The Gallery

[Salvator]

S A L V A T O R :

That had, after a manner, been what Salvator had meant when he’d said he had decided to lay down his roots in Harper Rock. He was just arrogant enough to believe that he could help the city of monsters, or maybe it was that he had gone to a place where he might be needed. His skills were admittedly suited towards public relations, and if there was one place in the world which needed that, it was Harper Rock. Or maybe even more deeply, he felt some kinship to the place. Old and misunderstood, brimming with wisdom, and potential and danger. Maybe it represented to him what he wanted to be. Whatever the case, his reasons for having moved were far more complex than he could verbalize in any reasonable timeframe. He didn’t respond, other than to give a nod and then a shrug. He agreed entirely, in a way that defied the need for context. So what else was there to add?

And then the conversation turned over to transit, which Salvator should have had in mind as soon as he stood up. He hadn’t, of course, because his reasons for wanting to visit the von der Marck home were largely selfish, albeit with a reasonable facade of generosity and a certainly genuine desire to get to know Alaric better. He lightly cleared his throat, as if there were something in the air which did not quite sit right. “One moment.” He said, a hand lifting, along with a lone finger as if to pause the moment. He stopped in his tracks right outside of the coffee shop so that he could use his other hand to pull free a cell phone and tap over the screen a few times. He glanced up when he was pocketting the device. “I have a driver.” he explained, and he used that term because it seemed less snooty than chauffeur. In truth, Salvator had grown up in a country where it was common to drive on the left side of the road, and whenever he visited a nation where the opposite was true, he hired someone on so he didn’t have to deal with the headache of traffic.

Seconds later, a 2016 Rolls Royce Phantom Coupe in an alluring shade of blue (which seemed to only highlight the depth of Salvator’s eyes, as if it had been intentionally chosen for that reason), pulled up. The man behind the steering column wore a black suit and tie, with leather driving gloves. He was clean cut and shaven, but silent as he slipped from the car so that he could open up the door for either men. “Alaric, this is Morgan Pierce. I’ve used his services for years when I’ve visited this part of the world.” He explained. In fact, Salvator paid well enough that Morgan had been known to drop other clients just to suit the Englishman’s needs. This was not only due to the price Mr. Hastings paid, but also because he was treated like family.

Moments later, they were in the car. There was no partition between the front and the back. “Let him know where we’re going.” He offered. “And don’t be afraid to speak freely around him. Given the nature of some of my work, Mr. Pierce here has been privy to all sorts of information that could have undone me or politicians, or...you get what I’m saying. He can be trusted.” Which came with a grunt of consent from the front seat. In truth, Morgan was just a taciturn individual who saw very little need to chatter to begin with. Normally he would just nod and give non-committal responses when Salvator went through one of his famed spiels - which was to say when Salvator was working through something, a set of details out loud in the attempts to arrive at some sort of conclusion.

The ride itself was smooth, which indicated a particular acumen. And Salvator himself seemed to relax into his side of the vehicle. He’d noticed that Alaric didn’t get a drink, and he wondered if that was compulsory or if perhaps the German was just not a fan of coffee. He kept the question to himself though.

[Alaric von der Marck]

The elder was generally good at hiding his reactions, though on this occasion his surprise was clearly marked. A driver? No questions needed to be asked, as Alaric’s wonderment about whether the statement meant exactly what it sounded like was soon answered. A driver. As simple as it sounded, Salvator had hired someone simply to drive him around. The information had been given with a sheepish air and Alaric got the impression the other man was ashamed of it. Why, Alaric did not know. It was a brilliant idea.

Once they were ensconced within the vehicle -- in the backseat, which Alaric was not accustomed to -- he did as requested. The Estate had an address that not many people were familiar with, so he explained that it would be found by taking the highway south out of the city. They would be leaving the city, even if it wasn’t to go too far.

Once the car had peeled away from the curb, Alaric did his best to relax; he didn’t look out the windows, as doing so often made him nauseous despite the constant reminders that he had nothing to eject from his stomach. He tried not to think about the rough asphalt so close beneath them, nor remember the scene he had witnessed not too long ago -- an accident where car had collided with another. Metal had been twisted into an unrecognisable shape. The scent of oil and spilled fuel hadn’t been strong enough to mask the scent of blood, which had been copiously splattered across one of the windshield. Glass had sparkled on the black road. A woman had been sobbing.

Instead, Alaric focused on Salvator.

“This is something that people will do? You will pay him to drive you? What does he do when he is not required? Where did you find him?” Alaric asked. As much as he hated motor vehicles, he lacked the preternatural abilities to travel from place to place without a mode of transport. He had the tome secure in his pocket, of course, but it would work only for him, and regardless he was not sure Salvator should yet learn of the magic that surrounded his new acquaintance, nor the magic that Alaric was capable of. Surely, Salvator might be a little perturbed were Alaric to lead him down into the weaving tunnels to show off his ‘ritual room’ -- the room within which Alaric had been returned to life. It was dull and archaic, and positively witchy.

Every now and again it could be useful to have a driver. Alaric laughed, quickly realising his barrage of questions were out of character.

“I apologise. It is only a novelty that I might find useful,” he explained.

[Salvator]

S A L V A T O R :

Salvator noted the surprise on features he had already come to accept as being difficult to read. He was concerned he’d made a bad impression up until the point where they were seated in the back of the car and Alaric began to speak. It being his car, the memoirist had been more than happy to make himself comfortable. His gaze had lingered on the street where they had just been. It was well into the night, but the darkness was not absolute because of all the street lamps. The stars were cloaked in visual pollution, and he too saw that when he glanced up. It was not intentional, the way he missed Alaric’s discomfort at being in the vehicle, if there was any way to tell really. Instead, the Englishman reached for the compartment which held cigars, Scotch and what looked like antique crystal tumblers, carefully cushioned.

The humidor in which the cigars were kept did not seem to be used, or looked as if it had gone unopened for some time. This was because Salvator almost never indulged. He’d read once somewhere that cigars were roughly the same as twenty cigarettes in volume of tobacco, and Salvator liked to think he had enough vices. He smoked them rarely, a reward for when he finished a book or got a particularly good deal, but it seemed wrong not to offer one up to a guest. He glanced towards the German vampire, and held up his offerings along with a bit of a raised brow, as if those visual cues alone asked the question he didn’t verbalize.

“There is a market for everything, my friend. These days especially, there are apps on your phone which can open you up to entire worlds of service industries.” A lot of Western countries were actually moving more and more away from producing goods, because they could import a huge number of items at a cheap rate from significantly less developed countries. Especially in urban areas where there may have, at one point, been dozens of factories, there might be one place that produced bricks or shoes or things of that nature. For the most part, those who were employed were employed for specific tasks - or for sales. The people who actually made things had been in the minority for a generation. Of course, with the ‘small batch’ revolution, and people becoming more globally conscious, there was something of a resurgence in the making of items. But that was skilled labor, and not everyone had time or patience to learn a skill.

“I met Mr. Pierce before things like Uber and Lyft were popularized though. As I only infrequently have visited the States and Canada in the past, I’ve just used temporary contracts. As I plan to spend a good chunk of the rest of my life in Harper Rock, he’s going to be salaried from now on.”

“With benefits.” Came the amendment from the front seat.

“Yes, with benefits. I don’t normally keep a staff. I prefer to keep my own space tidy and enjoy my privacy too much to have someone, for example, going through my drawers to clean. A driver is a necessity for me though.”

And that was when Salvator noticed that Alaric wasn’t looking outside. In fact, he seemed to be singularly focused on the Englishman and the exchange between the men in the front and back seats. “You apologize for no offense. There have just been one too many occasions in the past where I’ve been driving on these backwards…”

There was a light snort from the front seat.

“...Streets only to find I’ve nearly merged onto another car.” He clarified, even as his focus shifted once more past the window. The city seemed to be getting darker. Or maybe they were nearing the very edge. “And you? What need have you for a driver?”

[Alaric von der Marck]

Alaric had regrets.

If he’d not asked the questions, he’d not have received the many answers that he didn’t fully understand, though he’d known that might have been the case as soon as ‘apps’ and ‘phones’ were mentioned. The family had ensured that Alaric had his own mobile device but he had quite soon opted not to use it. They all knew that his mind was open to them; they knew that if he needed to get in touch all he had to do was reach out to them telepathically. Whether or not they liked it, it was Alaric’s preferred mode of communication.

And the way the driver -- Mr Pierce -- replied without being addressed told Alaric that the man was eavesdropping on the conversation. As much as the elder might have slowly been willing to reveal parts of his nature to Salvator, he would not immediately trust the driver, too. Revealing his ignorance on so many things -- apps, nor knowing what Uber or Lyft were, that he needed a driver because he did not know how to drive -- would reveal plenty about Alaric as a person. He would appear strange and foreign and he did not wish to have that conversation in the back of a car.

At least Alaric, given his new position and research regarding his own company, could understand the concept of salaries and the benefits that came with them. Wanting to know all that happened in his own house, Alaric also knew that they had a cleaning crew. They’d been coming long before Alaric had been awakened, and he felt it was not his place to dismiss them. They could not access the part of the estate where he slept, which was where any of his precious belongings were kept. The house was maintained, and that was what mattered.

When the cigar was offered, Alaric waved it away. It wasn’t that he couldn’t smoke. In fact, it was one of the few things he could do to get a taste of something that was not blood. He did not wish to indulge, however, within the moving car. He was uncomfortable enough as it was.

Far too old for anxiety in the face of his discomfort, Alaric cleared his throat. “It is no offense to Mister Pierce but there are things I would not discuss in company,” he said. Judging by the repartee between Salvator and the driver, it was clear that Salvotor himself trusted his soon-to-be employee. But what was to say that the man would not go home and discuss his work with his family or friends or co-workers? Surely drivers would have plenty of amusing stories to share about the men and women they ferried around the city. Alaric would prefer not to become one of those stories.

“The road, it is straight. When you will reach a large bend, there is a driveway. It will be about ten minutes,” Alaric said. They had indeed turned onto the road that would lead them toward the estate, nestled as it was in the wilderness and hills of wild Canada.

[Salvator]

S A L V A T O R :

The offer for a cigar was waved off, and that put the matter to rest soundly. It was just classic hospitality really. Though something Salvator noticed around the same time was that there was a bit of undirected tension in the air. He wasn’t sure exactly what the source of cause of it was, which was why he didn’t address it. It was entirely possible that Alaric was just uncomfortable in cars or something to that effect. Motion sickness was what people called it - that miscommunication between brain and inner ear which caused dizziness, nausea and even legitimate sickness. It was entirely possible that Alaric was one of the people who suffered from it, given that his behaviour had changed in small, barely perceptible ways once he entered the vehicle.

Salvator did not press - it was not his way to make assumptions which normally meant a certain frank communication, but he did not want to offend either.

The brief confusion though, abated when Alaric explained that he did not wish to share their conversation with Pierce. Or at the very least, it was one piece of the puzzle. Thankfully, Pierce had not been hired for his conversation, and was more than happy to take in the directions from the German in the backseat, before he pushed a button to roll up the tinted, triple pane divider up. The car had been modified some years before, because there were times when Salvator had to work with extremely delicate information, such as criminal records, confessions from murderers, intelligence delivered to him from private investigators. He didn’t distrust Pierce, of course, but there were some situations when it was better to throttle the spread of information rather than try to deal with the fallout if something unexpected was let slip. After all, it was the age of instant and constant communication. Even rumours could be enough to damn a person if enough people bought into them.

“Privacy.” Salvator explained when the wall went up. There was a control for it as well in the back seat - and once it was in the upright position, it was locked from the front end, which meant that Pierce could not have let the little window down even if he’d wanted to. “Sound proof mostly, or about as sound proof as you can get in a motor vehicle. And dark enough that Pierce couldn’t read our lips even if he wanted to.” He found himself glancing out of the window though to the outside world. It all looked so terribly dark and twisted once the regular burst of light from city lamps was gone. All there really was were the headlights which made the surrounding trees seem like phantasms with long claws reaching across the car. It was eerily beautiful in a way. “I honestly should have had that up earlier. We were having a conversation and it’s terribly bad form to invite someone in without asking.” After all - had Sal not just said that he prized his privacy?

He was quiet then, as his thoughts turned to the way Alaric had so openly invited him into his home. This in and of itself was a show of good faith was it not? Halls could say a great deal about the ones who walked them, and the German had made it seem as if he’d built the place with his own two hands. This made the whole thing all the more intimate though the seed of curiosity inside of him was illuminated by the mystery. And indeed as they approached the estate, he caught glimpses of it growing larger through that window. So this was the place that a man like Alaric called home.

[Alaric von der Marck]

Salvator claimed privacy as the barrier went up without a word spoken. Alaric was dubious. He turned his head as if listening for himself, eyes dropping to the upholstery momentarily. He was listening. For a heartbeat or a murmur, for a radio. Anything. But he couldn’t. All he could hear was the hushed roar of the road flying by beneath the car’s wheels, the wind as it buffeted the metal of their carriage, and only one heartbeat. It belonged to the man sitting beside him. Eventually, Alaric’s eyes returned to his company.

”I do not drive,” he said in belated response. Something that he had admitted to earlier, and thus it was no big deal. ”Perhaps that in itself is no great shameful secret to keep from the likes of your Mister Pierce,” he admitted. It did seem somewhat foolish to request privacy only to admit that one did not drive. Perhaps he had been willing to give his reasons, but now they seemed far too large to contain in the smallness of this car’s cabin. Though, had he not already dropped hints enough this evening?

”If I am honest with you, I do not like motor vehicles. They are too loud, too fast. I suffer claustrophobia,” Alaric explained. He’d tried testing himself on many occasions, building the coffin-like boxes that could house him if above-ground. Every single time the boxes had ended up in pieces, the elder unable to remain enclosed in the pitch blackness. It wasn’t so much the lack of space that bothered him, but instead the darkness. No, it wasn’t so much the claustrophobia that got to him in the back of a vehicle, but he suspected it had something to do with the new age and the electronics. The older the car the better, but even then he disliked the speed. He could not imagine were he allowed behind the wheel, though he did often wonder if he would feel better were he himself in control.

Alaric cleared his throat.

The estate was fast approaching—he didn’t like how the city had seemed to creep up on it while he was dead—and the subject might be changed. The car turned down the drive and Alaric reached into his pocket to push the button that would release the gate and allow the car in. Huge pines lined the driveway past the gate, but once they were inside the boundary of the property the pines were more refined and less wild. They were tamed to frame the entrance to the estate. They petered out to reveal a circular driveway, in the middle of which was a fountain lit warmly from below. The fountain was subtle, understated—tall, with four cherubic children with their backs to the circular column, at the top of which was elegant curlicued etchings that let out onto the sprouting fountains of water.

The house itself was grand in its nature, painted white—though it had been refurbished over the years, the Western baroque could clearly be seen as its skeleton. The gardens were maintained, hedges around the edges of the house which led, in the distance, to a hedge maze. Though it didn’t seem as if Salvator had had any doubts about coming home with Alaric, at least now he could be assured he hadn’t been carted off to some gothic manor to be disposed of in good stereotypical vampiric fashion. The house was lit from the outside and in, all warmth and welcome. Alaric smiled to see it.

”We will talk more as I give you the tour…” he said, eager to be released from the car.