for introublelately

[_ruthven_]

London in the rain is not particularly pleasant, especially in late November. Ruthven doesn't linger in the streets: he leads Eliza quickly to the Embankment house. It's part of a vast block of ornate buildings mostly taken over now by expensive condos or interior-design offices, and although he'd said it was unoccupied at least half the windows

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[introublelately]

Eliza has only been to London once before, and the way she got there was considerably different from taking a portal; it was also significantly more stressful, as she'd been right in the middle of the Red King's favored territory and even walking the streets made her a high-risk target for any of the local opportunistic vampires. Even her father's reassurances that it hadn't always been quite this dangerous did nothing to dispel the memories of London as a place she was acutely aware of disliking her quite a lot. Thus she greets Ruthven's hurry to get to his house with no small amount of relief; once she gets a look at his house, however, she stops dead in her tracks, incapable of moving forward until her brain can process the size of it. She shouldn't be surprised at the open display of wealth, really, but it's been a very long while since the hunting community in her world ever let a vampire enjoy such luxury unimpeded; even the old survivors have long since taken up more moderate housing, out of self-defense. She suppresses a

[_ruthven_]

Good thing he didn't show her Malta, Huntingtower, or the Moon, really.

"Of course." He plies bottle and glass, and brings her a generous dose. "Let me build a fire; it's a foul night. Can you tell me more about this history your family has with developing vampirism minus a single catalyzing event? And--I do realize it's painful, but anything you can tell me about this Red King would be of use."

He looks slightly different here in his own territory, instead of in the Nexus; still a short, slender, pale man with aerodynamic hair and very long fingernails, but here he seems to fit in better, his oddnesses blending into the background. He kneels in front of the fireplace and begins to arrange kindling and balance logs.

[introublelately]

Ruthven fits in this place like a well-worn glove over a comfortable hand; Eliza, on the other hand, only seems even more out of sorts. There is no blatant sign of this, as her mother raised her well and, inside, where she doesn't have to consider the size of the place, it almost does feel like she's home a bit, except for the windows. But there's a slight fidget of the elbow, and her eyes draw tight at the edges; if one is watching, and careful at reading body language, the sense of displacement is obvious. She doesn't fit this world, and never has. Luxury suits her about as well as frilly dresses, and looks even worse when she tries to wear it

[introublelately]

"We didn't just pick up the death problem, though." She huddles closer in on herself, and takes another sip of the scotch. "I have to drink blood to survive. Always have, since I was a baby. The doctors who aren't in on the family secret have always been given the excuse that it's some form of anemia, because I can eat and drink things just fine, and they do help, a little. But without blood I'll die, and dying ... I've already explained what'll happen when that happens." She moves over on the couch a bit for a better seating position. "On the pluses ... I'm faster, stronger, even more than most vampires, because from the day I was old enough to start I've been training to use those advantages and they haven't. But if I don't drink blood, I lose all that fast, and if I don't get at least a few pints every few days - I've never seen it happen, but my grandfather used to have a brother. The blood dependency was a little weaker, back then, so it took a few weeks off the transfusions before anything happened, but he just kind of