Work Text:
Guillermo’s throat once soft as butter has hardened to the texture of leather like the suitcase beside him.
Clogged arteries mostly Nandor thinks, looking at the pattern of blue, red and purple smattering across his neck like scales of deadly vipers he’d find coiled in Al Quolanudar's barchans.
The taste of cholesterol isn’t like sinking your teeth into a badly cooked hare he’d told the documentary guy trying to give an example from the block of good old days of his human life. You know like when you get lost in the jungle during training and have nothing to eat for weeks so you catch one by its ear and eat it roasted around the crackling fire accidentally biting into its fatty tissue. Of course, sometimes the smell attracted other predators and you rushed to eat it half cooked, bloody entrails clinging to your beard. But that is the exception, not the norm.
Nandor had hoped this description was relatable enough. The documentary guy stared at him, dropping the mic he was adjusting on his collar. Guillermo whispered in his ear ‘it’ll taste like bacon master’ He relayed that without thinking. That fatty bit in bacon? Yeah, yep. Got it.
The documentary crew was now firmly in another block of the good old days (the days were endless so he’d divided them into blocks, he’d told this to the documentary guys as well. Good, bad and the great pauses in between).
Anyway it’s the smell of old socks that accompanies the human which makes it a terrible experience for vampires. Stinky socks? Yeah, yep.
Nandor comes closer, sniffing the air “Why do your socks not smell…”
Guillermo peers down from the rim of his spectacles, streaks of pepper grey in his wavy hair “…like old socks?” Nandor asks. Guillermo looks down at his socks with cartoon fangs.
“I…wash them. Is that all master?” he looks at him softly. Guillermo’s body is a sigh in suspended motion. He’s become slow, ruminative like a turtle. Nandor steps closer to him, doubting his senses for a minute but the alchemic de-ter-gent Guillermo uses to rinse off blood has perhaps gotten rid of the smell.
“Are you- are you trying to give me a goodbye hug master?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Goodbye? Ridiculous.
Guillermo swallows, picking up his windbreaker from the chair nearby. He slips it on, one arm at a time, doing up his buttons. A draft enters through the open windows, sending the stench of decayed roses towards Nandor.
“What is that?” Nandor wrinkles his nose watching the coat engulf Guillermo. It appears dark in the shape of a cross like it’s been vigorously scrubbed at places. A few drops of fresh blood still cling to it. Recent kill.
“It’s uh-”
“Dead vampires?”
“Uh.” Guillermo ties his belt, pauses then shrugs his shoulders, “Yeah.”
“That’s good.”
“Why’s it good?” Guillermo glances behind him. A habit.
“For starters-”
Guillermo’s knees wobble under the weight of the suitcase, he places it down, folding his hands in front of him one over the other in a demure fashion. A habit.
His chest fills with air, heart beating like a tiny drum. Nandor has become used to its increased tempo with age. The exact number of years with Guillermo still evade him, it feels like yesterday when he'd first seen him. (Vampires ambushed humans all the time in dark allies but it was a categorical first when a human took a vampire by surprise in a Costco) Even if they evaded him, they still passed. Nandor has also become used to that, at least he tries to.
“I will not be tempted to drain you when I turn you.”
He hears a beat skip. Nandor looks at the shadows pass over Guillermo’s eyes, the pupils darkening and lighting like the rare eclipse he’d seen holding John's reins while out to survey his kingdom. The maps depicted the southern border of Al Quolanudar extending uncontested to the sea, crusade limiting mountains encircled the east while the west and north were held in a fragile truce drawn in blood. Yet here it was, a cruel encompassing darkness slowly usurping every inch of his land and more.
Despite the blocks and blocks of time stacked ahead and behind him, eclipses were certainly rare. Doubly when seen on dunes. Triply when watched by the human eye despite a counsel repeating physicians, priests and necromancers advice, hearing and warning in court.
He was a conqueror he'd said, he would not look away when the sun tried to take away his kingdom, brief as it may be. Foolish king riding after the black eye in the sky the folk sung on the streets in secret when he gathered the men.
In the shadows, the armies in the north retreated briefly. In fear or stupidity, Nandor didn’t know. He chased the lead pushing the border three leagues. Courageous outlier guided by the black star the scribes wrote on effusive scrolls.
Nandor still had the scrolls. In the lulling period between blocks of good old days when everything fell into a meaningless monotony, he would trace the calligraphy with his fingers. Letters dead on his tongue but alive to his touch, singing his victories in curved strokes.
Guillermo is a rare eclipse that is fading in front of him, flaring one last time in the fierce glow of the red sun. Nandor knows he can look all he wants but he cannot stop it.
“W-what are you saying?” his heart stutters, beating fast and disorienting him.
It takes him back. To days that began with Guillermo opening his coffin lit in the glow of candles reflecting the starry night sky he’s always loved.
In those days everyone looked up at the stars for: signs, direction, fate. Now you couldn’t even see them. Guillermo said something about light pollution, it sounded made up. Humans couldn’t have screwed it up that bad.
Don’t humans feel lost Guillermo?
You mean because they can’t see the stars?
Yes.
I don’t know, master. I can still see the bats.
Nandor’s ears attune to the pounding of his heart, on occasions Guillermo would bare his neck unconsciously. Just an inch.
It takes him back, again. To days that ended with Guillermo’s swift breath on a thousand candles, steady beat of his heart standing sentry to the scorching sun outside. He thought he hated the sun when it bore down on him indifferently in the desert but it was only when he became a vampire that he realized that the feeling was mutual.
Nandor thought it would be easy in his twilight years. A choice between a dead man walking or a dead man buried. But Guillermo in any form, even in the waning phase of his mortal life shines bright. Nandor hesitates.
Guillermo will leave and die or Guillermo will die and turn.
Nandor has had blocks of good old days.
They stretch to kingdoms falling, nations rising, icebergs melting, forests growing.
They stretch to one human life.
Guillermo takes a shuddering breath, schools his features on seeing Nandor’s face. His heart hiccups back to its usual rhythm, “Last joke for the road, master?”
Nandor has had blocks of good old days.
They stretch to one stupefied breath, lodged deep inside Guillermo’s throat as Nandor punctures his neck in a gentle pinprick. Blood floods inside him, jackrabbiting down his throat. It gushes forth in a roaring wave; echoing hymns of maidens singing sweetly in the prime of youth; rich red of fallen soldiers soaking a tattered flag atop the eastern summit.
Nandor tastes victory, defeat, ecstasy, pain, happiness. He tastes everything and nothing. He tastes life and death.
Apparently he’s wrong, old humans smelled of socks. Tasted worse. Guillermo? He should stop thinking about that.
Nandor strains to remember this. He didn’t see his country fall, he forgot how Guillermo became his familiar, he has forgotten why Guillermo chose to stay beside him.
Nandor replaces his lips to the wound, tongue darkening against the crook of his neck. Every drop attracts him like a moth to a flame. Guillermo’s heart falls silent, a snap of a butterfly's wing.
Nandor has had blocks of good old days.
They stretch to one last fleeting pulse of a heart.
He gathers Guillermo in his arms, cradles him and carries him inside. He sees Nadja or Laszlo or Colin Robinson from the corner of his eye. They slink away to the sitting room, announcements will be made soon.
New vampires will be introduced properly. New bonds will be sealed properly, if desired when asked. New familiars will be appointed, hopefully ones with experience. That’s always a tough one, perhaps Guillermo will look for some in his network as he’s flaunted many times.
(Guillermo will flaunt in his network that his master’s given him a bite. Well, not exactly his master anymore. No, he shouldn’t flaunt so much. But really it’s the truth. The familiars won’t be interested as much they will be shocked. But that is later.)
Guillermo’s eyes open shortly, Nandor will also remember this. There’s longing inside his eyes, he must be hungry. But why does he, a vampire, feel like a mouse hypnotised by a snake, “Rest.” he says. “Soon, very soon.” For now rest is more important than hunger, by a sliver.
“You always say that.” Guillermo says, a tinge of frustration creeping in his voice. Another would be rolling inside the coffin in pain but this is Guillermo, the same Guillermo whose walls are covered in worn out posters of every vampire movie ever made. (They never get it right, at least not completely even after the documentary. Yet Guillermo seems to enjoy each one of them) “But. What more could you want?” Nandor replies, baffled and helpless looking at his pale cheeks.
Inside his organs are shifting, the blood slowly draining out. The nerve pressing on his forehead is lighter, bones not weary as before. It's a strange sensation, one that Nandor would not like to die through again. It is strange. Pain that strips away life but leaves you stronger, indicative of the way you will face existence from that moment hanging upside down as a bat.
Guillermo leans over tasting his blood on Nandor’s lips in ceremony holding him in place even as his own grasp on life is tenuous at best. "This will not happen again." Nandor states, sad.
Nandor can exist forever but his memories can die and wither into the void.
If he'd known Guillermo would be able to muster the strength swift as a horse he would have carried him to the sitting area. Where the few immortal friends he had would have witnessed this impossible act, the memory living in their collective consciousness for perhaps a few ages longer. For civilizations disintegrate, languages die, cultures erode and merge into others but they walk the earth. They walk the earth, remembering.
I will remember this.
If Guillermo remembers through the pain, Nandor will ask him at nightfall.
Guillermo's eyes darken.
“Yes, master.”
“I am not your master anymore.” The coffin hugs Guillermo’s sides. Fire feeds on wood, floating embers reflect briefly in Guillermo's eyes, his lips a shade darker with the last of his blood. Pumped by the heart never to skip again. Pale skin never to blush again. Nandor had learnt it’s language, words that beat in starts and stops. In want or perhaps in fear.
He’d moved on instinct, hearing the tugging of Guillermo’s heart.
A sharpness impales him, Nandor moans in agony “M-master. What’s wrong?”
“I should have asked you, Guillermo. I-”
Guillermo catches his shoulders, the grip frail in his turning “You thought right, master. Also I’ve told you before I wanted this a couple of millions of times.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“I see. I felt like I was being run down by a horse.” Nandor takes in a breath forgetting he doesn’t need it. “Are you feeling better?”
“Well master I’m uh- dying, so.”
“Yes, of course.”
Nandor licks the remnant of blood from his lips. How did the old tales go? The king rode out in search for unheard of riches only to find the most precious treasure had been buried at home. He brushes Guillermo’s lip with his thumb.
A different hunger swarms his limbs in tiny pricks, but it must wait. Guillermo’s heart will not answer him anymore. At this stage the skin is at its most sensitive. Candles flicker behind him. Nandor braces himself, he should close the lid. However he can’t help but admire Guillermo’s rosy cheeks before the blood completely drains out his body
“You won’t need your spectacles.” Nandor picks the frames, gently folding them.
“Right.” Guillermo blinks, “To close the coffin.”
“No, I meant your vision will be perfectly clear.”
“I see.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Guillermo’s eyes shutter, a small smile on his lips “I was going to give you a parting gift master… before well-”
“Before I bit you.” Guillermo trembles.
“I still can’t believe it. I was planning to go to my car and cry.” The image strikes at Nandor violently removing the last of his guilt.
“It’s good then.”
“Yes, mas-”
“Nan-”
“-ter”
“-dor.”
“…Nandor.” Guillermo says soft as melted wax. Not a habit, but one which might become one. Someday. Maybe.
“You must rest.” Fingers shake on the coffin lid. Vampires make fiercely independent creatures. Not beholden to their turners. Fate makes many a path cross time and again, yet only a few decide to heed to its call. (For instance on Staten Island) Even as a part of a coven they remain fiercely independent. Barely tolerating each other, hissing and mending their relations.
Tomorrow Guillermo will rise after his death, he may forge his own path. What leaves him beholden to this coven?
Nandor grips the lid, lines creasing his forehead. His fangs crowd in his mouth excited by the fading taste of blood. Guillermo looks at him, biting his lip. Halfway closing the coffin, Nandor sees Guillermo patting his pockets. “What is it? Is something stuck?”
“No, I was taking out my phone.”
Nandor sighs, “To think the humans could try to go one minute without their flashy devices. You’re turning. You should rest.”
The coffin creaks. “Alright if it’s that important.” Nandor sighs, “The pockets are to the side, master.” Guillermo says, his breath hitching.
“Why would they be in the side? Oh. Right. Modern clothes. Inconvenient.” Nandor’s hand slips on his thigh, feeling for a rectangular shape.
“M-master.” Guillermo closes his eyes, breathing slowly.
“It’s painful but you want to play games on your phone. I’ve told you Cirque du freak was a bad movie adaptation. The kid is playing video games while his family is crying over his grave. But sure, go ahead. I suppose you want to follow that example.”
Guillermo finally wrings out his phone staring at it, “There goes the face detection.” he mumbles. Nandor looks at the sharp canines filling his mouth, he’d seen humans lose their mind when they grew out. Guillermo casually types the passcode in the dim light. “Here, master. I know the days can get long.”
Nandor takes the phone, closing the lid with one last glance at Guillermo’s face. He smiles at him encouragingly, “I’ll see you soon, master.”
The camera swings and focuses on a shot of Guillermo cleaning up glitter and streamers. “It’s been 10 years.” he touches his glasses, lifting them up his nose. A haunting melody starts playing in the background. Nandor’s eyes widen. Guillermo smiles into the camera, humming.
Nandor heard it everywhere: parties, television programmes, the Manhattan disco where even Simon’s coven swayed to it respectfully. It would ring in his ears from the moment he’d heard it till the time he laid down to rest. He’d ask Guillermo which song it was on each occasion and then each time it would slip right off his mind.
The scene fades away and Guillermo is sitting on his bed, hands on his lap. The song begins anew, “Guillermo, what song is this?” he says out loud in a habit. Guillermo in the video says, “Master, whenever you happen to hear this song after I’m gone.” he focusses his gaze on the camera, piercing Nandor with their intensity “You can play this video. I’ve put a montage the documentary crew made, just in case you want to remember this.” Guillermo picks on his sleeve, “But you can always skip it to 4:16, dragging your finger on the screen.” his hand moves in a line, shaking.
Nandor watches with awe, scenes of the distant past. Guillermo moving in and out of the frame, conserved in the tiny contraption in his hands. Guillermo appears again. “Well, that was it master. The song’s called-” Guillermo’s lip trembles.
He puts the phone paused to Guillermo’s face near his stopped heart, hearing the tune fading in and out his mind.
Nandor will wait for nightfall.