A Chinese Restaurant in Bristol, Sunday Evening
It was probably a very bad idea, coming here. Mitchell had only spent the better part of the past year running to get away from this lot, get out of this world and rejoin the other one. But he'd heard whispers on the streets, and some part of him - be it the cautious part, or the other one, the one that curved in his stomach and reeled like an angry dog sometimes - pulled to it.
And now he was here. Dark, dank, totally cliche. A cave, just transformed: a pub now, with a back room.
And Herrick.
And-- "You're late," Seth said, grinning like the cat that got the canary.
Mitchell fought the urge to bare his teeth. Little bottom-feeder. But there wasn't a conversation Seth and he could have right now: Herrick was already making his presence known, ticking against his glass with his fingernail.
"Hi everyone," he said, "As you know, I've been visiting some of our cousins... abroad, recently." It was a miracle, how congenial Herrick could sound no matter what he was talking about. "And I thought I'd take this opportunity to share with you some thoughts we've been having..." He threw a smile at a random passer-by. "Now I know these occasions are usually blissfully free of any kind of formality, so I promise it'll be painless and I'll make it quick."
A quick snicker passed through him. "I wonder how many times we've all said that, eh?" He took a sip of his drink. "When you came in here this evening, didn't you notice those little... Buddah statues? At the top of the stairs? It's funny, isn't it? How in just a few random objects you get such a strong sense of pride in a history and a heritage. How wonderful that must be. Obviously it's different for us - we don't have to preserve our culture, we live on. We are our own monuments. But is that really what stops us?"
Herrick's eyes raked over the present vampires, hidden behind their drinks, watching from the darkness.
"Isn't there also an element of shame?"
Damn. Mitchell had forgotten how charismatic a speaker Herrick could be.
"Why? Our ancestors walked with pharaos and kings. And yet here we are, exiled, ashamed of our glory. Scuttling about like thieves, and breaking bread with freaks..."
Mitchell pulled himself further into his corner, well aware now that Herrick was aware that he was there. Not that the man was looking at him, not in the slightest.
But he knew who that remark had been meant for.
"What you've surrendered, my friends, to a race of thugs... that loot the world of her resources... scourge and choke the environment... happy to dispatch their young to fight distant, meaningless wars and watch as the ships return, piled high with bodies... this is who we have left in charge."
That was enough. He couldn't take it anymore.
So Mitchell folded out of his little space at the back, hidden, another place he'd run away to even in the close quarters they were in now.
He cleared his throat.
"We had our chance," he said. "We had our chance to evolve, but we didn't take it. We're still marauding around like it's the Dark Ages." He snorted, tore his eyes away from Herrick. "We weren't expelled from society, we butchered our way out."
It was a challenge, Mitchell knew that. He wasn't just taking himself out of the vampire community and its values: he was actively posing a threat.
"What about Lauren," Herrick answered. His voice was low. Mitchell could tell he knew, too. "Was she butchered?"
Lauren.
There was a flash in the back of his mind of blood and death and Kate and Jack, splattered with the sight of it.
"Ah, there," Herrick said, and his mouth curled up with arrogant victory. "This is what I'm talking about. Look at how ashamed we've become. Why? Why. Didn't he that made the lamb also make us? We shouldn't skulk around like shadows, but wash across this world like the flood..."
Mitchell was losing this battle before it had even begun. The word 'yes' hissed from several throats, and the victory on Herrick's face grew.
"Glory," he called. "Glory, and let the children of Darwin behold the final act of evolution. Glory, my friends, and feast. It is our right. It is our destiny. It is our time."
We've always got one or two pretentious twats going on about how we're going to conquer the world now, Mitchell reminded himself, pulling back into the shadows. This had been a mistake. He should not have gone here.
He couldn't afford to be truly honest with himself. If he did, he'd have to acknowledge that this wasn't just an ordinary fit of pride, a quick ruffling of the feathers. If he did, he'd have to acknowledge that all of his instincts screamed danger like nothing else.
---
He hadn't spoken up once, and now he's stuck remembering blood and terror, Becka's body and Kate's screams and the quiet judgement on Jack's face. Hadn't admitted, hadn't acknowledged, and it had ended so poorly, in death and pain.
"Where were you tonight?" Annie asks him.
Mitchell shrugs. "Just at a thing," he says. "What's on the telly?"
[[ so when i said i was done with the pilot, i lied. truly done now! nfb, nfi, ooc-okay ]]
And now he was here. Dark, dank, totally cliche. A cave, just transformed: a pub now, with a back room.
And Herrick.
And-- "You're late," Seth said, grinning like the cat that got the canary.
Mitchell fought the urge to bare his teeth. Little bottom-feeder. But there wasn't a conversation Seth and he could have right now: Herrick was already making his presence known, ticking against his glass with his fingernail.
"Hi everyone," he said, "As you know, I've been visiting some of our cousins... abroad, recently." It was a miracle, how congenial Herrick could sound no matter what he was talking about. "And I thought I'd take this opportunity to share with you some thoughts we've been having..." He threw a smile at a random passer-by. "Now I know these occasions are usually blissfully free of any kind of formality, so I promise it'll be painless and I'll make it quick."
A quick snicker passed through him. "I wonder how many times we've all said that, eh?" He took a sip of his drink. "When you came in here this evening, didn't you notice those little... Buddah statues? At the top of the stairs? It's funny, isn't it? How in just a few random objects you get such a strong sense of pride in a history and a heritage. How wonderful that must be. Obviously it's different for us - we don't have to preserve our culture, we live on. We are our own monuments. But is that really what stops us?"
Herrick's eyes raked over the present vampires, hidden behind their drinks, watching from the darkness.
"Isn't there also an element of shame?"
Damn. Mitchell had forgotten how charismatic a speaker Herrick could be.
"Why? Our ancestors walked with pharaos and kings. And yet here we are, exiled, ashamed of our glory. Scuttling about like thieves, and breaking bread with freaks..."
Mitchell pulled himself further into his corner, well aware now that Herrick was aware that he was there. Not that the man was looking at him, not in the slightest.
But he knew who that remark had been meant for.
"What you've surrendered, my friends, to a race of thugs... that loot the world of her resources... scourge and choke the environment... happy to dispatch their young to fight distant, meaningless wars and watch as the ships return, piled high with bodies... this is who we have left in charge."
That was enough. He couldn't take it anymore.
So Mitchell folded out of his little space at the back, hidden, another place he'd run away to even in the close quarters they were in now.
He cleared his throat.
"We had our chance," he said. "We had our chance to evolve, but we didn't take it. We're still marauding around like it's the Dark Ages." He snorted, tore his eyes away from Herrick. "We weren't expelled from society, we butchered our way out."
It was a challenge, Mitchell knew that. He wasn't just taking himself out of the vampire community and its values: he was actively posing a threat.
"What about Lauren," Herrick answered. His voice was low. Mitchell could tell he knew, too. "Was she butchered?"
Lauren.
There was a flash in the back of his mind of blood and death and Kate and Jack, splattered with the sight of it.
"Ah, there," Herrick said, and his mouth curled up with arrogant victory. "This is what I'm talking about. Look at how ashamed we've become. Why? Why. Didn't he that made the lamb also make us? We shouldn't skulk around like shadows, but wash across this world like the flood..."
Mitchell was losing this battle before it had even begun. The word 'yes' hissed from several throats, and the victory on Herrick's face grew.
"Glory," he called. "Glory, and let the children of Darwin behold the final act of evolution. Glory, my friends, and feast. It is our right. It is our destiny. It is our time."
We've always got one or two pretentious twats going on about how we're going to conquer the world now, Mitchell reminded himself, pulling back into the shadows. This had been a mistake. He should not have gone here.
He couldn't afford to be truly honest with himself. If he did, he'd have to acknowledge that this wasn't just an ordinary fit of pride, a quick ruffling of the feathers. If he did, he'd have to acknowledge that all of his instincts screamed danger like nothing else.
---
He hadn't spoken up once, and now he's stuck remembering blood and terror, Becka's body and Kate's screams and the quiet judgement on Jack's face. Hadn't admitted, hadn't acknowledged, and it had ended so poorly, in death and pain.
"Where were you tonight?" Annie asks him.
Mitchell shrugs. "Just at a thing," he says. "What's on the telly?"
[[ so when i said i was done with the pilot, i lied. truly done now! nfb, nfi, ooc-okay ]]