said, and the vampire wouldn’t say no. Couldn’t. Like there was an inbuilt switch, a flooding of the heart and soul that had nothing to do with love or attraction. A human kindness that had never and could never abandon the vampire, regardless of the fact that he was no longer human. The human was willing, willing enough to take the initiative that the vampire had offered. Clammy fingers took hold of the vampire’s wrist, lips latched around the bleeding wound, and the vampire hissed and gasped as if he’d never done this before. He hadn’t ever done this before, had he? Then why did it feel so damned familiar?

Muscles twitched in the vampire’s jaw as his head bowed, dark hair falling over placid brow as his eyes closed, and his mind shut down. No, it said. I’m not going to tell you where you’ve been or what you’ve done. Those memories will only do you harm.

And the vampire listened to the voice. The voice calmed him. He let go of that force within, that blockage in his own mind that, if pushed upon, applied uncomfortable pressure. He didn’t tug at the tantalizing thread, this sensation of blood being taken from his wrist like a scent trying to inspire a memory that he couldn’t quite pin down. It was like a melody from a time long past, a lost time, a time that could not be regained.

Now was the time for fresh starts and new memories, new scents and new melodies. New connections, fresh faces. A grand responsibility, yes, but lacking the physical resources the vampire was certain that good intentions and continued support would make up for whatever he lacked. Here was his soul singing this is not something to be guilty for. He was saving a man’s life – what, in that, was there to feel guilty for?

While the soon-to-be-fledgling drank, the vampire opened his eyes and searched in the direction the shooters had disappeared. Who were they? Could they be tracked down? Surely, they couldn’t be allowed to get away with this…

But then, the vampire had no idea who this poor soul was or whether he deserved what he got. The story might come out, in time. Now was not the time for it. Now was the time for rebirth which, it seemed, was taking place within the human bleeding out upon the ground. The eyes flew open, blue as the midday sky, and the vampire could almost see the explosion of sparks, the creation of a new universe within this single vessel.

Despite the sudden wave of nausea the vampire did not pull away. He did not know what to expect; he did not know how much the human would need to replace what he’d lost and heal the rifts in his body. So he did not pull away. He stayed steady, stayed strong, and he waited. Somehow, he expected the ride to get plenty bumpier yet.

[Marquand (DELETED 9450)]

Had his sensitivity to life always been so tremendously astounding? Had his senses always been clogged before, or had he been touched so strongly by death's grip that he had simply forgotten how his primary functions worked? Whatever the case was, Marquand could hardly contain himself.

His eyes were open wide, searching everything and nothing all at once. He was experiencing life as though he had never lived before. He felt like a newborn babe, fresh from the womb, feeling the night's chill air prickle his skin, the waves of color swirling in the darkening night sky above him - it was all new.

As he felt his soul anchor back inside of his solar plexus, he came to the steady realization that he was gripping the wrist of the man crouched before him tightly, as though whatever beautiful crimson liqueur flowing from him into Marquand was precious and all-consuming.

Marquand reluctantly eased his hands from the Vampire's wrist and felt the skin part from his lips. A single drop of his blood trickled from the base of his lower lip to the inner right corner of his mouth. Instinctually, Marquand darted his tongue out to catch the fallen droplet and drink it down his throat.

What he felt was unlike anything he had ever even dreamed was possible for one to experience. It dawned on him that he had been sleeping all of his mortal life. He must have been, for now he was awake. Wide awake. There were sounds he had never heard before swirling in his ear drums like a symphony of melodies. He could hear nocturnal animals stirring from their sleep. He could hear the trees, the flowers, the water, all singing a marvelous song. He could hear cars, people, heartbeats.

The smells were both intoxicating and repulsive. On one hand, he could pick up the gentle aromas of the earth, of nature, of beautifully mixed fragrances, yet on the other hand, he could smell the gutter, the droppings of rats from the sewers, the manure from the freshly gardened lawn.

His skin was tingling with sensations. The ground beneath him seemed to have a life force all its own, holding the energy of centuries and millennia long past. He could feel his clothes wet against his skin, sticking to him from the mixture of spilled blood and sweat. He was still in some disbelief that he had truly allowed himself to be shot, but the guilt he had experienced only moments before had been replaced with something, something he couldn't quite place a finger on yet.

The world was different. Everything had changed. Had he truly been saved, or was he dead? Was this was it felt like to be an earth-bound ghost? Still in the same place as he had died, but aware of an entirely new plane of existence? Yet how could that be possible? The Vampire was clearly aware of Marquand, so he must have saved him from death. This is what it must feel like, Marquand thought, to be a vampire. With each thought that came into his mind, he cringed at the sound of his internal speak. His voice, deep and rich, was louder and more potent than it ever had been, so much so that he had wondered if he had actually spoken the words aloud.

He blinked away the endless monsoon of questions that were exploding into his mind and instead focused on the man above him. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't immediately find the voice he had just heard in his head. He reached down into the depths of himself and tried again, "You saved me." he managed, his voice coarse and raw, as though this were the first time he had ever used it. He wanted to say more, to thank him, to ask him what would happen then, but he was too overwhelmed by his senses.

[Lancaster]

The vampire watched, enthralled. The emotion coming from the man beneath him was like a vibrant chord, a melody so subtle and yet so powerful that it ensnared the vampire and kept him grounded. There was no single emotion to cling to, and even now, still, the vampire wasn’t so sure what it was he was feeling – except that he was dead certain it did not belong to him.

The knowledge might have come naturally but the truth was, Freddie did not know what would happen next. It didn’t matter how deep he tried to scoop, he couldn’t recall his own siring, or how he had felt, or how long it had taken him to adjust. He couldn’t remember a life before vampirism; he couldn’t remember how muffled everything sounded, how dull the colours were, how vague the scents. This was all he knew, this world with its sharp edges and its dust motes, its buzzing flies and fluttering moths. It was a night-time hustle and bustle, of wind and trees and water dripping in pipes, the constant hum and buzz of electricity in the power lines feeding into the hiss of television screens behind windows that barely kept the privacy inside.

It wasn’t all muck and murk, however. In his nightly meandering there were plenty of things Freddie had found to admire. The sound of a woman singing in the shower, her window open to the world. She wasn’t a bad singer. She was quite good, and probably too shy to do anything beyond sing in her own shower when she thought no one could hear her.

There was the scent of flowers in window gardenbeds; Freddie did not know flowers, could not name the scent of them if he tried, but it was a natural perfume that filtered through the beaded dark of the threatening streets, with its vampires and its thieves and its opportunists on every corner. It was a natural scent that blended with the perfume of the girl walking hand in arm with her boyfriend, their murmurs low and loving and enthusiastic – a music unto itself. Underlying her perfume was the scent of humanity, and it wasn’t uncouth. It was young, it was alive.

And the breeze! It was like a dancing partner leading in a waltz, the music so subtle and sweet that it could barely be heard. The breeze was the melody, leading one along like a heart on a string. It played with one’s hair, touched one’s skin like a lover’s caress.

Not that Freddie remembered what that felt like, either.

Eventually, the man on the ground spoke. Freddie nodded, and offered the same hand that had fed the now-fledgling as leverage. He’d pull them both to standing position given the opportunity, Freddie a little light-headed due to the loss of blood and no doubt seeking blackmarket replacement later on. He could always go back to the sewers for his fix, he’d always told himself that. But he never had. He was terrified he’d get stuck down there again.

”I did,” Freddie said, confirming. Why? Why not?

”My name is Freddie. I haven’t got much to offer you, I’m afraid. I may even lack the ability to help you adjust as I’m still finding my own feet. But I’ll do my best,” he said, mostly unaware of what the new vampire was going through, or how loud his voice might be to the newly sensitive ears.

[Marquand (DELETED 9450)]

The world was new, as though he had been kept in a dark cave his entire life and this man had somehow pulled him out into the light, revealing something fresh and untouched. The terror he had only moments ago experienced seemed like an aeon gone. Although he supposed it technically was a lifetime ago.

There were tingles rushing through his body. His skin was hyper sensitive, noticing each and every caress of the gentle humming breeze, feeling the night like it were a living thing in its own right.

The man helped pull Marquand to his feet as he introduced himself. It's a pleasure to meet you, Freddie. My name is Marquand. He tipped his head, as his father had always done upon making someone new's acquaintance. He smiled, a warm grin stretching across his lips. You've already given me more than I could ever have asked for. I'm eternally grateful to you. He shook his head, still in awe and wonder of what had just occurred. I supposed I have quite a bit to learn.

That was more than likely a drastic understatement. From what little his father had instilled in him about the vampric kind, he presumed that everything he had ever known was elementary. The cravings he would feel, the avoidance of the sun, the need to be ever-wary of new enemies... he imagined those things were simply surface items.

The moon peered through the tops of the trees, shining an ethereal light down upon them. Marquand glanced down, noting the difference in the hue of his skin. It had a kind of opaqueness to it that it hadn't had before, an unnatural coating that seemed to glow like a neon light in the darkness. The blood at his feet was slick and sticky. Even though it had been his own, he felt something deep within him stir, a kind of appetite that had never been there before.

Every stereotypical movie Marquand had ever seen concerning vampires flashed in his mind. As they did so, he swallowed an uncomfortable lump that had began to form in his throat. Is it a requirement to kill someone after feeding from them? he asked, a bit softer than before. While Marquand had just fed from Freddie, he imagined it would be quite different when feeding from a, well a human.

Marquand took a subtle sniff of the air. From the simple sampling, he picked up seemingly everything around him. He shuffled through the scents until he picked up a coldly familiar one. The man who had shot him had left a trail, albeit invisible. He furrowed his brow slightly, trying to get a mental image of where he was, what he was doing.

He refocused on Freddie. Do vampires get frequently hounded by hunters? Perhaps Freddie knew something about the hunters, and if he didn't, it was certainly something to discuss with him of all people.

[Lancaster]

Freddie watched the new vampire with a sense of wonderment, as if he, too, was discovering everything for the first time. And he was, in a way. Marquand – that’s what he introduced himself as – offered his eternal gratefulness and Freddie released a heavy breath which morphed into a laugh. Eternally grateful? This, he said, before asking questions that Freddie could not answer.

”Please, hold on the eternal gratitude until you’ve had a while to adjust,” he said, rubbing at his jaw with his hand. Freddie was a genuine guy, one who did not pussy-foot around. He wasn’t about to stand there and lie to this fledgling, nor try to appear more than what he was. This wasn’t going to be what a new vampire wanted to hear, but it was best to get all honesty out in the open.

”This… okay. This was probably something I shouldn’t have done and I’m just going to get this out there. The fact that I’m the kind of guy to stop and save a stranger on the street because said stranger asked to be saved is new to me. I didn’t know I was that kind of guy until well, right now. I ah… have no idea what happened to me but everything from beyond a week ago is a total blank,” he said. He didn’t go into the specifics of how he came to his senses, or where he’d been found. Though he would eventually mention Hannah, because Marquand would no doubt meet Hannah. It was inevitable.

And yet, Freddie knew himself to be confident and independent enough to keep his phone in his pocket. He would call Hannah because there was a small possibility that there’d be another body in her apartment, crashing on her couch. But Freddie knew nothing about Marquand, and maybe Hannah’s couch could be saved. It was only common courtesy, as a housemate with questionable mental health, to let her know where he was and what he was doing.

”So. I’m going to help you. As best I can. To answer your questions? I know there are blood packs we can buy but the feeding itself – for whatever reason, human blood doesn’t do it for me. I take only from other vampires. And so far, I know no other vampires. Not that I’m aware of,” he said, clearing his throat for the second time. He rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes slipping skyward. He gave a slow shrug of his shoulders.

”I know that humans know about vampires. I know… I mean, I guess there are those who wouldn’t mind being bitten. We can inquire. Hunters?” the vampire shook his head with a slight frown. ”I’ve had no trouble. I think, if you stay out of the spotlight, they’ve got no reason to bother. There’s plenty of violence out there for the peaceful to be left alone…”