ONGOING//CLOSED (affectionately known as 'daddypire is disappoint.')
Characters: Closed to: powerofgod and suckmysilver
Location: Room 1212, on the like deck.
Date: Three days after Eric nommed Vie, the aftermath of which is here.
Rating: PG-13
They were creatures of ancient air and woodsmoke. Of dirt and damp and dark, things banished now by the advent of technology. They were not tame. They could pretend civility when it suited them, but Godric knew better than that. At their core, they were monsters before they were men. The juxtaposition of their innate identity warred always with what was expected of them. It had been easy when what was expected was their monstrous nature, their savagery, their utter disregard for the lives they stole away. Humans saw devils and gods everywhere that their minds could not comprehend the science of existence, and vampires defied science and existence both.
In days now lost to them, to time, there had been only two things of concern. Survival, or death. The former validated your subsistence while the latter waited, ever hungry and hated on the outskirts of all that you did. Humans had hunted them. They had quarrelled with their own kind. In those dark days, vampires were staked and starved alike. The plagues of Europe had cut their numbers by over three-quarters. Vampires had almost gone extinct, those that survived did so on rotten blood and refuse.
But they had survived. Eric did not know how to do anything to the contrary. Even when Godric had changed him - so close to the brink of death - he had every desire to fight. What had kept him from it - the shattered ribs, the scared-rabbit flutter of his dying heart, had only served to make him more frustrated. He had laid on a pyre built by brave, dead men, and whispered insults he would have much rather screamed.
He had never been a man of caution, Eric. He ran from no fight, backed down from no insult and took challenges in stride like one born for them. He had been a great man, if you could ignore his ignominious ending (though all endings, Godric supposed, were equally so and nothing to be disdained), and he was a better vampire. He had taken to being of like kind in a manner Godric had not seen before or since.
And they had survived. Eric's thousand years was little less a feat than Godric's not-inconsiderable two. But as humans grew and changed, as they advanced, as they learned, it became more difficult to do as they were wont. To be reckless. To be brutal. Vampires did not like to adapt - indeed many didn't, and were killed for their troubles - but those that remained loved their un-life too much to shirk the strange and coming times.
Godric was a very old vampire. He had been one of six whose age surpassed two millennia. Of those bridging the gap between his years and Eric's, there were perhaps twenty more. Between the two of them they had watched the rise and fall of empires, of ages. When humans discovered (though 're-discovered' was perhaps more apt) America and claimed it for themselves, vampires had followed. Godric and Eric had arrived there sometime in the late seventeen hundreds - before it was properly in vogue, but after the initial migration of their kind. They had kept each other's company there for a century, and parted amicably afterwards.
Before the incidents in Dallas, Godric had not seen his child in one hundred and thirty-three years, though he had always remained aware of him. He had never released Eric, though opportunities had arose for him to ask, or for Godric to offer. It was selfish of both of them, he imagined. And a point of pride. He had never abused the privileges being a maker had given him. And Eric, who had chafed under authority the whole of his human existence and much of his second one, had never minded his overmuch.
Technically, if one spoke of authority, Eric now outranked him. He had resigned his position as sheriff prior to his death. (And it was no less ignominious than Eric's first, for all that) He no longer had any official pull or sway over the vampires of his world. People had pressed him for decades to go after a monarchy, the position of a magister, something, anything, but he had little desire for power, as measured by humans or vampires. He had his fill of it, lifespans before most of those scrabbling for it came into their first existence, much less their second.
But in this place, alien and foreign and so very improbable as it was - he should have, by all accounts, been dead - he could not shake the encroaching sense of responsibility that stole upon him. He had more years than most of the Elegante's passengers. Possibly more than all of the human's ages combined, though the theory was not one he'd attempted to divine in much more than idle curiosity. He found himself acting like the sheriff he had been, in word and in deed both.
And then Eric had arrived.
He had considered the possibility of several things, prior to the confirmation he received about Eric's last memories. That his child, freed of his compulsion, might have followed him onto the roof. That the Fellowship of the Sun, spoiled of whatever outcome they had desired at the nest, had somehow attacked the Hotel Carmilla. He had assumed since his arrival that everyone coming was dead or close kin to it, but Eric was from before his own memories ended. Him being dead was an impossibility, as events would not proceeded as Godric remembered them had he perished so, and though the theory of an alternate universe was... no more unrealistic than the entirety of this place, it was not something he preferred to dwell on. Better to hope for brighter things.
Though bright was not what he would call Eric's recent actions, in any imagined sense of the word. As a sheriff, he had full jurisdiction to do as he pleased in Area 5, within reason. Godric knew that reason to include the occasional indiscretion involving humans, for as long as he had known Eric, the man's tastes had not changed. But for all that they were not on their world, public (very public, especially in the vein Eric had chosen to act in) feeding was still prohibited by the laws that bound them both.
It was those laws by which he had given Eric his summons. Though he had no clock, his sense of time told him that dark was approaching. He had spent the day awake, unmoving. He was too old to be bothered by the bleeds - oh, they would affect him as they would any vampire, but only if he strove to remain awake longer than the week or so that was his usual limit in times of crisis. The beginnings of hunger was making itself manifest at the corners of his mind, but he had little care for it. He was not a fledgling, to be controlled so by impulse.
Four days ago, he would have thought the same of his child. There were few other words to describe what he had done. Impulse. It had netted him not only the attention of the Captain, but the punishment as well. It had damaged the tenuous footing Godric had established with the other passengers. And it had, though he was sure it was not Eric's intention, damaged the validity of his word. Anger had been a good word for how he felt - though how applicable it was had surprised him. He was rarely angry and had been so at Eric only twice in the thousand years of his life.
It was not as a Sheriff, former or otherwise, that he awaited his progeny. It was as his maker, and Eric knew it unquestioning.
Location: Room 1212, on the like deck.
Date: Three days after Eric nommed Vie, the aftermath of which is here.
Rating: PG-13
They were creatures of ancient air and woodsmoke. Of dirt and damp and dark, things banished now by the advent of technology. They were not tame. They could pretend civility when it suited them, but Godric knew better than that. At their core, they were monsters before they were men. The juxtaposition of their innate identity warred always with what was expected of them. It had been easy when what was expected was their monstrous nature, their savagery, their utter disregard for the lives they stole away. Humans saw devils and gods everywhere that their minds could not comprehend the science of existence, and vampires defied science and existence both.
In days now lost to them, to time, there had been only two things of concern. Survival, or death. The former validated your subsistence while the latter waited, ever hungry and hated on the outskirts of all that you did. Humans had hunted them. They had quarrelled with their own kind. In those dark days, vampires were staked and starved alike. The plagues of Europe had cut their numbers by over three-quarters. Vampires had almost gone extinct, those that survived did so on rotten blood and refuse.
But they had survived. Eric did not know how to do anything to the contrary. Even when Godric had changed him - so close to the brink of death - he had every desire to fight. What had kept him from it - the shattered ribs, the scared-rabbit flutter of his dying heart, had only served to make him more frustrated. He had laid on a pyre built by brave, dead men, and whispered insults he would have much rather screamed.
He had never been a man of caution, Eric. He ran from no fight, backed down from no insult and took challenges in stride like one born for them. He had been a great man, if you could ignore his ignominious ending (though all endings, Godric supposed, were equally so and nothing to be disdained), and he was a better vampire. He had taken to being of like kind in a manner Godric had not seen before or since.
And they had survived. Eric's thousand years was little less a feat than Godric's not-inconsiderable two. But as humans grew and changed, as they advanced, as they learned, it became more difficult to do as they were wont. To be reckless. To be brutal. Vampires did not like to adapt - indeed many didn't, and were killed for their troubles - but those that remained loved their un-life too much to shirk the strange and coming times.
Godric was a very old vampire. He had been one of six whose age surpassed two millennia. Of those bridging the gap between his years and Eric's, there were perhaps twenty more. Between the two of them they had watched the rise and fall of empires, of ages. When humans discovered (though 're-discovered' was perhaps more apt) America and claimed it for themselves, vampires had followed. Godric and Eric had arrived there sometime in the late seventeen hundreds - before it was properly in vogue, but after the initial migration of their kind. They had kept each other's company there for a century, and parted amicably afterwards.
Before the incidents in Dallas, Godric had not seen his child in one hundred and thirty-three years, though he had always remained aware of him. He had never released Eric, though opportunities had arose for him to ask, or for Godric to offer. It was selfish of both of them, he imagined. And a point of pride. He had never abused the privileges being a maker had given him. And Eric, who had chafed under authority the whole of his human existence and much of his second one, had never minded his overmuch.
Technically, if one spoke of authority, Eric now outranked him. He had resigned his position as sheriff prior to his death. (And it was no less ignominious than Eric's first, for all that) He no longer had any official pull or sway over the vampires of his world. People had pressed him for decades to go after a monarchy, the position of a magister, something, anything, but he had little desire for power, as measured by humans or vampires. He had his fill of it, lifespans before most of those scrabbling for it came into their first existence, much less their second.
But in this place, alien and foreign and so very improbable as it was - he should have, by all accounts, been dead - he could not shake the encroaching sense of responsibility that stole upon him. He had more years than most of the Elegante's passengers. Possibly more than all of the human's ages combined, though the theory was not one he'd attempted to divine in much more than idle curiosity. He found himself acting like the sheriff he had been, in word and in deed both.
And then Eric had arrived.
He had considered the possibility of several things, prior to the confirmation he received about Eric's last memories. That his child, freed of his compulsion, might have followed him onto the roof. That the Fellowship of the Sun, spoiled of whatever outcome they had desired at the nest, had somehow attacked the Hotel Carmilla. He had assumed since his arrival that everyone coming was dead or close kin to it, but Eric was from before his own memories ended. Him being dead was an impossibility, as events would not proceeded as Godric remembered them had he perished so, and though the theory of an alternate universe was... no more unrealistic than the entirety of this place, it was not something he preferred to dwell on. Better to hope for brighter things.
Though bright was not what he would call Eric's recent actions, in any imagined sense of the word. As a sheriff, he had full jurisdiction to do as he pleased in Area 5, within reason. Godric knew that reason to include the occasional indiscretion involving humans, for as long as he had known Eric, the man's tastes had not changed. But for all that they were not on their world, public (very public, especially in the vein Eric had chosen to act in) feeding was still prohibited by the laws that bound them both.
It was those laws by which he had given Eric his summons. Though he had no clock, his sense of time told him that dark was approaching. He had spent the day awake, unmoving. He was too old to be bothered by the bleeds - oh, they would affect him as they would any vampire, but only if he strove to remain awake longer than the week or so that was his usual limit in times of crisis. The beginnings of hunger was making itself manifest at the corners of his mind, but he had little care for it. He was not a fledgling, to be controlled so by impulse.
Four days ago, he would have thought the same of his child. There were few other words to describe what he had done. Impulse. It had netted him not only the attention of the Captain, but the punishment as well. It had damaged the tenuous footing Godric had established with the other passengers. And it had, though he was sure it was not Eric's intention, damaged the validity of his word. Anger had been a good word for how he felt - though how applicable it was had surprised him. He was rarely angry and had been so at Eric only twice in the thousand years of his life.
It was not as a Sheriff, former or otherwise, that he awaited his progeny. It was as his maker, and Eric knew it unquestioning.