Antonio Vega || Original Character || Part 9charitaslamiaJuly 24 2011, 06:09:28 UTC
“Oh, of course.” Antonio returned his attention to his story, to John. “He…he and I made an unspoken agreement to meet in the alley behind the club. I’m still uncertain as to how it was decided upon,” He said, looking a bit confused. “but we did. I made my way to that dark thoroughfare, and he joined me. When I asked how it was possible, he laughed, John.” The pain of a lost little boy filled his eyes.
“He laughed?”
“He laughed.” Emotion gave Antonio’s voice a thick, blanketed quality. “It wasn’t a sweet, mirthful sound, either. It was not the laugh of my father, not the man I recall him to be, in any case. It was filled with arrogance and scorn.” He swallowed the pain that was threatening to choke the words from his throat. His father, the man he’d idolized, had never been the man he’d believed him to be.
“And once he was finished laughing, John, he answered me.”
“Very well, Antonio,” John prodded. “What was his answer for his centuries-long disappearing act?”
Antonio was quiet for a moment, focusing on breathing and calming down. “He said he’d known for weeks that the Inquisition was coming. He fled town to avoid being hunted like a dog.” The statement was laced with hate-filled venom. “When I asked why abandon us to the beasts, he casually replied, ‘too long was a weighed down by the mockery of human life we assumed, my son. I had hoped you would learn your true nature by coming into conflict with those that spurned you.’”
Father Malcolm was quiet for a moment, processing. “You’re saying, then, that your father claims to have abandoned his wife and child so that you might learn what it was to be a vampire?”
“That is what I surmised, yes.” His jaw clenched so hard the joints popped. How dare he…after all this time. Generations! How dare he walk into his town, hunt his people, and not…how could he have been so blind?
“I fail to see how this merits a confession, Antonio.” John’s words were spoken as one speaks to an angered dog, gentle and slow.
The pain of loss mixed with the anguish of youth formed a volatile cocktail in Antonio’s mind. They were creatures of God, just as the humans were. They were all His creatures, His creations. None were to be held in any higher standing than any other. His father’s audacity disgusted him. His disgust wrapped itself around all the pain and youthful helplessness and became a vile seed, a seed that took root in his mind and quickly began to flourish. “Because, my friend, if Santiago de la Florentez does not leave this city tonight, I will rip his throat out.” So vicious was the statement, it could not have been spoken with a human voice.
“And do you regret that sentiment?” John already knew the answer. “Do what you must, my dear friend. What you feel you must. Then, come to me. Go with the Lord’s blessing.”
“I pray,” Antonio said, rising to his feet faster than John’s eyes could follow, “God is as forgiving as you are, my friend.”
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“He laughed?”
“He laughed.” Emotion gave Antonio’s voice a thick, blanketed quality. “It wasn’t a sweet, mirthful sound, either. It was not the laugh of my father, not the man I recall him to be, in any case. It was filled with arrogance and scorn.” He swallowed the pain that was threatening to choke the words from his throat. His father, the man he’d idolized, had never been the man he’d believed him to be.
“And once he was finished laughing, John, he answered me.”
“Very well, Antonio,” John prodded. “What was his answer for his centuries-long disappearing act?”
Antonio was quiet for a moment, focusing on breathing and calming down. “He said he’d known for weeks that the Inquisition was coming. He fled town to avoid being hunted like a dog.” The statement was laced with hate-filled venom. “When I asked why abandon us to the beasts, he casually replied, ‘too long was a weighed down by the mockery of human life we assumed, my son. I had hoped you would learn your true nature by coming into conflict with those that spurned you.’”
Father Malcolm was quiet for a moment, processing. “You’re saying, then, that your father claims to have abandoned his wife and child so that you might learn what it was to be a vampire?”
“That is what I surmised, yes.” His jaw clenched so hard the joints popped. How dare he…after all this time. Generations! How dare he walk into his town, hunt his people, and not…how could he have been so blind?
“I fail to see how this merits a confession, Antonio.” John’s words were spoken as one speaks to an angered dog, gentle and slow.
The pain of loss mixed with the anguish of youth formed a volatile cocktail in Antonio’s mind. They were creatures of God, just as the humans were. They were all His creatures, His creations. None were to be held in any higher standing than any other. His father’s audacity disgusted him. His disgust wrapped itself around all the pain and youthful helplessness and became a vile seed, a seed that took root in his mind and quickly began to flourish. “Because, my friend, if Santiago de la Florentez does not leave this city tonight, I will rip his throat out.” So vicious was the statement, it could not have been spoken with a human voice.
“And do you regret that sentiment?” John already knew the answer. “Do what you must, my dear friend. What you feel you must. Then, come to me. Go with the Lord’s blessing.”
“I pray,” Antonio said, rising to his feet faster than John’s eyes could follow, “God is as forgiving as you are, my friend.”
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