Unter dem Mondlicht (AU + England/Prussia)

Arthur had been picked up and put back on his feet before he even realized Gilbert had moved from his spot at the table. He bristled at having been touched and frowned at the vampire’s statement. “I need no assistance,” he said, defensiveness creeping into his voice. But Gilbert did not appear to be listening. Instead, he was picking up the heavy cauldron that had given Arthur so much trouble with a single hand, effortlessly, mockingly… The sorcerer burned with humiliation and resentment.

Even now, with his magic the vampire would be no match for him. But physically, especially in his anemic state, he was utterly humbled. It was enough to make his sour mood even worse. He knew well that the strength was unnatural…that it was merely an effect of the man’s vampirism. But that didn’t make Arthur feel any better about it. He was proud and he was independent. He did not need nor want any help from this being. He cursed in frustration as Gilbert set the cauldron on the table. He stalked to the table and grabbed the handles, dragging the heavy pot off and to the ground with less than perfect grace. He ignored Gilbert and moved the cauldron the short distance to the hearth. Straining, he hung it above the firewood.

He turned, glowering at Gilbert. “I don’t need your help; you don’t even understand my methods, what I need to do here. Just…Go back to your book!” He fumed, nursing his wounded pride as he grabbed a bucket and fetched water from a faucet in his storage room. His head throbbed, but he ignored it, still cursing to himself. He returned, sloshing the contents around in his lack of patience and dumped the water into the cauldron. He pulled his wand from his belt and pointed it at the kindling below. They burst into fire almost immediately, a bigger flame than Arthur intended in his anger but he paid it no heed. He stalked over to his potion book and pretended to consult it while waiting for the water to boil, for no other reason than to avoid having to acknowledge the vampire.

Even under the best of conditions, Arthur Kirkland was not a mind-reader. He could read the atmosphere and interpret body language when he had the focus to do so. But now he was lacking that focus, so caught up was he in his own angry thoughts. Had Arthur been able to sense the dark thoughts of his guest, his fleeting murderous intent…if he’s had any such ability, he would have had to eliminate the threat. Permanently and with extreme prejudice.

However, it would be a safe assumption that Arthur remained unaware of how close he may have come to facing his own mortality.

He glowered down at his book, considering revoking the vampire’s invitation and saving himself the frustration. Arthur could tell from the man’s snide attitude and shit-eating grin that he would be a perpetual annoyance for as long as he was present. That spark of sympathy that Arthur had felt would only buy so much patience on the wizard’s part. Flash of a commonality or not.

He saw the steam rising from the cauldron out of the corner of his eye and rose from his book. He cast a glance towards Gilbert with narrowed eyes. He did seem to struggle with the reading and briefly Arthur wondered if it was an issue of language or if the bloodsucker just couldn’t pay attention for he seemed to look away from the book and notes frequently. He decided that it didn’t matter. It was the vampire’s problem. Arthur had been generous enough and he wasn’t about to tutor the creature on what it was to be a supernatural predator.

He turned his attention back to his potion, carefully adding his ingredients to the bubbling water. The powders, the plant matters, and liquids went into the brew in a precise order and Arthur monitored the state of the mixture vigilantly. It had thickened, taking on the consistency of milk as well as a deep purple shade not unlike the sky just before dawn. A haze emanated from the potion and hung heavy in the air, reflecting the glow of the firelight and smelling almost of burning incense, which did nothing for Arthur’s headache. It was ready for the final ingredient. The sorcerer plucked the small red vile from the table and in a fluid motion, flicked the top off and poured the contents into the brew. It instantly bubbled and foamed up crimson, spewing more vapor into the air around Arthur and contributing to the odor a new, metallic smell. Arthur nearly swooned, it was so overpowering.

He caught a glance of Gilbert as he fought to keep the effects the smells and heavy air were having on him from his face. The red and purple vapors hung between them and with the fire light it was as if those swirling colors glowed against the man’s pale face and hair. It was haunting and not unflattering, though Arthur would never admit such things aloud.

He pointed his wand at the fire to lower it. When the potion settled, Arthur gazed down at the resulting liquid and gave a slight nod of approval. It had yielded less than he expected, but it would do the job. He ladled the contents into four small bottles and corked them. These would be the ones he saved in case he needed them. The last ladleful he brought to his own mouth, blowing on it to cool the liquid before letting it slide past his lips.

The warmth was the first thing Arthur noticed, as it wasn’t burning despite having just come from the fire, but was smooth and permeating, spreading gradually throughout him from the moment it touched his tongue. The liquid was lightly sweet like watered down fruit juice and there was a distinct bitter aftertaste that reminded him of char. But oh, what quick work it made of his ailments. He felt the strength return to his limbs and the sharpness return to his mind as his lightheadedness faded to oblivion. The fatigue was gone and he felt rejuvenated. It was quite wonderful, really, and Arthur could not resist a low laugh of satisfaction at his own success.

A slight grin settled on his face as he extinguished the flame with a single wave of his wand. Smugly, he turned his attention back to the vampire, finding him both less of a threat to his health and his pride now that the wizard was revitalized.

“Well? Have you learned anything yet?”

“You’d be surprised how much truth there is in fairy tales,” the wizard replied, taking a few steps closer. He had been around for many years and was quite well traveled. Languages were some of the many skills he had picked up on these journeys and while he couldn’t quite speak them all fluently, his understanding was more than adequate. He doubted the vampire had expected him to understand his answer, though, which only made the wizard smirk cockily. “You’ve already discovered that vampires and wizards are real. Imagine what else you’ll discover in the long years ahead of you. Providing you learn how to survive that long, of course.”

He was behind the vampire now, hand lightly fingering the handle of the wand at his waist absentmindedly. He looked over Gilbert’s shoulder at the page he was reading and gave a slow nod. “This book is mostly basics. You should be able to use it to distinguish the facts from the tripe you’ve seen in the cinema. I have many more books that cover the subject of vampirism. I’m a collector of sorts, as you might have deduced.” He gave an easy wave in the direction of the massive bookcases. “I have many resources. Use them as you will, but I recommend not dawdling. My generosity will only go so far.”

His mood was vastly improved along with his health thanks to the potion, but he had not forgotten that his sympathy towards the vampire had caused him to miss the window for making the potion that he had been gathering ingredients for in the first place. It would be a lunar month before he could try again. It left him feeling much less sympathetic. Still, the creature was already here. Arthur figured he may as well see this experiment out, for the sake of breaking the monotony at least.

He doubted he would tolerate the vampire’s presence for more than a night or two anyway. He would gather his information and be off on his way to feast upon the unsuspecting public and Arthur would go back to his solitude as if nothing had happened.

That’s what he expected, anyway.

“You’ve only a few hours left in this night. Make use of them and then you may sleep here.” Arthur pointed a hand in the direction of a dusty corner piled with various, seemingly random objects. “There’s a cot over there that you may use. This basement is light-proof so you’ve no need to fear the sun here. I wouldn’t recommend poking around here or elsewhere in the house. Nothing beyond those bookshelves concerns you.”

He stepped back towards the cauldron and pulled the wand from his belt. With a sweeping motion in the direction of the table, the scraps and remnants of the ingredients he had used in the potion flew from the surface and into the fire below his cauldron. The was a small burst of flame before it petered away, leaving a herbal scent lingering in the air. Arthur turned back towards the vampire and met his eye, his stare boring into the creature and the easiness gone from his expression.

“Don’t get any ideas about getting another free meal while you’re here. You’ve had your last taste of my blood. Don’t think that I’ll be easy prey just because I might be sleeping or otherwise seemingly unaware. If I get so much as a hint that you plan to feed from me, I will kill you without hesitation. Do you understand?”

He was shocked when the Wizard responded to his native language with ease. It struck him that for the man to translate entire books, he probably had a good grasp on languages, but it still didn't feel good to him. Since Gilbert had moved to the United Kingdom, he'd found people who spoke German were mostly high schoolers learning for the credits. None of them could hold a serious conversation and they spoke so stiffly that it was annoying to listen to them fumble his language.

He didn't verbally respond to the man, not much interested in the long life ahead of him. He was sure he'd survive, he had a knack for that, or, he had until that night at the club. He'd been doing damn well on his own, too. So, tonight had been a bit of a fuck up, he was entitled to one or two, wasn't he? He was extraordinarily new to this, after all. From what he'd gathered from the Wizard, and what little he was managing to glean from the book, he should have died by now without his maker around to help him.

Funny how all the people who were supposed to be a parental figure of some form always seemed to disappear when he needed them the most.

Trying hard not to tense, he bit down on his tongue to keep from snapping at the Wizard to back off a bit. He hated when people looked over his shoulder, the teachers at school did it, his Vater had always done it, even his Bruder did it. Of the three, only his Bruder ever got the right to not get yelled at for doing so. The fact that it was being done while he struggled with a sentence or two, did not improve his quickly souring mood.

He decided he'd liked the Wizard better when he was suffering from blood loss.

The method must be followed closely, step by step. Failure to do so will leave the fledgling impaired.

He read over this sentence several times. The words would make more sense if he read them outloud, but he wasn't about to do that, not with the Wizard in hearing distance. He could make sense of most of it, just staring at it, but the word 'impaired' gave him trouble. He resisted the urge to try and sound it out, and moved on to the next sentence.

Vaguely, he heard the Wizard's continued speech, but mostly he kept staring at that damned word.

Impaired.

Imponieren? No, that made no sense.

Impragnieren?

Even less.


Glaring at the word for a moment, he turned his gaze to the next sentence again. Arthur started talking, which made it almost impossible for Gilbert to really focus and his eyes drifted back to that word again. He looked up, finally, glancing over towards the book shelves, “I assure you, I don't plan to stay long.”

The words slipped out coolly, oddly not showing signs of the frustration that was bubbling up inside him. He shifted his weight, and eyed the pile of junk there was supposedly a cot in. With the Wizard so close, he could genuinely say he felt it would be safer to go back to the warehouse and sleep there for the day, and maybe come back the next night, after feeding.

Rolling his eyes at the very idea of 'poking around' in the magic-users things, Gilbert folded his arms on the table again, and leaned down. While the Wizard went to work playing with his little potion, Gilbert tried to move passed the word.

Impaired.

He glared at it now, silently cursing those scrawled letters to hell and back. He tilted his head, and looked Arthur from the corner of his eye, weighing his options. In truth, the wizards blood had tasted so much better then anything else he'd tasted to date. Like having dessert after a sorely disappointing meal. Even so, now that he had a better grasp that the blond was not human, he could sense things he hadn't before. Not well, he couldn't have pinpointed it really, just something foreboding.

Some inner voice in the back of his head telling him he should make a run for it.

Gilbert Beilschmidt didn't run away easily, and certainly for no reason other then some stupid little sense he could associate with a 'spidey sense'. He turned his head fully, and gave the magic user a grin, cocky and sure, “Not interested, danke. I'll be sure to find my meals elsewhere.”

He was oblivious to the vampire’s frustration, not that he really would have cared if he had noticed. He wasn’t going to walk the vampire through the books, nor was he going to teach him how to be a vampire beyond pointing him in direction of the right book. He was already being far more charitable than he would normally be by letting the vampire stay. Arthur had not had an overnight guest for some time now and the last individuals to stay had not been exactly what one would call “guests.” The very idea of having someone else under the same roof was a little disconcerting in and of itself, even ignoring the fact that the someone was a vampire. Arthur had gotten very used to being alone. Even before his house was empty, he had been used to that. He didn’t really know how to relax around others anymore, though in this case that probably wasn’t a bad thing.

He gave an amused smile in return to Gilbert’s cocky grin, not really believing a word he said. Gilbert was a predator, and predators were always on the lookout for an easy opportunity. For an opponent to drop their guard or make a mistake. Arthur could understand this well. He was predatory himself. And he had no intention of leaving an opening of which the vampire could take advantage.

“Good,” he responded, mostly because he had to answer that arrogant smirk with something. “But take care with your hunting. Keep from my area and clean up after yourself. I can’t have you attracting unwanted attention.”

It seemed like the vampire had been on the same page for a unusually long time. Arthur had not bothered to wait for a response when he had mentioned about reading in English and now he found himself wondering if it was giving the vampire difficulty. Or if perhaps he merely had the attention span of a small child. Perhaps even a combination of the two. The wizard walked closer to his houseguest again glancing down at the book once more and seeing that it was open to the section on how a vampire is made. He thought that surely Gilbert would be at least familiar with that process already having recently experienced it first hand. Unless of course….

Ah, well that would make a great deal of sense.

“Your maker didn’t go through the proper process, did she?” he said, amusement gone from his tone. It fit as a missing piece of the puzzle that was this night. Why this other vampire didn’t bother sticking around and why Gilbert seemed to have so little understanding about himself. He was a handicapped creation, perhaps even made out of simple curiosity. Even if there were other vampires around that could teach him, he would likely be shunned by them. Perhaps even killed. A cruel fate indeed. A rejected outcast from the moment of his creation.

Arthur felt a pang of something he could not place and did not want to try. But he no longer felt like taunting or lecturing Gilbert.

Gilbert couldn't help but wonder just how stupid this Wizard thought he was. Sure he was on his own, and certainly far out of his area of expertise, but the albino wasn't dumb enough to think that a lot of dead bodies popping up wouldn't attract attention. Or that the attention it would grab could cause problems for everyone involved.

The young Vampire had been extremely careful not to allow anyone find his victims, or himself. He had moved into the Wizard's territory with the intent of being far away from his home that no one would recognize him. No one would think “Hey, isn't that the guy that went missing?” when they spotted him. Granted, no one was perfect, and Gilbert was well aware that the bodies of those he fed off would be found. Many of them already had, he assumed.

They were hidden far away, and the only thing that could really be traced back to him, the marks left from his fangs, were too different from his usual teeth. Even his fingerprints were nowhere to be found, he was always very sure not to touch directly with his hands, if he did, he had gloves on.

His kills were far from perfect murders, but they were good enough that he wasn't too concerned with being caught, or even suspected. The few things he'd heard that had to do with the mysterious string of disappearances, were hardly anything ground breaking. He was good for a long while.

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind when I hunt next.” He told the Wizard, keeping his voice sure, and steady. There was no reason to worry. His mind was already running over the different places to hunt. He didn't know where the Wizard's territory ended, but he could easily make it all the way to Scotland, so he didn't think he had to worry about it. Long as he didn't have to cross water, he still wasn't sure on the rule with that. Didn't feel like swimming anywhere, anyway.

His eyes went back to the book. Trying to make it passed that damned sentence, and finally doing so. Just barely. He'd have to come back to that word, maybe write it down somehow, and he'd go look it up if he couldn't figure out on his own, later.

He tensed as the Wizard came closer again. Itching to put some space between them. He leaned away, giving the wizard a better view of the book, but adding the needed space. Gilbert didn't look up at the question, didn't bother to respond at all for a long moment. The book said, from what he could decipher, that the process of making a fledgling took a long time. Something about three, though if that was the number of steps, of weeks, months, or just days, he wasn't sure. Either way, he knew it was more time then his maker had taken with him.

His last memory before being made, was leaving a party and being taken into an alleyway. When he thought about it, he could feel the damp wall against his back, and the cold hands on his skin. Everything went fuzzy then, a sharp pain in his shoulder, something wet on his mouth, glowing red eyes peering at him through a haze. Something had been said, he remembered, but the words had been far too muttled for him to make them out. After that, there was nothing.

He'd woken up some time later, he wasn't sure when. Everything was still dark, and he was alone. Cold, and aching.

The mark on his shoulder itched, and he reached up to scratch at it idly. Gilbert couldn't bring himself to look at the wizard when he finally did speak. For just a second, he thought of responding in German. He felt highly uncomfortable now, somehow more alone then he'd felt when he'd woken up in the alleyway, or the first few nights he'd spent as a vampire, coming to terms with the fact that he couldn't really go home. His accent thickened, but the words were English, when he spoke. “No, she didn't. Found me, turned me, and left me.”

He didn't feel like talking any more, so he left it at that. Turned his gaze on the book, and kept it there, not seeing the words, and suddenly not even interested in the Wizard's closeness. The mark kept itching.

Vampires were not Arthur’s particular area of expertise. He had translated books on the subject, but he had a diverse and eclectic collection of books with information ranging from the most innocent of white magics to the darkest of the dark arts. Even he could not commit all of it to memory and it was silly to try when he had as impressive a reference collection as he did. But he could recall enough to know that the method of his creation had put the vampire before him at a decided disadvantage. Perhaps it had been an experiment, or even punishment, but Arthur felt sure that Gilbert’s creator had never intended him to be a vampire proper and probably had not even intended him to survive for long. The wizard was probably interfering with her game by offering the albino the help that he was. But so be it. His mind had already been made up about that.

His gaze lingered on Gilbert’s back for a long moment. He’d caught a glimpse of the scars from Gilbert’s creation as the vampire had scratched absentmindedly at them, but now they were hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt once again. He considered Gilbert, trying to determine his own opinion of him. It was more complicated than it should have been. The vampire was arrogant but pitiable. Young with the potential to be ancient. An imperfect immortal, a killer with no training. He was a paradox, and if nothing else, that made him interesting, and the wizard supposed that was excuse enough to allow him to stick around for a while.

He finally tore his gaze away and turned away from the table, taking steps in the direction of the stairs leading back to the main floor. “Make use of whatever books you may find and treat my belongings with due respect. I shall leave you to your task. Make use of the time you have.” Arthur did not glance back as he ascended the stairs, foot falls echoing against the stone.

He closed the basement door behind him as he stepped into the hallway, the bright lights and warm tones a sharp contrast to the basement below. He lingered around his kitchen for just a short while, having a quick cup of tea before retiring to his bedroom. He stopped as he stepped through the door and turned around, removing his wand from where it had been resting at his belt and pointing it at the floor of the doorway. Muttering a spell, he drew a line with the wand tip and a path of silver, seemingly ingrained in the floorboards, followed in its wake. As an extra precaution, he added a ward to the doorway to ensure there would be no unwanted visitations while he slept. He gave the bedroom window the same treatment. Gilbert might be interesting, but he was far from trustworthy.

He tried to ignore the feel of the Wizard's gaze on him. He rolled his shoulder to try and get the itching to go away without actually scratching. He heard the wizard's words, and openly scoffed at them, snorting, and keeping his eyes on the books. He had no interest in going through the human's things, who knew what had touched them in the passed, he might catch something.

As soon as he heard the door close, Gilbert heaved a sigh of relief. He took a second to glance around the room, not seeing anything different then when he'd first come up, and turned his eyes back to the book. Taking a while to go back to that damned word he'd had so much trouble with, he started to sound it out, forcing his lips to move over it, saying it various times before he finally figured it out.


The frown he'd been sporting deepened, and a sense of dread filled him. Not only had his mortal life come to a crashing halt, his immortal one (if he made it) was going to be fucking horrible because he wasn't made correctly. He made quicker work of rereading all the things he'd struggled with before, saying the words quietly to himself, and the full meaning of them hitting hard.

Abandoned, and made incorrectly, he wondered just how much worse it could get. By the time he managed to finish going over the two pages he'd been struggling with before, he could feel the same exhaustion that set in every night near dawn start to seep in. His very bones feeling heavy. Finally, he closed the book, and stared at the cover for a second, before moving to dig the cot the Wizard had pointed out, out of the junk it was under.

He looked around the area, looking for where he could put it, and not sure. Again, he wondered if staying here was such a good idea at all. If he slept here, he would be an easy target if the Wizard decided it would be easier to kill him. It would make sense to leave, but the longer he debated the harder it was to stay awake, and steadily, he started sway, finally coming to the conclusion that even if he tried to leave, he wouldn't have the time to find a place to sleep where the sun couldn't touch him. So he pushed the cot into a corner away from the stairs.

He pushed the cot into the room with the broken door, not sure if that was actually where he wanted to be, but he was hoping to go for the 'out of sight, out of mind' thing. Pushing the cot up against a wall, he glanced at the broken door, before hoping up onto the dusty old thing, and getting comfortable. He hoped he'd wake up without the door fixed and locked.

As he started to drift off into that state he liked to tell himself was just a dreamless sleep, he made a note to leave in the next evening. Maybe take the book with him, and hope that the Wizard didn't seek him out for stealing. If he wasn't cut up and used for potions or spells or some shit like that before sunset.

In the end, Gilbert did wake up the next evening, untouched, though he ended up not really leaving. He left for a few hours to hunt and feed, and was drawn back. The thought of how dangerous the world could be now, now that he knew there were other creatures out there to avoid, he couldn't pass up the chance to learn as much as he could, and hope that it would be enough to save his ass.

Reading English proved to be a continued problem, and staying out of the Wizard's way wasn't exactly easy either. It was hard for him to focus on it, and even harder to make out what it said. He couldn't bring himself to read outloud when the Wizard was in the room, but he seemed to always find himself where ever the Wizard was.

It started in the first week, after a couple of days, he tried to stay away, taking the book and laying on the couch when the Wizard was in the basement, and moving back down there when he came up. But soon enough, he stopped bothering to move to accommodate the other, just staying where he was, and sometimes even moving to follow the Wizard around.

He told himself it was because he didn't want to be alone. He hated being alone, and even the company of someone as prickly and bitchy as the owner of the house was better then nothing. So, if he wasn't out lurking in some club or park hunting, or following his Brother, as Ludwig seemed to have decided to hunt Gilbert out.

Gilbert had noticed him at a club he himself had once frequented, and in a panic had left, hopefully unseen. But he started to notice Ludwig wandering around in his old haunts. So, he was beginning to make a habit of checking in on Ludwig. Making sure to keep himself hidden and out of sight, just watching his Bruder, keeping him from getting killed by doing something stupid; and he was sure Ludwig would. As book smart as he was, Ludwig was not really a street smart person.

By the second week of his stay at the Wizard's, he noticed the man getting antsy with his presence, and had made very little headway in the books. It was hard to read them, as well as to remember what he'd read.

At the moment, he was trying for the fifth time to get passed this one paragraph, but he couldn't seem to do it. The words seemed to almost blur together. If he'd still been human he would have been concerned, and would have had to go searching for his glasses, but that wasn't the problem now and he knew it. He could see perfectly, better then ever before, and better then most humans could, he was sure.

Arthur rarely slept well. His sleep was often broken by dreams that he could never remember upon waking, save for the disturbed feeling they left him with. With a vampire loose under his roof, sleeping was especially difficult, because now he had his distrust and paranoia to add to his restless mind. He was confident in his wards, and he knew the vampire could not venture into the upper house during the day anyway. But it had been so long since another being had been with him in his house that the very idea of it but him at unease. He gave up even trying to rest when the sun set.

With the added stress of Gilbert’s presence, Arthur knew he should just revoke his invitation and be done with it. Or just kill him. Whatever entertainment he might get from this experiment was hardly worth it. For a while, it seemed as if he would not have to. The vampire wandered off and it seemed as if the wizard had been saved the trouble. But he returned, his eyes lightened in color and his mood annoyingly cocky. Just back from the hunt, no doubt. Arthur made some comment about how Gilbert better have cleaned up after himself, but he did not kick him out. Against all his better judgment, he allowed the vampire to linger, always with the thought of Tomorrow, he’s gone. and I’ll just give him until he finishes the book. Bastard’s taking his sweet time doing it. Days passed. Then weeks. The vampire still returned to Arthur’s every night and sometimes never left at all. And for reasons the wizard could not fathom, for Gilbert was certainly annoying enough to warrant it, Arthur did not order him to leave. Arthur knew that doing so when Gilbert was still so ignorant of vampire ways, was a death sentence. Perhaps not from humans, but certainly from any other vampire he might happen across. Or werewolf, or magic user, or any other supernatural being. They could sense weakness and abnormality. Arthur certainly felt that he didn’t owe Gilbert this hospitality, but something stopped him from sending the vampire off to his eventual death.

That did not mean he got used to having him around though. Arthur still liked his solitude and Gilbert didn’t seem to have any respect for that. The vampire had taken to hovering, something that Arthur couldn’t understand at all and usually responded to with passive aggression and general irritation. They had not even had a proper conversation, Arthur had never shown the slightest indication that he liked the vampire’s presence, and yet by the time they were a week into this odd living arrangement, Gilbert seemed to be everywhere that Arthur was. It was exceedingly annoying. And though Gilbert did frequently seem to have a book with him, he made so little headway that the Wizard had to wonder if he wasn’t just staring blankly at the pages.

Even now, more than two weeks after he had taken in the stray vampire, Gilbert didn’t seem all that better off. Perhaps he had learned what parts of vampire lore were real and a few other facts, but Arthur doubted that Gilbert had absorbed even a fifth of what he needed. The wizard was working on his own research at the moment, searching for spells and potions to help him find what was lost without the need of a seer. So far, the only one he’d found remained to be the potion he was supposed to have made the night he met the vampire. Still two more weeks before he could attempt that one again. This fact did not lessen his annoyance with the vampire at all.

Finding himself unable to concentrate, he shot a glare at the vampire, heaved a sigh and slammed his book shut, standing and tucking it under his arm. It was like Gilbert’s lack of focus was contagious. Arthur simply could not get anything done with him around. Fixing an annoyed scowl upon his face, he trudged up the stairs and emerged into the warm light of the upper level of the house, hoping that Gilbert would take the hint and stay in the basement. Though Arthur already knew he wouldn’t. He was half tempted to just seal the vampire in there for a few hours, but ultimately shrugged it off, instead making his way towards his kitchen.

The cabinets and refrigerator were nearly barren. Arthur had once loved cooking, though he had surprisingly little skill for it considering his prowess at potionmaking. Nowadays, he survived on instant meals – tv dinners, sandwiches, fruit, and things straight from the can. He lacked the desire and drive to go to the effort of a real meal, but he told himself it was just because he had more important things to be doing.

He set his heavy book down upon the small kitchen table and went about making a cup of tea. He filled his copper kettle from the sink and set it upon the stove, fishing a clean teacup from the drying bin on the counter. He made his tea, and as it seeped, he opened one of the lower cabinets, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and adding a healthy slosh to his tea before placing it back where he had gotten it. He did not drink as much as he had when he was younger, but at the moment, he felt it was needed to help settle his irritation. Taking his spiked tea in one hand and his tome in the other, he made his way to the living room and settled himself down upon the couch, spreading the book open in his lap.

Gilbert, himself, hadn't planned on staying very long. It was nice to not be alone, but the Wizard a prickly bastard, so he'd hoped to get away from there as quickly as possible... but reading those books was hard to do. He'd never really learned to read English, so it was a struggle to get through the passages, and with his notoriously short attention span, it wasn't made any easier. The wizard seemed to be constantly busy, and though Gilbert didn't purposefully mean to crowd him, he found himself unable to drift far away unless it was to feed. The impulse to follow the other from room to room was too great.

As the Wizard stormed up the stairs, looking angry and annoyed as always, Gilbert made himself comfortable on his cot, and tried to focus on the book. Over two weeks, and he still couldn't seem to get passed the first few chapters. Not for lack of trying. If it were in German, he could have read it easily, but in English it gave him a headache, so he found his attention constantly slipping away.

As soon a he was sure that the wizard was out of hearing range, Gilbert closed the book, and left it on the cot. He felt the urge to follow the other, to go upstairs and lurk around the area the wizard was, and fought it off as best he could. Instead, he moved to the book case, and looked over the various titles and states of the books, but this could only hold his attention for so long. Soon enough, he had turned and was making his way back up the stairs, he could heart the Wizard in the living room. His heartbeat, the blood thrumming through him. Gilbert was getting better at focusing his senses, he didn't find himself zoning out as much as before.

He went to the kitchen. Wanting to buy a little bit of time before going to the living room. He didn't like feeling the constant tug that he needed to be closer to the Wizard. He settled in the dining room first for a little bit, sat with his back to the wall, and knees pulled to his chest. If he closed his eyes and focused, he could hear every breathe the wizard took, could smell the whiskey mixed with his tea.

Whiskey sounded awful good right now...

The more he thought of it, the more and more Gilbert thought a drink could do him a lot of good. Since he'd been turned, he'd found that it took a shit ton of liquor to get him even tipsy. He could drink several bottles of hard liquor and still hardly feel even a little tipsy. But it had yet to stop him from trying. He couldn't drink enough to feel that slight buzz from one place, but the joy of having his abilities, meant he could go to quite a few bars in one night and not have a problem. Or better yet, the raves he frequented were always filled with free liquor, and plenty of people to feed off of, so he could collect their drunkness- which worked better, but wasn't always worth the hassle.

Pushing himself off the floor, Gilbert leaned back against the door, listening to the wizard for a few long moments. A sly grin slid over his face, as he pushed away from the wall and returned to the kitchen. It didn't take long to track down the bottle of whiskey. He pulled the lid off, and downed a few big gulps. Savouring the burn of the whiskey as it slid down his throat, Gilbert leaned on the counter, eyes closed, and sniffed at the bottle, enjoying the smell of it as much as the taste. He was tempted to go join the wizard in the living room. After a few smaller sips at the bottle, he moved back into the dining room, glancing around the doorway to peek at Arthur, before he went back to sitting where he'd been, taking periodic gulps from the whiskey bottle.

Gilbert was leaning back, eyes closed as he drank, for a moment his senses so locked on the flavour and smell of the liqour he didn't hear or sense the wizard coming at all- which was very unusal for him. For just a spilt second he wondered if that meant he was tiosy. If he was, the feeling was gone too quickly, so he opened his eyes, and stared up at the Wizard. He didn't flinch under the man's glare, didn't even seem particularly bothered by being caught.

Gilbert licked his lips, and held up the bottle, "I'm guessing you came back for another glass, ja?"

It did strike him that he probably shouldn't be so nonchalant about taking the wizard's whiskey. It wasn't like being back at home and stealing bottles of cheap beer. His father, though a violent and rough man, had never been an actual threat to Gilbert's life. The wizard would and could kill him, and likely wouldn't regret it.

Oh well. He'd always been a risk taker.

Gilbert let his head loll to the side lazily, watching the wizard with a vaguely bored look. He hadn't been smacked yet, or had his invitation revoked, so that was good enough for him. Though he figured he probably should be a bit concerned. Arching a brow at the questions, Gilbert took a deep breath- which he really didn't need anyway, "I can't get drunk."

He paused, licked his lips, "But I can still enjoy a good drink."

Or a good burger, or steak. The food still tasted good, it just didn't satisfy his hunger anymore. When he ate or drank something, it was more a desire to do so, then a need. A gluttonous thing, he supposed, but he enjoyed it.

What little he'd gotten from the books he'd been straining to read said this shouldn't have been possible. He should have gotten sick just trying to eat or drink things like he did. But it all seemed to work rather normally. He chalked it up to having been created incorrectly.

An odd side effect to being impaired, but one he wasn't about to complain about, certainly.

Lectures. Yuck.

Gilbert had heard so many of them in his life that he'd aquired quite the skill for simply ignoring whoever was lecturing him. He tilted his head a little, as if he were actually paying attention, when really, the Wizard's words went in one ear and right out the other. The man made no move to get his whiskey back, and Gilbert took that to mean he was in the clear for drinking it. So, naturally, he took a long swing from the bottle, before reaching to hand it back to the wizard.

He was already thinking of going out and getting a real drink. Maybe, if he was quick, he could find some partiers with something good in their veins. Might be worth a drink. "Gott, I didn't take that much, don't get your knickers in a bunch, Mutter."