“Oh I’m sure it is.” Jon grumbles under his breath as they travel. The less he has to talk to this leech, the happier he’ll be, but the man seems all too pleased with the sound of his own voice for him to let the silence linger for more than a few minutes at a time.
Vampires have their uses, sure. Much like lycanthropes. But their similar natures bring along many of the same risks as well, transmission of disease and curse alike not the least among them. Hence why the preference for most leaned more toward eradication than employment. And of course, Allerick’s father probably held a good deal of control over him simply by nature of such a relationship, which would already make him less of a liability, probably.
“Because I have, as a benefit of my station, something at my disposal called a pardon.” The wizard’s tone is nothing short of annoyed at this point, and he is quite done with answering the leech’s antagonizing questions. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept. Despite what you may think, your brother’s case is not unique. Many of my colleagues have employed the use of men considered less than upstanding in the eyes of the law. He came to me and asked for work, showing no inclination toward violence or ill-will, and in fact he’s become a valued member of my household. I wanted to give him a chance, after he told his story and even after he bit me. The disease was no fault of his, only an unfortunate accident, and when he asked for the cure, that proved his sincerity to me.”
“One letter, that’s all it will take.” Jon continues, sharing only half the truth. In reality, if the Court even acknowledges Gable’s crimes to begin with, it’ll take a letter and a majority vote to pardon Gable. So long as the man stays at Black Pine Crossing, however, it won’t matter. It is, legally speaking, Jonathan’s territory, a miniature kingdom to call his own. His word is the only law that matters there. “If you cannot accept my explanation, then I will simply admit that I like Gable and that I find him and his son quite charming, despite their teeth. You, on the other hand…”
He isn’t even sure if he’s telling the truth or not, then. Why did he spare his life? It isn’t as though there was something special about— no, no there is. There is something remarkable about Gable Kendall, the two-time lycanthrope with a heart of gold and so, so much potential. He is genuine, he is kind, he is talented, and he is very loved. But Jon knows this answer will not satisfy Allerick. The vampire is, unfortunately, too much like his colleagues to understand that sentiment. One of those that only sees others for their usefulness, and little beyond that.
Vampires have their uses, sure. Much like lycanthropes. But their similar natures bring along many of the same risks as well, transmission of disease and curse alike not the least among them. Hence why the preference for most leaned more toward eradication than employment. And of course, Allerick’s father probably held a good deal of control over him simply by nature of such a relationship, which would already make him less of a liability, probably.
“Because I have, as a benefit of my station, something at my disposal called a pardon.” The wizard’s tone is nothing short of annoyed at this point, and he is quite done with answering the leech’s antagonizing questions. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept. Despite what you may think, your brother’s case is not unique. Many of my colleagues have employed the use of men considered less than upstanding in the eyes of the law. He came to me and asked for work, showing no inclination toward violence or ill-will, and in fact he’s become a valued member of my household. I wanted to give him a chance, after he told his story and even after he bit me. The disease was no fault of his, only an unfortunate accident, and when he asked for the cure, that proved his sincerity to me.”
“One letter, that’s all it will take.” Jon continues, sharing only half the truth. In reality, if the Court even acknowledges Gable’s crimes to begin with, it’ll take a letter and a majority vote to pardon Gable. So long as the man stays at Black Pine Crossing, however, it won’t matter. It is, legally speaking, Jonathan’s territory, a miniature kingdom to call his own. His word is the only law that matters there. “If you cannot accept my explanation, then I will simply admit that I like Gable and that I find him and his son quite charming, despite their teeth. You, on the other hand…”
He isn’t even sure if he’s telling the truth or not, then. Why did he spare his life? It isn’t as though there was something special about— no, no there is. There is something remarkable about Gable Kendall, the two-time lycanthrope with a heart of gold and so, so much potential. He is genuine, he is kind, he is talented, and he is very loved. But Jon knows this answer will not satisfy Allerick. The vampire is, unfortunately, too much like his colleagues to understand that sentiment. One of those that only sees others for their usefulness, and little beyond that.
Allerick grunts as he heaves his foot out from a particularly deep recess. His hypernormal strength may render the effort of their snowy trek a little less taxing than it would be for other men of his same size and build, but it's no less annoying to move through the frozen world at a snail's pace... He's still convinced that the wizard really can fix this predicament with a snap of his fingers, but Jonathan refuses to do so to spite the vampire who bit him. If that's the case, he can almost appreciate such stubbornness. Almost.
"Certo, signore, I understand the concept."
He listens, but scoffs, and waits impatiently for the chance to respond. He does so with a sneer.
"I know what you find 'charming' about my brother, mago. The pardon you spoke of… these 'second chances...' this happens when powerful men like you and your colleghi employ the criminals and unwanted men because they are fragile and hungry and make loyal workers. Discarded men who toil without adequate compensation or complaint, for fear you will change your mind and punish them. Or destroy them. I know this well, because it is my business to procure this kind of worker for my father. Ovviamente Gable is sincere—what other choice does he have but to obey and heel to you until he is free of his affliction?"
"Ah, but now he is stuck in his sickness, senza cura…." His tone becomes almost friendly again. "How fortunato, signore, that a hard worker like him can never leave you. If I did not know you to be an upright man, I might suspect that you never intended for the cure to work."
Whatever the wizard's response, if any, Allerick remains smirking and silent. Silence is powerful, after all… And he's beginning to shiver. He'd prefer that the old man doesn't hear his teeth chatter during an argument.
As time passes, the unmelted snow begins to rest heavily on his shoulders and the wind's icy grip arrests his muscles, slowing his progress more and more. He finally growls in frustration some yards behind the wizard and shouts, "Questo è ridicolo! Mi arrendo! Mi arrendo, o Grande! Riscalda l'aria prima divento una statua. …Please!"
"Certo, signore, I understand the concept."
He listens, but scoffs, and waits impatiently for the chance to respond. He does so with a sneer.
"I know what you find 'charming' about my brother, mago. The pardon you spoke of… these 'second chances...' this happens when powerful men like you and your colleghi employ the criminals and unwanted men because they are fragile and hungry and make loyal workers. Discarded men who toil without adequate compensation or complaint, for fear you will change your mind and punish them. Or destroy them. I know this well, because it is my business to procure this kind of worker for my father. Ovviamente Gable is sincere—what other choice does he have but to obey and heel to you until he is free of his affliction?"
"Ah, but now he is stuck in his sickness, senza cura…." His tone becomes almost friendly again. "How fortunato, signore, that a hard worker like him can never leave you. If I did not know you to be an upright man, I might suspect that you never intended for the cure to work."
Whatever the wizard's response, if any, Allerick remains smirking and silent. Silence is powerful, after all… And he's beginning to shiver. He'd prefer that the old man doesn't hear his teeth chatter during an argument.
As time passes, the unmelted snow begins to rest heavily on his shoulders and the wind's icy grip arrests his muscles, slowing his progress more and more. He finally growls in frustration some yards behind the wizard and shouts, "Questo è ridicolo! Mi arrendo! Mi arrendo, o Grande! Riscalda l'aria prima divento una statua. …Please!"
The wizard decides to pointedly ignore Allerick’s further comments. Why bother engaging when the vampire will just disagree with anything and everything he says? Not that he wants the conversation anyway. Unfortunately, the silence doesn’t make the trip through the snow go any faster.
He bristles particularly at the vampire’s insinuation that he would cause the cure to fail intentionally. After allowing the vampire to stay with him, trusting him as far as he could, extending his goodwill in a time of need? Just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished these days. Maybe he should have taken Gable’s advice and sent him out in the storm. Might have saved him from having to listen to the creature’s whinging now. But then, he wouldn’t know exactly where Allerick was as he makes the trip into town now, and the prospect of being caught off guard by a vampire in the middle of nowhere is enough of a deterrent that he can’t decide which course would actually be worse.
Eventually, silence falls between them, and Jon breathes a sigh of relief. If it wasn’t for the occasional grunts he hears behind him as they travel, he could even forget Allerick’s presence behind him. Almost.
“Tch.” He snorts, hearing the sudden outburst behind him. “Smettila di piagnucolare. So dramatic.”
It’s fine. He was going to have to do it eventually, and he was starting to catch a chill anyway. Jon grumbles, shaking a bit of the snow from his shoulders and unsettling Platinum in the process. The dragon settles shortly after, and he casts a spell to summon up a shell of warming flame around each of them, himself and Allerick.
“Happy now?”
He bristles particularly at the vampire’s insinuation that he would cause the cure to fail intentionally. After allowing the vampire to stay with him, trusting him as far as he could, extending his goodwill in a time of need? Just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished these days. Maybe he should have taken Gable’s advice and sent him out in the storm. Might have saved him from having to listen to the creature’s whinging now. But then, he wouldn’t know exactly where Allerick was as he makes the trip into town now, and the prospect of being caught off guard by a vampire in the middle of nowhere is enough of a deterrent that he can’t decide which course would actually be worse.
Eventually, silence falls between them, and Jon breathes a sigh of relief. If it wasn’t for the occasional grunts he hears behind him as they travel, he could even forget Allerick’s presence behind him. Almost.
“Tch.” He snorts, hearing the sudden outburst behind him. “Smettila di piagnucolare. So dramatic.”
It’s fine. He was going to have to do it eventually, and he was starting to catch a chill anyway. Jon grumbles, shaking a bit of the snow from his shoulders and unsettling Platinum in the process. The dragon settles shortly after, and he casts a spell to summon up a shell of warming flame around each of them, himself and Allerick.
“Happy now?”
Despite expecting it to happen, the vampire still startles a little when an enclosure of fire springs into existence all around him. He halts in his tracks and his hands remain tucked close to his body, safe from the lick of hungry flames. He watches the snow on his clothes begin to melt. He shakes it off before it can soak him. He inches forward and observes that the wall of light moves with him—and becomes very thin at the height of his face, perfectly translucent, like a rippling window framing the path ahead.
Satisfied this trick isn't a trap, he dares to resume his previous pace, but… very carefully. Magic fire is most likely still capable of burning him if he were to trip. To assume otherwise would be utterly foolish.
Feeling pleased by the warmth soaking into his skin and bones, but damned if he shows it, he murmurs his reply like a sulky child. "Va bene... I was beginning to wonder if there was any use to you coming with after all."
Try as he might to remain in his petulant slump, the warm air has an inflating effect on Allerick's mood and, before long, he begins to sing ballad after ballad from his father's homeland in a dark and silky timbre. Most are about sailors, sirens, and petty blood feuds between rich families. Usually over daughters. Or prized goats: the kind that produce milk for prize-winning cheeses...
Cheese is mentioned in each ballad as a token of love, a bargaining chip, or the main concern, except in a song about rabbits. Allerick has to stop singing that one mid-refrain because emotion clenches his throat... Those poor rabbits never saw it coming.
"Ehi! There! The lights. Is that the town?" With senses dampened by the weather, he cannot smell the people of Agate Pass nor their foods on the wind, but his eyes can still catch the faintest glimmer of lamp light tucked into the darkness. Perfectly at ease with his fiery shield by now, he surges forward and catches up with the wizard.
Unfortunately, their fire bubbles merge upon contact but don't expand any wider, so he's forced to stay very close to the silvery, hissy dragon staring him directly in the face. "...Nice kitty."
Satisfied this trick isn't a trap, he dares to resume his previous pace, but… very carefully. Magic fire is most likely still capable of burning him if he were to trip. To assume otherwise would be utterly foolish.
Feeling pleased by the warmth soaking into his skin and bones, but damned if he shows it, he murmurs his reply like a sulky child. "Va bene... I was beginning to wonder if there was any use to you coming with after all."
Try as he might to remain in his petulant slump, the warm air has an inflating effect on Allerick's mood and, before long, he begins to sing ballad after ballad from his father's homeland in a dark and silky timbre. Most are about sailors, sirens, and petty blood feuds between rich families. Usually over daughters. Or prized goats: the kind that produce milk for prize-winning cheeses...
Cheese is mentioned in each ballad as a token of love, a bargaining chip, or the main concern, except in a song about rabbits. Allerick has to stop singing that one mid-refrain because emotion clenches his throat... Those poor rabbits never saw it coming.
"Ehi! There! The lights. Is that the town?" With senses dampened by the weather, he cannot smell the people of Agate Pass nor their foods on the wind, but his eyes can still catch the faintest glimmer of lamp light tucked into the darkness. Perfectly at ease with his fiery shield by now, he surges forward and catches up with the wizard.
Unfortunately, their fire bubbles merge upon contact but don't expand any wider, so he's forced to stay very close to the silvery, hissy dragon staring him directly in the face. "...Nice kitty."
“Would you rather have had me toss you out on your ear last night when the weather was worse?” He snorts, adjusting his cloak while he pushes on, intent on getting into town as soon as possible. The sooner he can put a wall, no matter how thin and rickety, between himself and the vampire, the better.
At least the flames shut him up for a minute, even if it is only for the brief moment of shock while he figures out the fire that wreathes around him. After that though, Jon finds himself wishing for a couple wads of cotton to stuff in his ears. Not that the vampire’s singing is bad. Far from it, in fact. He’s just in the kind of mood where everything irritates him. Even Platinum’s grousing at Allerick’s proximity is grating on him, though he does nothing about it.
Jon peers through the darkness to where Allerick points, and nods.
“Yes, that would be Agate pass.” He says, picking up the pace a bit. The end is in sight, and far be it from him to delay their arrival any more. His voice drops to a grumble moving forward, thinking aloud rather than actually talking to the vampire. “Mordecai will have turned in for the night… need to see him tomorrow… have to get a room at Three Coons…”
But he doesn’t say more than that, even as they near the city gates, just dispels the arcane fire so as not to frighten anyone unduly, pressing on toward the inn and does his best to ignore the sour looks the few people who are out and about throw his way. He halfway hopes that Allerick will go his own way now that they’ve made it into town, and his job has technically been completed. But then again, there is only one reputable inn in town, and it’s The Three Coons, so he can’t really be too surprised that Allerick continues to trail behind him.
“One room for the night, no board.” He says quickly to the lad working the counter as he fishes the coin from his pockets. The boy already seems nervous, probably his first night on the job, or at least his first time encountering a wizard asking for a room.
“Second floor, fourth door on the left.” He nearly stammers, handing over a key attached by a short leather cord to a wooden carving of a raccoon.
At least the flames shut him up for a minute, even if it is only for the brief moment of shock while he figures out the fire that wreathes around him. After that though, Jon finds himself wishing for a couple wads of cotton to stuff in his ears. Not that the vampire’s singing is bad. Far from it, in fact. He’s just in the kind of mood where everything irritates him. Even Platinum’s grousing at Allerick’s proximity is grating on him, though he does nothing about it.
Jon peers through the darkness to where Allerick points, and nods.
“Yes, that would be Agate pass.” He says, picking up the pace a bit. The end is in sight, and far be it from him to delay their arrival any more. His voice drops to a grumble moving forward, thinking aloud rather than actually talking to the vampire. “Mordecai will have turned in for the night… need to see him tomorrow… have to get a room at Three Coons…”
But he doesn’t say more than that, even as they near the city gates, just dispels the arcane fire so as not to frighten anyone unduly, pressing on toward the inn and does his best to ignore the sour looks the few people who are out and about throw his way. He halfway hopes that Allerick will go his own way now that they’ve made it into town, and his job has technically been completed. But then again, there is only one reputable inn in town, and it’s The Three Coons, so he can’t really be too surprised that Allerick continues to trail behind him.
“One room for the night, no board.” He says quickly to the lad working the counter as he fishes the coin from his pockets. The boy already seems nervous, probably his first night on the job, or at least his first time encountering a wizard asking for a room.
“Second floor, fourth door on the left.” He nearly stammers, handing over a key attached by a short leather cord to a wooden carving of a raccoon.
"Cosa fai?" Allerick protests in a cry as the warmth vanishes from all around him, but, before long, he can see why the wizard chooses discretion over comfort; this town and these people really do not seem to like the old man. Whether that's a side effect of being a magic-wielder in a place where the practice is frowned upon (the postman Oleander Buck certainly had a lot to say about Jonathan's powers) or due to the archmage's charming authoritarian personality, it's impossible to say for sure. Likely a little of both is involved.
Allerick grins and laughs as another scathing look shoots their way, this time from an otherwise sweet-looking grandmother peeking out from heaps of old scarves. He sidles up to the wizard's shoulder (the one not being guarded by a snappy dragon head) and murmurs conspiratorially. "Dimi vero, did you turn someone here into a goat? I would not blame you... They are all worthless goats."
When they arrive at the inn's blessed glowing porch he opens the door and bows slightly at the waist. Whether or not the wizard would interpret it as such, it's a gesture of genuine respect for getting them into town warmly and in one piece. He makes the same genuflect gesture as he did when he first called Jonathan a saint in his home. "After you, signore."
Contrary to what his fine clothing might suggest, the vampire will always prefer lodgings with dishonorable reputations to those with upstanding patrons. After all, establishments known for brawls, harlots, and devil's-dust smokers attract his ideal prey: the man or woman without inhibitions. But rude, stinking places like those are not usually so pleasant to lay one's head down or to find a decent drink, and for that reason, he is glad to smile upon the trembling, clean-cut weakling behind the counter.
"Good evening, fantoccio dolce. One room and your finest bottle of wine, please."
His accommodations happen to share the same floor with Jonathan's room (merely by luck; he thought better than to make such a request in case the wizard had a fit and reported him to management) but there are two other doors between them. He turns while unlocking his own door, smiles, and waggles his fingers while wishing the man and his little demon-lizard sweet dreams.
Then he sips his moderately tolerable wine. And he waits.
Allerick grins and laughs as another scathing look shoots their way, this time from an otherwise sweet-looking grandmother peeking out from heaps of old scarves. He sidles up to the wizard's shoulder (the one not being guarded by a snappy dragon head) and murmurs conspiratorially. "Dimi vero, did you turn someone here into a goat? I would not blame you... They are all worthless goats."
When they arrive at the inn's blessed glowing porch he opens the door and bows slightly at the waist. Whether or not the wizard would interpret it as such, it's a gesture of genuine respect for getting them into town warmly and in one piece. He makes the same genuflect gesture as he did when he first called Jonathan a saint in his home. "After you, signore."
Contrary to what his fine clothing might suggest, the vampire will always prefer lodgings with dishonorable reputations to those with upstanding patrons. After all, establishments known for brawls, harlots, and devil's-dust smokers attract his ideal prey: the man or woman without inhibitions. But rude, stinking places like those are not usually so pleasant to lay one's head down or to find a decent drink, and for that reason, he is glad to smile upon the trembling, clean-cut weakling behind the counter.
"Good evening, fantoccio dolce. One room and your finest bottle of wine, please."
His accommodations happen to share the same floor with Jonathan's room (merely by luck; he thought better than to make such a request in case the wizard had a fit and reported him to management) but there are two other doors between them. He turns while unlocking his own door, smiles, and waggles his fingers while wishing the man and his little demon-lizard sweet dreams.
Then he sips his moderately tolerable wine. And he waits.
Jonathan largely ignores the leech behind him, sparing only a grunt at his farewell for the night (he wishes it was forever, but he knows that until he's back up the hill, safe and warm at home, he'll likely keep seeing Allerick, at least for a little while).
The room is much as he expected it to be: Sparse but comfortable. The inn itself has changed hands several times over the years, but there are some things that simply don't vary over the years. Inn rooms will be inn rooms, and that is to say functional above all else, followed closely by economical.
He lets Platinum down off his shoulders the second the door is latched and locked, and the beast immediately starts prowling the corners of the room. He can probably smell vermin about, which is good, because it means Jon won't have to beg the kitchen staff for scraps to feed him tonight. Then he goes about feeding himself, fishing a shallow tin bowl and a matching spoon out of his bag. He fills the bowl halfway with powder from a small sack that Ari so thoughtfully packed for him, and fills it the rest of the way with water from his canteen. A little magic to heat the thing up and a few stirs with the spoon leave him with a bowl of paste not dissimilar to every other meal he eats.
He'd rather have sweet potatoes, but what can one do?
Eventually, he hears a distressed squeak from across the room, followed by a rather reptilian slurping sound. He can't help but smirk. If only all pests were that easy to get rid of.
With a wave of his hand and a burst of magic, the bowl and spoon are clean again and stuffed back in his bag where they belong. Ordinarily, this might be the time he starts turning down for the evening. He's been fed, his traveling companion has been fed (and beat him to the bed, where the dragon has wormed his way under the sheets and is letting out little purrs of contentment), and the dishes are done. But much like the night before, he feels rather disinclined toward the vulnerabilities associated with sleep. True, Allerick hadn't tried anything the night before, after the obvious. But that was on the wizard's own property, and tonight is very much a different situation.
So he sits himself down in the chair at the writing desk in the corner of the room to rest his eyes, but no more than that. His mind is as occupied as it was the night prior, smoothing over the magics that guard his mind, creating duplicates of them, as many as he can spare, so that even if the vampire trips one trap, there will be three more waiting the next time he tries.
Jon works slowly, consequences of operating on little sleep for two days, but diligently. Hopefully by tomorrow he can be rid of Allerick and actually get a proper night's sleep. It goes without saying that he's had practice in such situations, and can stave off the consequences for a while, but eventually even he will have to give in. Sleep deprivation can only be handled for so long, but with any luck, it will be just long enough to see himself rid of a certain parasite.
The room is much as he expected it to be: Sparse but comfortable. The inn itself has changed hands several times over the years, but there are some things that simply don't vary over the years. Inn rooms will be inn rooms, and that is to say functional above all else, followed closely by economical.
He lets Platinum down off his shoulders the second the door is latched and locked, and the beast immediately starts prowling the corners of the room. He can probably smell vermin about, which is good, because it means Jon won't have to beg the kitchen staff for scraps to feed him tonight. Then he goes about feeding himself, fishing a shallow tin bowl and a matching spoon out of his bag. He fills the bowl halfway with powder from a small sack that Ari so thoughtfully packed for him, and fills it the rest of the way with water from his canteen. A little magic to heat the thing up and a few stirs with the spoon leave him with a bowl of paste not dissimilar to every other meal he eats.
He'd rather have sweet potatoes, but what can one do?
Eventually, he hears a distressed squeak from across the room, followed by a rather reptilian slurping sound. He can't help but smirk. If only all pests were that easy to get rid of.
With a wave of his hand and a burst of magic, the bowl and spoon are clean again and stuffed back in his bag where they belong. Ordinarily, this might be the time he starts turning down for the evening. He's been fed, his traveling companion has been fed (and beat him to the bed, where the dragon has wormed his way under the sheets and is letting out little purrs of contentment), and the dishes are done. But much like the night before, he feels rather disinclined toward the vulnerabilities associated with sleep. True, Allerick hadn't tried anything the night before, after the obvious. But that was on the wizard's own property, and tonight is very much a different situation.
So he sits himself down in the chair at the writing desk in the corner of the room to rest his eyes, but no more than that. His mind is as occupied as it was the night prior, smoothing over the magics that guard his mind, creating duplicates of them, as many as he can spare, so that even if the vampire trips one trap, there will be three more waiting the next time he tries.
Jon works slowly, consequences of operating on little sleep for two days, but diligently. Hopefully by tomorrow he can be rid of Allerick and actually get a proper night's sleep. It goes without saying that he's had practice in such situations, and can stave off the consequences for a while, but eventually even he will have to give in. Sleep deprivation can only be handled for so long, but with any luck, it will be just long enough to see himself rid of a certain parasite.
That taste. That taste. He can't get it out of his mind.
The inn's wine had surprised the vampire at first sip with a full-bodied, potent kiss that's as sweet as dates and spiced with cloves, but the robust drink falls short of his new favorite libation by a league. But why? how? That pathetic, anemic flavor he'd imbibed in the linen closet hardly even registered on his palate as blood, yet it had tickled his sinuses and inebriated him twelve times as heavily as any other life force he has tasted since the night of his death….
There aren't many novel thrills left for a man after he has died and been raised as a super-human. He needs to experience that sensation again.
Of course, Allerick can't foresee the wizard offering him another sip any time soon, and he doubts very much that he could successfully compel Jonathan again while his mind is still awake and alert… So he continues to wait, and to drink the bottle of spiced wine very slowly.
Like most ambush predators, Allerick's patience is an elastic resource that stretches to considerable lengths whenever it must. But there are only so many hours in a night, and as they (and his wine) diminish, he begins to pace the floor.
Hours have passed and still he can sense the thrum of Jonathan's busy mind. The old man's restlessness has Allerick drumming his fingers on his thigh just as irritably as though he were waiting for summer to thaw the earth again—and he might as well be. The wizard's mental aerobics have carried on well past the stroke of midnight and show no signs of stopping. What is he doing in that room? Mathematical drills??
Allerick sighs forcefully through his nose and turns on his heel to face the wall, glaring at it as though he can see straight through to the man in robes. "Fine, Gionata. Have it your way."
The vampire slips from his room and pads down the hallway, silently, closing in like a python twining round a rodent (or so he likes to imagine.) He positions himself a breath away from the wizard's door, his hand hovering over the knob; he'll need to act quickly once the man has succumbed to a fake, pleasant slumber-trance…
Greed makes him hasten the process a bit too much. A moment after initiating the enchantment, his body flies back into the door behind him, propelled by some invisible and mute explosion only he can feel. He groans and touches his head. The door at his back opens within seconds and he scrambles away like a rangy dog from a burly half-orc man who spews a string of threats at him in some dialect the vampire is unfamiliar with.
Allerick is on his feet, quick to get his hackles up and snarl back at the huge creature. "Cosa vuoi, stupido? Così sono caduto nella tua porta. Fammi causa! All the gods and saints!"
The inn's wine had surprised the vampire at first sip with a full-bodied, potent kiss that's as sweet as dates and spiced with cloves, but the robust drink falls short of his new favorite libation by a league. But why? how? That pathetic, anemic flavor he'd imbibed in the linen closet hardly even registered on his palate as blood, yet it had tickled his sinuses and inebriated him twelve times as heavily as any other life force he has tasted since the night of his death….
There aren't many novel thrills left for a man after he has died and been raised as a super-human. He needs to experience that sensation again.
Of course, Allerick can't foresee the wizard offering him another sip any time soon, and he doubts very much that he could successfully compel Jonathan again while his mind is still awake and alert… So he continues to wait, and to drink the bottle of spiced wine very slowly.
Like most ambush predators, Allerick's patience is an elastic resource that stretches to considerable lengths whenever it must. But there are only so many hours in a night, and as they (and his wine) diminish, he begins to pace the floor.
Hours have passed and still he can sense the thrum of Jonathan's busy mind. The old man's restlessness has Allerick drumming his fingers on his thigh just as irritably as though he were waiting for summer to thaw the earth again—and he might as well be. The wizard's mental aerobics have carried on well past the stroke of midnight and show no signs of stopping. What is he doing in that room? Mathematical drills??
Allerick sighs forcefully through his nose and turns on his heel to face the wall, glaring at it as though he can see straight through to the man in robes. "Fine, Gionata. Have it your way."
The vampire slips from his room and pads down the hallway, silently, closing in like a python twining round a rodent (or so he likes to imagine.) He positions himself a breath away from the wizard's door, his hand hovering over the knob; he'll need to act quickly once the man has succumbed to a fake, pleasant slumber-trance…
Greed makes him hasten the process a bit too much. A moment after initiating the enchantment, his body flies back into the door behind him, propelled by some invisible and mute explosion only he can feel. He groans and touches his head. The door at his back opens within seconds and he scrambles away like a rangy dog from a burly half-orc man who spews a string of threats at him in some dialect the vampire is unfamiliar with.
Allerick is on his feet, quick to get his hackles up and snarl back at the huge creature. "Cosa vuoi, stupido? Così sono caduto nella tua porta. Fammi causa! All the gods and saints!"
Platinum’s head shoots out from his blanket nest in the bed like a snake’s, feathers along his back raised aggressively the second he hears Allerick’s footsteps outside the door. He lets out a furious hiss, sensing the tendrils of the vampire’s consciousness reaching out toward Jon, toward his keeper, and yet the wizard seems strangely unperturbed.
“Tch.” The sound the wizard makes as he points down at the space next to his heel is sharp and quiet, like the sound of a blade being drawn. His eyes are just barely open, but it doesn’t take an oracle to see Platinum’s posturing. He’s well aware of the danger knocking at their door, and although he’s grateful for the dragon’s alertness to said danger, it is unnecessary at the moment. His next words are barely above a whisper. “Heel, Plat.”
Reluctantly, the silvery dragon slinks over to crouch beside his master's feet, coiled like a spring, ready to pounce should the need arise.
Come and get me, coward. He thinks, mostly to himself as he senses Allerick’s approach. He can practically smell the ferrous crypt dust from here, with a whole room and a door between them. He hears fingertips touch the doorknob, the slight squeal of the latch as the knob is turned, feels another consciousness encroaching on his own, prodding lightly at first, and then--
Suddenly the presence is gone, and Jonathan grins as a most satisfying thump sounds from the hallway.
"See, little sword?" He says, a bit louder, as he strokes his hand down the irascible dragon's back. The poor thing is still on edge, but he supposes that's justified. "Nothing to worry about."
As tempted as he is to simply allow whoever it is that Allerick has disturbed out in the hallway deal with the vampire, Jon knows that doing so will most likely end in blood spilt, and he doesn't need any more reason for the innkeeper to refuse service to him in the future. And so, reluctantly, the wizard gets up and crosses the floor, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
The scene that greets him in the corridor is nothing short of expected at this point.
It takes a minute to catch the raging half-orc's attention, and he makes a placating gesture once he does, which he repeats when the first is met with skepticism. Leave him be, the sign communicates. This creature is not worth your time. A moment of thought and a suspicious glare later, the bulk of a man relents, retreating back to the safety of his room and leaving Jonathan and Allerick alone in the hallway.
"Bit late to be poking around in places you shouldn't, Mr. Silva." Jon pronounces, narrowing his eyes in a look that practically challenges the vampire to try his little trick again, and see how far he gets thrown this time. "Care to explain yourself, or shall I just assume the worst and free your head from the rest of your body here in the hallway? Be a shame to ruin the rug, but what can one do?"
Behind the wizard, Platinum bristles like a porcupine in a dog kennel.
“Tch.” The sound the wizard makes as he points down at the space next to his heel is sharp and quiet, like the sound of a blade being drawn. His eyes are just barely open, but it doesn’t take an oracle to see Platinum’s posturing. He’s well aware of the danger knocking at their door, and although he’s grateful for the dragon’s alertness to said danger, it is unnecessary at the moment. His next words are barely above a whisper. “Heel, Plat.”
Reluctantly, the silvery dragon slinks over to crouch beside his master's feet, coiled like a spring, ready to pounce should the need arise.
Come and get me, coward. He thinks, mostly to himself as he senses Allerick’s approach. He can practically smell the ferrous crypt dust from here, with a whole room and a door between them. He hears fingertips touch the doorknob, the slight squeal of the latch as the knob is turned, feels another consciousness encroaching on his own, prodding lightly at first, and then--
Suddenly the presence is gone, and Jonathan grins as a most satisfying thump sounds from the hallway.
"See, little sword?" He says, a bit louder, as he strokes his hand down the irascible dragon's back. The poor thing is still on edge, but he supposes that's justified. "Nothing to worry about."
As tempted as he is to simply allow whoever it is that Allerick has disturbed out in the hallway deal with the vampire, Jon knows that doing so will most likely end in blood spilt, and he doesn't need any more reason for the innkeeper to refuse service to him in the future. And so, reluctantly, the wizard gets up and crosses the floor, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
The scene that greets him in the corridor is nothing short of expected at this point.
It takes a minute to catch the raging half-orc's attention, and he makes a placating gesture once he does, which he repeats when the first is met with skepticism. Leave him be, the sign communicates. This creature is not worth your time. A moment of thought and a suspicious glare later, the bulk of a man relents, retreating back to the safety of his room and leaving Jonathan and Allerick alone in the hallway.
"Bit late to be poking around in places you shouldn't, Mr. Silva." Jon pronounces, narrowing his eyes in a look that practically challenges the vampire to try his little trick again, and see how far he gets thrown this time. "Care to explain yourself, or shall I just assume the worst and free your head from the rest of your body here in the hallway? Be a shame to ruin the rug, but what can one do?"
Behind the wizard, Platinum bristles like a porcupine in a dog kennel.
Allerick returns the neighbor's glare while tugging at the edges of his black suit. He smooths down the front with one long white hand, then smooths back his hair, preening like a ruffled corvid after a brawl with a cat. He frowns petulantly at the wizard and grunts, then continues his grooming beyond what's necessary. It calms him. "There is nothing honorable about beheading a man who has already been thwarted by mere surprise, signore. But… your suspicions are not wrong. Non del tutto."
His gaze drifts to the spiky dragon and he smirks dryly. "Quite the alarm system. But entirely unnecessary. I would not have hurt you any more than what you experienced before." His pale eyes flick back up to the wizard's face. "You may like to know, I have never killed a man—or woman—by supping from them. And I have no interest in slaying you for any other reason."
This isn't entirely true, but he highly doubts his own brother or the man's sentient staff would ever forgive him if he did murder Jonathan. She might not even forgive him for still being undead after the closet incident… but someday, somehow, he intends to befriend her, and he really would rather not turn Gable sour against him, either. So as long as Jonathan wields her, and Gable adores him, he is probably safe from any threat on his life. From the vampire, anyway.
"Well… buonanotte, signore. I will not bother you again."
His gaze drifts to the spiky dragon and he smirks dryly. "Quite the alarm system. But entirely unnecessary. I would not have hurt you any more than what you experienced before." His pale eyes flick back up to the wizard's face. "You may like to know, I have never killed a man—or woman—by supping from them. And I have no interest in slaying you for any other reason."
This isn't entirely true, but he highly doubts his own brother or the man's sentient staff would ever forgive him if he did murder Jonathan. She might not even forgive him for still being undead after the closet incident… but someday, somehow, he intends to befriend her, and he really would rather not turn Gable sour against him, either. So as long as Jonathan wields her, and Gable adores him, he is probably safe from any threat on his life. From the vampire, anyway.
"Well… buonanotte, signore. I will not bother you again."
“Has more to do with convenience than honor at this point.” The wizard snorts, toeing Platinum back behind his heels. The wily thing has been creeping forward since the door opened, and that won’t do. He tries to keep his face neutral as he listens to the vampire’s defense, if it can really be called that. I wasn’t going to kill you, really, is not exactly the most convincing argument he’s heard in this sort of situation. That the leech admitted he had been right to be cautious immediately before certainly wasn’t helping his case.
But now he has a decision to make.
Allerick came to him to feed, that much has been all but admitted. If he turns the vampire away now, there is every chance he’ll find some other poor sod to suck on. Which would spare Jonathan, of course. But what if he was caught? What if he actually did kill someone? The boy at the counter saw them come in together. Would the blame for Allerick’s misbehavior be placed on him? On the one hand, it would be just another one of many grievances the townsfolk held against him, a mere drop in the bucket of the grand scheme of their mistrust. But every drop contributes to the whole, doesn’t it? There are things he can’t prevent their ire over. This? This he can at least try to prevent.
The wizard lets out a long, irksome sigh.
“Fine. Come in, then.” He stands aside, more than a little reluctant but knowing that the alternative is that someone else will probably feel the vampire’s teeth in his place. “Hai fame, vero?” it’s less a question than a statement. “Come in, let’s talk this out and get it over with. Better me than some poor fool who lacks the mental fortitude to tell you when to stop.”
The wizard has to continually herd Platinum with his feet, keeping himself between Allerick and snapping silver jaws. It’s a constant dance, given the silver dragon’s size and speed and sheer hatred for the man in the suit. Given the opportunity, it’s clear Plat would sooner make a meal of them man than treat with him. Alas, that his master has chosen otherwise.
But now he has a decision to make.
Allerick came to him to feed, that much has been all but admitted. If he turns the vampire away now, there is every chance he’ll find some other poor sod to suck on. Which would spare Jonathan, of course. But what if he was caught? What if he actually did kill someone? The boy at the counter saw them come in together. Would the blame for Allerick’s misbehavior be placed on him? On the one hand, it would be just another one of many grievances the townsfolk held against him, a mere drop in the bucket of the grand scheme of their mistrust. But every drop contributes to the whole, doesn’t it? There are things he can’t prevent their ire over. This? This he can at least try to prevent.
The wizard lets out a long, irksome sigh.
“Fine. Come in, then.” He stands aside, more than a little reluctant but knowing that the alternative is that someone else will probably feel the vampire’s teeth in his place. “Hai fame, vero?” it’s less a question than a statement. “Come in, let’s talk this out and get it over with. Better me than some poor fool who lacks the mental fortitude to tell you when to stop.”
The wizard has to continually herd Platinum with his feet, keeping himself between Allerick and snapping silver jaws. It’s a constant dance, given the silver dragon’s size and speed and sheer hatred for the man in the suit. Given the opportunity, it’s clear Plat would sooner make a meal of them man than treat with him. Alas, that his master has chosen otherwise.
Already halfway to his own door when the wizard speaks again, Allerick turns and blinks. He wasn't expecting to be shown mercy or charity—the experience is practically foreign to him—and it takes him a moment to realize that's what's happening now, more or less... Ah, but then the real motivation comes to light: a libation of blood poured willingly onto his altar for the sake of some unnamed substitute he'd have found in the pub below or wandering the halls on another floor...
"...Vero." 'Hungry' isn't exactly the word he'd use for the craving he feels to pull that liquid lightning from the wizard's veins, but it comes close enough. He cracks a pitying smirk at Jonathan's last comment. "You did not say 'stop' last time, signore, but I did. And I promise I will again. Thank you." He ducks into the wizard's room with an appreciative nod.
His pale gaze dances over the furniture and solitary rug that populate the room. They are exactly like those found in his own room, except this rug has an ugly stain on it that makes him feel very glad. And superior.
He eyes the little snake-with-angel-wings on the floor disdainfully and considers the best angle at which to grab it behind its head, should the need arise. "Dimi, when you become indisposed, how will you convince it not to filet my face?"
Accepting the wizard's answer with a doubtful grunt, he folds his hands at his lower back. "What sort of dream would you like to visit while I sup? A fond memory with a loved one, perhaps? Oppure, a vision of aspirations fulfilled? Anything is possible, now that you enter willingly. It is far more constricting when I must approach in a realistic manner... People do not like to be fooled against their will." He says this with a touch of sadness, as though the limitations set upon his creativity by a person's right to exercise free will is a thing to lament about.
"...Vero." 'Hungry' isn't exactly the word he'd use for the craving he feels to pull that liquid lightning from the wizard's veins, but it comes close enough. He cracks a pitying smirk at Jonathan's last comment. "You did not say 'stop' last time, signore, but I did. And I promise I will again. Thank you." He ducks into the wizard's room with an appreciative nod.
His pale gaze dances over the furniture and solitary rug that populate the room. They are exactly like those found in his own room, except this rug has an ugly stain on it that makes him feel very glad. And superior.
He eyes the little snake-with-angel-wings on the floor disdainfully and considers the best angle at which to grab it behind its head, should the need arise. "Dimi, when you become indisposed, how will you convince it not to filet my face?"
Accepting the wizard's answer with a doubtful grunt, he folds his hands at his lower back. "What sort of dream would you like to visit while I sup? A fond memory with a loved one, perhaps? Oppure, a vision of aspirations fulfilled? Anything is possible, now that you enter willingly. It is far more constricting when I must approach in a realistic manner... People do not like to be fooled against their will." He says this with a touch of sadness, as though the limitations set upon his creativity by a person's right to exercise free will is a thing to lament about.
Jon purposefully ignores Allerick’s comment about not telling him to stop the first time, refusing to allow his At least I would have a chance, and You try that sort of mental maneuver with a sentient stick screaming in your head comments to leave his mind, at least for now. This interaction is transactional, not a conversation, and he’d like to keep it that way if he can. The sooner they finish, the better.
When you become…?
Jonathan, you absolute dolt.
The wizard frowns as realization dawns, and only just manages to keep himself from running his palms over his face in embarrassment and frustration. Of course Allerick wasn’t going to let him just sit and stare at him while he bites into the soft flesh of his neck. Both of them were about to be extremely vulnerable with each other, why on earth would Allerick leave him in a position to easily stab the vampire halfway through his supper? It only stands to reason he’d be paralyzed again. Yet some distant part of him had hoped that walking willingly into the snake’s open mouth would somehow grant him the privilege of being able to stay inside his own head for the duration.
No such luck, it would seem. At least that meant he wouldn’t have to think too hard about the teeth in his neck. He lets out a long, almost despondent sigh.
“Aside from trapping him in a bubble, which I will not do, there isn’t much to be done about him.” He looks down at the bristling dragon, still obediently crouched at his feet, slinking along with every step Jon takes across the rug such that he stays nearly the exact same distance from his master the whole time. But then the wizard stops, snapping his fingers toward the space under the bed. Platinum gives him an imploring look, something frightened and concerned in his silver eyes, but after the gesture is repeated, he reluctantly but obediently slinks under the bed with a huff. “He ought to stay down there until we’ve finished, though I can’t guarantee it. Platinum is, after all, a creature of free will, and quite resistant to most charms. As long as he senses no distress from me, he should stay.”
It takes a good long minute before Jon actually understands what the vampire is asking him. I'm being given a choice? How delightful... he thinks sarcastically to himself. Two memories immediately come to mind at Allerick's prompting words.
The first is the night he spent in the tavern with Gable, as they assumed new identities and lived the lives of their alters, free for a moment from the burdens of this world. But that is something he knows better than to share with the leech, it is far too sacred. He buries that memory far below the surface of his mind, far from prying eyes and ears. Besides, if he wants to keep Platinum happy, he'll need a calmer memory than that. It'll make it easier for the dragon to sense if things are going poorly.
The second is slightly more useful, but only just. It is summer, hot, golden sunshine streams through a window to lance him in the eyes. He groans, and a lightly calloused hand takes his while its partner strokes the side of his head. "You're alright, Jon. I've got you. Miss Arathel says everything looked great. We can go home soon." It is a feminine voice, but not the one he's used to hearing when he wakes like this, wedged in between pillows that hold him on his side with an ache in his gut that tells him Ramona has changed things again. But the ache is muted in the wake of just how comfortable he feels in that moment, safe and looked after, cradled and held.
Too sensitive, he decides.
But then, he realizes the perfect memory for the occasion. It is the first winter after the completion of construction. His home still smells of new timber and glue, but that is not where he stands. No, while the architects and builders had been slaving away on the house, he had been busy diverting some of the river water into a pool, some ten feet at its deepest point, lined with smooth stones and heated with spells carved into the rocks. Now he sits, back against the edge of the artificial pond, submerged up to his neck in the steaming water that eases the ache in his joints that was present even back then, in his youth.
That will have to do. Wordlessly, he packages the memory up like a parcel, folding it with crisp edges until he can easily convey the notion through thought alone, pressing it toward Allerick to unfold and reveal, and make of what he will.
"No, I don't imagine they do." The wizard grunts, shrugging off his outer robe and starting to shuck the rest of the clothes covering his top half, folding them all neatly atop his bag that still rests on the bed. No sense in staining two sets of clothes in as many days.
When you become…?
Jonathan, you absolute dolt.
The wizard frowns as realization dawns, and only just manages to keep himself from running his palms over his face in embarrassment and frustration. Of course Allerick wasn’t going to let him just sit and stare at him while he bites into the soft flesh of his neck. Both of them were about to be extremely vulnerable with each other, why on earth would Allerick leave him in a position to easily stab the vampire halfway through his supper? It only stands to reason he’d be paralyzed again. Yet some distant part of him had hoped that walking willingly into the snake’s open mouth would somehow grant him the privilege of being able to stay inside his own head for the duration.
No such luck, it would seem. At least that meant he wouldn’t have to think too hard about the teeth in his neck. He lets out a long, almost despondent sigh.
“Aside from trapping him in a bubble, which I will not do, there isn’t much to be done about him.” He looks down at the bristling dragon, still obediently crouched at his feet, slinking along with every step Jon takes across the rug such that he stays nearly the exact same distance from his master the whole time. But then the wizard stops, snapping his fingers toward the space under the bed. Platinum gives him an imploring look, something frightened and concerned in his silver eyes, but after the gesture is repeated, he reluctantly but obediently slinks under the bed with a huff. “He ought to stay down there until we’ve finished, though I can’t guarantee it. Platinum is, after all, a creature of free will, and quite resistant to most charms. As long as he senses no distress from me, he should stay.”
It takes a good long minute before Jon actually understands what the vampire is asking him. I'm being given a choice? How delightful... he thinks sarcastically to himself. Two memories immediately come to mind at Allerick's prompting words.
The first is the night he spent in the tavern with Gable, as they assumed new identities and lived the lives of their alters, free for a moment from the burdens of this world. But that is something he knows better than to share with the leech, it is far too sacred. He buries that memory far below the surface of his mind, far from prying eyes and ears. Besides, if he wants to keep Platinum happy, he'll need a calmer memory than that. It'll make it easier for the dragon to sense if things are going poorly.
The second is slightly more useful, but only just. It is summer, hot, golden sunshine streams through a window to lance him in the eyes. He groans, and a lightly calloused hand takes his while its partner strokes the side of his head. "You're alright, Jon. I've got you. Miss Arathel says everything looked great. We can go home soon." It is a feminine voice, but not the one he's used to hearing when he wakes like this, wedged in between pillows that hold him on his side with an ache in his gut that tells him Ramona has changed things again. But the ache is muted in the wake of just how comfortable he feels in that moment, safe and looked after, cradled and held.
Too sensitive, he decides.
But then, he realizes the perfect memory for the occasion. It is the first winter after the completion of construction. His home still smells of new timber and glue, but that is not where he stands. No, while the architects and builders had been slaving away on the house, he had been busy diverting some of the river water into a pool, some ten feet at its deepest point, lined with smooth stones and heated with spells carved into the rocks. Now he sits, back against the edge of the artificial pond, submerged up to his neck in the steaming water that eases the ache in his joints that was present even back then, in his youth.
That will have to do. Wordlessly, he packages the memory up like a parcel, folding it with crisp edges until he can easily convey the notion through thought alone, pressing it toward Allerick to unfold and reveal, and make of what he will.
"No, I don't imagine they do." The wizard grunts, shrugging off his outer robe and starting to shuck the rest of the clothes covering his top half, folding them all neatly atop his bag that still rests on the bed. No sense in staining two sets of clothes in as many days.
"The lizard will sense no distress." That's a promise the vampire intends to keep—for his own sake. He eyes the dark recess under the bed warily. It would have been most comfortable for him to sit beside Jonathan on the edge of the mattress, but now he feels no inclination to risk a bite on his dangling ankles... He turns to the chair across the room instead and motions for Jonathan to take a seat once he has finished undressing.
Having not been invited to enter Jonathan's conscious mind yet, Allerick can't see anything from the memories, but he can feel the shape of each as the man's emotions shift. The first is friendly, jovial, carefree. Oddly tender. The next is romantic, tinged with a wistful or nostalgic feeling, but whether it is the memory of a lover or a picturesque landscape on a fine spring day, he cannot tell… The final emotion that settles on the wizard (and the vampire) is that of great satisfaction and the kind of tiredness that comes from a battle well fought. Like a little boy straining to see a delicious cake on a high countertop, Allerick surges eagerly at the invitation to open that little boxed memory to see what's inside.
A disappointed smile flickers on his lips. He had imagined he'd see a wild land conquered or an unruly people subjugated or a beast slain by powerful magic… Not a heap of rocks and a pool of hot water. However, he's not entirely disappointed… The pool is a kind of admirable, artistic victory over wild nature and the warmth, which he feels as if through Jonathan's skin, is very pleasant indeed. He snorts softly and shakes his head.
"You are a man of simple pleasures, Gionata. Close your eyes now, please."
The swimming pool's therapeutic warmth has become supernatural. As it siphons the ache out of every joint and every muscle, you know in your heart that it has healed you in every way. You have been made a new man with an entire life of new chances laid before you; you will be able to seize this new life whenever you're ready to leave the pool, but for now, you must rest.
Notice the air flowing through your nostrils; it is cool as you draw in, and warm as you exhale slowly… This environment is your own. It is where you feel safe and welcome, sheltered from the demands, expectations, and pressures of the world outside and those who oppose you.
But it is missing something. Even a man who enjoys his own company above all others grows lonely from time to time… You may invite anyone you like to share your space with you.
The suggestion to populate his world with whomever he'd visited in the previous two memories comes as subtly and unobtrusively as Jonathan's own thoughts. Wouldn't it be nice to enjoy good company while I'm in such a pleasant mood? I miss them. I'd like them to see and enjoy this thing I've built that I take pride in. Why would I pass up the opportunity to share it with them now, while it's in my power to do so?
In the material world, Allerick waits until Jonathan has allowed himself to relax into the trance before he positions himself behind the low-back chair. He'll wait until Jonathan has made up his mind about whom, if anyone, he wishes to entertain himself before proceeding.
Having not been invited to enter Jonathan's conscious mind yet, Allerick can't see anything from the memories, but he can feel the shape of each as the man's emotions shift. The first is friendly, jovial, carefree. Oddly tender. The next is romantic, tinged with a wistful or nostalgic feeling, but whether it is the memory of a lover or a picturesque landscape on a fine spring day, he cannot tell… The final emotion that settles on the wizard (and the vampire) is that of great satisfaction and the kind of tiredness that comes from a battle well fought. Like a little boy straining to see a delicious cake on a high countertop, Allerick surges eagerly at the invitation to open that little boxed memory to see what's inside.
A disappointed smile flickers on his lips. He had imagined he'd see a wild land conquered or an unruly people subjugated or a beast slain by powerful magic… Not a heap of rocks and a pool of hot water. However, he's not entirely disappointed… The pool is a kind of admirable, artistic victory over wild nature and the warmth, which he feels as if through Jonathan's skin, is very pleasant indeed. He snorts softly and shakes his head.
"You are a man of simple pleasures, Gionata. Close your eyes now, please."
The swimming pool's therapeutic warmth has become supernatural. As it siphons the ache out of every joint and every muscle, you know in your heart that it has healed you in every way. You have been made a new man with an entire life of new chances laid before you; you will be able to seize this new life whenever you're ready to leave the pool, but for now, you must rest.
Notice the air flowing through your nostrils; it is cool as you draw in, and warm as you exhale slowly… This environment is your own. It is where you feel safe and welcome, sheltered from the demands, expectations, and pressures of the world outside and those who oppose you.
But it is missing something. Even a man who enjoys his own company above all others grows lonely from time to time… You may invite anyone you like to share your space with you.
The suggestion to populate his world with whomever he'd visited in the previous two memories comes as subtly and unobtrusively as Jonathan's own thoughts. Wouldn't it be nice to enjoy good company while I'm in such a pleasant mood? I miss them. I'd like them to see and enjoy this thing I've built that I take pride in. Why would I pass up the opportunity to share it with them now, while it's in my power to do so?
In the material world, Allerick waits until Jonathan has allowed himself to relax into the trance before he positions himself behind the low-back chair. He'll wait until Jonathan has made up his mind about whom, if anyone, he wishes to entertain himself before proceeding.
“I always have been.” The wizard grumbles, taking the indicated seat with less hesitation than he probably should, dropping into it with a huff and trying not to clutch the arms of the chair too tightly. He’s less eager when the instruction comes to close his eyes, but the delay is minor, needing only a reminder of what the alternative is for him to school his features into something closer to neutral before closing his eyes.
He agreed to let Allerick feed. That doesn’t mean he has to like it. But two breaths later, he’s sucked into a trance, caught like a moth in a spider’s web. It feels like he’s falling backwards out of his chair, though he knows his body remains stationary. It is… less jarring than the night before, probably because he has an idea what to expect now, both in regards to what the vampire will do to him in the coming minutes and with the vision that slowly comes into focus.
Gone are the musty inn room and the teeth about to sink into his neck, replaced with everything he remembers from that day so, so many years ago. Except it’s somehow more vivid. The snow glints brighter in the cold winter sun. The hush of wind through the pines around him is crisper, and so is the scent carried on the breeze from their aromatic sap. And the heat of the water… stars above, it feels better than he ever could have dreamed of! The soreness of his joints and muscles are soothed, surely, but so is the constant ache in his belly. The pain that never leaves him, the sharp sting of things that should not be inside of him but must be, if he is to live… the relief is warm and dizzying, and he has to take in a long, deep breath of cold air, trying to remind himself that this is a dream, it’s not real, and yet… and yet it feels so close he could weep.
This is his home, his domain, safe and protected, it is everything he needs. He made this. The notion isn’t his own, but he clings to it nonetheless. Nothing can touch him here. The Court has no authority over him, neither do the demands of his household. This is his space, his time, and he’ll do with it what he wants.
But then the question arises, in much the same way as his other thoughts-that-are-not-his. He knows, of course, that Allerick is likely influencing him with these little nudges of thought that almost, almost feel like they could be his. But that knowledge hasn’t stopped him from letting the vampire have his way yet, and at this point it isn’t likely to.
Helena, Jon’s mind supplies immediately, and he hears her soft footsteps coming up behind him not long after. He tries to choke the idea out, something within him begging him not to sully her memory by bringing her into this, but it’s too late. Her hand ghosts over his shoulder as she steps into the water beside him, her light dress pooling around her knees before she tugs it down and sits beside him. She worms her way under his arm, resting her auburn haired head against his shoulder.
Her breath comes in warm puffs against his neck, and he squeezes the soft, round shape of her shoulder as he settles his chin atop her head. Slowly but surely, everything settles into place, and his anxieties evaporate, leaving only the peaceful scene he expected, plus a little extra.
Back in the inn, Jon’s shoulders sag, his head dropping to the side as he settles in, letting the trance wash over him like the imagined water that laps at his skin, warm and soothing.
He agreed to let Allerick feed. That doesn’t mean he has to like it. But two breaths later, he’s sucked into a trance, caught like a moth in a spider’s web. It feels like he’s falling backwards out of his chair, though he knows his body remains stationary. It is… less jarring than the night before, probably because he has an idea what to expect now, both in regards to what the vampire will do to him in the coming minutes and with the vision that slowly comes into focus.
Gone are the musty inn room and the teeth about to sink into his neck, replaced with everything he remembers from that day so, so many years ago. Except it’s somehow more vivid. The snow glints brighter in the cold winter sun. The hush of wind through the pines around him is crisper, and so is the scent carried on the breeze from their aromatic sap. And the heat of the water… stars above, it feels better than he ever could have dreamed of! The soreness of his joints and muscles are soothed, surely, but so is the constant ache in his belly. The pain that never leaves him, the sharp sting of things that should not be inside of him but must be, if he is to live… the relief is warm and dizzying, and he has to take in a long, deep breath of cold air, trying to remind himself that this is a dream, it’s not real, and yet… and yet it feels so close he could weep.
This is his home, his domain, safe and protected, it is everything he needs. He made this. The notion isn’t his own, but he clings to it nonetheless. Nothing can touch him here. The Court has no authority over him, neither do the demands of his household. This is his space, his time, and he’ll do with it what he wants.
But then the question arises, in much the same way as his other thoughts-that-are-not-his. He knows, of course, that Allerick is likely influencing him with these little nudges of thought that almost, almost feel like they could be his. But that knowledge hasn’t stopped him from letting the vampire have his way yet, and at this point it isn’t likely to.
Helena, Jon’s mind supplies immediately, and he hears her soft footsteps coming up behind him not long after. He tries to choke the idea out, something within him begging him not to sully her memory by bringing her into this, but it’s too late. Her hand ghosts over his shoulder as she steps into the water beside him, her light dress pooling around her knees before she tugs it down and sits beside him. She worms her way under his arm, resting her auburn haired head against his shoulder.
Her breath comes in warm puffs against his neck, and he squeezes the soft, round shape of her shoulder as he settles his chin atop her head. Slowly but surely, everything settles into place, and his anxieties evaporate, leaving only the peaceful scene he expected, plus a little extra.
Back in the inn, Jon’s shoulders sag, his head dropping to the side as he settles in, letting the trance wash over him like the imagined water that laps at his skin, warm and soothing.
The sag of Jonathan's shoulders and the way his head tips off to one side to expose his pulsing jugular could not be any more inviting to the vampire, even if he were looking at a stuffed hog on a silver platter. His mouth waters to sink into that tender flesh…
But he hesitates. Remaining perfectly still, poised above and behind the old man, Allerick allows his eyelashes to flutter shut as he, too, savors the feeling of a woman's soft body nestled beside him. Her beautiful hair tickles his nose and lips, as does her breath on his neck. Oddly enough, he senses no lust as skin caresses skin, but that doesn't stop him from enjoying her company along with Jonathan.
Yes. Helena. She always smelled of…
He encourages Jonathan's mind to proffer up the sensory details he cannot fill by himself (not without setting off another of those explosive little traps the wizard set for him, anyway…) and then he relishes the effect of a fully-fleshed, carefully-crafted fantasy. If there's any man alive (or undead) who thinks he can spin a prettier picture, he'd like to meet him—and laugh in his face.
Fully pleased with his work and gorging himself on Jonathan's positive emotions, he cheerfully sets to work preparing the old man's skin with a thick coating of analgesic saliva. The clotting properties of the same sometimes make it difficult to drink enough before having to puncture the skin a second time, but he isn't looking for enough to fill his belly now. Just the right amount to get roaring drunk.
He discovers it takes exactly three small sips for that to happen.
The intention that held the trance in place lifts almost immediately as Allerick's sobriety flees from him, but it's within the wizard's power to turn deeper into the dream for a night of warm, comforting rest if he wishes. As for Allerick, he totters off toward the door only to sink onto the floor and lies on his back with a lopsided grin, arms and legs spread vulnerably from his trunk. Gods help him if that silver nightmare rushes at him from under the bed now. He can't make himself care.
But he hesitates. Remaining perfectly still, poised above and behind the old man, Allerick allows his eyelashes to flutter shut as he, too, savors the feeling of a woman's soft body nestled beside him. Her beautiful hair tickles his nose and lips, as does her breath on his neck. Oddly enough, he senses no lust as skin caresses skin, but that doesn't stop him from enjoying her company along with Jonathan.
Yes. Helena. She always smelled of…
He encourages Jonathan's mind to proffer up the sensory details he cannot fill by himself (not without setting off another of those explosive little traps the wizard set for him, anyway…) and then he relishes the effect of a fully-fleshed, carefully-crafted fantasy. If there's any man alive (or undead) who thinks he can spin a prettier picture, he'd like to meet him—and laugh in his face.
Fully pleased with his work and gorging himself on Jonathan's positive emotions, he cheerfully sets to work preparing the old man's skin with a thick coating of analgesic saliva. The clotting properties of the same sometimes make it difficult to drink enough before having to puncture the skin a second time, but he isn't looking for enough to fill his belly now. Just the right amount to get roaring drunk.
He discovers it takes exactly three small sips for that to happen.
The intention that held the trance in place lifts almost immediately as Allerick's sobriety flees from him, but it's within the wizard's power to turn deeper into the dream for a night of warm, comforting rest if he wishes. As for Allerick, he totters off toward the door only to sink onto the floor and lies on his back with a lopsided grin, arms and legs spread vulnerably from his trunk. Gods help him if that silver nightmare rushes at him from under the bed now. He can't make himself care.
Rosemary. Rosemary and carrots.
He recalls the scent with perfect clarity, herbal and faintly sweet, and with his next inhale, the aroma fills his nose. She was always in the kitchen, and the paste she fed him was always faintly orange from how many of those root vegetables she would put in it. Good for your eyes, Jon, she would always say. Eat up.
He doesn’t even feel the teeth that pierce his neck in the waking world.
“How have you been?” She asks sweetly, turning her green eyes up to look at him.
His hand trails across her shoulders, down her spine and along every matronly curve she possesses, stopping just above her waist. She’s ever been a round woman. Round hips, round chest, round face. She had blamed it on the childbearing her whole life, though she only ever had the two. Nathaniel and Evelyn, his darling nephew and niece. He loved all three of them to pieces, though his contact with Nathaniel was brief and inconsistent from the beginning.
“Better.” He answers, tilting his head down to kiss her forehead. “The hot water helps with the pain.”
“Good!” She grins up at him and wraps her arms around his neck, practically hauling herself into his lap. He has to quickly adjust where his arms are to keep her from tumbling into the water, and ends up holding her against his chest. She just laughs, and he can’t help but snort out a chuckle. It’s a familiar game they’ve played in the past, where she’ll try to get as far into his personal space as she can, though it takes a minute for him to remember the rules.
She straddles his hips, hands on his chest while he supports the weight of her body with the water’s help, and looks him up and down. He’s being appraised, like a hog at the farmer’s market. One eyebrow lifts in an unspoken question, though he’s smirking back at her like he knows the answer. It’s the same thing she asks every time she wins this game of theirs.
“Jonny boy, why won’t you marry me?”
“Because, my dear,” he begins his answer from memory, perfectly recited for how many times he’s said it, “You are not mine to marry. Mine to care for and protect, yes, but not to marry.”
“Common law says differently.” She argues with a smirk back at him. “In fact according to Nossian common law, you are the only one who can marry me.”
“Oh, don’t start quoting statutes to me, woman.” The wizard sticks his tongue out and feigns dropping her into the water, which makes her squeal half in horror and half in delight.
“Jonathan, you brat!”
Well this time he actually does drop her, diving away toward the deeper middle of the pool immediately after. She shrieks, but swims after him anyway, grinning the whole time. It becomes a game of chase, familiar as a comfortable pair of old shoes.
The wizard doesn’t even notice that the firm pressure holding him in this dream state has eased, so wrapped in the vision is he. Only once he begins to catch the haze bleeding over from Allerick’s consciousness does he break out of the fantasy long enough to realize something has changed. It makes him feel drunk, pleasantly dazed in a way that makes him forget which direction is up. Perhaps wisely, he calls an end to their game, letting Helena ambush him and glue herself to his back.
“Caught you.” She whispers in his ear while he swims the two of them back toward the edge of the pool, humming his agreement.
They’ve both dissolved into giggles at this point. When he reaches the edge and folds his arms on a dry rock to rest his chin on, she stays right where she’s at.
He feels like he should end the dream. Surely the drunken giddiness he feels from the leech must mean he’s had his fill? And yet… he can’t bring himself to be bothered. His head is far too fuzzy for that. Too much effort to dig himself out of the trance, decide which way is up and out. He’ll wake up eventually, right?
Back in the inn room, Platinum creeps out from under the bed, after hearing Allerick drop to the floor.
His master has been quiet this whole time, and that is almost as worrisome as feeling his distress. Surely stepping out to check on him won’t get him in trouble?
He gives the monster on the floor a wide berth, eyeing him suspiciously, but otherwise ignoring him. Plat has eyes only for the wizard, who still sits slumped in his chair, unmoving as if in death, but… yes, he still breathes. With a relieved chuff, the little dragon bounds over and scrambles up into Jonathan’s lap. He makes several little croaking noises, but when that proves unsuccessful at rousing the wizard, resorts to aggressively licking his face.
He recalls the scent with perfect clarity, herbal and faintly sweet, and with his next inhale, the aroma fills his nose. She was always in the kitchen, and the paste she fed him was always faintly orange from how many of those root vegetables she would put in it. Good for your eyes, Jon, she would always say. Eat up.
He doesn’t even feel the teeth that pierce his neck in the waking world.
“How have you been?” She asks sweetly, turning her green eyes up to look at him.
His hand trails across her shoulders, down her spine and along every matronly curve she possesses, stopping just above her waist. She’s ever been a round woman. Round hips, round chest, round face. She had blamed it on the childbearing her whole life, though she only ever had the two. Nathaniel and Evelyn, his darling nephew and niece. He loved all three of them to pieces, though his contact with Nathaniel was brief and inconsistent from the beginning.
“Better.” He answers, tilting his head down to kiss her forehead. “The hot water helps with the pain.”
“Good!” She grins up at him and wraps her arms around his neck, practically hauling herself into his lap. He has to quickly adjust where his arms are to keep her from tumbling into the water, and ends up holding her against his chest. She just laughs, and he can’t help but snort out a chuckle. It’s a familiar game they’ve played in the past, where she’ll try to get as far into his personal space as she can, though it takes a minute for him to remember the rules.
She straddles his hips, hands on his chest while he supports the weight of her body with the water’s help, and looks him up and down. He’s being appraised, like a hog at the farmer’s market. One eyebrow lifts in an unspoken question, though he’s smirking back at her like he knows the answer. It’s the same thing she asks every time she wins this game of theirs.
“Jonny boy, why won’t you marry me?”
“Because, my dear,” he begins his answer from memory, perfectly recited for how many times he’s said it, “You are not mine to marry. Mine to care for and protect, yes, but not to marry.”
“Common law says differently.” She argues with a smirk back at him. “In fact according to Nossian common law, you are the only one who can marry me.”
“Oh, don’t start quoting statutes to me, woman.” The wizard sticks his tongue out and feigns dropping her into the water, which makes her squeal half in horror and half in delight.
“Jonathan, you brat!”
Well this time he actually does drop her, diving away toward the deeper middle of the pool immediately after. She shrieks, but swims after him anyway, grinning the whole time. It becomes a game of chase, familiar as a comfortable pair of old shoes.
The wizard doesn’t even notice that the firm pressure holding him in this dream state has eased, so wrapped in the vision is he. Only once he begins to catch the haze bleeding over from Allerick’s consciousness does he break out of the fantasy long enough to realize something has changed. It makes him feel drunk, pleasantly dazed in a way that makes him forget which direction is up. Perhaps wisely, he calls an end to their game, letting Helena ambush him and glue herself to his back.
“Caught you.” She whispers in his ear while he swims the two of them back toward the edge of the pool, humming his agreement.
They’ve both dissolved into giggles at this point. When he reaches the edge and folds his arms on a dry rock to rest his chin on, she stays right where she’s at.
He feels like he should end the dream. Surely the drunken giddiness he feels from the leech must mean he’s had his fill? And yet… he can’t bring himself to be bothered. His head is far too fuzzy for that. Too much effort to dig himself out of the trance, decide which way is up and out. He’ll wake up eventually, right?
Back in the inn room, Platinum creeps out from under the bed, after hearing Allerick drop to the floor.
His master has been quiet this whole time, and that is almost as worrisome as feeling his distress. Surely stepping out to check on him won’t get him in trouble?
He gives the monster on the floor a wide berth, eyeing him suspiciously, but otherwise ignoring him. Plat has eyes only for the wizard, who still sits slumped in his chair, unmoving as if in death, but… yes, he still breathes. With a relieved chuff, the little dragon bounds over and scrambles up into Jonathan’s lap. He makes several little croaking noises, but when that proves unsuccessful at rousing the wizard, resorts to aggressively licking his face.
The hard wooden planks of the floor feel as gentle as sponge clover on the vampire's bony back. But he knows that's just the effects of the magic that's whirling through him right now, and if he lies here long enough, he'll probably come to regret it… Besides, there are more interesting ways to spend his high than watching the room spin.
The act of rolling onto his side shoots a feeling like giddy sparks throughout his body that makes him giggle. It takes another solid minute and several attempts before he can sit up without falling over.
All the gods and saints… If only blood kept well in jars! He could make a fortune off the old man. Speaking of whom, it isn't altogether strange that Jonathan chooses to remain in the dream (who wouldn't wish to stay young, healthy, and in one's lover's arms for as long as possible?) but the fact the dragon's attempts to wake him after the enchantment has ended prove unsuccessful is a bit odd. Especially knowing how opposed Jonathan had been at the beginning. Allerick had imagined he would be awake, dressed, and looming threateningly ten to twelve seconds after their transaction was through.
The little creature's aggressive attempts to rouse its master make him chuckle, though. If it keeps going like that, the mage won't have any face left to wake up to. "Dai. Smettila, lucertola."
Allerick uses the chair's creaking arm and back to pull himself up into a standing position, right where he can get a good look at the wizard's drooping face. He cups it in his cold hands and rolls Jonathan's head to face squarely forward. He gives one cheek a firm pat.
"Vai bene, signore? …Gionata? Good mooorningg."
The act of rolling onto his side shoots a feeling like giddy sparks throughout his body that makes him giggle. It takes another solid minute and several attempts before he can sit up without falling over.
All the gods and saints… If only blood kept well in jars! He could make a fortune off the old man. Speaking of whom, it isn't altogether strange that Jonathan chooses to remain in the dream (who wouldn't wish to stay young, healthy, and in one's lover's arms for as long as possible?) but the fact the dragon's attempts to wake him after the enchantment has ended prove unsuccessful is a bit odd. Especially knowing how opposed Jonathan had been at the beginning. Allerick had imagined he would be awake, dressed, and looming threateningly ten to twelve seconds after their transaction was through.
The little creature's aggressive attempts to rouse its master make him chuckle, though. If it keeps going like that, the mage won't have any face left to wake up to. "Dai. Smettila, lucertola."
Allerick uses the chair's creaking arm and back to pull himself up into a standing position, right where he can get a good look at the wizard's drooping face. He cups it in his cold hands and rolls Jonathan's head to face squarely forward. He gives one cheek a firm pat.
"Vai bene, signore? …Gionata? Good mooorningg."
Jonathan had tried training a mule, once.
It hadn’t even been for any good reason, but he’d done a fair job with horses for a few years, and thought he’d try his hand at a mule. It was an experiment, of sorts. But mules aren’t the same as horses. They’re a “kick first, ask questions later” kind of animal, and they won’t warn you, either. A horse will let you know when it’s about to strike, in the angle of its ears and the tilt of its hip. But a mule will come out of nowhere, hooves flying, and suddenly you’re on your back and you can’t breathe because that demonic equine has just broken five of your ribs and your collarbone.
That’s what it feels like when Allerick slaps the wakefulness back into him, when sobriety comes crashing in like those hooves from hell, and his dream disintegrates like shattered glass. He draws in a sharp breath and winces, shoving the vampire’s cold hands away while he rubs at his eyes, persuading himself that the tears are from the sudden sting of the slap and not the loss of Helena. Again.
“Ugh…” His mouth is dry and cottony, like it so often is after a hard nap, and so his words are slower in coming. He refuses to look Allerick in the eye as he says them, instead staring at the floor and shaking his head.
“That talent… that kind of artistry… it is wasted here.” He mutters, so many thoughts flying through his mind that it’s difficult to get anything out in a complete sentence. “Such potential… could turn the Archives inside-out… only good thing that man has ever… and yet still they suffer… Sorry, yes. Good morning, Mr. Silva.”
The Archives. Last port of call for spellcasters deemed too dangerous to live in civilized society. The ones with criminal histories. The ones born with magic in their veins and no control over it. The ones that reached too far and dug too deep and had their minds burned out by the spells they cast. The ones that leaked magic wherever they went, leaving trails of chaos in their wake with no way to curb it. Experiments gone wrong. Abominations escaped from captivity. More than once, Jon has wondered if that might end up being his ultimate fate: wandering the maze of shelves filled with books and scrolls and tablets, the entire recorded history of their world, fetching manuscripts for eager scholars and sorting returned materials, externally separated from his arcane self, never to cast another spell, never to dream again, eternally drained but never finding rest, numb to all but the strongest stimulus, locked away in his own mind for the rest of his life.
Socially responsible incarceration was the official term.
Torture. It was torture. Jonathan had been to the winding maze of shelves beneath the Grand Repository of Pylaz-Prus. He had seen the blank eyes of the archivists, seen one made, watched how it changed them, made them passive and docile. Any semblance of emotion, gone. Memories, gone. Everything that made them individuals, wiped away to make space for something blank and sterile. They didn’t last long, but they were useful while they did. The only difference between a death sentence and life in the archives was simply that the latter took longer.
It was the dreams, they discovered. Because they couldn’t dream, their minds slowly deteriorated. First their memory started to go. Then their coordination followed. Eventually, they’d start refusing food. They never lasted longer than a decade, once the signs began to show.
But with someone as skilled in mind magic and dream architecture as Allerick on hand to construct dreams for them? Maybe they might live a little longer. Maybe their quality of life could be a little better.
But he quickly puts the idea out of his mind. There’s no way this slimy leech would agree to what could only be called charity work. A matter of money, a matter of pride, it’s unlikely to make a difference, he knows Allerick won’t do it.
“Sorry…” He mutters, lightly pushing the vampire out of the way, and staggering to his feet. He leans heavily on the furniture on his way to the bed in an attempt to keep his feet going in the right direction. His sudden revelation and the echoes of the trance still clinging to his mind make him clumsy. Now that this bloody business is over with, he can put his clothes back on and get back to meditating. Or maybe… maybe he might sleep for a bit. He’s not quite sure on that yet.
It hadn’t even been for any good reason, but he’d done a fair job with horses for a few years, and thought he’d try his hand at a mule. It was an experiment, of sorts. But mules aren’t the same as horses. They’re a “kick first, ask questions later” kind of animal, and they won’t warn you, either. A horse will let you know when it’s about to strike, in the angle of its ears and the tilt of its hip. But a mule will come out of nowhere, hooves flying, and suddenly you’re on your back and you can’t breathe because that demonic equine has just broken five of your ribs and your collarbone.
That’s what it feels like when Allerick slaps the wakefulness back into him, when sobriety comes crashing in like those hooves from hell, and his dream disintegrates like shattered glass. He draws in a sharp breath and winces, shoving the vampire’s cold hands away while he rubs at his eyes, persuading himself that the tears are from the sudden sting of the slap and not the loss of Helena. Again.
“Ugh…” His mouth is dry and cottony, like it so often is after a hard nap, and so his words are slower in coming. He refuses to look Allerick in the eye as he says them, instead staring at the floor and shaking his head.
“That talent… that kind of artistry… it is wasted here.” He mutters, so many thoughts flying through his mind that it’s difficult to get anything out in a complete sentence. “Such potential… could turn the Archives inside-out… only good thing that man has ever… and yet still they suffer… Sorry, yes. Good morning, Mr. Silva.”
The Archives. Last port of call for spellcasters deemed too dangerous to live in civilized society. The ones with criminal histories. The ones born with magic in their veins and no control over it. The ones that reached too far and dug too deep and had their minds burned out by the spells they cast. The ones that leaked magic wherever they went, leaving trails of chaos in their wake with no way to curb it. Experiments gone wrong. Abominations escaped from captivity. More than once, Jon has wondered if that might end up being his ultimate fate: wandering the maze of shelves filled with books and scrolls and tablets, the entire recorded history of their world, fetching manuscripts for eager scholars and sorting returned materials, externally separated from his arcane self, never to cast another spell, never to dream again, eternally drained but never finding rest, numb to all but the strongest stimulus, locked away in his own mind for the rest of his life.
Socially responsible incarceration was the official term.
Torture. It was torture. Jonathan had been to the winding maze of shelves beneath the Grand Repository of Pylaz-Prus. He had seen the blank eyes of the archivists, seen one made, watched how it changed them, made them passive and docile. Any semblance of emotion, gone. Memories, gone. Everything that made them individuals, wiped away to make space for something blank and sterile. They didn’t last long, but they were useful while they did. The only difference between a death sentence and life in the archives was simply that the latter took longer.
It was the dreams, they discovered. Because they couldn’t dream, their minds slowly deteriorated. First their memory started to go. Then their coordination followed. Eventually, they’d start refusing food. They never lasted longer than a decade, once the signs began to show.
But with someone as skilled in mind magic and dream architecture as Allerick on hand to construct dreams for them? Maybe they might live a little longer. Maybe their quality of life could be a little better.
But he quickly puts the idea out of his mind. There’s no way this slimy leech would agree to what could only be called charity work. A matter of money, a matter of pride, it’s unlikely to make a difference, he knows Allerick won’t do it.
“Sorry…” He mutters, lightly pushing the vampire out of the way, and staggering to his feet. He leans heavily on the furniture on his way to the bed in an attempt to keep his feet going in the right direction. His sudden revelation and the echoes of the trance still clinging to his mind make him clumsy. Now that this bloody business is over with, he can put his clothes back on and get back to meditating. Or maybe… maybe he might sleep for a bit. He’s not quite sure on that yet.
In the seconds between Allerick's first pat to Jonathan's face and the moment when the wizard actually rouses, the silvery dragon on the old man's lap seems to interpret the vampire's concern as an assault on its master. The indignant lizard is quick to retaliate, but even drunk, the vampire manages to recoil before his wrists can be punctured by those eager needle teeth.
"Ehi! Lasciami in pace, sto cercando di aiutarlo." Allerick backhands the little beast on its snout to knock it away, then wags a disapproving finger. The smack is not as violent as it might have been if he were sober and angered, but enough to assert dominance, and enough to send the little beast skittering under the bed, too, likely to bide its time and plot an ambush... That's when Jonathan begins to stir.
"Ahh, eccolo. Did you enjoy yourself, signore?" The question is rhetorical, of course. The vampire was there, seeing and feeling and breathing in the pleasurable world Jonathan had been steeping in moments ago… but a savory recount of his achievements as a dream architect would not go amiss. Not that he really expects the wizard to afford him anything remotely praise-like…
Yet it happens.
Allerick's smug look thaws upon hearing the words talent and artistry. Even as he's being waved off to the side, he perks with interest and stands with the help of the chair. He hiccups. "The 'Archives'? Who is suffering?"
When the wizard apologizes for the second time, Allerick makes a light, dismissive noise and wafts his hand in forgiveness, as if clearing all the old man's incoherent muttering from the air. He follows closely toward the bed, despite knowing full well there's a snappy demon hiding under there just waiting for his ankles to wander into range.
He prompts the wizard in a honeyed tone. "Surely you have more to say, signore. Have you been struck with inspiration? An idea of where my gift could be put to better use? Oh—please, allow me." Racing the wizard to his pile of clothes, Allerick plucks up the tunic, rolls it up from its hem in the way a mother would prepare a shirt for a small child, and lifts it over the wizard's head for him.
"Ehi! Lasciami in pace, sto cercando di aiutarlo." Allerick backhands the little beast on its snout to knock it away, then wags a disapproving finger. The smack is not as violent as it might have been if he were sober and angered, but enough to assert dominance, and enough to send the little beast skittering under the bed, too, likely to bide its time and plot an ambush... That's when Jonathan begins to stir.
"Ahh, eccolo. Did you enjoy yourself, signore?" The question is rhetorical, of course. The vampire was there, seeing and feeling and breathing in the pleasurable world Jonathan had been steeping in moments ago… but a savory recount of his achievements as a dream architect would not go amiss. Not that he really expects the wizard to afford him anything remotely praise-like…
Yet it happens.
Allerick's smug look thaws upon hearing the words talent and artistry. Even as he's being waved off to the side, he perks with interest and stands with the help of the chair. He hiccups. "The 'Archives'? Who is suffering?"
When the wizard apologizes for the second time, Allerick makes a light, dismissive noise and wafts his hand in forgiveness, as if clearing all the old man's incoherent muttering from the air. He follows closely toward the bed, despite knowing full well there's a snappy demon hiding under there just waiting for his ankles to wander into range.
He prompts the wizard in a honeyed tone. "Surely you have more to say, signore. Have you been struck with inspiration? An idea of where my gift could be put to better use? Oh—please, allow me." Racing the wizard to his pile of clothes, Allerick plucks up the tunic, rolls it up from its hem in the way a mother would prepare a shirt for a small child, and lifts it over the wizard's head for him.
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