Monster Mash: Dance of the Damned [Chapter 1]
Title: Monster Mash: Dance of the Damned 1
Characters: Francis, Arthur, Matthew, Kimi.
Rating: 15 for this chapter.
Warnings: Blood, violence, heavily implied child abuse.
Summary: Sequel to Monster Mash. Memories restored, Francis goes looking for his lost love, in the hope she too is looking for him. Elsewhere, Arthur learns more in a few months than he has in 500 years. And behind all this, Alfred F. Jones, serial killer extraordinare, remains at large.
A ghost, a vampire and a serial killer walked into a bar and...
No, that’s clichéd, starting again.
A young man with short dark hair, a scraggly goatee and a face that wasn’t really his walked into a bar sans the company of either a vampire or a serial killer. And perhaps that would be for the best, because those two acquaintances of his were quite busy with their own problems, and Francis was looking for someone that, in all honesty, he didn’t want to introduce to his extremely dysfunctional contacts.
After all, he couldn’t call them friends. If he did then he would have to admit there was something extremely wrong with him. Both of them had tried to kill him on occasion, the vampire’s attempts tapering off as he became aware that Francis would only come back, and the serial killer merely becoming more effective in his methods until he finally succeeded. But Francis had been dead long before he met Arthur Kirkland, and much longer before he encountered Alfred F. Jones.
The body he was possessing was a little taller than he was used to, and he had to duck his head to walk through a low door to a small room at the back of the bar. The smell of the room was heady, incense and probably something illegal. Through the smoke, a lady gazed at him over a table.
“Spirit.” she addressed him, inclining his head. Ah, jackpot.
“So you’re not a fake.” he smiled, approaching her table. “You don’t know how many I’ve had to go through to-”
“Fourteen, and really that’s not so many as some who come here.” her voice was slightly scratchy, probably from using that long pipe her thin, boney fingers held. “You’re just impatient.”
“After waiting several hundred years, even a saint would be tried.” Francis shrugged. The mystic may have been beautiful once, but she was older now, dark skin wrinkled and liver-spotted. But her eyes were bright and alive as a young lady’s, watching his every move.
She chuckled, a rasping sound. “I’ve had the pleasure of knowing a few saints, their patience is often overestimated.”
Silence settled. The mystic was in no rush to go about things, mystics very rarely rushed. They did things exactly when they were meant to happen. Francis waited, and waited, until he realised that she was, in fact, waiting for him to speak instead. Or maybe she was waiting for him to realise that he didn’t really need to speak, apart from to start the conversation. Mystics were odd like that.
“You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
She took a long drag on her pipe, exhaling the smoke deliberately slow. “I do. Your wife is dead.”
“I’m quite aware. But where is she?”
The elderly lady shifted forward. “That knowledge is closed to me.”
Francis frowned. “Closed.”
“Indeed. She is out of my sight, as much as she is out of yours. I am not permitted. The door is closed.”
Hands slammed down on the table as Francis stood from his seat. “Then how do you open the door?”
The mystic was unruffled, waving her hand at him to calm down. “Sit.” She waited until Francis had slowly returned to his seat, but his frustrated glare didn’t leave his borrowed face. “I may not be able to give you the information you desire, but I know someone who could.” A small smile quirked at her lips. “A name you may be familiar with, as famous as he is becoming amongst the supernatural.”
Francis leaned forward. “Who?”
The crone laughed, sounding every bit like the witch people claimed she was. “A young man who inherited the largest collection of supernatural creatures on the planet, the Menagerie. He’s set up so many contacts on both sides of the battle field, they call him the eyes and ears of Europe. If you want information, on anything not of this world, you go to him.” she flicked out a business card from her sleeve.
“His name is Feliks Łukasiewicz.”
---
Joints popped as Arthur stretched. Sitting in a cramped boat’s luggage hold for the duration of the day really did a number on one’s back. They’d come on deck during the night, and nobody would miss that other stow-away they found. If they could have travelled by bat, they would have, but flying over the Atlantic was inadvisable and frankly impossible when one was concerned for the sunrise.
Matthew rolled his shoulders, glancing back at the last scraps of daylight that still clung to the horizon. They’d have a good ten hours to travel in now, with the winter on their side. Arthur abandoned his sunglasses, tacky things that they were. “Well, lead on, Matthew.”
The younger vampire smiled at him, and began walking towards the city they’d docked in. “I’m contemplating bringing dinner home.”
“How much do they eat?” Arthur asked, happy to keep up a conversation.
“Not as much as we used to.” Matthew laughed softly. “Three a week, we ration in the summer. And anyone who is stupid enough to wander into the woods during a snowstorm too.”
“Unless you turn them.” the elder pointed out. Matthew flushed, chuckling nervously.
“I’m too soft, maybe... but if they’re young I just don’t think they deserve to die like that, in the cold.” Violet eyes flickered to Arthur. “I ask them, though. I tell them exactly what they’ll be.”
Arthur knew it was a jab at his methods, but said nothing to it. “To date you have...”
“Seven.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Jacques, Edward, Anne, Oswald, Victoria, Regina and Albert. But they all prefer their nicknames.”
“Nicknames.” A smile tugged at Arthur’s lips. “You really are soft.”
Matthew turned even redder. When a vampire started to blush, they often went overboard. “Th-they’re kids, they made most of them up for each other...”
“What kind of nicknames?”
The younger vampire let out something between a nervous chuckle and a sigh. “I can’t repeat them in polite company...”
They left the city lights behind without catching anything. With more security, more cameras and more people, it would be difficult to hunt without being caught, and a vampire on a government watch-list would have to be dealt with by the Society. And the Society was not kind to those who disturbed the peace and order they so adored. Of course, Arthur was very much in line with the Society, and prided himself on once being one of the more high ranking members. But the admiration had turned to pity, once he lost his coven, and he hated pity. So he’d withdrawn from the meetings and balls for several decades until Matthew and Carmilla staged what they’d called an intervention. Of course he’d dug his heels in - ruined the carpet to boot - but now the two had taken it upon themselves to make sure we was looked after and kept out socialising with people. Well, with vampires.
He probably wouldn’t be getting any peace and quiet once they reached Matthew’s coven, so he enjoyed the companionable silence that had settled around them as they made their way through the frozen night out to where the street lights didn’t reach. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, and the dark sky promised more later. Boots crunched, and soon keen ears picked up another set of feet. A slow walk. Heavy breathing.
Instinctively, the two vampires made their steps as silent as the grave. The dark night did not impede their vision. The road they were on was empty, surrounded by trees on all sides. And the tracks left by their prey lead off into the woods. There was blood as well, specks of it littering the tracks and intervals. It couldn’t possibly be more perfect. And that was why it was suspicious.
Arthur glanced at Matthew, and knew the other was thinking the same. They would be cautious. After such a close run in with the Hunters before, they had to be careful. Granted that the North America branch of Hunters were fairly well known as incompetent, it never hurt to be careful.
The steps stopped, sound going dead. Arthur could smell their prey so clearly; the injuries must be great. Matthew, strangely forward, approached the origin of the smell.
Slumped against a tree was a small child, perhaps seven or eight. Her hair was dark and braided, peeking out of the hood of her fur coat. She clutched her arm, and that was where the blood came from, seeping out between bare fingers. Arthur swallowed, throat dry and thirsty. He was going to pounce, but Matthew held up his hand. After a brief moment of surprise, Arthur admitted to himself that this was Matthew’s territory, so he should probably get first look.
‘Stay here.’ he mouthed.
The little bit of Arthur that still wanted to treat Matthew like a child and protect him was screaming that this was a trap, surely a trap. But Matthew was old enough to take care of himself. Arthur had to make himself accept it. Still, he shifted uncomfortably.
Matthew nearly gave his sire a heart attack when he just walked straight into the clearing with no attempt at stealth. The little girl’s head whipped up, eyes wide and scared, and Matthew held up his hands to show he wasn’t going to hurt her. Which was stupid, because either way this situation turned out, he was.
“Hello.” he greeted gently. The girl curled up, away from him, whimpering. “Hey come on, don’t cry. What’s wrong, you’re hurt...” He crouched down. “Did someone do this to you?”
The girl was silent. Arthur could have sworn he taught Matthew not to play with his food.
“Papa...” she suddenly mumbled.
Matthew blinked. “Papa? Do you want your papa?”
The girl shook her head fiercely, clutching onto her wounded arm. Arthur frowned. An arm wound shouldn’t be giving off that much blood; he could smell much more. Was she hiding more injuries? It seemed Matthew had the same idea. He slowly reached out a hand to her.
“Let me see. I want to help.”
The girl stared at him for a long moment. Arthur was about ready to get up and do it himself, when her shaking hands undid a few of the buttons on her thick coat.
What little Arthur could see of her skin was cross-crossed with scars. The rest was covered in bandages half-soaked with blood, clumsily wrapped, probably by the girl herself. None of these wounds were to be found on the coat apart from the gash on her arm. Whoever had attacked her had got in one last hit as she put her coat on. As it was, in the cold and with that many injuries, she would have bled to death if they hadn’t found her. What a waste of food.
Matthew sighed. “What’s your name?”
The girl swallowed nervously. “Kimi...”
“Alright Kimi. I’m going to give you a choice. With all of these wounds, you might die. Either I can make it quick and peaceful and all the pain will stop... or, you can come with me, but you can never see your family, or anyone you know, ever again.”
Kimi stared at Matthew. “Are you an angel?”
A soft laugh. “No, I’m not.”
“... I don’t want to see my family ever again.” she said, voice hushed low. She reached towards him, blood dripping off her hands. “Please don’t make me go back there...”
Matthew took her hands. “Alright. If you’re sure.”
The young girl let out a small sob. “Please. I don’t care, I don’t want to go back. I want to go where he can’t get me.”
The vampire didn’t say another word. He used his own sharp teeth to bite at his wrist until blood was drawn. Blood that would satisfy no hunger, but rather create more. He pressed it to her lips, and a little slipped through. A single drop was all that was needed. It only took a moment before her body spasmed, and her head dropped forward. For all intents and purposes, she was dead.
Matthew picked up the light body into his arms. “Arthur, we’ll have to hurry back.”
Arthur left his hiding spot in the trees. “You really are soft.”
The younger shrugged. “I’d rather be soft than which ever monster did this.”
“We’re monsters ourselves.” Arthur pointed out, following as Matthew turned and headed for home. “In case you forgot, you just damned her soul.”
“In case you forgot, it’s nice to feel wanted.” he snapped, and then stopped. Arthur felt his heart clench.
“That was low.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...” Matthew sighed. “I... Arthur you know how it is. You remember, wanting to build a coven, surround yourself with allies. It’s built in to us. We can’t reproduce, so I suppose this is how we’ve evolved to keep ourselves going as a species. Sometimes, they’re not potential food, but potential family.”
Arthur snorted. “Please don’t tell me you subscribe to that Darwin fellow’s tripe. After witnessing so much of the occult surely you can’t deny it.”
They resumed walking. “I’m not. Why can’t evolution exist alongside the occult? It’s possi-” Kimi spasmed again in his arms. “Okay, less talk, more running back to the house.”
---
It was going to be a wheat field this year. The man who owned the land where his village had once been tended to rotate what he grew in each of his fields. Where Francis’ house once stood, there was a flat, empty expanse of snow, seeds of the crop still not yet sprouted. The ice and snow were melting though, late February steadily turning into early March and the weather with it. He figured he should at least visit here before he went running off to Poland of all places. Besides, now he had more memories to consider of this place.
The village of Blancroche had only had about 130 inhabitants, of which Francis and Jeanne had been but two. It had a small church, a butcher, and of course a baker, though it quite lacked a candlestick maker and instead had a small smithy employing ten of the town’s men. It had sprung up around an old inn on the Via Domitia road. The ancient pathway had yielded much trade, and the market would often be held there, where Francis would take his bread to sell, and flirt with young ladies passing through town.
One day, a group of women supposedly on pilgrimage passed through. They were all tired and hungry, and the prettiest among them didn’t have quite enough money to buy the bread they needed. Francis gave her a discount. And that was when he fell in love with Jeanne’s smile.
The ladies had stayed a while in the inn, and soon became familiar faces. They stopped being customers and started being workers, Jeanne took her job very seriously. She’d later told him it was her first “proper” job.
He’d never suspected her of being anything but a beautiful woman. The fact that she didn’t simply giggle at his every advance, but rather ignored him most of the time in favour of finishing her work, only made him crave that smile he’d seen before more. A sly trick, playing hard to get. So he’d started being less forward - leaving flowers tied to her bedroom doorknob, paying off her boss so she’d be let off work early, making sure none of the guests she tended to pulled any funny business. After all, she was so pretty.
Of course, now he knew she was perfectly capable of defending herself if she so wished. The powers bestowed upon a witch, whether by birth or by contract, were powerful indeed. That may have been why she’d yelled when he’d bodily flung a drunk patron from the in for attempting to do more than just goose her as she passed.
He let out a long sigh, walking towards the old Roman road. With a quick shove, about the same amount of effort one uses to pull themselves out of a swimming pool, Francis exited his host's body. This would be enough for his generous patron to find his way home with. Either way, he didn’t want to linger here too long, lest his happier memories be spoiled with newer, darker ones...
He was much freer to travel through customs as a ghost anyway.
Chapter 2
Notes:
- You remember how I said maybe sequel? I meant 100% definitely sequel. I hope you lot have been reading monster_au, if not, run on over there now for some interesting and fun supplementary material. A lot has built up over the months, so I made the Essentials tag for the not-silly-drabbles stuff.
- Alfred comes later, keep your panties on, psycho-lovers.
Characters: Francis, Arthur, Matthew, Kimi.
Rating: 15 for this chapter.
Warnings: Blood, violence, heavily implied child abuse.
Summary: Sequel to Monster Mash. Memories restored, Francis goes looking for his lost love, in the hope she too is looking for him. Elsewhere, Arthur learns more in a few months than he has in 500 years. And behind all this, Alfred F. Jones, serial killer extraordinare, remains at large.
A ghost, a vampire and a serial killer walked into a bar and...
No, that’s clichéd, starting again.
A young man with short dark hair, a scraggly goatee and a face that wasn’t really his walked into a bar sans the company of either a vampire or a serial killer. And perhaps that would be for the best, because those two acquaintances of his were quite busy with their own problems, and Francis was looking for someone that, in all honesty, he didn’t want to introduce to his extremely dysfunctional contacts.
After all, he couldn’t call them friends. If he did then he would have to admit there was something extremely wrong with him. Both of them had tried to kill him on occasion, the vampire’s attempts tapering off as he became aware that Francis would only come back, and the serial killer merely becoming more effective in his methods until he finally succeeded. But Francis had been dead long before he met Arthur Kirkland, and much longer before he encountered Alfred F. Jones.
The body he was possessing was a little taller than he was used to, and he had to duck his head to walk through a low door to a small room at the back of the bar. The smell of the room was heady, incense and probably something illegal. Through the smoke, a lady gazed at him over a table.
“Spirit.” she addressed him, inclining his head. Ah, jackpot.
“So you’re not a fake.” he smiled, approaching her table. “You don’t know how many I’ve had to go through to-”
“Fourteen, and really that’s not so many as some who come here.” her voice was slightly scratchy, probably from using that long pipe her thin, boney fingers held. “You’re just impatient.”
“After waiting several hundred years, even a saint would be tried.” Francis shrugged. The mystic may have been beautiful once, but she was older now, dark skin wrinkled and liver-spotted. But her eyes were bright and alive as a young lady’s, watching his every move.
She chuckled, a rasping sound. “I’ve had the pleasure of knowing a few saints, their patience is often overestimated.”
Silence settled. The mystic was in no rush to go about things, mystics very rarely rushed. They did things exactly when they were meant to happen. Francis waited, and waited, until he realised that she was, in fact, waiting for him to speak instead. Or maybe she was waiting for him to realise that he didn’t really need to speak, apart from to start the conversation. Mystics were odd like that.
“You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
She took a long drag on her pipe, exhaling the smoke deliberately slow. “I do. Your wife is dead.”
“I’m quite aware. But where is she?”
The elderly lady shifted forward. “That knowledge is closed to me.”
Francis frowned. “Closed.”
“Indeed. She is out of my sight, as much as she is out of yours. I am not permitted. The door is closed.”
Hands slammed down on the table as Francis stood from his seat. “Then how do you open the door?”
The mystic was unruffled, waving her hand at him to calm down. “Sit.” She waited until Francis had slowly returned to his seat, but his frustrated glare didn’t leave his borrowed face. “I may not be able to give you the information you desire, but I know someone who could.” A small smile quirked at her lips. “A name you may be familiar with, as famous as he is becoming amongst the supernatural.”
Francis leaned forward. “Who?”
The crone laughed, sounding every bit like the witch people claimed she was. “A young man who inherited the largest collection of supernatural creatures on the planet, the Menagerie. He’s set up so many contacts on both sides of the battle field, they call him the eyes and ears of Europe. If you want information, on anything not of this world, you go to him.” she flicked out a business card from her sleeve.
“His name is Feliks Łukasiewicz.”
---
Joints popped as Arthur stretched. Sitting in a cramped boat’s luggage hold for the duration of the day really did a number on one’s back. They’d come on deck during the night, and nobody would miss that other stow-away they found. If they could have travelled by bat, they would have, but flying over the Atlantic was inadvisable and frankly impossible when one was concerned for the sunrise.
Matthew rolled his shoulders, glancing back at the last scraps of daylight that still clung to the horizon. They’d have a good ten hours to travel in now, with the winter on their side. Arthur abandoned his sunglasses, tacky things that they were. “Well, lead on, Matthew.”
The younger vampire smiled at him, and began walking towards the city they’d docked in. “I’m contemplating bringing dinner home.”
“How much do they eat?” Arthur asked, happy to keep up a conversation.
“Not as much as we used to.” Matthew laughed softly. “Three a week, we ration in the summer. And anyone who is stupid enough to wander into the woods during a snowstorm too.”
“Unless you turn them.” the elder pointed out. Matthew flushed, chuckling nervously.
“I’m too soft, maybe... but if they’re young I just don’t think they deserve to die like that, in the cold.” Violet eyes flickered to Arthur. “I ask them, though. I tell them exactly what they’ll be.”
Arthur knew it was a jab at his methods, but said nothing to it. “To date you have...”
“Seven.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Jacques, Edward, Anne, Oswald, Victoria, Regina and Albert. But they all prefer their nicknames.”
“Nicknames.” A smile tugged at Arthur’s lips. “You really are soft.”
Matthew turned even redder. When a vampire started to blush, they often went overboard. “Th-they’re kids, they made most of them up for each other...”
“What kind of nicknames?”
The younger vampire let out something between a nervous chuckle and a sigh. “I can’t repeat them in polite company...”
They left the city lights behind without catching anything. With more security, more cameras and more people, it would be difficult to hunt without being caught, and a vampire on a government watch-list would have to be dealt with by the Society. And the Society was not kind to those who disturbed the peace and order they so adored. Of course, Arthur was very much in line with the Society, and prided himself on once being one of the more high ranking members. But the admiration had turned to pity, once he lost his coven, and he hated pity. So he’d withdrawn from the meetings and balls for several decades until Matthew and Carmilla staged what they’d called an intervention. Of course he’d dug his heels in - ruined the carpet to boot - but now the two had taken it upon themselves to make sure we was looked after and kept out socialising with people. Well, with vampires.
He probably wouldn’t be getting any peace and quiet once they reached Matthew’s coven, so he enjoyed the companionable silence that had settled around them as they made their way through the frozen night out to where the street lights didn’t reach. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, and the dark sky promised more later. Boots crunched, and soon keen ears picked up another set of feet. A slow walk. Heavy breathing.
Instinctively, the two vampires made their steps as silent as the grave. The dark night did not impede their vision. The road they were on was empty, surrounded by trees on all sides. And the tracks left by their prey lead off into the woods. There was blood as well, specks of it littering the tracks and intervals. It couldn’t possibly be more perfect. And that was why it was suspicious.
Arthur glanced at Matthew, and knew the other was thinking the same. They would be cautious. After such a close run in with the Hunters before, they had to be careful. Granted that the North America branch of Hunters were fairly well known as incompetent, it never hurt to be careful.
The steps stopped, sound going dead. Arthur could smell their prey so clearly; the injuries must be great. Matthew, strangely forward, approached the origin of the smell.
Slumped against a tree was a small child, perhaps seven or eight. Her hair was dark and braided, peeking out of the hood of her fur coat. She clutched her arm, and that was where the blood came from, seeping out between bare fingers. Arthur swallowed, throat dry and thirsty. He was going to pounce, but Matthew held up his hand. After a brief moment of surprise, Arthur admitted to himself that this was Matthew’s territory, so he should probably get first look.
‘Stay here.’ he mouthed.
The little bit of Arthur that still wanted to treat Matthew like a child and protect him was screaming that this was a trap, surely a trap. But Matthew was old enough to take care of himself. Arthur had to make himself accept it. Still, he shifted uncomfortably.
Matthew nearly gave his sire a heart attack when he just walked straight into the clearing with no attempt at stealth. The little girl’s head whipped up, eyes wide and scared, and Matthew held up his hands to show he wasn’t going to hurt her. Which was stupid, because either way this situation turned out, he was.
“Hello.” he greeted gently. The girl curled up, away from him, whimpering. “Hey come on, don’t cry. What’s wrong, you’re hurt...” He crouched down. “Did someone do this to you?”
The girl was silent. Arthur could have sworn he taught Matthew not to play with his food.
“Papa...” she suddenly mumbled.
Matthew blinked. “Papa? Do you want your papa?”
The girl shook her head fiercely, clutching onto her wounded arm. Arthur frowned. An arm wound shouldn’t be giving off that much blood; he could smell much more. Was she hiding more injuries? It seemed Matthew had the same idea. He slowly reached out a hand to her.
“Let me see. I want to help.”
The girl stared at him for a long moment. Arthur was about ready to get up and do it himself, when her shaking hands undid a few of the buttons on her thick coat.
What little Arthur could see of her skin was cross-crossed with scars. The rest was covered in bandages half-soaked with blood, clumsily wrapped, probably by the girl herself. None of these wounds were to be found on the coat apart from the gash on her arm. Whoever had attacked her had got in one last hit as she put her coat on. As it was, in the cold and with that many injuries, she would have bled to death if they hadn’t found her. What a waste of food.
Matthew sighed. “What’s your name?”
The girl swallowed nervously. “Kimi...”
“Alright Kimi. I’m going to give you a choice. With all of these wounds, you might die. Either I can make it quick and peaceful and all the pain will stop... or, you can come with me, but you can never see your family, or anyone you know, ever again.”
Kimi stared at Matthew. “Are you an angel?”
A soft laugh. “No, I’m not.”
“... I don’t want to see my family ever again.” she said, voice hushed low. She reached towards him, blood dripping off her hands. “Please don’t make me go back there...”
Matthew took her hands. “Alright. If you’re sure.”
The young girl let out a small sob. “Please. I don’t care, I don’t want to go back. I want to go where he can’t get me.”
The vampire didn’t say another word. He used his own sharp teeth to bite at his wrist until blood was drawn. Blood that would satisfy no hunger, but rather create more. He pressed it to her lips, and a little slipped through. A single drop was all that was needed. It only took a moment before her body spasmed, and her head dropped forward. For all intents and purposes, she was dead.
Matthew picked up the light body into his arms. “Arthur, we’ll have to hurry back.”
Arthur left his hiding spot in the trees. “You really are soft.”
The younger shrugged. “I’d rather be soft than which ever monster did this.”
“We’re monsters ourselves.” Arthur pointed out, following as Matthew turned and headed for home. “In case you forgot, you just damned her soul.”
“In case you forgot, it’s nice to feel wanted.” he snapped, and then stopped. Arthur felt his heart clench.
“That was low.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...” Matthew sighed. “I... Arthur you know how it is. You remember, wanting to build a coven, surround yourself with allies. It’s built in to us. We can’t reproduce, so I suppose this is how we’ve evolved to keep ourselves going as a species. Sometimes, they’re not potential food, but potential family.”
Arthur snorted. “Please don’t tell me you subscribe to that Darwin fellow’s tripe. After witnessing so much of the occult surely you can’t deny it.”
They resumed walking. “I’m not. Why can’t evolution exist alongside the occult? It’s possi-” Kimi spasmed again in his arms. “Okay, less talk, more running back to the house.”
---
It was going to be a wheat field this year. The man who owned the land where his village had once been tended to rotate what he grew in each of his fields. Where Francis’ house once stood, there was a flat, empty expanse of snow, seeds of the crop still not yet sprouted. The ice and snow were melting though, late February steadily turning into early March and the weather with it. He figured he should at least visit here before he went running off to Poland of all places. Besides, now he had more memories to consider of this place.
The village of Blancroche had only had about 130 inhabitants, of which Francis and Jeanne had been but two. It had a small church, a butcher, and of course a baker, though it quite lacked a candlestick maker and instead had a small smithy employing ten of the town’s men. It had sprung up around an old inn on the Via Domitia road. The ancient pathway had yielded much trade, and the market would often be held there, where Francis would take his bread to sell, and flirt with young ladies passing through town.
One day, a group of women supposedly on pilgrimage passed through. They were all tired and hungry, and the prettiest among them didn’t have quite enough money to buy the bread they needed. Francis gave her a discount. And that was when he fell in love with Jeanne’s smile.
The ladies had stayed a while in the inn, and soon became familiar faces. They stopped being customers and started being workers, Jeanne took her job very seriously. She’d later told him it was her first “proper” job.
He’d never suspected her of being anything but a beautiful woman. The fact that she didn’t simply giggle at his every advance, but rather ignored him most of the time in favour of finishing her work, only made him crave that smile he’d seen before more. A sly trick, playing hard to get. So he’d started being less forward - leaving flowers tied to her bedroom doorknob, paying off her boss so she’d be let off work early, making sure none of the guests she tended to pulled any funny business. After all, she was so pretty.
Of course, now he knew she was perfectly capable of defending herself if she so wished. The powers bestowed upon a witch, whether by birth or by contract, were powerful indeed. That may have been why she’d yelled when he’d bodily flung a drunk patron from the in for attempting to do more than just goose her as she passed.
He let out a long sigh, walking towards the old Roman road. With a quick shove, about the same amount of effort one uses to pull themselves out of a swimming pool, Francis exited his host's body. This would be enough for his generous patron to find his way home with. Either way, he didn’t want to linger here too long, lest his happier memories be spoiled with newer, darker ones...
He was much freer to travel through customs as a ghost anyway.
Chapter 2
Notes:
- You remember how I said maybe sequel? I meant 100% definitely sequel. I hope you lot have been reading monster_au, if not, run on over there now for some interesting and fun supplementary material. A lot has built up over the months, so I made the Essentials tag for the not-silly-drabbles stuff.
- Alfred comes later, keep your panties on, psycho-lovers.