Birth of a Bachelor

[Dan (DELETED 9778)]

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Tagged → Alaric von der Marck

Outfit

By the time Daniel made it to Chat Thai, the stomach cramps had become persistent and painful. Hours had passed since that first pang of hunger, but he’d ignored it then. He’d lost himself in the task of unpacking, determined to accomplish something worth rewarding himself for. It didn’t occur to him until he agreed to sit at a table that he’d had no valid reason to push his meal to so late in the evening—morning.

00:51

A curious glance about the restaurant’s modest front room reaffirmed the waiter’s eagerness to host him: the establishment’s opening hours were printed by the till, and he had plenty of time. To see that the restaurant would close long after he was gone eased his discomfort at sticking around. The last thing he wanted to do was make anyone stay longer than they were scheduled on for.

Daniel was the only person seated at the restaurant, which didn’t necessarily surprise him for a weeknight. He was however surprised to hear the phone ring multiple times throughout the course of his mammoth meal. Over half a dozen people walked in on separate occasions to pick up their orders. They all appeared to be regulars, which confirmed what his tastebuds discovered with every bite: the food was worth coming back for.

He made a mental note to pluck their take-out menu on his way home.

The food hit the spot, but in his race to quiet the wrenching roar in his belly he’d ordered far too much. The waiter hadn’t commented when Daniel had placed his order, but he certainly didn’t look surprised when asked for sealable containers and a plastic bag.

Unless he found someone needy to give the chock-full containers to between here and his flat, he’d have enough for a hearty lunch or dinner later in the day. Given the hour, he wondered whether he’d be hungry at all come midday. Glancing down at his phone to check on the time, Daniel rounded the corner, not expecting what lay beyond it.

[Alaric von der Marck]

WEARING

Although the cold did not touch Alaric von der Marck, he enjoyed the attire available to him to shield him from the chill regardless. Rather than call a tailor to himself, the elder von der Marck took the opportunity to leave the Estate; in the beginning it was not something he wished to do, but had forced himself to. Because a man who gave in to his fear was not a man, but a coward.

Now, the city had become… not yet a playground within which he could frolic comfortably, but an acquaintance with which he was slowly becoming more accustomed. It would take time, as all new alliances should. But the fear no longer existed. Anxiety sometimes lingered at the edges of senses that were still so overwhelmed with modernity, but they were acclimatising.

It was from the tailor that Alaric now came, and from the barber nearby; his cheeks and chin were smooth, his hair brushed back. There was no reason to stray within the city but with a new suit and feeling so fresh he thought it a waste to go home so soon.

Though as bright his eyes and alert as he was, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, he could not have predicted nor anticipated the hot mess that came unfocused around the corner. Alaric did not know who it was, whether man or woman, human or otherwise. Not immediately. They were too close in a space too dark. Though, after the collision had run its course and, as he stepped back, Alaric’s first visual encounter was with the hot food that now covered the light grey cashmere that was only half hour from the tailor.

The disapproving gaze was then drawn to the electronic device in, what he now ascertained as, the young man’s hand. The dislike for the device was not immediate; it was drawn from a deep well of loathing which had been dug in the nights following Alaric’s return.

”You have lost your food…” he said, stating the obvious.

[Dan (DELETED 9778)]

“****!”

Shocked by the impact, Daniel exclaimed. There was no bite to his words as his reflexes failed him, the contents of the plastic bag spilling in its entirety from the containers. His grip on his phone tightened, the curve of his thumb blocking the screen from splatter.

“****. I’m so sorry.”

Lost was a… generous term. He was certain a fair portion of the meal could be found seeping into their clothes, more so the stranger’s than his own At least it hadn’t been piping hot.

It wasn’t so much the loss that preoccupied him, but the damage it’d caused. Coconut milk, spices, oils… They didn’t take kind to fabric. The smell, especially, would linger until properly cleaned. The better the quality of the knit, the more likely a skilled dry cleaners could recuperate the garment, but that didn’t remedy anything now.

“It’s my fault. I wasn’t lookin—I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, truly.”

Having pocketed his phone, Daniel sought the nearest bin to drop the soiled bag into. It was truly a shame to let it go to waste, but the little that might be salvaged wasn’t worth the drip all the way home.

For early morning on a weeknight, this man was impeccably dressed. Or had been at least. And regardless of whether or not this man was on his way home, there was no way he could be allowed to navigate these cold temperatures with wet, soiled clothes.

“I live right around the block. I can offer you a change of clothes and the cost of cleaning… the cost of a cab to get you to wherever you’re headed. I’m really sorry, man.”

[Alaric von der Marck]

After Alaric had been turned the pungent scent of human food had driven him insane with longing. His mouth had watered for what it missed, but every time he tried to consume it he’d only throw it back up again. And, as happens when one is violently ill after consuming a favourite food, one is turned off of that food afterwards, the memory of it tainted by the regurgitation and accompanying nausea. Over the centuries, Alaric’s longing for human food had faded—in this century, it was all so different, too, an amalgamation of different cuisines. It was all so rich, and with his senses so heightened and hyper-aware…

…it was the scent more than the mess that had him concerned, his brow furrowed in irritation but softened by the gentlemanly desire to remain well mannered. The other man was clearly contrite and the genuine apology assuaged Alaric’s discontent and his urge to be discourteous.

If it weren’t for the overwhelming scent or the fact that the suit was new, Alaric might have waved the young man off and went on his way, disregarding any reparation he sought to make. But Alaric was not sure he could handle that smell for the duration between here and home, and he wanted to get the sauce off the garment as soon as possible, to give it less time to sink in and really make its mark.

It was not the money he was concerned about, but the craftsmanship. The waste.

”The change of clothes will suffice,” he said in a lowly grumble. ”The money is of no concern. I do not wish for the stain…” he said. Some of the sauce had pooled in his palm, which he now flicked to the pavement. He was loathe to wipe his hand on his suit, or to touch the mess at all lest he make it worse.

[Dan (DELETED 9778)]

The speech struck him as odd. The accent was familiar, but the manner in which the words were arranged was far from pedestrian. Daniel had to take another good look at the man to assure himself he wasn’t being taken for a ride. Was that condescension he’d heard? He couldn’t quite tell, nor did he have much of a leg to stand on considering it was his dinner that’d been spilled onto such a nice outfit.

Sidestepping the stranger, Daniel extended an arm and motioned in the direction the other had, he presumed, come form. Their destination was at the opposite end of the block, across the street. The elegant complex wrapped around the corner, all glass and steel.

“Yeah, that cashmere looks expensive,” he chuckled sheepishly, willing his hands away from his pockets. The night air was cold against the spilled liquid cooling across his knuckles. As he stepped off the sidewalk, Daniel scooped a handful of snow off a car’s hood and cupped it between his palms until it’d be of use. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. Without bothering to look both ways, he crossed. “It’s very good line though, I’m sorry to have—uh.”

It didn’t feel good reaching into his pocket for his keys, but he was reassured by the knowledge that his sweatpants, as opposed to his fleece top and windbreaker, could be tossed into the wash within the hour. Holding the key out, he pressed it to a metal plate by the double doors. The security locks released, and he pulled one of the glass doors open for his… guest?

[Alaric von der Marck]

The snow was a good idea, and was not something that Alaric himself might have thought of. Though, he supposed, given the temperature of his skin (or lack thereof) the snow would not melt, and there would not be any water with which to clean his fingers. Some of the snow was fresh enough that it squeaked with each step he took; a discordant sound that may not have been detectable by the human ear.

It seemed that their destination was not too far away, and Alaric had refrained from answering the young man’s statements. Neither had been questions—the former was mere truth, and the latter seemed like an unfinished thought. Alaric could not respond to an unfinished thought.

The complex into which the young man led Alaric was, like a lot of the architecture in the city, modern. All glass and steel, it didn’t appeal to the elder who clung, sometimes, to tradition. He preferred colonnades and embellishments, not so much baroque but almost colonial in style—though he did not agree with colonialism itself. Some of the buildings were heritage listed and they were scattered amongst the modernity like cornered breaths of fresh air. This building was not one of them.

”Danke,” he said as he passed through the opened doorway; he waited within, assuming that he would be led to another door. The concept of apartments was new to him, too, though he’d visited one or two in the year or more since he’d risen.

”My name, it is Alaric von der Marck,” he said. He was about to enter this stranger’s house, and to offer a name (and hope for one in return) was only good manners. The elder was a little tense, on guard; this could all be some elaborate trick, a hunter leading him into a trap. He would remain on guard until he was certain there was no trick to be had. ”I would shake your hand, but perhaps we will wait until we are clean…” he said, wondering if the snow had done the trick.

[Dan (DELETED 9778)]

“Von der Marck? Huh.”

Daniel offered no other commentary. Years of working in business allowed him to school his expression before it gave way to his confusion. He took advantage of their circumstance to stalk ahead and call for the lift, willing his mind not to read between the lines. Once the button pushed, he turned towards Alaric with a smoothened expression, smile tightlipped and polite.

“Daniel Adler.”

As he spoke, he gripped the keycard to diffuse the tension in his fingers; introductions were seldom offered without a shake of the hand. He extended his arm as the metal doors opened, invitingly. Changing his mind now and turning the man away would only shed suspicion, create an awkward situation he sought to avoid. There was a part of him which wanted answers too, and Daniel knew that the only way to get them would be to deal with this as he would any other new acquaintance.

“So, you’re from Germany?” He cleared his throat, motioning towards his own face, “The accent, that’s German, isn’t it?”

Could be Dutch, or even Austrian. He refrained from saying such, the tap of his thumb against the keycard’s edge as much of his nerves as he was willing to indulge.

[Alaric von der Marck]

Huh.

A strange sound, if ever Alaric had heard one – a direct reaction to the name von der Marck. Why? Alaric peered at the younger man, who introduced himself as Daniel Adler. The name did not sound familiar, but he looked to be around the same age as Judah, as Leonie and the younger set of von der Marcks. It would not be surprising if he knew them, thus the name would be familiar – and eliciting a curious huh. Alaric let it go, and paid it no more mind.

Daniel’s hand was taken, the coolness of Alaric’s grip easily explained by the weather outside. It was a firm grip, but a non-threatening one—despite the wariness Alaric showed toward the silent thrum of the elevator. The doors opened and the anxiety the elder suffered was not rewarded, but instead given reason to exist. Over Daniel’s shoulder Alaric was afforded the view of a bright and welcoming metal box that was lined, infuriatingly, with mirrors. He would never understand the human fascination with mirrors. There was Daniel’s back, the man shaking hands with thin air. It might have been amusing were it not mildly disappointing. He cleared his throat.

”Ja,” he said. ”It is German,” he acceded. He could make this situation awkward. He could duck out of sight of the mirrors, claim that he was claustrophobic and instead request the stairs. Instead, he half fast to Daniel’s hand, keeping the young man from immediately turning around. The open doors waited.

”Maybe, you will change your mind. You will instead ask me to wait in the foyer,” he said. ”I will be happy, if it is for your comfort,” he said. Not everyone was a fan of vampire-kind and inviting one into one’s own home was… well, that was up to Daniel. Alaric let go of Daniel’s hand.

[Dan (DELETED 9778)]

Confusion fleeted past Daniel’s features as he cast a wary glance at the foyer. The large panes of glass on every side of the lobby offered no privacy, and aside from the unoccupied concierge desk, there was no place Alaric could change into fresh clothes.

“Please, come upstairs. You’ll have far more privacy to change than!” he stepped sideways, placing one foot in front of the closing doors. Daniel positioned his body halfway between the lobby and elevator, facing Alaric as he finished his sentence, “—than down here.”

Unable to battle the doors forever, Daniel stepped fully into the elevator and pressed the button which kept the doors open. Experience had taught him that blocking the doors physically would only instigate the alarm, a lesson he’d failed to learn when moving his new furniture in.

When Alaric obliged, he pressed his keycard to the reader and turned to face the other.
“How long have you been in Harper Rock? Are you—” —His mouth churned out an cacophonous ending to his question, distraction apparent. His train of thought was brought to a sudden stop as he made sense of what he saw over Alaric’s shoulder: not Alaric’s reflection. Glancing at the closing doors and opposite wall of glass, Daniel struggled to stop his jaw’s awkward convulsions. It took clearing his throat before he could speak again, this time his voice a little strained.

“I’ve never met one of you before. I thought it was a local myth, something they told tourists.”

[Alaric von der Marck]

Alaric watched, wary, as Daniel caught the elevator doors – as he insisted the elder follow him, please, come upstairs, without seeing exactly who and what he was inviting. Alaric could have refused. He could have stepped away from the elevator and made his apologies and his exit. Instead, he followed. He slipped into that confined, claustrophobic space, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Not so much because he was worried what Daniel would do, but because he disliked elevators more than he disliked motor vehicles. The hum and whir and bump and clatter that resonated through the walls – of course it wasn’t so bad as that, and most elevators were smooth in their passage. But still, Alaric was claustrophobic and, for one his age, stupidly terrified of the dark. What if the power went out, and they were stuck?!

Better to focus on the human in front of him, whose words were cut short, an incoherent sound followed by a statement. Alaric made sure to make no sudden movements, his own features matching the strain in Daniel’s voice but for completely different reasons.

”Tour…ist?” it was not a word that Alaric was familiar with. As strong as his grip on the English language had become, the pace at which he had learned it meant that a few words were left out. Odd words, here and there. Words that he may have read but for which the context had not been strong enough for the meaning to stick. He shook his head.

”A myth no longer,” he said, the words cropped as if he were displeased. Mostly, he was displeased. He’d have preferred to have kept to his estate, humanity none the wiser. Now, however, was the time to get ahead of the curve. There were no hoards with pitchforks and torches, and Alaric was slowly coming around to the notion that perhaps it would not end as badly as it had the last time. If there was transparency, perhaps the humans would no longer fear. And thus no longer seek to destroy what it was that scared them.

”Your question, it is not so easy to answer. Bitte, I mean you no harm…”