agoodyarn | Vampire AU : The Worst / Best Decision He's Ever Made

Vampire AU : The Worst / Best Decision He's Ever Made

Vampires are immune to every illness, can heal from any injury, withstand almost any damage... other than ennui. The vampire who calls himself only 'John', whose terrible power rolls before him and sets others of his kind trembling...

Is absolutely no different in this regard.

He is ancient and terrible and he has a great court within the city that bores him to tears. Which is why he'd snuck out from their compound and gone, of all things, bar-hopping. Thus meeting Arthur and his partner.

It had been simple enough to get his partner out of the way; a call to one of his court had the man bundled up and carted off, a snack for later. The lack of a companion had made luring Arthur to the back entrance, the one with the alleyway, the one he could enjoy a meal in peace in, even easier than it might have been.

...and then he'd tasted the man's life. Tasted the depths of sorrows in him, the death that surrounded him, the strange shining light, dim and flickering but unwilling to go out, that was the shape of his soul.

Which was why, feeling almost possessed, he'd found himself ripping his arm open and pressing the bloody wound to Arthur's pale lips.

And now, here he was, his new fledgeling in his bed, waiting for him to awaken, his partner beside him on the bed, bound and prepared for his new childe to feed and finish the process.

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Arthur hates this monster with every fiber of his being.

But he follows, for now. He needs to study him, learn as much as he can before he can make another escape attempt.

Or kill him. If it comes to that.

"Sure." He makes no pretence of being assuaged. "Forgive me if the feeling isn't mutual just yet. I can't say I'm particularly fond of kidnappers. O-or murderers. Or-- whatever the hell it is you've done to me." He kept saying vampire like it was supposed to mean something.

He knows what one is, obviously. But they're not real.

Edited 2022-10-30 02:55 (UTC)

He doesn't say anything until they're in the sitting room, which has quite a lot of seats as a matter of fact, and the same eclectic design. This room is a little better put together, clearly for hosting, and he'll wait until Arthur is inside before he closes the double doors towards the front behind him. Then he saunters towards a singular high-backed chair to sit. He spreads a hand to gesture to the rest of the room to say that he can sit where he likes.

"I didn't murder you, despite my original intent to do so." His tone definitely indicates that Arthur should consider this a gift itself. "Instead, I changed you, gave you eternal life. The real thing. Not the bullshit offered by the religion of men."

That is a sneer at the very idea. His expression softens, but only a little as he lifts his chin to Arthur.

"You are my childe, blood of my blood. That gives me power over you at this stage. Hence clouding your vision with my shadows. I thought that any sane man would at least slow down."

Edited 2022-10-30 03:11 (UTC)

Rather pointedly, Arthur takes the seat that is furthest away from his 'sire', and sits perched on the edge like he's ready to flee. His eyes still dart around constantly, looking for anything he can conceivably use.

"And what reason have you given me to listen to you, to- to believe that any of this is real, o-or in my own best interest to stay?" His gaze flicks back to the man - John, he remembers - and looks thoroughly unimpressed. "You're- you're dangling information over my head like a fucking carrot, and then get mad when I don't play along. You're an arrogant- reprehensible bastard, you delight in explaining to me how I--I-"

How Parker had been killed. But no, it- it can't be his fault. Not if this monster changed him.

His voice turns deathly low, a threat. "I would never. Kill. Parker. And I will never forgive you for forcing that on my conscience."

He breathes in deep, clearly reigning in his temper. He wants to yell. That is clear enough. He's trying to maintain his composure.

"I didn't force you. If you'd like to see for yourself, I can show it to you."

He reaches up and mimes biting his wrist in offer.

"As for 'dangling', Arthur. If you hadn't attacked to start, and then nearly run to your death like a fucking idiot, you'd have more information."

A little more mustered grace-

"What would you like to know? And what would you consider... 'proof'?"

If only to get past that.

John reins his temper in. Arthur... his eyes linger on the offered wrist, and some part of that- that pervasive hunger that's been sitting low in his stomach sings with want.

So, Arthur shouts. To drown it out.

"I wouldn't have run to my death if you showed even an ounce of basic respect for the fucking nightmare I am going through right now!" The force of his anger propels him upright, gesturing viciously at John. "And right now I don't give a shit about whatever mind games you're pulling, what- w-whatever bullshit you think you have hanging over my head! You cannot keep me here, a-and I don't care what you think you can punish me with!!"

And guess who's storming for the door again.

Edited 2022-10-30 04:01 (UTC)

He'll both see and feel a dark shadow dart past him, and when he gets to the door, it will be to John, standing in the way, gold eyes blazing.

"Fine. You want proof? You want to see why I won't let you out? If I show you, will you sit the fuck down and stop reacting like a goddamn child?"

Edited 2022-10-30 04:19 (UTC)

He feels it more than sees it, the sudden sensation on his peripheral, that stops him short before he crashes into John who is suddenly right in front of him, and he lurches back in alarm. "Jesus Christ--"

Those eyes-- there's no denying it now, even to himself. He remembers them, glowing with that strange inner light, entrancing him and making his legs move without conscious command, but it hadn't worried him, all he'd had to do was obey the voice behind them, let it take him outside and press him against the wall...

He's shaking, and he curls his hands into fists to hide it. "Fine. Prove it. Prove why I need you," he growls. Tipping his head up in challenge.

There's another growl before he points to the side, to a spot where Arthur won't be in danger of the light touching him. Then, and only then, will he start unlocking the door.

And he'll actually open it, most of his body hidden behind the massive doors for safety, even if he knows Arthur might try to run.

Hopefully not after this.

When just a thin slice of sunlight slides through the gap, he reaches his hand out and into the light.

And Arthur can see how his skin immediately reddens and then starts to blacken and smoke, the flesh cooking away down to the bone before John, teeth grit, shoves the door shut. He pants from the pain of it, growling and shaking a little as he holds it up for Arthur to see that it was no joke and no game.

So that he can see the flesh start to reform around the bone right in front of him before, less than a minute later, the arm that had been burned to cinders was restored to pale skin.

It's only then that John turns to face Arthur, frustrated that he had to do that but satisfied that his point is fucking made. His voice is slow. And irritated.

"There are things you need to know. So go back in there, sit down, and fucking listen."

He'll move where he's pointed, obedient in that, at least. It's not far from the door, actually, maybe he could make it before John gets the chance to stop him, if he wedges his hand in the door he'll be short a few fingers but he won't--

"Jesus fucking--!!" His hands clap over his mouth at the sight of John's hand burning down to the bone like a wax candle "--fuck!--" a log in a bonfire caught in the moment before structural collapse as the fire eats its heart.

And then...

Then it grows back. And Arthur feels like he's going to vomit, unable to take his eyes away as John's flesh and skin grow back over the charred necrosis. "O-oh, my God, oh-- God..."

When John commands him again... this time, Arthur listens. What can he say - that was a persuasive argument. But he still sits on the same couch, as far from John's throne as he can, curling over a little as he wraps his arms around his chest and stares at the rug on the floor (Kashan, he thinks, he recognises some of the pattern-work). Trying to process all of that.

It says something, perhaps something actually persuasive, that he doesn't sit in the throne. He takes a seat near Arthur, flopping into his seat with obvious fatigue. Not from healing his arm: from Arthur. He rubs at the bridge of his nose.

"Let's start again. Without you threatening me. And I will do my best not to... 'dangle'."

He turns his hand.

"What do you need to know first?"

Arthur stays silent for a minute, as he continues processing.

Eventually, he unwraps his arms from his chest - in doing so in the first place, he'd suddenly been made unsettlingly aware of his heartbeat. Or more specifically, his lack thereof. And how he hadn't breathed since he sat down, and had no compulsion to.

But he still takes a deep one so he can sigh heavily.

"Why me?" It comes out plaintive, and his mouth tightens in self-admonishment. "There must have been a thousand more interesting people, more-- fuck, I don't know, tasty? Is that a thing I get to say about myself? Wh-- why me?"

He watches, sees the realizations start to filter in now that he isn't flying around like a madman. It makes him feel a bit satisfied, but he won't dwell. The question he's asked-

"You were the one I wanted," he says simply. "I wasn't planning on making a fledgeling that night. I haven't indulged in that fancy for centuries. But you... called to me."

I promise you, Arthur. I don't have another answer beyond that. I drank from you and I wanted nothing more than to make you my own.

"Don't-" He cringes sharply, as another shiver ripples unpleasantly down his spine. "Don't do that, th-the talking- in my head."

It's unsettling, in a way he can't quite pin but utterly despises. Too... intimate.

"How do we... i-is there a way to. To fix me? I-I don't-- I. Didn't. Want this," he repeats, trying to keep his voice steady. "Therefore, it's your- your obligation, to--"

"My obligation as your master is to teach you and care for you as you transition to your new life," he says as Arthur stammers his way through nonsense fantasies. He doesn't want to make him react again but he won't placate him with falsehoods.

"There is no way back now," he says matter-of-factly, "not that you even know what this new life is. I gave you a gift, Arthur. Have you even considered exploring it?"

He glares back at John, cold and filthy. "You," he growls, "are not my master. And this is so no gift - y-you are a monster, you--" He stands and walks away, but he stays in the room this time. He just needs to get it out, physically. "--all you've done is spread your curse to me. You could have just killed me- I do not belong to you, or anyone fucking else!"

He tilts his head thoughtfully at Arthur, watching him pace as he rants. He won't interrupt for the time being, because he isn't leaving. That's the part that matters.

"Is that what you think I meant to do? Shackle you?"

His tone makes it clear that isn't and wasn't his intention whatsoever. And, in truth, it wasn't. Even if he feels drawn to this man. Even if he's surprised at himself that he hadn't killed the jackass himself.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not intentionally," he can admit, loathe as he is to acquiesce, but the monster - John's confusion seems... actually genuine. "But that is how I envision what I am to you."

He keeps pacing but it's less frantic and more... contemplative. "I have nothing, in this so-called world you've pulled me into. No choice, no knowledge." He scoffs bitterly. "Certainly no social currency to fall back on, seeing as I've--" he takes a breath, and hates that it doesn't help. "I-I've... killed. The one person that might have been able to help me, a-and none at all in this bullshit."

He finally stills, and folds his arms tight across his chest. "All I have, is you. As bitter pill as that may be." And then the glare is back on John. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to just- fall in line. I'm not your servant, o-or-- or pet, and I'm sure as hell not bloody obedient. But I promise you this."

He faces John properly, lets his arms hang loose again. "Someday, I will kill you. For everything that you've done to me."

He looks back at Arthur and Arthur is probably confused to see the smile on his face, one that reaches his golden eyes.

"If you manage to kill me, Arthur, that day will be the proudest day of my existence."

But he decides to close his eyes, lean back a little in his seat, and let his head recline against a cushion. He needs a moment to consider what else to say.

"Tell me, Arthur:" he muses without looking over at him, "have I told you to clean the house? Snapped my fingers and demanded you heel?"

He opens one golden eye and focuses it on Arthur.

"I realize it's simple enough to insult someone you're displeased with, Arthur, but... has it occurred to you that one does not look at you, a man with the cold calculated demeanor of someone not to fuck with... and expect a lapdog?"

He sits up then, both eyes open, and his voice is soft. Gentle.

"Do you think that, perhaps, you are reacting to what you fear... instead of what has been presented to you?"

He snorts again, derisively. "What I have been presented with does not inspire confidence. A man who enthralled me, lured me to my death, made me murder my only friend, stripped me a-and blinded me and then-- has the audacity to call me unreasonable for being-- quite frankly, fucking terrified! So yes, perhaps I am reacting to fear, but only because I have no reason not to expect otherwise."

He smiles, but it's a cruel mockery of the one John gave him. "Or are you so old that you've simply forgotten all of that in a fit of senility?"

"Would you have rather I left you with his corpse besides you, Arthur? Would you have preferred to lick the blood from your own lips then? Have that be the very first thing you awoke to?"

He gives a derisive snort of his own.

"I stripped you because you were covered in his blood. I blinded you because you were careening towards your own, unknowning, death. And when you were angry and frightened, I asked you to calm down and sit so that I could explain."

Those golden eyes roll.

"Be fucking terrified. But if the fact that I haven't already ripped your fucking head off does not make you realize that I intend to do just the opposite, then you really weren't a very good detective."

That gets a furious look - not just mad, offended. Professionally, even.

"I would like to remind you that, while blind and panicking, I still managed to find the front door of a building I have never been in before, save the room I woke up in," he points out snidely. "Furthermore, you have items ranging from the dawn of man through until contemporary times, suggesting you speak the truth when you say you may well be hundreds of years old- or at least, of enough wealth either way to afford such antiques. Though, poor in style."

Look, he needs to get some sort of jab in. He still hates John.

"However I did notice a lack of items from the nineteen-eighties, suggesting you didn't engage with the era - perhaps the neons weren't your style, or you didn't enjoy the decade, o-or you were simply asleep, I don't know."

He moves to sit again, but in a different seat so he's not next to John. "Finally, your house itself. It's also contemporary, or at least fitted retroactively to account for modern times. Certainly you had a hand in the design of the original architecture somewhere, given that the total lack of windows. Expensive as well - stone upper flooring, really? - but ultimately a symbol more than a home, a point made that you are, in fact, in a position that you want people to perceive as powerful. If they don't simply view it as compensating for something. My room was also made with intent for someone who required sleep, but the mattress was still new. If people have slept there before, it wasn't for long."

He leans back in his chair, giving John a flat look. "Shall I continue? Or are my qualifications up to spec?"

Edited 2022-10-30 08:19 (UTC)

John is quiet for a long while, watching him with those golden eyes. Then-

"Everyone remembers the 1980s as bright colors, neons, but such a large part of that time was firmly devoted to browns and muted tones. My followers at the time had little luck in getting me to accept their gifts. Hence the lack of such things."

That answer might explain the eclectic nature of the decorating: everything within this house is beautiful, a piece of art, exquisite in and of itself. But it is collected with the enthusiasm of a magpie, for each items own individual appeal and without concern for what might be displayed with it in any kind of coherent design. One could spend hours admiring any one piece but the whole is a mishmosh of eras, colors, shapes, that in its own way is designed: to make the viewer focus on the pieces as individual parts and not of a greater work in combination.

He dips his head towards Arthur.

"The entire house is made of stone. It is, in some ways, more of a keep than a mansion. It is safer to live in stone houses than in wood ones as stone houses do not burn very well. The windows, the same sort of consideration. It hardly befits a king to avoid any part of his home, after all. Thus... they are very limited."

His tone as he continues is wry, to say the least.

"But no one other than you would think I was 'compensating' for something, Arthur." He is an Ancient, a Great Old One. There are others like him, as old as him, but many of them have chosen to sleep. He never has.

Maybe that is why he gets so tetchy at times.

"For a man so proud of your talents, I find it curious you're surprised someone might pick you over others."

Edited 2022-10-30 16:37 (UTC)

"And for a man so intimately aware of all my memories," he counters sourly, even going so far as to fold his arms, "you seem utterly bewildered when I run contrarian to any sort of expectations you might have of me. My talents get me paid."

Not my personality, the jaded thought follows.

"And if I need them, I will surely compensate you. I hardly lack for funds," he says dryly. "And what I saw in your memories is a man who has survived. A man who can keep going.

"Tenacious. Intense. Unapologetic. Can you truly not see how you would appeal to something such as me?"

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Vampire AU : The Worst / Best Decision He's Ever Made

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Cw body horror

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