Unter dem Mondlicht (AU + England/Prussia)

Arthur Kirkland strolled through the grass of the public park, the dew glistening on his shoes whenever they caught the streetlight. He was on a mission for ingredients for his potions, and he knew of several useful plants which grew wild in this park. The bag at his waist was already mostly filled with mushrooms, leaves, and roots.

The slight breeze caught his cape, fluttering it out behind him. He lowered his hood, allowing the wind to catch his hair and to feel the glory of the darkness. It was a beautiful night, indeed.

He was ready to make his way home, stepping lightly from the grass to the paved walkway. This late at night, he had the park to himself, save for one other. He saw him, on a bench up ahead, with his white hair and pale skin, hunched over and shaking. Anyone else would have thought he was your typical street urchin, a bleached punk strung out for another fix. Arthur knew better. His abilities as a magician enabled him to detect certain supernatural forces. This man wasn’t even truly alive.

And that made him interesting.

Curious, he strolled closer, a hand on his wand in case this creature decided to make an annoyance out of himself.

Oh this had to be a young one, newly turned and so naïve. The older undead would have recognized the smell of magic and would have thought twice about such a bold move, no matter how hungry they were. He’d met vampires before in his travels. They were a peculiar breed, indeed. Of course, the ones he’d met had been ancient and wise. That was because the foolish ones didn’t survive long.

Even his eyes couldn’t catch the speed with which the vampire moved, couldn’t follow him in the darkness. But he could feel him. He could sense his approach.

His wand came out and with a flash and a bang, he hit his pale attacker in the chest with a spell forceful enough to knock him onto his back. He kept his gaze on the man, his irritation showing, as he swung his arm out, the wand at the end glowing and growing and taking on the shape of a sword which gleamed with the streetlights. He pointed the blade at the prostrate man’s chest.

“It’s no wooden stake, but cutting your heart from your chest would get the job done just as well”

He could tell the man wasn’t ready to give up. He still had a lot of pride in him. But he was desperate and he was weakened and above all else, he was hungry. He could tell by the way he shook and the slight gauntness to his appearance. It wasn’t even close to a fair match. There would be no satisfaction in it.

“I highly recommend staying right where you are. I would derive no pleasure from killing you, but I will if you make a nuisance of yourself.”

The half-hearted growl and the display of fangs failed to intimidate the wizard. He had been in the supernatural world all his life, seen all manner of creature and every branch of magic. His threshold for fear had been set to a point that this meager bloodsucker could not hope to reach in his current state.

“I am a sorcerer,” he said, thinking that should have been obvious at this point. “And you are an infant vampire.” This being was so obviously clueless it bordered on being sad. He scuttled away, trying to distance himself and not even realizing the futility of that. Now that he was closer and not moving at an unnatural speed, Arthur was able to take in his appearance. The fact that he was undead was not where his interesting qualities ended. Despite his white hair, he was young in appearance, those wide red eyes of his telling of his rare genetic abnormality. Quite unique. Even alive and mortal, he would have been an interesting specimen.

He was still bothersome, though. Arthur didn’t like sparing those who had disrespected him. And trying to eat him was the ultimate in disrespect. Still, this wasn’t even sporting. It would be like killing a baby chick in the nest, pointless and needlessly wasteful. He lowered his sword, keeping it at the ready, but no longer brandishing it threateningly.

Arthur frowned, narrowing his eyes. “You are quite the fool to attack me. Did your maker teach you nothing?”

Arthur kept his eyes on the fledgling vamp, following his movements as he continued to inch away. It was something one did not see every day – a member of a powerful class of being crawling along the earth, quite clearly in fear of its life. Yet he still managed a scowl and look of offense at the wizard’s words. This encounter was no doubt a near-fatal wound to his pride.

He was able to pick up now on the German accent and the youthful attitude the more the man spoke, but the content of his words stood out. Abandoned. The vampire didn’t use that word, but that was what the wizard’s mind latched on to. If this man had been made into what he was and then thrust out into the world to sink or swim, well, it was no wonder he was so inept. He was being driven by pure instinct. Though he had only met previous vampires in passing, he had studied the topic in his training. As he understood it, the bond between a member of the undead and his maker was supposed to be a strong one. To have that severed so abruptly… He was practically a babe in the woods. One with a pair of fangs and the drive to kill.

Abandonment had a tendency to strike a chord with Arthur. He knew the suffering it caused well. He felt a surge of…what was it? Pity? Sympathy? It was not a feeling he had experienced often since turning his back on the world at large and embracing a darker path, rejecting others as he had been rejected.

He stared at the man on the ground, contemplating his next move. His logic said he should either send the vampire away to meet his fate elsewhere or go ahead and kill him now and be done with it. But something - probably that strange feeling of empathy and the general curiosity surrounding the man – compelled him to go the illogical route.

“I am Arthur Kirkland. What do you go by?”

“Well, Gilbert, you should know this is my territory and I can’t have you attracting a lot of attention and stirring up trouble. Corpses piling up would pose a problem for me. Not that it seems you’ve been all that successful in your hunting…” The creature’s hunger was becoming more apparent. He could barely choke out any words and he shook under even the slightest movement. “You are nearly starved.”

He knew his next words were foolish before he even said them. “Come with me. My place is shielded from the sun and I may be able to teach you a few things.” Arthur knew this was a bad idea and could prove disastrous in a dozen different ways. A young and impulsive vampire was a liability no matter how one looked at it. Yet he was propelled forward by that nagging sense of, dare he think it, compassion? No, that wasn’t quite it. He had simply taken an interest in the young vampire. He was a project. Something to occupy his time. How often does one come across such a thing as a completely naïve predator?

The night was wearing on. It would be a night wasted if he lingered here much longer. His potion called for a full moon and he did not feel inclined to wait for the next one. He stared down at the vampire, sensing the hesitation, and frankly Arthur couldn’t blame him. But he had made up his mind to do this and he meant to proceed. Seeing the man’s….Gilbert’s…continued shivers, Arthur came to the realization that they would not get far like this. He sighed heavily, realizing the only way for this to proceed as he planned.

“I suppose you’re mostly useless as you are. You probably could not even walk the distance in this state.” Slowly, he lifted the sword, bringing it to his wrist. With a quick slash and a brief wince at the pain, he opened the flesh. Hot blood immediately began to flow, dripping down his arm in a steady rivulet.

“Drink of me. If you don’t stop when I order you to, I will kill you without hesitation. You won’t get a second warning…”

Arthur watched with interest as the vampire approached him, those red eyes focused solely on the blood that trickled from his wrist. He kept his expression blank looking on as if watching an everyday occurrence which was mundane but still required monitoring. Gilbert was still cautious, still hesitant, which meant that he wasn’t a complete idiot. But the blood drew him irresistibly in, like a moth to a flame.

He hoped his warning had made it pass that driving hunger and had taken hold within the vampire’s mind. He tightened his grip on his sword in case of its need.

Gilbert stumbled clumsily closer and Arthur had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the desperation. This man was all instinct and no dignity at the moment. A more experienced member of the undead would have questioned the wizard’s motivation. One does not typically open their veins for the sake of charity. But Gilbert didn’t question it, not out loud at least. He gave one glance away from the blood and Arthur merely stared back at him coldly, saying nothing. And then he felt the touch of lips against his wounded wrist.

He wasn’t sure what to expect from this feeding; he had never done such a thing as this before. It was an odd sensation… The pain of the wound renewed every time the teeth scraped him and he could not help but flinch. He felt the hands, cold as stone around his arm, yet the tongue was warm as it ran over him. The sucking was the hardest to adapt to. It was a conflict of the senses…it felt wrong and dangerous and at the same time it was…exciting. He felt like he was being drained and seduced simultaneously.

He felt a slight dizziness start to set in. He was getting lightheaded and a faint nausea settled in his stomach. He was a sorcerer, yes, but he was still mostly human and could only take so much blood loss before feeling the effects. He blinked, groaning slightly as he tried to clear his head and remain focused on the killer beside him.

“Enough. Stop now.”

Arthur had not been expecting the word of gratitude and was not sure how to respond to it. He had not been thanked for anything in some time, but he had not done much deserving of it either. Rather than struggle for the appropriate words (“You’re welcome” seemed inappropriate for the situation) he merely gave a low hum of acknowledgment. It was an awkward moment for both of them.

He was still bleeding, and for multiple reasons that could not be allowed to continue. He doubted highly the vampire was completely sated by the meager meal and his own health demanded he stem the flow. Keeping a close eye on Gilbert lest he should decide to try his attack again now that he was no longer starving, Arthur extended his sword out to his side where it shined with its own radiance and shrank down to its previous, more manageable form. “Don’t harbor the delusion that it is any less deadly in this shape,” he warned, making contact with those astonishingly red eyes.

Placing the wand in his injured hand (which would have had a much more difficult time with the sword), he covered the wound with his palm. One who didn’t know better would have thought he was just applying pressure as one would normally do to treat a bleed. However that was not his method. He whispered some words under his breath that were strange, exotic, and powerful. Words of a long dead tongue, himself and other magic-users like him being among the few who still knew of them. A faint golden glow issued from under his hand, standing out eerily in the darkness of the night. Gradually it faded and Arthur’s spell fell to silence. He removed his hand, revealing the neat, mostly healed cut below. Magic lingered in it, he could feel it. In a few days it would be like the wound was never there. He couldn’t heal his blood loss this way though. The magic coursing through his veins naturally sped up his healing, but it took time. A potion could hasten the recovery, but as he did not know he would be feeding a stray vampire tonight, he had not brought any with him. He would just have to manage until he made it home.

He turned his attention fully to Gilbert once again. “I don’t intend to loiter in this park all night. If you wish to end this encounter now, then I want you far from my domain – I will not be as generous the next time I see you here…. However, if you would like to learn of what your maker failed to teach you, I suggest you come with me.” With that statement, he turned in the direction of his home, cloak billowing out behind him as he set forth.

He could sense the vampire hesitating behind him before falling in step. It seemed he had decided to take the offer. Arthur did not have guests at his house often and it was even rarer for it to be a stranger to which he owed nothing. He was still somewhat puzzled by his own actions, denying to himself that he felt any sense of sympathy or connection with this creature. He justified his actions by insisting to himself that this was just a break from the monotony of his day to day life. His time was spent perfecting his skills, building his knowledge, influencing various factors so that they better suited his purposes. But there was very little interaction involved with any of that. Since his sons had left him...And the fae he used to convert with rejected him as well since he had taken the dark turn… Even his conjurations were little more than intimidating pets when not in battle.

If he were completely honest with himself, he would have recognized his own loneliness. But he was rarely honest with anyone anymore, let alone himself. He would not admit that he craved human contact, even if this new acquaintance wasn’t exactly human. Somewhere deep within, he was pleased by the result of the night’s events.

His home was over a mile away on the outskirts of the city, and in his current anemic state his pace was somewhat slowed. And then the vampire started to speak. Was this a legitimate attempt at learning more or just idle chitchat to break the silence? Arthur was so out of practice he could hardly tell, but he was getting a headache regardless. Of course, that could have been the anemia as well…

“There are not many sorcerers, period,” he answered with somewhat of an irritable tone. “True magic users are rare this day and age and one’s who are human are even rarer. In addition, we are somewhat territorial, as you may have noticed.”

He glared coldly at the vampire, narrowing his eyes in high annoyance. He didn't appreciate the implication of weakness (or at least what he interpreted as such), nor did he like the way the man was now walking backwards ahead of him as if mocking his slowed pace. He knew he was showing the after-effects of his blood loss - he could feel the cold sweat on his brow and the shakiness of his hands -but he had been hoping the man would have been tactful enough not to mention it. He was sensing though that tact was not this man's strong suit.

"I am not about to pass out," Arthur replied irritably. "I know my own limits and I would not have allowed you to push me past them. My home is just outside the city and I will not be requiring your help to reach it." In truth, he knew now he should have interrupted the vampire's feeding sooner, but he would not admit that error. Doing so would not only wound his pride, but would also confirm his weakened state, something he was not prepared to do in front of this likely still hungry predator. Instead, he quickened his pace, standing straighter and maintaining a hardened expression. Exuding confidence and strength was more important than physical comfort at the moment. His body protested, but did as it was told. It was unlikely he would be able to keep it up for long, though.

The buildings around then were starting to be spaced farther and farther apart. They were more than halfway there. The night felt colder now, the full moon low in the sky ahead of them. Predictably, the wizard had slowed down again, though he still fought to hide his condition as much as possible. He was the one showing pity tonight, not the one to be pitied. He had no desire for the sympathy of others. He was strong, he didn't need anyone's sympathy... He didn't need anyone at all.

Arthur's pride had cost him in the past and it no doubt would cost him again, maybe even this very night.

A seemingly normal and old-fashioned home loomed before them. It was made of stone and wood and was well-maintained. A cobblestone walkway led up to the entry-way steps and a garden with exotic-looking plants took up much of the small yard. It was of moderate size, at least above ground. A heavy wooden door leading underground several yards away from the house told of a spacious basement, one that likely predates the building itself. A meadow of tall grass separated this home from its nearest neighbor, which, if it’s darkened and dilapidated state was any indication, was quite abandoned.

By the time they had reached his home, Arthur felt unnaturally exhausted. He had an unfortunate tendency to forget his physical limitations, since they were so often boosted with his magic. When he was forced to face them, it made him feel weak, vulnerable, and above all, highly irritable. As powerful a sorcerer as he was, he was still mostly human and there was little he could do about that. He hoped he already had some of his restorative potion made and that it hadn’t gotten old and lost its potency. It would be a pain to have to make a fresh batch, especially since he had another potion planned. There was no way he would have time to make both before the night was over.

He strolled up the walkway, still attempting to mask his fatigue with a strong posture and confident air. He made it up the stairs and paused at the front door. Rather than fumble with keys or locks, he muttered more of the strange language. The door shimmered for a second, like the glint of moonlight against a spider’s web, as the spell over it was lifted. Arthur turned the knob and pushed the door open easily, stepping over the threshold. He took a few steps in, the warm air of the house bringing a bit more color to his cheeks. The interior was lit with low, but somewhat comforting lighting. It had a quaint, homey feel to it, decorated with warm colors, needlework art adorning the walls, modern conveniences like a small television set and kitchen appliances.

It was the perfect illusion

He turned back, looking at his guest. Now was as good a time as any to test what knowledge he already had figured out for himself. He stared on, silent, as the undead man approached the doorway.

He gave the vampire the slightest of nods. So there were some things he had learnt on his own. Modern day literature and popular culture was so saturated with the supernatural that it could be difficult for one new to that world to discern the truth from the myth.

“Good. It seems I will not have to start completely from scratch in your education. Come inside. The invitation stands until I revoke it, which I may do at any time, even if you are already within.”

He turned away from the man, his hands going to his neck to untie his cloak. He hung the heavy cloth on a hook by the door, his thin frame revealed from beneath it. He wore a sage green vest over a long sleeved white shirt and slacks to match. Like his home, he was deceptively normal in appearance, camouflaged to blend in with the rest of society. A seemingly delicate being hiding poison within. He took his wand from the cloak and slipped it into his belt at his side so he would have it at the ready.

A scent of vanilla and spice hung in the air, seemingly without source. This, too, was part of the ruse, there to conceal the smell of magic and potions from any unwanted guests. Arthur led the way through the living room. As warm and wholesome as the house appeared, not a single photograph adorned the room, though here and there, a slight discoloration of the wall told of a frame of some kind that had once hung there. In fact, there had once been many pictures, but Arthur had removed them for reasons of his own. He had destroyed most of them, but had kept a few, keeping them tucked away where no eye could fall on them.

They came to a door which Arthur opened to reveal stairs descending deep into the earth, some thirty feet. They were dark, save for the flicker of firelight that could be seen at the base and the artificial lighting that flowed in from behind them. He began to down the stairs, leaning a hand supportively against the cold stone wall in the absence of a banister. The stairs seemed longer tonight, the effort and focus required seemed greater. This creature had better be worth the inconvenience and irritation of this night, though Arthur still was not sure what he planned to do with the vampire, if he would do anything at all. He was no proponent of fate, but surely this chance encounter would yield something of value…

When they reached the bottom, the immense basement stretched out before them. It was divided into three chambers. To the left was a storage room, its door slightly ajar and through it could be seen drying herbs and colorful glass containers. To the right was a darkened doorway, whatever lay within it hidden by shadow. The heavy wooden door hung loose on its hinges and three deep scratches blemished the wood.

The main chamber where they stood was a sharp contrast to the floor above. The walls were made of dark stone and the room was lit by candles that seemed to burn eternally as well as a coal fireplace in the center of the room. Bookcases lined with old volumes and notepaper completely lined one wall. Near where they stood was a large wooden table covered with several of the strange candles, a few instruments, a mortar and pestle and several flasks, and a stack of books, one of which lay open in front of the only chair. To the side were two tall stools, covered with clutter and dusty with disuse. Various oddities were spaced about the room – cauldrons of varying sizes, bizarre instruments, a large map sprawled across one wall and lunar and star charts next to it, marked up with neat handwriting. Shelves covered with jars of preserved specimens were off to one side and above it all was the skull of an enormous beast with curved horns, a long snout, and a jaw filled with savage teeth.

Arthur left the vampire to take in his surroundings and walked to the storage room, opening the door wider and stepping inside. He eyed the labeled vials for a moment before finding the one he was looking for. He uncorked it and brought it to his nose. He frowned heavily. The potion didn’t remain stable for long once it was made and this one had turned. He cursed, throwing the container into a waste bin. He needed restorative potion; his strength and metal focus were suffering and any great exertion might incapacitate him all together. The potion he had planned to make required a full moon, and now he would have to wait another month to make it. At this rate he would never recapture it. He filled his arms with herbs and liquids and walked back into the main chamber, dumping them on the table, his expression annoyed.

The night was not even over and already Arthur resented the vampire

Nevertheless, Arthur would be busy for a moment and he may as well give the vampire…. Gilbert… something to occupy himself. “I trust you can read in English?” he said, not really waiting for an answer as he went to his bookcases. He ran a finger over a few of the spines, looking for the right one. He pulled out an old book with strange lettering across the cover and the notebook that had been beside it which contained his translations. He walked back and dropped them on the table, looking up at Gilbert as he did so.

“That should be enough to get you started.”

Arthur turned his attention to the ingredients before him and began to prepare them.

Arthur set to work on his task, keeping an eye on the vampire out of the corner of his eye, but only because ignoring such a creature would be unwise. Especially because Gilbert had already tasted Arthur’s blood. The sorcerer suspected the magic in his veins might contribute something to his blood and that this may have lead Gilbert to follow him with so little convincing. Knowledge was valuable, yes, but the potential for another meal may have been even more tantalizing. Arthur decided he should make a large batch of potion. He had no intention of letting Gilbert feed from him again, willingly or otherwise, but it was best to err on the side of caution.

He began slicing up ginger root, thinking about the various things which required his attention. His first priority was to recover his health. His fatigue had progressed to exhaustion and he very much craved sleep. But there were still several hours left to this night and he did not trust that Gilbert would not take advantage if he should be so vulnerable. When morning did come, where was he to put Gilbert? The basement was windowless and would be free of the deadly sunlight, but there were also things in which he did not want the vampire digging – things both dangerous and personal. There was always that room… But Arthur did not feel inclined to resort to that. The room was not currently secure and this seemed a fitting excuse. There was more to it than that, though.

Arthur frowned down as he started chopping the ginger into smaller pieces. With Gilbert huddled over the translations and thus occupied, Arthur was less distracted and this left his mind to dwell on the night’s events and the curiosity of his own behavior. He had acted without questioning his motivation, simply following the flow of the moment, something he had been doing with increasing frequency. Now he had to wonder exactly what had guided his actions. He did not care for the conclusions he came to. He had sympathized with Gilbert, had seen his own feelings of abandonment in the vampire who had been forsaken by his maker. Had identified with him… Arthur saw this as a weakness within himself. He didn’t want attachments and emotions to hold sway over him. Not anymore

He continued to prepare the ingredients – crushing foxglove, measuring out mint oil, boiling a combination of herbs for the broth – and referencing a large book every now and then to ensure he was using the correct amounts. With the herbs and liquids laid out and ready to go, Arthur walked to a wooden cabinet against the wall. Inside it were many small and identical vials made of red, semi-opaque glass and containing a thick liquid. He took one and shut the cabinet tight, placing the tiny container among the other ingredients

He absentmindedly wiped the cold sweat from his brow with his sleeve, feeling slightly light headed. The mixing smells of the herbs, which did not normally bother him, were having more of an effect in his current state. He fleetingly wished he still had someone around to assist him, but he quickly pushed that thought away. He was not weak, he was not sentimental, and he didn’t need any help. With stubborn resolve, he went off to the side where his cauldrons were stored and selected one of the larger ones. It was round and solid black, made of cast iron and heavy. In top condition, Arthur would still have had to strain to lift it. Now, goaded on by his own sense of frustration, it was foolhardy to try. For all his magical might, he was not especially strong physically unless amplified by his spells or potions, neither of which he felt inclined to fool with. His hands gripped white-knuckled on the handles of the cauldron and his arms shook with the force of lifting it. He managed well enough, though with great effort, until he was roughly three-quarters of the way to the central fireplace and his knees buckled beneath him. The cauldron hit the floor with a heavy thud that echoed against the stone walls of the basement, and Arthur fell upon it, still gripping the handles, pale and cursing under his breath.