[APH] The Ninth Circle
Title: The Ninth Circle
Characters/Pairings: America, France, England, Portugal(OC) [no pairings yet]
Rating: R
Warning: Mild language, blood and gore, vampires and the like
Summary: In their world, the finest line between good and evil can be the only thing that’ll save your life. The hunters know that better than anyone; they are lowest on the food chain, yet convinced of their godhood. But Arthur Kirkland never put much faith into any God. This is a little something about vampires and the men who love hunt them. Here there be monsters.
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The taxi rolled to a stop outside a side street.
It was mid-afternoon and bucketing down, though its passenger had no qualms about stepping outside into the rain. He adjusted his fedora and went around the side, rapping on the boot gently until the driver opened it. From there he proceeded to drag out a suitcase that looked large enough to carry a body inside it, maybe two. He smiled at the driver from the rear view mirror suddenly, and the middle-aged man hastily lowered his gaze. The boot slammed shut again and the wheels rolled along the concrete path as the passenger came around the front again.
He was holding a folded piece of paper between his fingers. “And you’re sure this is the place?”
The driver nodded mutely. The man looked like one of those suspicious, foreign types, and he didn’t want any trouble.
The front of the passenger’s thick jacket bulged a little, and he had a habit of talking in stern, whispered tones down at his chest. He’d been doing so the entire ride from the airport.
Definitely off the loop, the driver thought to himself. He just wanted the strange foreigner to pay his fare and to be done with him.
The man grinned. “Excellent,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, opened his wallet and passed the driver a few notes. “Keep the change. I’ll see you around.”
Not bloody likely if he had anything to say about it, the driver thought to himself, hastily taking the money and nodding his head. He put the car into drive and took off down the road, leaving the strange man and his even stranger smile standing on the curb. As he watched through the rear view mirror the man stooped over and unfurled a large, black umbrella from his bag. He waved at the departing taxi.
Then, just as he turned the corner, the taxi driver saw the head of a calico cat emerge from the neckline of the man’s jacket.
It gave him a Cheshire grin.
Francis was starting to come to the conclusion that Alfred would eat just about anything. They walked out of the rain under the awnings, peering into shop windows, and every now and again the boy would look over his shoulder like a puppy eyeing a treat, Francis would sigh, and they would be in and out of the shop a few minutes later, carrying another bag of takeaway. You would think that that he was being half-starved in that house, surely.
He was comforted by the fact that the money was Arthur’s in the end, if nothing else. Clearly he had more than he was letting on, if he could afford to keep Alfred this well fed and still have enough left over.
“Can we get a cake too?” Alfred asked suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Francis glanced into the patisserie across from the boy, who was eyeing the sweets through the window with longing. He adjusted the shopping on his arm.
“You already have donuts and ice cream,” he said, and tried to look a little more patient than he felt, “At this rate you’ll spoil your dinner, and I don’t think Arthur would take too kindly to it if we used up all the space in his fridge.”
Alfred snorted, “Yes mom,” he replied derisively and shook his head a little. All the same he eventually tore himself away from the shopfront, kicking up puddles idly as he went. “It’s not like he uses it much for anything though. Well,” he cocked his head thoughtfully to the side, “apart from the odd resealable packets of frozen blood in the freezer, but hey, you know how picky he is about having his meals fresh, so they’re probably going to be in there for a while yet.”
He loped off around the corner, leaving Francis to catch up at his own pace. “For all I know they’re probably emergency rations in case of a zombie apocalypse. Don’t believe him if he tells you that TV is crap, he’s been even more anal about saving up his stores ever since catching 28 Days Later on the late night...” he trailed off.
He had stopped so suddenly that Francis almost bumped into him, and now he peered over Alfred’s shoulder as the passing crowds milled around them. The teenager had gone very still, eyes alert and a grin slowly affixing itself on his face, like a predator that had just spotted a particularly interesting prey. Francis looked up and came around his size; they had come to a stop in front of a quaint little cafe, the kind that served gourmet coffee that Francis would have died for (no puns intended). As Alfred didn’t seem to be moving, he didn’t think there would be any problem with sitting down and taking a moment’s rest.
He moved across to a table as far out of the rain and wind as possible and sat down, depositing their shopping on the seat next to him and eyes trailing the chatting customers curiously. There were enough people here that he could not see who exactly Alfred had his eye on this time, but after a long moment of perusing the menu and ordering a coffee for himself while he waited; the boy eventually came around to join him, slouching in his seat and casting interested looks over his shoulder. The grin had faded, but his expression seemed all the more curious.
“See anything you like then?” Francis asked amiably, as the waitress came back to the table. Francis smiled beatifically at her. Alfred didn’t even give her a second glance.
“Yeah, I’ll just have a coke thanks,” he said, which was all the response he would give to Francis’s puzzled look. Alfred waved him off impatiently, hint enough that he would explain later, and continued to stare off into the crowd of cafe-goers and pedestrians like a hawk. He thanked the waitress as she came back to their table for a second time and took the glass in his hand, slurping noisily enough that it made Francis wrinkle his nose in distaste, and do more than enough to convince him that if Alfred had ever thought he was being less than obvious in his observations, no one would certainly believe that now.
It had already been a few weeks since Arthur had forbidden him his kill, and while Alfred had sulked, this was the first time that Francis had seen him show such sudden impatience. If anything, Arthur had been the one who was getting progressively snappier as the days wore on, and it had been his idea in the first place.
He stirred his coffee slowly, until Alfred’s stillness grew unnerving and his own curiosity got the better of him. “Do feel free to tell me when you’re finished with your little stakeout,” he said dryly, and took a sip of his drink. That seemed to bring Alfred back to his senses a little, and with one more glance over his shoulder he turned around, elbows on the table and leaning over in a conspiratorial fashion that made the other man raise his eyebrows in some amusement.
“Don’t you think that guy’s a little weird?” the teenager asked him in a poor stage whisper, jerking his head in the direction of whatever had caught his interest so. Personally Francis thought that was a little rich coming from a homicidal serial killer, but he took an indulgent look all the same.
“Who is?”
“The guy in the funky black hat,” Alfred said, and half turned in his seat again, “the one who just finished paying his bill. Look see, he’s going off down the street now, we have to -”
“That,” Francis said, with all the long suffering of one who had an eye for fashion and liked to remain as such no matter what body he was possessing, “ is a fedora. Though you are quite right, it does clash horribly with that jacket.” He smiled. “He does seem a little old for you though, if I am to judge anything by your previous victims.”
“He was asking for Arthur,” Alfred replied flatly, frowning a little at the fact that Francis didn’t seem to be taking him seriously.
That gave the other man pause. He raised an eyebrow. “You overheard this?”
“I have Vulcan hearing,” Alfred replied, in such a serious manner that Francis couldn’t be quite sure whether he was joking or not. He tilted the chair back on its back legs, seemingly having returned to his inability to sit still for longer than five minutes. “Look, that’s not the point. He’s not being very discreet about it and I’d know that address anywhere, seeing how Arthur’s had it branded into my brain with his insistent nagging.” He stopped when Francis kept staring at him in disbelief, before shrugging expansively and elaborating, “...and, you know, he has a map. You can see it from here.”
He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, and sure enough Francis saw their mystery man pausing at the corner of a building, unfolding a large map of the city centre and marking something on it in pen, his umbrella balanced in the crook of his arm.
Well, he thought, the boy was certainly more perceptive than he looked or let on. He folded his hands together in front of him and regarded Alfred carefully. He seemed to be gearing himself up for a confrontation, if his pronounced fidgeting was anything to go by. Certainly it looked as though his paranoid was getting the better of him at last.
“So he does,” he admitted readily, not as concerned as Alfred had no doubt been expecting. He took another sip of his coffee. “Perhaps it is an old acquaintance?”
The teenager gave him an incredulous look. “That’s not funny.” Francis looked up.
“I assure you, I wasn’t jesting.”
“Arthur doesn’t have friends, let alone acquaintances,” Alfred replied, giving Francis is weird look. He shook his head and gestured out a little more desperately. “Seriously, what does that guy look like to you?”
“Someone with poor fashion sense...?” the other man offered blithely, wondering when Alfred would be finished with keeping up the appearance of mystery and delve straight into the point.
Alfred ignored him. “He looks suspicious.”
Francis rolled his eyes. “And I suppose you would be an expert at not calling attention to yourself.” Which he grudgingly had to admit was partly true; Alfred dressed and looked every bit of a sloppy teenager, but while he was loud, he didn’t carry a nervous sort of twitch around his person that would have belied his intentions to any reasonable person of sound mind. He was boyishly charming and no one would have been able to peg his true nature at first glance.
In comparison, the man he seemed so intent on wandered the streets in dark clothes, hunched in on himself and hiding his face, trailing a weather beaten suitcase behind him that looked so beat up, it was obvious he did not stay in one place for very long. For the most part he looked to be completely lost, turning his head vaguely this way and that, comparing the streets to whatever he had drawn on his map, and upturning his collar a little on one side of his face as if to hide it from passerbys.
Suspicious looking he seemed, yes, but not a threat; and more importantly, not their problem.
He sighed a little to himself. “Mon cher, it’s getting late. Perhaps we should head back.”
But whatever idea Alfred had got into his head, it seemed to have taken root, and he did not seem to want to let go of it so easily. “Seriously,” he muttered, blowing bubbles in his cola through the straw and swirling the ice idly, “he looks like he could have walked straight off the set of Van Helsing -”
He inhaled suddenly then, eyes growing round, and a little bit of coke must have gone down the wrong way because he started coughing violently, assailing Francis, much to his horror, with sticky liquid, covering his mouth only a few seconds too late.
“That’s it!” he wheezed, as Francis wiped flecks of cola from his person with a napkin, mouth downturned in distaste. “That’s it; I know why he’s after Arthur! It’s just like in the movie!” He whirled triumphantly to look at the dark figure in the distance. “He’s a vampire hunter.”
Francis was quiet at this accusation, and looked thoughtfully at the table as he scrunched his napkin into a ball in his fist. “That’s a pretty serious accusation to make, mon cher,” he said at last, looking up at Alfred levelly. “Hunters are not to be taken lightly.”
Alfred frowned at him. “You could show a little more concern you know,” he said, sounding a little put out, “At least gasped or something.”
Francis carefully put the memory of Arthur’s bloodstained diary from his mind, the story on the pages heavy in the absence of words alone. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Why should I? It is not that big of a surprise. The threat of hunters in our world is a common as the notion that night follows day. They go by many names, depending on their choice of kill.” His mouth turned up a little wryly at the corners. “I suppose in my case you could call them exorcists.”
A visible shudder ran though Alfred at the mention of ghosts, but he threw it off. “Yeah but...”
“They are very dangerous,” Francis emphasized the words yet again, “but that is beside the point. Their existence is as much a myth as our own. You cannot just waltz up to the man and accuse him of such a thing. What good would it do you?”
Alfred glanced behind him again. “Well he’s going to say “no” either way isn’t he?” he asked, much to Francis’s surprise. “So what’s the harm in asking?”
Francis mulled this over. It would be a mercy to their kind should the man turn out to be one of them, just as the boy said. However, in the case that he was just an ordinary citizen... well. People often talked of their strange encounters. Word would get passed along and somewhere down the line the tale would reach the ears of real hunters, be it in a pub, along the street, or in a cafe just like the one they were sitting in right now.
The man could not be allowed to live, Francis noted with a resigned sort of finality. It was not an easy accusation to make, and he personally took no pleasure in the killing of innocents; he was many things, but a vengeful spirit was not one of them. He did know however, that others in their fold would often play the “hunter” card as an excuse to kill a victim and not suffer the repercussions of their clan or kinsmen afterwards. In all honesty he found the whole thing to be a little distasteful.
Though not enough to stop it mind you; there was a strong “us against them” mentality at work here, and in the end it was always better to take the risk than to be sorry in the long run.
He sighed and pursed his lips, wondering if Alfred had grasped the gravity of the situation that he had unintentionally dragged them into. “That’s true...” he said slowly, “but Alfred, mon cher, you do realize that he would have to be silenced no matter the outcome, right?”
“Yeah, I figured,” the teenager replied somewhat nonchalantly, propping his chin in his hand as a big grin cut across his face. His eyes were alight again. “That’s the best part, wouldn’t you say? Even Arthur won’t be able to make a comeback if we took out a hunter.” He stood from his seat and stretched. “You coming...?”
“Well so long as you don’t make a habit of it.” Francis stood also, gathering the shopping together. It would have to be warmed up again by the time they returned to Arthur’s. He folded a note into the menu and closed it, leaving it where the waitress would see. They didn’t need to be accused for skimping out on paying for their meal either.
Alfred rubbed his hands together, thrilled that the hunt was on once more. “Awesome,” he said breathlessly. “Come on; let’s go get him while he still has that aimless look about him.” He made his way back out into the rain, uncaring about the drizzle as he marched with purposeful strides towards their target.
With one last mournful look up at the sky, Francis followed him, taking care to shield his head from the rain with one of the hardier shopping bags.
The man in the jacket looked to be even shabbier up close, and the material he was wearing was oddly lumpy. Francis thought that he could have stood to give both it and his hat a thorough wash, but it was too late for that now. If Alfred had anything to say about it, he would be worrying about far greater things than the state of his clothes soon enough.
He didn’t seem to notice them at first, though Francis thought you would have to be pretty out of it not to notice someone like Alfred striding towards you. The boy was moving with such single-mindedness it was impossible to think he was walking towards anyone else. For all of Alfred’s paranoia and excitement, he didn’t think that Arthur would be as relieved as the teenager seemed to think he would be if their so-called “hunter” turned out to be nothing more than a wandering hobo.
He couldn’t see the man’s face from where he was standing, as it was obscured by the hat he wore, but the closer they drew near to him the less it seemed like he was just standing there watching the rain, and more like he was talking to himself. He had the map tucked under the arm that was also balancing his large black umbrella, but he was sitting on his large suitcase with his head tucked to the side, almost against one shoulder, as though he were talking into a phone.
Whatever he was doing, he didn’t seem to be alone, because there was another voice talking in response to his own, even though the tones were so hushed that Francis could barely hear them over the sound of passing traffic.
“It’s certainly changed a lot around here, hasn’t it?” the man murmured. He sounded every bit as foreign as Francis and Alfred did so at least, in that, he had been somewhat right. The man wasn’t local. So what was he doing skulking around looking for Arthur of all people?
The other voice replied in kind, sounding a little grumpy, “Well I can’t say I’ve missed it. Couldn’t we just book ourselves into a hotel while we’re here?”
“When we could get free room and board?” the man snorted and shook his head a little, shifting his shoulders. “Don’t be an idiot. Besides it would be silly not to call in.”
“He’d get over it,” the grumpier-sounding voice said hopefully. “He doesn’t have the heart.”
“Nonsense,” the man said briskly. “If you want to stay here in an alley, be my guest, but I’m not going to let this opportunity -”
“Hello!” Alfred exclaimed suddenly, grin still fixed on his face as he strode over. Francis could have turned and beat his head against wall. Subtle, he thought grimly, very subtle. The man to his credit did not jump wholly in surprise, although he did make a rather quick motion with his hand as though stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He turned. Alfred came to a stop beside him. “My friend and I couldn’t help noticing you looking a little lost there!”
If the man thought anything strange about this he did not say so, though when he tipped his hat back a little, Francis couldn’t help but notice that he had a small smile on his face. “That’s a kind way of putting it,” he told the boy a little amusedly, “considering I haven’t been back in England for more years than I care to count. Funny how quickly things change wouldn’t you say?”
“Hilarious,” Francis deadpanned, coming up around the side with a small smile of his own. The man gave him a look. Alfred shrugged him off.
“Oh for sure,” he said earnestly, “Don’t think of this as rude or nothing, but we kind of overheard you asking for directions back at the cafe and thought you could use the help.”
The man raised his eyebrows a little. “You heard that?” He chuckled a little. “And here I was thinking that I hadn’t come off as that transparent. I suppose my lack of directional sense has betrayed me.” He leaned back comfortably against the wall. “Do you know the man I’m looking for then?”
“We’re friends of Arthur’s,” Francis cut in smoothly, turning on a little charm of his own. “In fact we’re staying with him right now, if you need any help in getting there. You are looking for Arthur Kirkland right?”
His smile was fully returned. In fact if he didn’t know any better the man looked relieved. Francis wondered how long he had been asking around for. “It is indeed,” the man said cheerfully. “What luck. And you say you’re friends of his? I don’t remember him ever mentioning you before...”
“He didn’t mention you either,” Alfred blurted out, still with that cocky grin on his face, and Francis was sorely tempted to elbow him. “So we’re even.”
“What Alfred means to say,” he stressed out, “is that he and Arthur have only recently been acquainted. As for myself, well... I like to change my appearance to keep up with the trends you understand. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did not remember me.”
“Hmm,” the man tilted his head thoughtfully, eyeing him from under the brim of his hat. “Perhaps we were just in the same place at different times then,” he said, and bowed his head a little. “But it is a pleasure all the same.”
“Likewise,” Francis said amiably, and gestured between them in turn. “I’m Francis. You already know Alfred.” He looked pointedly at the other man. “And you are...?”
Almost as if to confirm his suspicions that the man was not who he seemed the stranger seemed to take an inordinate amount of time being silent, though finally he answered, “Gabriel.”
Alfred craned his head around to give Francis a very obvious, ‘I told you so!’ face. He mouthed, ‘Van Helsing’ excitedly and Francis rolled his eyes a little when he looked away again and clapped his hands together, as if coming to a conclusion.
“Alright then Gabby,” he said brightly, causing both Francis and the strange man to look at him askance at the sudden nickname. “If you’re free then how about you come back with us to Artie’s place?”
The man seemed even more surprised at this. “Oh? Well if it’s not too much trouble. I would have been happy with just the address.” He smiled. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Not at all,” Francis replied. “We were just heading back there with dinner.”
“Seriously,” Alfred told him, “There’s more than enough space in the car and you’d save on transport.” He grinned winningly. “What do you say?”
“I say that I’d be a fool to turn down such generosity,” Gabriel said primly, and rose to his feet. He shook his umbrella out and tucked the map back into his large bag. “Very well then, gentlemen... I place myself entirely in your hands.”
By now Alfred was looking as though someone had thrown him an early Christmas present. Francis could already see the proverbial cogs turning in his head as he worked out how to go about his next kill. “You won’t regret it,” he said. “Really, you won’t. Here, let me get that for you.”
He took the luggage out of Gabriel’s hands; the other man passed it over without fuss, though much to the boy’s surprise, it was a lot heavier than it looked. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, and moved to heft it properly. “What the hell have you got in here, bricks?”
“Souvenirs,” the man drawled, “for Arthur. Amongst other things.”
“No kidding,” Alfred said, looking down at it, “You could probably carry a body around in one of these things.” Francis pinched the bridge of his nose. How any one of them was continuing to buy this charade, he could not say.
But Gabriel did not seem to think anything strange of that statement either, and just smiled vaguely. “Yes,” he replied thoughtfully, “I suppose I could.”
Francis gave him a long, searching look. The man pulled his hat a little lower, though the smile had not left his face. “Didn’t you have someone with you?” he asked, recalling how the man had been talking on the phone.
“My brother,” Gabriel said and shrugged it off. “You don’t have to worry about him. He’s busy right now but I will send him a note as to my whereabouts once we get to Arthur’s.” He seemed to be rubbing his neck; to the point that Francis thought he was nervous about something. But then a small furry head wiggled out of the confines of the jacket, and he realized that what had been a weirdly shaped lump across the man’s shoulders was, in reality, the body of an average sized housecat.
It meowed at him, ears flicking forward. Gabriel scratched it under the chin idly. “I hope you don’t mind if I take this one with me first though,” he told Francis. “He’s completely lost without me.”
Francis recollected himself. “I doubt it will be a problem,” he said genially, and reached out to pet the cat. It purred, looking pleased for the company.
“Yeah,” Alfred replied jokingly, starting off down the road and leaving the other two men to fall into place behind him. “Arthur seems to take to cats far easier than he takes to people anyway.”
The ride back to the house proved to be pretty uneventful. Alfred kept darting looks at Gabriel from the front seat in what could only be anticipation, but for the most part the other man kept his head down, petting the purring ball of fur in his lap. He seemed to wear his hat like others would a mask, not taking it off for sitting nor standing, though he did tilt it back far enough to look at the house when they pulled into the driveway.
He took a deep breath, breathing in the chill air. Night was settling. “It hasn’t changed a bit,” he said, sounding almost pleased. “Good to know some things never do, wouldn’t you say?” Francis turned to look at him, but he seemed to be addressing the cat rather than himself or Alfred, which had hopped out of the backseat after him and proceeded to stretch itself out before clawing its way back up Gabriel’s proferred arm and settling itself back on his shoulder.
He walked around the front, ascending the steps and waiting at the front door, where Alfred had left his luggage. “Is Arthur still in bed then?”
The comment was casual enough, but it made Francis go still. Luckily for them Gabriel was still admiring the house, so his back was to the increasingly obvious looks Alfred kept throwing his way in the man’s direction. It did prove one thing though; Gabriel knew more about Arthur’s condition than he was letting on. If the trip over was anything to go by, Francis had learned that the other man was pleasant enough to chat to in conversation, but he chose his words carefully and for the most part kept his mouth shut tighter than a steel trap. He beckoned Alfred closer to him.
“Whenever you’re ready to ask him about his career as a vampire hunter, do go right ahead,” he told the boy somewhat impatiently. “Bringing him back to the house was going a little too far don’t you think?”
“Hey, he tagged along didn’t he?” Alfred whispered back, turning to look at Gabriel with a fidgety sort of longing, as though he were mentally calculating whether he wanted to take his arms or legs to pieces first. “Relax, I’ve got it covered. Worst comes to worst though, I could probably take him. Look, he’s as lanky as anything.”
“It doesn’t take much effort to lift a gun loaded with silver bullets,” Francis replied somewhat darkly and shooed the boy forward. “Just do what you planned to in the first place before he -”
Whatever he was going to say next, it was lost in the wake of a sudden, deep clanging sound, like someone had just rung a couple of church bells. Alfred jumped back into Francis, and above their heads a few ravens took off from the roof in fright, the sound echoing out into a silence that was almost as deafening.
“Spooky,” Gabriel said in amusement, and took his finger off what could have only been an old brass doorbell. “I didn’t think that old thing actually worked anymore.” Francis hadn’t even noticed it there before. That was bound to wake Arthur, and he could imagine he wouldn’t be descending those stairs in the best of moods either because of it.
“I think we’d best get inside, don’t you?” he said with false cheer, ignoring the grubbiness of the man’s coat as he hooked an arm through his and dragged him inside, luggage and all, leaving Alfred to the necessities. If nothing else, the boy was a professional at this sort of thing so Francis need not distract their ‘guest’ for long.
The hallway was dark, even in the dim yellow glow of the light when Francis flicked it on. He released Gabriel, who immediately started to wander, touching a wall here, a trinket there; as though he were trying to commit everything he laid eyes upon into memory. His pet cat seemed less than impressed in comparison, and Francis found them to be snooty creatures by nature. This one would probably get on famously with Arthur, he thought wryly.
“Could I offer you something?” he asked, watching the man walk around mapping the house through his gaze alone. He wondered if this had been a mistake. If the man truly was a hunter then... “A drink perhaps...?”
He’d seen a decanter of port wine in the library, and had no qualms of depriving Arthur of it, all circumstances aside. But the man just shook his head.
“Thank you,” he said, “but I’d rather keep my wits about me. Arthur has a habit of liking to take advantage of a person, as I’m sure you would know.” He grinned.
What had already been suspicious behaviour in Francis’s mind was now like someone had sent up a great red warning flag over the battlements of a castle. He tapped his arm with his fingertips, choosing his next words carefully. “I wonder...” he began slowly, “however did you and Arthur meet?”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. Then to Francis’s surprise he began to laugh. “Oh, it was so long ago,” he sighed, once he had control of himself again. He began to walk, moving around Francis in a manner that reminded him strikingly of Alfred; of a creature hunting prey. His smile was gentle though, reminiscent. “How does any of our kind meet a vampire, honestly? Simple.”
He stopped in front of Francis and grinned sharply. “He tried to kill me.”
That settled it. Francis moved back along the wall, staring at Gabriel’s wide, angelic smile. It was almost fitting really; though he soon found himself sucking in a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. He hadn’t expected the tables to turn so quickly, or for the man to give himself or his story up so easily. “Al...” he called out urgently.
“Got it.”
There was a bodily thump, accompanied by the cracking sound of a human head coming into contact with something equally as hard but far more durable. The calico cat made a leap for it and now stood stiffly to the side, fur on end and tail bristling; it hissed. Gabriel however, whatever he was, did not have eyes at the back of his head, and so did not see Alfred swing the bag of groceries at him from behind. It was quick thinking in a pinch, and Francis was grateful, apart from the fact that he now had the man crumpled into a concussed heap at his feet and there was a bloody stain all over their shopping.
Alfred made a face at the bag. “Aw nuts,” he muttered, as though he hadn’t just beaned someone over the head with it, “There goes the jam.”
Upon closer inspection the “blood” looked to be thick and sticky, and full of fruity bits. Francis sighed in relief. Oh, good, he thought, more concerned over the state of the shopping than, admittedly, the man they had just assaulted. At least it saved them having to go back into town again.
Alfred shrugged and put the shopping down carefully. He nudged the groaning man with his foot. “I told you didn’t I...? Van Helsing.” He said the words with emphasis for Francis’s benefit. The frown quickly gave way to grin. “On the bright side, now that all the formalities are over with and we know for sure what he is, I can have him right?”
Francis sagged against the wall. He didn’t want to say that they didn’t know who the man was, not really, but the chance had been too much of a close one. He was getting far too old for scares like this, immortality notwithstanding. He sighed. “Fine, go. Take him. At least Arthur will get a meal out of it; that ought to soothe him after being woken so abruptly.”
This seemed to be music to Alfred’ ears, for his grin only widened and he gave Francis a thumbs up, before bending over and hoisting the semi-unconscious Gabriel up under the arms, proceeding to drag him out of the hall and down the basement. His pet cat followed, mewing plaintively and pawing at the man’s trousers urgently. Francis was almost sorry for the poor creature. He pushed himself off the wall.
“Wait,” he said, and Alfred stopped humming a jaunty tune to look at him questioningly. Francis snatched the hat off the man’s head and threw it to the side. After a while he sighed, mouth curling into a slight scowl. “Of course,” he murmured, more to the reeling figure than to Alfred, “that Gabriel. I should have realized it sooner.”
Alfred blinked and looked down with a calculating eye. Now that his facial features were clear he could see that the man had dark, curling hair and tanned skin, a straight jaw and a stubborn mouth. He was fairly good looking, he thought detachedly, in much the same way Francis was. Older, but more rugged looking, as though his appearance was the last thing on his mind; not that it mattered anymore he thought cheerfully. He wouldn’t have to worry about that sort of thing at all soon.
What stood out the most though was the great ugly scar that trailed like a gash across his left eye, from forehead to cheek. Alfred regarded this with the most interest. “How do you suppose he got it?” he asked Francis.
“He’s a hunter,” Francis replied monotonously and stepped aside to let Alfred pass down towards the basement, “he probably earned it while trying to end some poor creature’s life. It’s not uncommon, and what’s more...” he eyed the blemish distastefully, “they’ll carry it for the rest of their lives.”
“So he is a hunter then,” Alfred remarked; he seemed pleased with this news. “Right?”
Francis looked grim. “One of the worst, I would say. Oh some will go for werewolves or sea serpents alone, others just for vampires... but this one, this one they say will go after anything with a pulse, so long as they pay him enough.” He waved them off, as though to dispel the bad air that inevitably came with such a presence. “The sooner he’s dead, the better. We should never have brought him here.”
Alfred beamed. “So can I...?”
Francis sighed, and stood. “Don’t play with him too long or there’ll be none left for the grump upstairs. Speaking of which, I might as well fetch him since we’re here. He’d probably like to see this.” It might soften the vampire’s recent feelings towards him at any rate, which had been beyond frosty ever since Arthur had caught him going through his old diaries. Having a hunter here, on which to take his revenge, that would settle things between them, or at least he hoped.
He was rewarded with a lazy salute. “Keep the dismembering to a minimum, got it,” he drawled. “Don’t worry, there are other ways of dragging these things out, you’ll see.” He winked at Francis then and heaved the body up properly over his shoulder, like a child carrying a rag doll and trailing its favourite toy behind them; though in Alfred’s case said favourite toy was a bloody chainsaw.
The cat followed at his heels as he disappeared down the steps, plaintive meowing now more of a whine, leaving Francis to wonder if Arthur would accept the proverbial olive branch under the circumstances.
Gabriel sat up with a groan, gingerly feeling the lump at the side of his head. His skull was pounding rhythmically with the hurt, so it was only belatedly that he realized he had been thrown into a dark room, onto a pile of cushions it seemed, which may have explained why he couldn’t get to his feet as easily as he would have liked.
Something soft rubbed up against his arm, and he automatically went to pet the calico cat; it must have followed him all the way down here. It was making urgent noises now; he felt strangely exposed lying there without his coat or hat, stripped down to his shirt and trousers. Then again it wasn’t as though he was expecting the warmest of welcomes.
“Oh hey, you’re awake now?” A figure moved in the distance. It was the boy, Alfred. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, swinging a chainsaw around like a fancy cane. He felt like he was in an abattoir; everything stank to high heaven of old blood. Gabriel grimaced.
“No thanks to you,” he said, feeling entitled to be a little snippy, what with the headache he felt coming on. “Really, is this how Arthur treats all his guests?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Alfred said cheerfully, pacing up and down in front of him now like an excitable cub ready to pounce and tear into its meal. “This is a first for me too; meeting one of you guys that is. And Arthur doesn’t know yet.” He leaned over his chainsaw and leered lazily at the man. “You’re supposed to be a surprise.”
“Had I known I’d have worn a couple more ribbons in my hair,” Gabriel replied flatly, gathering his cat into his arms before it did itself an injury. He held it in his lap between them, admonishing it for hissing at Alfred before cocking his head. “One of whom, exactly...?” he wondered aloud.
“One of those hunters, duh. Haven’t you seen the movies?” Alfred gestured out with his hand. “Come on, there’s no use in hiding it anymore. We both know you came here to kill Arthur.” A grin cut across his face as he swung the chainsaw in an arc and pointed it at Gabriel. “And since we can’t let you go, I’m going to kill you. No hard feelings.”
Gabriel snorted. “Unfortunately I seem to have left my wooden stake in my other bag,” he said darkly, “but I’m sure if I’m innovative enough I could whittle something out of a bedpost by the time he comes down here.” He settled back on the cushions.
The grin faded a little from Alfred’s face. “You did hear what I said about killing you right?” he asked, just to make sure.
“I did.”
The teen frowned. “And what... you aren’t afraid?” He waved his chainsaw around a little. Usually by this part they were trying to make a break for it or screaming their lungs out.
“There are far worse things than death; and far scarier creatures out there with teeth and claws that could put your toy to shame.” Gabriel cocked his head unconcernedly. “Have you ever considered becoming a hunter?”
This surprised Alfred; he narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said. “Why would I?”
Gabriel shrugged. “Just a thought if you ever wanted to put that thing,” he nodded towards the chainsaw, “to better use instead of killing people.”
“But I like it,” the boy told him, sounding petulant. He shook his head. “Look, what do you know? Arthur needs to eat, and I need some excitement in my life.” He started pacing anew. “Doing this, it’s like killing two birds with one stone you know? Everyone goes home happy. Well,” he paused, “except you, because you’ll be dead, but I think you kind of deserve it at this point for wanting to do Arthur in.”
“What makes you so sure I was trying to kill him?” Gabriel asked, crossing his legs; he was the epitome of calm. He seemed genuinely interested in knowing the answer.
“Francis said you were a hunter,” Alfred replied, as though that was all the answer he needed. He was starting to get annoyed by the lack of screaming and this man’s refusal to beg for his life. Where was the fun in that? “That’s your job.”
“Arthur keeps a low profile, stays under the radar of the organization,” the man waved him off idly, “he’s not on my list. Well... until now anyway,” he added, dragging his eyes across the chainsaw. “Has he started a new coven then?”
“What?” Alfred looked momentarily blank. “No way; do I look freakishly pale to you? Do you see any fangs?” He bared his teeth at the man so he could see them properly. “I’ve been human since the day I was born.”
“I wonder...” Gabriel murmured, his eyes flickering over the chainsaw once again.
“You talk too much,” Alfred sighed, lifting his weapon up to examine it. “Seriously, do you do that because you’re nervous or something? Scared? It’s okay to be scared you know.” His eyes darkened momentarily. “I wouldn’t hold it against you. Some people make the prettiest sounds when they’re screaming.”
He stood up and came over, hunching in front of the man’s sprawled form. “I wonder what you sound like. But I guess we’ll both know soon enough huh?” He yanked him to his feet, upending the calico cat onto the floor once more. It lunged at his foot, but Alfred merely pushed it back. “Come on,” he said to Gabriel, and pulled him up by the arm in a grip that was bruising in its tightness, “there’s no room for you to run anyway, and even if you could I’d still catch you. I promised Francis I’d make a clean kill for Arthur this time too, so don’t make me a liar okay?”
Gabriel lifted his chin and shook his hand off; he stood at ease, stance wide. “I suppose Arthur makes a habit of collecting hunters’ heads as trophies now?” he wanted to know.
“Well not yet,” Alfred admitted, and it was the last Gabriel saw of his grin before it disappeared behind a white hockey mask. He revved the engine. “But I reckon yours would make a pretty nice first addition - hey, hey get your hand off there,” he said and swatted the man’s hands away from where they clutched tight, brief and momentary, around the golden crucifix he had around his neck. “Man, it’s like you’re going out of your way to be difficult.”
Gabriel took a breath and looked towards the ceiling. His chest heaved. “Pater noster qui es in coelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum...”
Alfred laughed, and pointed the chainsaw at him, blades whirling, catching slightly at the threads of his shirt as he positioned it over his chest. “Sorry,” he sing-songed, “not going to work. I don’t speak mumbo-jumbo Spanish or whatever you’re spouting.”
The man didn’t look at him, but continued his words in a strong, clear voice that didn’t shake or falter, not till the last moment, where upon the final exclamations of “...et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo...” Alfred gave a cheer and a shout, grabbed his arm for balance and plunged his chainsaw straight down the middle of his chest, so that the words died on his lips.
Francis found Arthur at the top of the stairs; or rather had nearly run headlong into him. His flaxen hair was sticking up in all directions and he was still in his nightclothes, already so pale that he was not quite flushed with anger, but he looked furious besides. And consequently like he had fallen right out of bed, to top it all off.
“I’m guessing it was you then,” he told Francis darkly, and when his only response was a quizzical look, he elaborated further, “the one who rang that bloody doorbell loud enough to bring down the house.”
Francis inclined his head in a mock bow. “As much as I would love to take credit for making you leap out of bed in such a state mon ami, I’m afraid I cannot. However,” he pressed on, when Arthur looked like he would open his mouth to berate him again, “you will be pleased to know that Alfred has managed to make a fresh kill for you.” Arthur’s eyes grew wide and round at that, filling with hunger. Francis sniffed. “I suppose it’s for the best...you were getting into quite the state having to rely on your stores like you did.”
The vampire scowled at him. “You try eating food that’s a few weeks old at best and see how you like it Frog,” he growled, and descended the stairs with Francis at his heels, seeming to be in decidedly better spirits at the thought of fresh blood. “You did tell Alfred not to make a mess this time, right? It would be such a terrible waste, I haven’t fed properly in so long...” he licked his lips, the colour of his eyes dimming from green to bloody red in anticipation of his meal.
“I imagine it’s far too late to tell you that you’d spoil yourself for any good wholesome food after this,” Francis replied, and he sounded serious enough that Arthur actually paused and looked back at him, “but mon ami, I should tell you before you head down there. Alfred caught a hunter.”
Arthur didn’t think it possible for his blood to get any colder. “What...?” he managed to croak out. He ran his fingers back through his hair, causing it to stand further on end. “But how is that... what were you thinking bringing one of them back here?” he snapped, whirling on Francis with a thunderous expression. “There could have been more of them, and what if they followed you back here, oh this is perfect... just perfect...” He rubbed his hand over his face and glared. “And I suppose you thought I would be pleased, did you?”
It would be lying to say he had hoped, just a little, but Francis thought it prudent not to mention that now. “Look at it this way, mon ami...” he said, and flourished his hand a little at the abandoned hat and suitcase that remained in the hall, looking lonely in their solitary existence now. “The man himself is a prize all on his own.”
Arthur paused at the suitcase; he got down on his knees to examine it, ghosting his fingers over the old material. “...why did you even go looking for a hunter?” he demanded. “You should know better than to encourage Alfred’s fool ideas like that; he’ll be getting us all killed next.”
“On the contrary,” Francis told him, pretending to examine his nails. “The hunter was the one looking for you.” At Arthur’s baffled look he shrugged his shoulders. “For this house actually. Seemed to think you were old friends.”
Arthur was silent for a long moment. His mouth worked wordlessly, but no words came forth. At last though he asked, quietly, “This hunter... did he give you his name?”
Francis chuckled at that. “Oh I think even you would have heard of the hunter Gabriel at some point mon ami,” he drawled, “despite your disinterest in this modern world. I do have to say though,” he went on thoughtfully, “I didn’t expect him to have such a fondness for cats...”
He turned to make a passing remark about how well that would have seen them get along under different circumstances, but Arthur had vanished. Francis raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking around him, and it was only on the last turn that he saw Arthur’s feet disappear down into the basement at such a speed that the curtains kicked up air from the other end of the hall. What on earth...?
“Alfred!” Arthur shouted over the whirr of the chainsaw, his footsteps falling heavily down the stairs as he descended, “Alfred, you mustn’t - for the love of God don’t you dare...”
He paused on the landing, knuckles going white on the banister. Blood pooled towards him, spreading across the floor at a slow, even pace. He looked up to see Alfred grinning at him, mask pushed back up into his blonde hair. Flecks of blood and bone dotted his glasses, and he wiped these off with an even bloodier hand without a care.
“There you are sleepyhead!” he chided, waving at Arthur and panting with exertion as the chainsaw stuttered to a stop. A body lay impaled upon it, stopped from falling into the sea of blood at the feet only by the grip of the weapon itself. The golden crucifix fell from the cavity then, landing with a quiet splash into the gore below. “What do you think? A hunter! Isn’t that great or what?”
Arthur clung to the banister with shaking hands. He covered his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, aware that he was breathing heavily. His eyes had gone red. He inhaled and immediately felt guilty for it, but good lord it smelled wonderful.
“Alfred,” he gasped, not daring to move from his spot. “Oh Alfred, you idiot, what have you done?”
The boy looked at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Come on, you can’t tell me you aren’t hungry, you haven’t been eating well in weeks - hey, stop that!” he exclaimed suddenly, and pushed something aside with his foot. It was the calico cat, and it was yowling something terrible, scratching at Alfred’s leg and covered in so much blood that not a single inch of it was white anymore. The look it gave Arthur as it jumped out of the way was positively baleful. It hissed.
Alfred scratched his head, streaking blood through his hair. The body was still warm enough that the blood was steaming, and though Alfred looked pleased with his work, for Arthur it was absolute torture. He covered his face with his forearm, unable to bear the sight, let alone the corpse. “Will you just...” he took a breath. “Just... put him, I mean - that body... down. Gently.”
The teenager cocked his head. “See, I told Francis that it wouldn’t work. I should have cut up more than just his chest don’t you think?” He grinned and pulled his mask back on. The chainsaw revved again. “You’re an old man, I get it. I gotta take care of you. Don’t you worry, I’ll have this up into smaller, bite size pieces for you in no time. Just give me one sec’.” The engine roared to life again.
Arthur watched it in horror. “Alfred, no wait!” He exclaimed and moved so quickly that he slipped on the blood and landed in a heap on the landing, cursing colourfully. Around the same time the calico cat had geared itself up for another suicidal attack and launched itself at Alfred’s arm, just as Francis came down the stairs also, looking completely bemused. It was chaos.
“What on earth is going on down here?” he demanded. “Arthur, Alfred, why can’t you two ever - what is that cat doing...?!”
However, whoever or whatever was about to open their mouth and protest next, it was cut short by a loud, shrieking squeal so piercing, it left total silence in its wake. The only sound that remained was that of the chainsaw motor, that was groaning in protest against the bloody hand of the corpse, which had somehow risen up and grabbed its chain in its fist, effectively halting further carnage of its person.
Then the hunter raised his head and glared out at the stunned gathering before him with a fierceness that could have melted steel. He spat to the side and bared bloody teeth in a scowl.
“That...” he said dangerously, “...really hurts.”
-
-
-
[Part 2]
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AN:
More notes when I'm not dead tired. But basically, you ought to read Pidge's stories first for any of this to make sense lmao.
England = vampire
France = ghost-in-possessed-body
America = teenage serial killer
Portugal = Hunter of supernatural creatures. Also VAN HELSING. As in the movie. His name was Gabriel too. Yay pop culture refs haha, oh America orz. Though Port's name is a longer mouthful admittedly.
Spain = If you haven't figured it out yet I'm being too subtle lmao.
Characters/Pairings: America, France, England, Portugal(OC) [no pairings yet]
Rating: R
Warning: Mild language, blood and gore, vampires and the like
Summary: In their world, the finest line between good and evil can be the only thing that’ll save your life. The hunters know that better than anyone; they are lowest on the food chain, yet convinced of their godhood. But Arthur Kirkland never put much faith into any God. This is a little something about vampires and the men who love hunt them. Here there be monsters.
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The taxi rolled to a stop outside a side street.
It was mid-afternoon and bucketing down, though its passenger had no qualms about stepping outside into the rain. He adjusted his fedora and went around the side, rapping on the boot gently until the driver opened it. From there he proceeded to drag out a suitcase that looked large enough to carry a body inside it, maybe two. He smiled at the driver from the rear view mirror suddenly, and the middle-aged man hastily lowered his gaze. The boot slammed shut again and the wheels rolled along the concrete path as the passenger came around the front again.
He was holding a folded piece of paper between his fingers. “And you’re sure this is the place?”
The driver nodded mutely. The man looked like one of those suspicious, foreign types, and he didn’t want any trouble.
The front of the passenger’s thick jacket bulged a little, and he had a habit of talking in stern, whispered tones down at his chest. He’d been doing so the entire ride from the airport.
Definitely off the loop, the driver thought to himself. He just wanted the strange foreigner to pay his fare and to be done with him.
The man grinned. “Excellent,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, opened his wallet and passed the driver a few notes. “Keep the change. I’ll see you around.”
Not bloody likely if he had anything to say about it, the driver thought to himself, hastily taking the money and nodding his head. He put the car into drive and took off down the road, leaving the strange man and his even stranger smile standing on the curb. As he watched through the rear view mirror the man stooped over and unfurled a large, black umbrella from his bag. He waved at the departing taxi.
Then, just as he turned the corner, the taxi driver saw the head of a calico cat emerge from the neckline of the man’s jacket.
It gave him a Cheshire grin.
Francis was starting to come to the conclusion that Alfred would eat just about anything. They walked out of the rain under the awnings, peering into shop windows, and every now and again the boy would look over his shoulder like a puppy eyeing a treat, Francis would sigh, and they would be in and out of the shop a few minutes later, carrying another bag of takeaway. You would think that that he was being half-starved in that house, surely.
He was comforted by the fact that the money was Arthur’s in the end, if nothing else. Clearly he had more than he was letting on, if he could afford to keep Alfred this well fed and still have enough left over.
“Can we get a cake too?” Alfred asked suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Francis glanced into the patisserie across from the boy, who was eyeing the sweets through the window with longing. He adjusted the shopping on his arm.
“You already have donuts and ice cream,” he said, and tried to look a little more patient than he felt, “At this rate you’ll spoil your dinner, and I don’t think Arthur would take too kindly to it if we used up all the space in his fridge.”
Alfred snorted, “Yes mom,” he replied derisively and shook his head a little. All the same he eventually tore himself away from the shopfront, kicking up puddles idly as he went. “It’s not like he uses it much for anything though. Well,” he cocked his head thoughtfully to the side, “apart from the odd resealable packets of frozen blood in the freezer, but hey, you know how picky he is about having his meals fresh, so they’re probably going to be in there for a while yet.”
He loped off around the corner, leaving Francis to catch up at his own pace. “For all I know they’re probably emergency rations in case of a zombie apocalypse. Don’t believe him if he tells you that TV is crap, he’s been even more anal about saving up his stores ever since catching 28 Days Later on the late night...” he trailed off.
He had stopped so suddenly that Francis almost bumped into him, and now he peered over Alfred’s shoulder as the passing crowds milled around them. The teenager had gone very still, eyes alert and a grin slowly affixing itself on his face, like a predator that had just spotted a particularly interesting prey. Francis looked up and came around his size; they had come to a stop in front of a quaint little cafe, the kind that served gourmet coffee that Francis would have died for (no puns intended). As Alfred didn’t seem to be moving, he didn’t think there would be any problem with sitting down and taking a moment’s rest.
He moved across to a table as far out of the rain and wind as possible and sat down, depositing their shopping on the seat next to him and eyes trailing the chatting customers curiously. There were enough people here that he could not see who exactly Alfred had his eye on this time, but after a long moment of perusing the menu and ordering a coffee for himself while he waited; the boy eventually came around to join him, slouching in his seat and casting interested looks over his shoulder. The grin had faded, but his expression seemed all the more curious.
“See anything you like then?” Francis asked amiably, as the waitress came back to the table. Francis smiled beatifically at her. Alfred didn’t even give her a second glance.
“Yeah, I’ll just have a coke thanks,” he said, which was all the response he would give to Francis’s puzzled look. Alfred waved him off impatiently, hint enough that he would explain later, and continued to stare off into the crowd of cafe-goers and pedestrians like a hawk. He thanked the waitress as she came back to their table for a second time and took the glass in his hand, slurping noisily enough that it made Francis wrinkle his nose in distaste, and do more than enough to convince him that if Alfred had ever thought he was being less than obvious in his observations, no one would certainly believe that now.
It had already been a few weeks since Arthur had forbidden him his kill, and while Alfred had sulked, this was the first time that Francis had seen him show such sudden impatience. If anything, Arthur had been the one who was getting progressively snappier as the days wore on, and it had been his idea in the first place.
He stirred his coffee slowly, until Alfred’s stillness grew unnerving and his own curiosity got the better of him. “Do feel free to tell me when you’re finished with your little stakeout,” he said dryly, and took a sip of his drink. That seemed to bring Alfred back to his senses a little, and with one more glance over his shoulder he turned around, elbows on the table and leaning over in a conspiratorial fashion that made the other man raise his eyebrows in some amusement.
“Don’t you think that guy’s a little weird?” the teenager asked him in a poor stage whisper, jerking his head in the direction of whatever had caught his interest so. Personally Francis thought that was a little rich coming from a homicidal serial killer, but he took an indulgent look all the same.
“Who is?”
“The guy in the funky black hat,” Alfred said, and half turned in his seat again, “the one who just finished paying his bill. Look see, he’s going off down the street now, we have to -”
“That,” Francis said, with all the long suffering of one who had an eye for fashion and liked to remain as such no matter what body he was possessing, “ is a fedora. Though you are quite right, it does clash horribly with that jacket.” He smiled. “He does seem a little old for you though, if I am to judge anything by your previous victims.”
“He was asking for Arthur,” Alfred replied flatly, frowning a little at the fact that Francis didn’t seem to be taking him seriously.
That gave the other man pause. He raised an eyebrow. “You overheard this?”
“I have Vulcan hearing,” Alfred replied, in such a serious manner that Francis couldn’t be quite sure whether he was joking or not. He tilted the chair back on its back legs, seemingly having returned to his inability to sit still for longer than five minutes. “Look, that’s not the point. He’s not being very discreet about it and I’d know that address anywhere, seeing how Arthur’s had it branded into my brain with his insistent nagging.” He stopped when Francis kept staring at him in disbelief, before shrugging expansively and elaborating, “...and, you know, he has a map. You can see it from here.”
He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, and sure enough Francis saw their mystery man pausing at the corner of a building, unfolding a large map of the city centre and marking something on it in pen, his umbrella balanced in the crook of his arm.
Well, he thought, the boy was certainly more perceptive than he looked or let on. He folded his hands together in front of him and regarded Alfred carefully. He seemed to be gearing himself up for a confrontation, if his pronounced fidgeting was anything to go by. Certainly it looked as though his paranoid was getting the better of him at last.
“So he does,” he admitted readily, not as concerned as Alfred had no doubt been expecting. He took another sip of his coffee. “Perhaps it is an old acquaintance?”
The teenager gave him an incredulous look. “That’s not funny.” Francis looked up.
“I assure you, I wasn’t jesting.”
“Arthur doesn’t have friends, let alone acquaintances,” Alfred replied, giving Francis is weird look. He shook his head and gestured out a little more desperately. “Seriously, what does that guy look like to you?”
“Someone with poor fashion sense...?” the other man offered blithely, wondering when Alfred would be finished with keeping up the appearance of mystery and delve straight into the point.
Alfred ignored him. “He looks suspicious.”
Francis rolled his eyes. “And I suppose you would be an expert at not calling attention to yourself.” Which he grudgingly had to admit was partly true; Alfred dressed and looked every bit of a sloppy teenager, but while he was loud, he didn’t carry a nervous sort of twitch around his person that would have belied his intentions to any reasonable person of sound mind. He was boyishly charming and no one would have been able to peg his true nature at first glance.
In comparison, the man he seemed so intent on wandered the streets in dark clothes, hunched in on himself and hiding his face, trailing a weather beaten suitcase behind him that looked so beat up, it was obvious he did not stay in one place for very long. For the most part he looked to be completely lost, turning his head vaguely this way and that, comparing the streets to whatever he had drawn on his map, and upturning his collar a little on one side of his face as if to hide it from passerbys.
Suspicious looking he seemed, yes, but not a threat; and more importantly, not their problem.
He sighed a little to himself. “Mon cher, it’s getting late. Perhaps we should head back.”
But whatever idea Alfred had got into his head, it seemed to have taken root, and he did not seem to want to let go of it so easily. “Seriously,” he muttered, blowing bubbles in his cola through the straw and swirling the ice idly, “he looks like he could have walked straight off the set of Van Helsing -”
He inhaled suddenly then, eyes growing round, and a little bit of coke must have gone down the wrong way because he started coughing violently, assailing Francis, much to his horror, with sticky liquid, covering his mouth only a few seconds too late.
“That’s it!” he wheezed, as Francis wiped flecks of cola from his person with a napkin, mouth downturned in distaste. “That’s it; I know why he’s after Arthur! It’s just like in the movie!” He whirled triumphantly to look at the dark figure in the distance. “He’s a vampire hunter.”
Francis was quiet at this accusation, and looked thoughtfully at the table as he scrunched his napkin into a ball in his fist. “That’s a pretty serious accusation to make, mon cher,” he said at last, looking up at Alfred levelly. “Hunters are not to be taken lightly.”
Alfred frowned at him. “You could show a little more concern you know,” he said, sounding a little put out, “At least gasped or something.”
Francis carefully put the memory of Arthur’s bloodstained diary from his mind, the story on the pages heavy in the absence of words alone. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Why should I? It is not that big of a surprise. The threat of hunters in our world is a common as the notion that night follows day. They go by many names, depending on their choice of kill.” His mouth turned up a little wryly at the corners. “I suppose in my case you could call them exorcists.”
A visible shudder ran though Alfred at the mention of ghosts, but he threw it off. “Yeah but...”
“They are very dangerous,” Francis emphasized the words yet again, “but that is beside the point. Their existence is as much a myth as our own. You cannot just waltz up to the man and accuse him of such a thing. What good would it do you?”
Alfred glanced behind him again. “Well he’s going to say “no” either way isn’t he?” he asked, much to Francis’s surprise. “So what’s the harm in asking?”
Francis mulled this over. It would be a mercy to their kind should the man turn out to be one of them, just as the boy said. However, in the case that he was just an ordinary citizen... well. People often talked of their strange encounters. Word would get passed along and somewhere down the line the tale would reach the ears of real hunters, be it in a pub, along the street, or in a cafe just like the one they were sitting in right now.
The man could not be allowed to live, Francis noted with a resigned sort of finality. It was not an easy accusation to make, and he personally took no pleasure in the killing of innocents; he was many things, but a vengeful spirit was not one of them. He did know however, that others in their fold would often play the “hunter” card as an excuse to kill a victim and not suffer the repercussions of their clan or kinsmen afterwards. In all honesty he found the whole thing to be a little distasteful.
Though not enough to stop it mind you; there was a strong “us against them” mentality at work here, and in the end it was always better to take the risk than to be sorry in the long run.
He sighed and pursed his lips, wondering if Alfred had grasped the gravity of the situation that he had unintentionally dragged them into. “That’s true...” he said slowly, “but Alfred, mon cher, you do realize that he would have to be silenced no matter the outcome, right?”
“Yeah, I figured,” the teenager replied somewhat nonchalantly, propping his chin in his hand as a big grin cut across his face. His eyes were alight again. “That’s the best part, wouldn’t you say? Even Arthur won’t be able to make a comeback if we took out a hunter.” He stood from his seat and stretched. “You coming...?”
“Well so long as you don’t make a habit of it.” Francis stood also, gathering the shopping together. It would have to be warmed up again by the time they returned to Arthur’s. He folded a note into the menu and closed it, leaving it where the waitress would see. They didn’t need to be accused for skimping out on paying for their meal either.
Alfred rubbed his hands together, thrilled that the hunt was on once more. “Awesome,” he said breathlessly. “Come on; let’s go get him while he still has that aimless look about him.” He made his way back out into the rain, uncaring about the drizzle as he marched with purposeful strides towards their target.
With one last mournful look up at the sky, Francis followed him, taking care to shield his head from the rain with one of the hardier shopping bags.
The man in the jacket looked to be even shabbier up close, and the material he was wearing was oddly lumpy. Francis thought that he could have stood to give both it and his hat a thorough wash, but it was too late for that now. If Alfred had anything to say about it, he would be worrying about far greater things than the state of his clothes soon enough.
He didn’t seem to notice them at first, though Francis thought you would have to be pretty out of it not to notice someone like Alfred striding towards you. The boy was moving with such single-mindedness it was impossible to think he was walking towards anyone else. For all of Alfred’s paranoia and excitement, he didn’t think that Arthur would be as relieved as the teenager seemed to think he would be if their so-called “hunter” turned out to be nothing more than a wandering hobo.
He couldn’t see the man’s face from where he was standing, as it was obscured by the hat he wore, but the closer they drew near to him the less it seemed like he was just standing there watching the rain, and more like he was talking to himself. He had the map tucked under the arm that was also balancing his large black umbrella, but he was sitting on his large suitcase with his head tucked to the side, almost against one shoulder, as though he were talking into a phone.
Whatever he was doing, he didn’t seem to be alone, because there was another voice talking in response to his own, even though the tones were so hushed that Francis could barely hear them over the sound of passing traffic.
“It’s certainly changed a lot around here, hasn’t it?” the man murmured. He sounded every bit as foreign as Francis and Alfred did so at least, in that, he had been somewhat right. The man wasn’t local. So what was he doing skulking around looking for Arthur of all people?
The other voice replied in kind, sounding a little grumpy, “Well I can’t say I’ve missed it. Couldn’t we just book ourselves into a hotel while we’re here?”
“When we could get free room and board?” the man snorted and shook his head a little, shifting his shoulders. “Don’t be an idiot. Besides it would be silly not to call in.”
“He’d get over it,” the grumpier-sounding voice said hopefully. “He doesn’t have the heart.”
“Nonsense,” the man said briskly. “If you want to stay here in an alley, be my guest, but I’m not going to let this opportunity -”
“Hello!” Alfred exclaimed suddenly, grin still fixed on his face as he strode over. Francis could have turned and beat his head against wall. Subtle, he thought grimly, very subtle. The man to his credit did not jump wholly in surprise, although he did make a rather quick motion with his hand as though stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He turned. Alfred came to a stop beside him. “My friend and I couldn’t help noticing you looking a little lost there!”
If the man thought anything strange about this he did not say so, though when he tipped his hat back a little, Francis couldn’t help but notice that he had a small smile on his face. “That’s a kind way of putting it,” he told the boy a little amusedly, “considering I haven’t been back in England for more years than I care to count. Funny how quickly things change wouldn’t you say?”
“Hilarious,” Francis deadpanned, coming up around the side with a small smile of his own. The man gave him a look. Alfred shrugged him off.
“Oh for sure,” he said earnestly, “Don’t think of this as rude or nothing, but we kind of overheard you asking for directions back at the cafe and thought you could use the help.”
The man raised his eyebrows a little. “You heard that?” He chuckled a little. “And here I was thinking that I hadn’t come off as that transparent. I suppose my lack of directional sense has betrayed me.” He leaned back comfortably against the wall. “Do you know the man I’m looking for then?”
“We’re friends of Arthur’s,” Francis cut in smoothly, turning on a little charm of his own. “In fact we’re staying with him right now, if you need any help in getting there. You are looking for Arthur Kirkland right?”
His smile was fully returned. In fact if he didn’t know any better the man looked relieved. Francis wondered how long he had been asking around for. “It is indeed,” the man said cheerfully. “What luck. And you say you’re friends of his? I don’t remember him ever mentioning you before...”
“He didn’t mention you either,” Alfred blurted out, still with that cocky grin on his face, and Francis was sorely tempted to elbow him. “So we’re even.”
“What Alfred means to say,” he stressed out, “is that he and Arthur have only recently been acquainted. As for myself, well... I like to change my appearance to keep up with the trends you understand. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did not remember me.”
“Hmm,” the man tilted his head thoughtfully, eyeing him from under the brim of his hat. “Perhaps we were just in the same place at different times then,” he said, and bowed his head a little. “But it is a pleasure all the same.”
“Likewise,” Francis said amiably, and gestured between them in turn. “I’m Francis. You already know Alfred.” He looked pointedly at the other man. “And you are...?”
Almost as if to confirm his suspicions that the man was not who he seemed the stranger seemed to take an inordinate amount of time being silent, though finally he answered, “Gabriel.”
Alfred craned his head around to give Francis a very obvious, ‘I told you so!’ face. He mouthed, ‘Van Helsing’ excitedly and Francis rolled his eyes a little when he looked away again and clapped his hands together, as if coming to a conclusion.
“Alright then Gabby,” he said brightly, causing both Francis and the strange man to look at him askance at the sudden nickname. “If you’re free then how about you come back with us to Artie’s place?”
The man seemed even more surprised at this. “Oh? Well if it’s not too much trouble. I would have been happy with just the address.” He smiled. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Not at all,” Francis replied. “We were just heading back there with dinner.”
“Seriously,” Alfred told him, “There’s more than enough space in the car and you’d save on transport.” He grinned winningly. “What do you say?”
“I say that I’d be a fool to turn down such generosity,” Gabriel said primly, and rose to his feet. He shook his umbrella out and tucked the map back into his large bag. “Very well then, gentlemen... I place myself entirely in your hands.”
By now Alfred was looking as though someone had thrown him an early Christmas present. Francis could already see the proverbial cogs turning in his head as he worked out how to go about his next kill. “You won’t regret it,” he said. “Really, you won’t. Here, let me get that for you.”
He took the luggage out of Gabriel’s hands; the other man passed it over without fuss, though much to the boy’s surprise, it was a lot heavier than it looked. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, and moved to heft it properly. “What the hell have you got in here, bricks?”
“Souvenirs,” the man drawled, “for Arthur. Amongst other things.”
“No kidding,” Alfred said, looking down at it, “You could probably carry a body around in one of these things.” Francis pinched the bridge of his nose. How any one of them was continuing to buy this charade, he could not say.
But Gabriel did not seem to think anything strange of that statement either, and just smiled vaguely. “Yes,” he replied thoughtfully, “I suppose I could.”
Francis gave him a long, searching look. The man pulled his hat a little lower, though the smile had not left his face. “Didn’t you have someone with you?” he asked, recalling how the man had been talking on the phone.
“My brother,” Gabriel said and shrugged it off. “You don’t have to worry about him. He’s busy right now but I will send him a note as to my whereabouts once we get to Arthur’s.” He seemed to be rubbing his neck; to the point that Francis thought he was nervous about something. But then a small furry head wiggled out of the confines of the jacket, and he realized that what had been a weirdly shaped lump across the man’s shoulders was, in reality, the body of an average sized housecat.
It meowed at him, ears flicking forward. Gabriel scratched it under the chin idly. “I hope you don’t mind if I take this one with me first though,” he told Francis. “He’s completely lost without me.”
Francis recollected himself. “I doubt it will be a problem,” he said genially, and reached out to pet the cat. It purred, looking pleased for the company.
“Yeah,” Alfred replied jokingly, starting off down the road and leaving the other two men to fall into place behind him. “Arthur seems to take to cats far easier than he takes to people anyway.”
The ride back to the house proved to be pretty uneventful. Alfred kept darting looks at Gabriel from the front seat in what could only be anticipation, but for the most part the other man kept his head down, petting the purring ball of fur in his lap. He seemed to wear his hat like others would a mask, not taking it off for sitting nor standing, though he did tilt it back far enough to look at the house when they pulled into the driveway.
He took a deep breath, breathing in the chill air. Night was settling. “It hasn’t changed a bit,” he said, sounding almost pleased. “Good to know some things never do, wouldn’t you say?” Francis turned to look at him, but he seemed to be addressing the cat rather than himself or Alfred, which had hopped out of the backseat after him and proceeded to stretch itself out before clawing its way back up Gabriel’s proferred arm and settling itself back on his shoulder.
He walked around the front, ascending the steps and waiting at the front door, where Alfred had left his luggage. “Is Arthur still in bed then?”
The comment was casual enough, but it made Francis go still. Luckily for them Gabriel was still admiring the house, so his back was to the increasingly obvious looks Alfred kept throwing his way in the man’s direction. It did prove one thing though; Gabriel knew more about Arthur’s condition than he was letting on. If the trip over was anything to go by, Francis had learned that the other man was pleasant enough to chat to in conversation, but he chose his words carefully and for the most part kept his mouth shut tighter than a steel trap. He beckoned Alfred closer to him.
“Whenever you’re ready to ask him about his career as a vampire hunter, do go right ahead,” he told the boy somewhat impatiently. “Bringing him back to the house was going a little too far don’t you think?”
“Hey, he tagged along didn’t he?” Alfred whispered back, turning to look at Gabriel with a fidgety sort of longing, as though he were mentally calculating whether he wanted to take his arms or legs to pieces first. “Relax, I’ve got it covered. Worst comes to worst though, I could probably take him. Look, he’s as lanky as anything.”
“It doesn’t take much effort to lift a gun loaded with silver bullets,” Francis replied somewhat darkly and shooed the boy forward. “Just do what you planned to in the first place before he -”
Whatever he was going to say next, it was lost in the wake of a sudden, deep clanging sound, like someone had just rung a couple of church bells. Alfred jumped back into Francis, and above their heads a few ravens took off from the roof in fright, the sound echoing out into a silence that was almost as deafening.
“Spooky,” Gabriel said in amusement, and took his finger off what could have only been an old brass doorbell. “I didn’t think that old thing actually worked anymore.” Francis hadn’t even noticed it there before. That was bound to wake Arthur, and he could imagine he wouldn’t be descending those stairs in the best of moods either because of it.
“I think we’d best get inside, don’t you?” he said with false cheer, ignoring the grubbiness of the man’s coat as he hooked an arm through his and dragged him inside, luggage and all, leaving Alfred to the necessities. If nothing else, the boy was a professional at this sort of thing so Francis need not distract their ‘guest’ for long.
The hallway was dark, even in the dim yellow glow of the light when Francis flicked it on. He released Gabriel, who immediately started to wander, touching a wall here, a trinket there; as though he were trying to commit everything he laid eyes upon into memory. His pet cat seemed less than impressed in comparison, and Francis found them to be snooty creatures by nature. This one would probably get on famously with Arthur, he thought wryly.
“Could I offer you something?” he asked, watching the man walk around mapping the house through his gaze alone. He wondered if this had been a mistake. If the man truly was a hunter then... “A drink perhaps...?”
He’d seen a decanter of port wine in the library, and had no qualms of depriving Arthur of it, all circumstances aside. But the man just shook his head.
“Thank you,” he said, “but I’d rather keep my wits about me. Arthur has a habit of liking to take advantage of a person, as I’m sure you would know.” He grinned.
What had already been suspicious behaviour in Francis’s mind was now like someone had sent up a great red warning flag over the battlements of a castle. He tapped his arm with his fingertips, choosing his next words carefully. “I wonder...” he began slowly, “however did you and Arthur meet?”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. Then to Francis’s surprise he began to laugh. “Oh, it was so long ago,” he sighed, once he had control of himself again. He began to walk, moving around Francis in a manner that reminded him strikingly of Alfred; of a creature hunting prey. His smile was gentle though, reminiscent. “How does any of our kind meet a vampire, honestly? Simple.”
He stopped in front of Francis and grinned sharply. “He tried to kill me.”
That settled it. Francis moved back along the wall, staring at Gabriel’s wide, angelic smile. It was almost fitting really; though he soon found himself sucking in a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. He hadn’t expected the tables to turn so quickly, or for the man to give himself or his story up so easily. “Al...” he called out urgently.
“Got it.”
There was a bodily thump, accompanied by the cracking sound of a human head coming into contact with something equally as hard but far more durable. The calico cat made a leap for it and now stood stiffly to the side, fur on end and tail bristling; it hissed. Gabriel however, whatever he was, did not have eyes at the back of his head, and so did not see Alfred swing the bag of groceries at him from behind. It was quick thinking in a pinch, and Francis was grateful, apart from the fact that he now had the man crumpled into a concussed heap at his feet and there was a bloody stain all over their shopping.
Alfred made a face at the bag. “Aw nuts,” he muttered, as though he hadn’t just beaned someone over the head with it, “There goes the jam.”
Upon closer inspection the “blood” looked to be thick and sticky, and full of fruity bits. Francis sighed in relief. Oh, good, he thought, more concerned over the state of the shopping than, admittedly, the man they had just assaulted. At least it saved them having to go back into town again.
Alfred shrugged and put the shopping down carefully. He nudged the groaning man with his foot. “I told you didn’t I...? Van Helsing.” He said the words with emphasis for Francis’s benefit. The frown quickly gave way to grin. “On the bright side, now that all the formalities are over with and we know for sure what he is, I can have him right?”
Francis sagged against the wall. He didn’t want to say that they didn’t know who the man was, not really, but the chance had been too much of a close one. He was getting far too old for scares like this, immortality notwithstanding. He sighed. “Fine, go. Take him. At least Arthur will get a meal out of it; that ought to soothe him after being woken so abruptly.”
This seemed to be music to Alfred’ ears, for his grin only widened and he gave Francis a thumbs up, before bending over and hoisting the semi-unconscious Gabriel up under the arms, proceeding to drag him out of the hall and down the basement. His pet cat followed, mewing plaintively and pawing at the man’s trousers urgently. Francis was almost sorry for the poor creature. He pushed himself off the wall.
“Wait,” he said, and Alfred stopped humming a jaunty tune to look at him questioningly. Francis snatched the hat off the man’s head and threw it to the side. After a while he sighed, mouth curling into a slight scowl. “Of course,” he murmured, more to the reeling figure than to Alfred, “that Gabriel. I should have realized it sooner.”
Alfred blinked and looked down with a calculating eye. Now that his facial features were clear he could see that the man had dark, curling hair and tanned skin, a straight jaw and a stubborn mouth. He was fairly good looking, he thought detachedly, in much the same way Francis was. Older, but more rugged looking, as though his appearance was the last thing on his mind; not that it mattered anymore he thought cheerfully. He wouldn’t have to worry about that sort of thing at all soon.
What stood out the most though was the great ugly scar that trailed like a gash across his left eye, from forehead to cheek. Alfred regarded this with the most interest. “How do you suppose he got it?” he asked Francis.
“He’s a hunter,” Francis replied monotonously and stepped aside to let Alfred pass down towards the basement, “he probably earned it while trying to end some poor creature’s life. It’s not uncommon, and what’s more...” he eyed the blemish distastefully, “they’ll carry it for the rest of their lives.”
“So he is a hunter then,” Alfred remarked; he seemed pleased with this news. “Right?”
Francis looked grim. “One of the worst, I would say. Oh some will go for werewolves or sea serpents alone, others just for vampires... but this one, this one they say will go after anything with a pulse, so long as they pay him enough.” He waved them off, as though to dispel the bad air that inevitably came with such a presence. “The sooner he’s dead, the better. We should never have brought him here.”
Alfred beamed. “So can I...?”
Francis sighed, and stood. “Don’t play with him too long or there’ll be none left for the grump upstairs. Speaking of which, I might as well fetch him since we’re here. He’d probably like to see this.” It might soften the vampire’s recent feelings towards him at any rate, which had been beyond frosty ever since Arthur had caught him going through his old diaries. Having a hunter here, on which to take his revenge, that would settle things between them, or at least he hoped.
He was rewarded with a lazy salute. “Keep the dismembering to a minimum, got it,” he drawled. “Don’t worry, there are other ways of dragging these things out, you’ll see.” He winked at Francis then and heaved the body up properly over his shoulder, like a child carrying a rag doll and trailing its favourite toy behind them; though in Alfred’s case said favourite toy was a bloody chainsaw.
The cat followed at his heels as he disappeared down the steps, plaintive meowing now more of a whine, leaving Francis to wonder if Arthur would accept the proverbial olive branch under the circumstances.
Gabriel sat up with a groan, gingerly feeling the lump at the side of his head. His skull was pounding rhythmically with the hurt, so it was only belatedly that he realized he had been thrown into a dark room, onto a pile of cushions it seemed, which may have explained why he couldn’t get to his feet as easily as he would have liked.
Something soft rubbed up against his arm, and he automatically went to pet the calico cat; it must have followed him all the way down here. It was making urgent noises now; he felt strangely exposed lying there without his coat or hat, stripped down to his shirt and trousers. Then again it wasn’t as though he was expecting the warmest of welcomes.
“Oh hey, you’re awake now?” A figure moved in the distance. It was the boy, Alfred. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, swinging a chainsaw around like a fancy cane. He felt like he was in an abattoir; everything stank to high heaven of old blood. Gabriel grimaced.
“No thanks to you,” he said, feeling entitled to be a little snippy, what with the headache he felt coming on. “Really, is this how Arthur treats all his guests?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Alfred said cheerfully, pacing up and down in front of him now like an excitable cub ready to pounce and tear into its meal. “This is a first for me too; meeting one of you guys that is. And Arthur doesn’t know yet.” He leaned over his chainsaw and leered lazily at the man. “You’re supposed to be a surprise.”
“Had I known I’d have worn a couple more ribbons in my hair,” Gabriel replied flatly, gathering his cat into his arms before it did itself an injury. He held it in his lap between them, admonishing it for hissing at Alfred before cocking his head. “One of whom, exactly...?” he wondered aloud.
“One of those hunters, duh. Haven’t you seen the movies?” Alfred gestured out with his hand. “Come on, there’s no use in hiding it anymore. We both know you came here to kill Arthur.” A grin cut across his face as he swung the chainsaw in an arc and pointed it at Gabriel. “And since we can’t let you go, I’m going to kill you. No hard feelings.”
Gabriel snorted. “Unfortunately I seem to have left my wooden stake in my other bag,” he said darkly, “but I’m sure if I’m innovative enough I could whittle something out of a bedpost by the time he comes down here.” He settled back on the cushions.
The grin faded a little from Alfred’s face. “You did hear what I said about killing you right?” he asked, just to make sure.
“I did.”
The teen frowned. “And what... you aren’t afraid?” He waved his chainsaw around a little. Usually by this part they were trying to make a break for it or screaming their lungs out.
“There are far worse things than death; and far scarier creatures out there with teeth and claws that could put your toy to shame.” Gabriel cocked his head unconcernedly. “Have you ever considered becoming a hunter?”
This surprised Alfred; he narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said. “Why would I?”
Gabriel shrugged. “Just a thought if you ever wanted to put that thing,” he nodded towards the chainsaw, “to better use instead of killing people.”
“But I like it,” the boy told him, sounding petulant. He shook his head. “Look, what do you know? Arthur needs to eat, and I need some excitement in my life.” He started pacing anew. “Doing this, it’s like killing two birds with one stone you know? Everyone goes home happy. Well,” he paused, “except you, because you’ll be dead, but I think you kind of deserve it at this point for wanting to do Arthur in.”
“What makes you so sure I was trying to kill him?” Gabriel asked, crossing his legs; he was the epitome of calm. He seemed genuinely interested in knowing the answer.
“Francis said you were a hunter,” Alfred replied, as though that was all the answer he needed. He was starting to get annoyed by the lack of screaming and this man’s refusal to beg for his life. Where was the fun in that? “That’s your job.”
“Arthur keeps a low profile, stays under the radar of the organization,” the man waved him off idly, “he’s not on my list. Well... until now anyway,” he added, dragging his eyes across the chainsaw. “Has he started a new coven then?”
“What?” Alfred looked momentarily blank. “No way; do I look freakishly pale to you? Do you see any fangs?” He bared his teeth at the man so he could see them properly. “I’ve been human since the day I was born.”
“I wonder...” Gabriel murmured, his eyes flickering over the chainsaw once again.
“You talk too much,” Alfred sighed, lifting his weapon up to examine it. “Seriously, do you do that because you’re nervous or something? Scared? It’s okay to be scared you know.” His eyes darkened momentarily. “I wouldn’t hold it against you. Some people make the prettiest sounds when they’re screaming.”
He stood up and came over, hunching in front of the man’s sprawled form. “I wonder what you sound like. But I guess we’ll both know soon enough huh?” He yanked him to his feet, upending the calico cat onto the floor once more. It lunged at his foot, but Alfred merely pushed it back. “Come on,” he said to Gabriel, and pulled him up by the arm in a grip that was bruising in its tightness, “there’s no room for you to run anyway, and even if you could I’d still catch you. I promised Francis I’d make a clean kill for Arthur this time too, so don’t make me a liar okay?”
Gabriel lifted his chin and shook his hand off; he stood at ease, stance wide. “I suppose Arthur makes a habit of collecting hunters’ heads as trophies now?” he wanted to know.
“Well not yet,” Alfred admitted, and it was the last Gabriel saw of his grin before it disappeared behind a white hockey mask. He revved the engine. “But I reckon yours would make a pretty nice first addition - hey, hey get your hand off there,” he said and swatted the man’s hands away from where they clutched tight, brief and momentary, around the golden crucifix he had around his neck. “Man, it’s like you’re going out of your way to be difficult.”
Gabriel took a breath and looked towards the ceiling. His chest heaved. “Pater noster qui es in coelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum...”
Alfred laughed, and pointed the chainsaw at him, blades whirling, catching slightly at the threads of his shirt as he positioned it over his chest. “Sorry,” he sing-songed, “not going to work. I don’t speak mumbo-jumbo Spanish or whatever you’re spouting.”
The man didn’t look at him, but continued his words in a strong, clear voice that didn’t shake or falter, not till the last moment, where upon the final exclamations of “...et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo...” Alfred gave a cheer and a shout, grabbed his arm for balance and plunged his chainsaw straight down the middle of his chest, so that the words died on his lips.
Francis found Arthur at the top of the stairs; or rather had nearly run headlong into him. His flaxen hair was sticking up in all directions and he was still in his nightclothes, already so pale that he was not quite flushed with anger, but he looked furious besides. And consequently like he had fallen right out of bed, to top it all off.
“I’m guessing it was you then,” he told Francis darkly, and when his only response was a quizzical look, he elaborated further, “the one who rang that bloody doorbell loud enough to bring down the house.”
Francis inclined his head in a mock bow. “As much as I would love to take credit for making you leap out of bed in such a state mon ami, I’m afraid I cannot. However,” he pressed on, when Arthur looked like he would open his mouth to berate him again, “you will be pleased to know that Alfred has managed to make a fresh kill for you.” Arthur’s eyes grew wide and round at that, filling with hunger. Francis sniffed. “I suppose it’s for the best...you were getting into quite the state having to rely on your stores like you did.”
The vampire scowled at him. “You try eating food that’s a few weeks old at best and see how you like it Frog,” he growled, and descended the stairs with Francis at his heels, seeming to be in decidedly better spirits at the thought of fresh blood. “You did tell Alfred not to make a mess this time, right? It would be such a terrible waste, I haven’t fed properly in so long...” he licked his lips, the colour of his eyes dimming from green to bloody red in anticipation of his meal.
“I imagine it’s far too late to tell you that you’d spoil yourself for any good wholesome food after this,” Francis replied, and he sounded serious enough that Arthur actually paused and looked back at him, “but mon ami, I should tell you before you head down there. Alfred caught a hunter.”
Arthur didn’t think it possible for his blood to get any colder. “What...?” he managed to croak out. He ran his fingers back through his hair, causing it to stand further on end. “But how is that... what were you thinking bringing one of them back here?” he snapped, whirling on Francis with a thunderous expression. “There could have been more of them, and what if they followed you back here, oh this is perfect... just perfect...” He rubbed his hand over his face and glared. “And I suppose you thought I would be pleased, did you?”
It would be lying to say he had hoped, just a little, but Francis thought it prudent not to mention that now. “Look at it this way, mon ami...” he said, and flourished his hand a little at the abandoned hat and suitcase that remained in the hall, looking lonely in their solitary existence now. “The man himself is a prize all on his own.”
Arthur paused at the suitcase; he got down on his knees to examine it, ghosting his fingers over the old material. “...why did you even go looking for a hunter?” he demanded. “You should know better than to encourage Alfred’s fool ideas like that; he’ll be getting us all killed next.”
“On the contrary,” Francis told him, pretending to examine his nails. “The hunter was the one looking for you.” At Arthur’s baffled look he shrugged his shoulders. “For this house actually. Seemed to think you were old friends.”
Arthur was silent for a long moment. His mouth worked wordlessly, but no words came forth. At last though he asked, quietly, “This hunter... did he give you his name?”
Francis chuckled at that. “Oh I think even you would have heard of the hunter Gabriel at some point mon ami,” he drawled, “despite your disinterest in this modern world. I do have to say though,” he went on thoughtfully, “I didn’t expect him to have such a fondness for cats...”
He turned to make a passing remark about how well that would have seen them get along under different circumstances, but Arthur had vanished. Francis raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking around him, and it was only on the last turn that he saw Arthur’s feet disappear down into the basement at such a speed that the curtains kicked up air from the other end of the hall. What on earth...?
“Alfred!” Arthur shouted over the whirr of the chainsaw, his footsteps falling heavily down the stairs as he descended, “Alfred, you mustn’t - for the love of God don’t you dare...”
He paused on the landing, knuckles going white on the banister. Blood pooled towards him, spreading across the floor at a slow, even pace. He looked up to see Alfred grinning at him, mask pushed back up into his blonde hair. Flecks of blood and bone dotted his glasses, and he wiped these off with an even bloodier hand without a care.
“There you are sleepyhead!” he chided, waving at Arthur and panting with exertion as the chainsaw stuttered to a stop. A body lay impaled upon it, stopped from falling into the sea of blood at the feet only by the grip of the weapon itself. The golden crucifix fell from the cavity then, landing with a quiet splash into the gore below. “What do you think? A hunter! Isn’t that great or what?”
Arthur clung to the banister with shaking hands. He covered his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, aware that he was breathing heavily. His eyes had gone red. He inhaled and immediately felt guilty for it, but good lord it smelled wonderful.
“Alfred,” he gasped, not daring to move from his spot. “Oh Alfred, you idiot, what have you done?”
The boy looked at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Come on, you can’t tell me you aren’t hungry, you haven’t been eating well in weeks - hey, stop that!” he exclaimed suddenly, and pushed something aside with his foot. It was the calico cat, and it was yowling something terrible, scratching at Alfred’s leg and covered in so much blood that not a single inch of it was white anymore. The look it gave Arthur as it jumped out of the way was positively baleful. It hissed.
Alfred scratched his head, streaking blood through his hair. The body was still warm enough that the blood was steaming, and though Alfred looked pleased with his work, for Arthur it was absolute torture. He covered his face with his forearm, unable to bear the sight, let alone the corpse. “Will you just...” he took a breath. “Just... put him, I mean - that body... down. Gently.”
The teenager cocked his head. “See, I told Francis that it wouldn’t work. I should have cut up more than just his chest don’t you think?” He grinned and pulled his mask back on. The chainsaw revved again. “You’re an old man, I get it. I gotta take care of you. Don’t you worry, I’ll have this up into smaller, bite size pieces for you in no time. Just give me one sec’.” The engine roared to life again.
Arthur watched it in horror. “Alfred, no wait!” He exclaimed and moved so quickly that he slipped on the blood and landed in a heap on the landing, cursing colourfully. Around the same time the calico cat had geared itself up for another suicidal attack and launched itself at Alfred’s arm, just as Francis came down the stairs also, looking completely bemused. It was chaos.
“What on earth is going on down here?” he demanded. “Arthur, Alfred, why can’t you two ever - what is that cat doing...?!”
However, whoever or whatever was about to open their mouth and protest next, it was cut short by a loud, shrieking squeal so piercing, it left total silence in its wake. The only sound that remained was that of the chainsaw motor, that was groaning in protest against the bloody hand of the corpse, which had somehow risen up and grabbed its chain in its fist, effectively halting further carnage of its person.
Then the hunter raised his head and glared out at the stunned gathering before him with a fierceness that could have melted steel. He spat to the side and bared bloody teeth in a scowl.
“That...” he said dangerously, “...really hurts.”
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[Part 2]
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AN:
More notes when I'm not dead tired. But basically, you ought to read Pidge's stories first for any of this to make sense lmao.
England = vampire
France = ghost-in-possessed-body
America = teenage serial killer
Portugal = Hunter of supernatural creatures. Also VAN HELSING. As in the movie. His name was Gabriel too. Yay pop culture refs haha, oh America orz. Though Port's name is a longer mouthful admittedly.
Spain = If you haven't figured it out yet I'm being too subtle lmao.