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It had taken the combined strength of a 13th century warlord, a power-hungry woman from Antipaxos, an energy vampire, and an ex-familiar turned bodyguard to push one (very drunk) man by the name of Laszlo Cravensworth up the stairs and into the crypt he shared with his long-suffering good lady wife.
Colin Robinson, helpful as ever, had chimed in to remark how the situation reminded him of a certain scene involving a couch from some human sitcom called Friends, which he felt demanded an in-depth reenactment with impressions, naturally. Laszlo seemed to think this was rather funny, as he was reduced to a fit of boisterous laughter that was nearly enough to send the entire quintet tumbling back down the stairs.
The group had eventually made it to the landing with only a moderate level of screaming and minimal injuries. A bit more concerted effort and they were able to guide the man down the hall, a less than simple task when the bloodthirsty creature of the night was flopped over like a ragdoll and half-mumbling, half-shouting the words of some old drinking song. When they at last reached the couple’s chamber, Nadja leaned him awkwardly against the wall just outside the door.
“Poor guy, do you think he’s going to be embarrassed?” asked Nandor, fretting with his hands in that nervous way that always struck Nadja as ironic for a self-styled conqueror of thousands.
“Trust me,” she replied, catching Laszlo’s head loll forward out of the corner of her eye. “He won’t remember this.”
Nadja slung her husband’s arm around her shoulder and stepped into the doorframe. Her housemates stood there moment, not knowing quite what to do with themselves, before a pointed look from Nadja told them it was time to go. With that, Nandor swept off to attend to some “important council business” and Guillermo followed closely behind. Colin stuck around to offer some useful tidbits about blood alcohol content, but promptly got the door slammed in his face.
“Alright, big strong lawyer man” she said, setting him down on the settee in the corner. “Let’s get you to bed.” She set to work removing his robe and undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. She was busy taking off his rings and setting them on a side table when he suddenly grabbed her face, smushing her cheeks together.
“My darling, have I told you” he began. His eyes squinted shut for a moment as the sentence momentarily derailed in his mind. “That you look - hic - absolutely ravishing?”
Nadja rolled her eyes and gently peeled his hand away. “Not since yesterday, my love.” This seemed to content him, and he sank back against the seat.
He really was such a sappy drunk, Nadja mused to herself. She couldn’t remember the last time he had been this bad. They so rarely went out anymore, between her busy schedule with the council and how disastrously the night had ended when they hit the town with the Baron. Besides, Laszlo knew it tended to worry her. His early (un)life as a vampire had been marked by a particularly disastrous drunken outing they both preferred never to repeat. Even after decades, Nadja’s brow would crease at the memory lurking in the back of her mind.
It had been her fault, really, for taking him out when he was so newly turned. After months of careful practice, teaching Laszlo the ins and outs of vampiric life, Nadja had decided it was time for his first big kill. Their hunting ground was a large party. A little daring, perhaps, but there were so many people that a handful disappearing would hardly be noticeable, and by the time they were discovered it would be far too late. Women in glittering gowns and men in silk waistcoats sipped wine and floated about to lilting music. As they approached the soiree, Laszlo strode confidently by Nadja’s side, but she could tell by the way he chewed his lip that he was nervous. They set to work quickly, snatching partygoers off of balconies, pouncing on lovers embracing in the garden. At one point, Laszlo slunk up behind a woman with an elaborate wig that looked to be about half her height. When she turned around and was met by a pair of gleaming fangs, she was so startled that she fell wig-first into the fountain behind her. Nadja giggled wildly at this, and Laszlo grinned in response, pleased he had gotten her to laugh. Her head was buzzing from the alcohol that had coursed through her victims’ veins. It had been such a long time since she had this much fun, but she knew this was when she needed to stop. Any more and she would be too disoriented to fly her way home. Laszlo, though, was just getting started.
It was amusing at first, watching how enthusiastically he devoured victims, getting increasingly bolder the more intoxicated he became. She had laughed when Laszlo sunk his fangs into a butler carrying a tray of drinks that smashed loudly on the ground when he fainted. But when she barely succeeded in hypnotizing a crowd of humans that witnessed the incident, when she lost him in a crowd and had to frantically search for him, when she struggled to get him safely indoors before sunrise, it was far from funny. Light was already glancing over the rooftops by the time they had reached the door of their lodgings and she all but shoved him inside. She sank against the door in relief, but relief quickly turned into guilt. It had been too close. His recklessness had nearly gotten them both killed. He was too eager to prove himself, too ambitious, not knowing where the line was. She had completely misjudged what he was ready for. Maybe she wasn’t a very good mentor. Maybe he wasn’t the right candidate for vampirism after all. Was turning him purely selfish? Was she really so desperate for a companion that she had ignored all the warning signs?
They stuck close to home for the next few weeks, Nadja going out to hunt only when she absolutely had to. Her doubts lingered with her all that time. Laszlo seemed to sense that something was off, but didn’t dare broach the subject. Nadja was sullen and withdrawn, trying desperately to figure out the way forward. What were they going to do? A fine pair they had turned out to be: a vampire who couldn’t properly kill, and a miserable excuse for a teacher.
But he had a way of looking at her sometimes. That mix of awe and adoration, like she was some great force of nature. No one had ever looked at her like that before. She saw fear in the eyes of her victims. Something a bit closer in the eyes of Gregor when they reconnected every half century or so. Infatuation, maybe. But never anything like this, never love. Laszlo looked at her like she was the world, and suddenly the future seemed quite simple. They would figure things out. Laszlo was still young. He would learn.
A cackling sound brought Nadja back to the present. Laszlo was laughing heartily at nothing in particular, having at this point slid halfway off the seat. Nadja shook her head fondly. She had wasted enough time lost in thought, now he really needed to go to bed. She extended a hand to help him up, which Laszlo mistook as an invitation for something else entirely. Nadja pulled him up, and he stumbled over himself before trying to sweep her into a clumsy waltz.
“Laszlo!” she shrieked with laughter as he spun her under his arm. She attempted to return the favor, giving him a twirl. This was a mistake. Laszlo’s expression faltered, and he was promptly sick next to the display case of a taxidermy goat. Nadja grimaced as she rubbed his back. Ah well, Guillermo would have to clean it up. She never really liked that goat anyway.
When he was finished, Nadja was finally able to lead him to his coffin. She had expected more of a fight, but he was asleep in seconds. She went to close the lid, but hesitated for a moment. She hardly ever actually saw him sleep; they were always in separate coffins. He seemed so peaceful, his face all slack. She pressed a kiss gently to his forehead.
“Goodnight, my darling,” she whispered, before retiring to her own coffin and drifting off into a dreamless sleep.
....
The next evening Laszlo woke up with a pounding head and a less than sunny disposition, but otherwise no worse for wear, and certainly with no memory of the great to-do it required to get him into his coffin. Perhaps if the vampire still had a reflection, he might have had a clue. If he could have looked in the mirror, he would have seen a very distinctive red lipstick mark pressed square into the middle of his forehead. Nadja was sitting in the study when her husband stalked into the room late in the evening. She watched him fondly as he plopped into an armchair and sat frowning at a heavy book. He would have made a serious picture if his scowl wasn’t offset by the crimson smudge on his brow. His foul mood didn’t bother Nadja; she thought he looked rather endearing.
Guillermo wandered into the study and clocked the mark. “Uh, Laszlo-” he began.
A death glare from Nadja stopped him in his tracks. The room was silent for a few moments save for the crackling of the fire, and Nadja held her gaze.
“Well? Out with it man!” Laszlo snapped.
Guillermo looked uneasily from Nadja, to Laszlo, and back to Nadja. “Nevermind,” he sighed at last, turning on his heel. He had learned long ago to stay out of the couple’s antics.
“Silly prick” Laszlo grumbled to himself, and Nadja couldn’t help but smile.