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“A lot of people, y’know, get kinda surprised to hear that my childhood was good. Or, like, as good as it could’ve probably gotten. I made so many mistakes growing up that people tend to assume I must’ve been destined to be a fuckup, right? That the signs would’ve always been there or the situation just drove me to be a total jackass, but then I have to be all ‘no, no, my parents are great and I grew up loved I was just an idiot’, haha. It makes me sound like a real clown, I get that, but… I mean, I don’t want people to blame my family for the things I chose to do, right? I didn’t talk to them for years and years and, y’know, I can’t let folks make the assumption they ever knew that I was running across Remnant being the worst version of myself I could be. Which is partly why I started writing diaries, and then started making these videos, right? So that, y’know, I can show people the truth. That it was all me.
Or, like, most of the truth, anyway. Even in this day and age, we can’t go around revealing too much, right?”
—taken from the Disastrous Bullsh*t of Blake Belladonna Vlog, episode #12.
Blake, as a general rule of thumb, tries not to pry too deeply into the lives of their housemates.
They’ve lived there for a month now and they’ve settled in well enough, finding their groove against the otherwise bizarre rhythm that accompanies the day-to-day rigmarole of living with a daywalker and an insomniac weredog alike, and by now they’ve mostly learned to cope with unusual surprises—one such example being Yang's unexpectedly early transformation on the morning of the full moon, forcing Weiss to explain to the postman that yes, they have, in fact, always owned a surprisingly blonde Newfoundland that’s incredibly friendly and no, she can assure him that she’s been there for years now and that clearly he’s just never paid all that much attention.
(Of course, Yang’s colossally furry form was only made funnier in contrast to Ruby, who Weiss [sort of] affectionately describes as an ‘emaciated Borzoi’; all stick-thin and whippet-lithe, long of muzzle and narrow of hip. She may not be anywhere near as strong as Yang, but damn—Blake’s never seen anything run so fast.)
But just because they’re all generally getting along well enough doesn’t mean Blake’s allowing themself an open invitation to dig any deeper into their history, outside of what’s already been freely offered. A small part of it is because they don’t dare to be rude because they need this place, need a space to sort out their shit in relative peace where every decision they make isn’t held under intense and neverending scrutiny, but a bigger part is, well… so that the others don’t have a reason to ask about theirs.
They wouldn’t. Blake knows that for a fact; everyone’s been good about not turning things around on them, happy to offer answers in exchange for little, but even the risk makes them nervous enough to prefer saying nothing at all. It’s a little cowardly and they’re willing to take that fact of life on the chin, but it doesn’t mean they can’t feel at least a little bad about it.
Thankfully, it’s not like they need to do much to learn information by osmosis anyway. Weiss will flippantly reveal bits and pieces in fits of dark, dry humour, whilst Ruby will talk for so long and so extensively across topics that Blake knows most of her life story by mistake over intention. The only one who requires much input on Blake’s part is Yang, but even that’s not complicated—all they have to do is look at something a little too long and Yang jumps in like a museum tour guide, happy to fill in the blanks.
“That’s our mom.”
Case in point; right now, in Yang’s bedroom. Blake had nipped in briefly to reclaim a pack of sticky notes because ever since discovering Blake owns more stationery than, like, anyone else on Remnant and beyond, Yang’s been making avid use of their supplies in lieu of actually having any of her own. That’s fine and good and all by them, but also Blake’s plotting wall sure isn’t going to get any less complicated any time soon and they need all the notes they can get. So, it’s as they’re scampering back out that their eye is drawn at the very last second towards a photo frame on Yang’s nightstand, and when they pause for all of a second to look at the woman who’s been captured in a monochromatic scene, it’s all the time Yang needs to round the corner with a mug of coffee to catch them in the act.
“I— what?” Blake says unintelligently, because truth be told they haven’t really said anything yet today so their brain is currently in the process of trying to recall what acting normal means. They’re quite impressed they didn’t just go mrphmphf?
“Our mom. Summer Rose.” Yang motions to the photo with her coffee, and then cringes when it nearly spills over the rim. “Ruby’s probably mentioned her once or twice with all her motormouthing.”
Probably, but Blake admittedly mostly zones out during Ruby’s especially long tangents to let her become a comforting sort of background noise, when all they have to say in ‘uh-huh’ or ‘mm-mm’ to keep her going. It’s a little rude, sure, but Weiss has agreed that it’s her usual choice of coping method too. “Uh, a little,” they lie instead.
Yang has that wry sort of smile that tells Blake they’re being entirely too transparent—well, they tried—and she crosses the room to put her mug down on her desk to reduce any more chances of spillage before she comes over to pick up the frame, holding it aloft for inspection. It’s only then that Blake realises that it’s not just some black-and-white image taken back in the days of early 35mm film, but a scan of something older yet; tintype, perhaps.
She looks a lot like Ruby, that much is clear, what with her rounded cheeks and dark hair, silvered eyes glimmering with mirth and perfectly preserved. There’s enough slight differences for a distinction to be made—namely, she’s in a period-appropriate and overly-frilly dress, whereas Ruby wouldn’t be seen dead in anything that isn’t a hoodie or a tank top—but it’s clear where most of her blood originated from. Impressive that her werewolf heritage won out, really. “She’s beautiful,” Blake says, because it’s true and what else is there to really say?
“She was,” Yang confirms with a grin, and she places the frame back down as gingerly as if it were made of ice. “Died too early, though. Didn’t half cause some trouble for us back in the day.”
Oh. “How old was she, may I ask? I know she was a vampire, but she looks very, um… young.”
That’s certainly a way of delicately putting it, and Yang grimaces. “Uh, I think she was about… two hundred and… mm, maybe two-twenty-five, odd? Somewhere around there.”
Well, that’s depressing. Most vampires can live close to something like a thousand years if they’re careful about it, ensuring they don’t make too much sun contact or land themselves in any sort of trouble with a very permanent end, but a quarter of a millennium is, by their standards, still the early years of adulthood. There was still so much left for her to see, so much to do. “I’m sorry.”
Yang just shrugs, and the momentary hint of pain in her purple eyes is gone just as soon as it arrived. “Hey, it is what it is.”
The silence that follows is, like, agonisingly awkward. Blake’s not totally sure what to follow that up with (they feel that saying hey well both of my parents are alive! isn’t exactly the play here) so they try to lighten the mood just a touch. That’s what friends do, right? “Well, my mother always used to say we vampires only get one free death, but the second one you have to pay for.”
Yang laughs, and although it’s not quite chock full of her usual humour it’s better than nothing. “I mean, she was born a vampire, so, y’know, she didn’t even get the freebie.”
Blake stares at the photo some more, and then they squint at Yang. “What?”
Yang blinks back. “What?”
“I… what do you mean?”
With a look of only mild bewilderment, Yang cants her head in that puppylike way both she and Ruby like to do when they have no idea what’s going on. “She was… born a vampire? Like you, I thought? And Weiss?”
Blake keeps squinting. “Nobody is born a vampire, Yang. There’s a reason we’re called undead.”
Now it’s Yang’s turn to return their squint, and they both sort of stand there, looking each other down through their eyelashes. The well-meaning bit of Blake that loves giving everyone the benefit of the doubt wants to think Yang is pulling their leg and crafting some astonishingly elaborate joke—she’s surprisingly good at those, all told—but the more logical side of them thinks that somewhere along the timeline of Yang’s life, somebody omitted one of the most basic facts of the vampire lifecycle to this very day.
“Yang,” Blake starts slowly. “The first mandatory step to being a vampire is the part where you die.”
“Yeah,” Yang agrees, just as slowly, “if you get bit.”
Blake pauses, presses their knuckles to their chin, opens their mouth and closes it again when nothing comes out, and then nods decisively. “Right. Okay. Where’s Weiss?”
Weiss is, as it shakes out, downstairs—likely attempting to enjoy her otherwise quiet Saturday morning which they’re very almost sorry to ruin—and so Blake heads down with a very confused Yang hot on their heels to locate Weiss in the living room all curled up with a book, buried under blankets on the sofa whilst Ruby dozes in the armchair and slowly but steadily slides towards the floor. She looks up when Blake strides in amicably enough, but when Yang follows with a blank face of abject confusion, Weiss sighs hard and closes her book without even bothering to mark her page. “Oh, great. What happened now?”
Blake used to think it was kind of mean of Weiss to always presume the worst, but after the first week, well, they’d come to realise it was because things in this house do tend to go rather south rather quickly. They’re still not going to validate her, though. “Nothing, it’s just— listen, Weiss; is anyone born a vampire?”
The look Weiss levels at them is, frankly, withering, and they can already see in her eyes the unspoken what, are you stupid? “No, Blake, they are not. I think you of all people should know this, because otherwise I must ask what your parents told you about the circumstances of your birth.”
Before Blake can defend themself—listen, they’re a dumbass and they know it, but they’re not this bad—Yang’s already doing it for them. “Wait, waitwaitwait— what the fuck else are you born as, then? You gonna tell me you guys pop out of a fuckin’ chrysalis?”
Weiss looks at Yang, looks at Blake—who shrugs emphatically—and then looks back at Yang for a split second before she cranes her head back and snaps her fingers to where Ruby is passed out and getting increasingly closer to the floor. “Ruby! Ruby, wake up and tell me your mother did actually bother to explain vampire biology to you, right? Please tell me she did.”
Ruby snorts, yawns, and gives the room a very bleary once-over right as the cushion below tells her ass it was an honour to serve her before unceremoniously dumping her out onto the carpet. She yelps, collapsing into a pile of limbs and wires and drool, and the three of them watch as she struggles her way into a semblance of awareness. “I— huh? Wha? My mom? What?”
Weiss snaps her fingers again, absolutely merciless. “Are you under the false impression that Blake and I were born as vampires? This is important.”
Ruby blinks with her big silvery eyes—and wow, she really does look like Summer—before she does that puppyish head tilt. “Uh, yes?”
Weiss pinches her nose and mutters something in a language Blake doesn’t know but can imagine contains many a swear, whilst Yang reaches the end of her tether. “Gee, I dunno! We figured you were born like every other supernatural entity around these parts! Don’t you wear little onesies that say my favourite drink is mommy’s blood or something?”
That visual mental image is one Blake politely places in the paper shredder of their brain, but Weiss lets out an even longer, harder sigh. For someone who doesn’t technically need to breathe, she’s certainly putting her lungs through the wringer. “No, Yang, we do not. We are not born as vampires, because vampires have to die first. Hence being undead.”
“I gathered,” Yang says dryly. “What were you born as then? Ferrets?”
“Mortal,” Weiss and Blake say at the same time, and for a second they both try to motion to the other to keep going and end up waging a short war of delegating responsibility before Blake inevitably loses, so they go on. “All offspring of vampires are born mortal, if we even get that far.”
Ruby makes a noise at that, bemused as anything, and Yang furrows her brow and runs her hands through her hair before she waves their words away like she’s cleaning a slate. “Okay, okay, hang on—from the top. Vampire birds and bees; go.”
Weiss looks like there is quite literally nothing she’d rather do less, so Blake decides to kick this nightmare off with establishing some basic facts. “Well, I guess, uh… I guess I should ask if you guys know how rare it actually is for vampires to actually conceive?”
Ruby and Yang don’t seem particularly familiar with this knowledge, given they both have eyes the approximate size of dinner plates and growing yet, and Blake withholds a groan. How on Remnant they share a vampire for a mother and yet seem so new to all this Blake may never know. Maybe Summer figured it wasn’t child-friendly.
“It’s very rare,” Weiss confirms. “By virtue of being undead, the chances of conception are already staggeringly low, and bringing a child to term is even more unlikely. There’s better odds of one partner isn’t a vampire, better yet if the partner is a werewolf or similarly robust species—” (as a proud child of said vampire and said werewolf, Ruby cheers) “—but with a pair of vampires, the chances are often slim to none. The fact I have two siblings is quite literally a medical miracle.”
“But I can’t imagine it was very straightforward,” Blake points out whilst Yang takes a moment to have a small crisis over this new and terrible information, and they’re not surprised when Weiss nods all somberly.
“Oh, certainly not. Between the three of us, we must have a dozen siblings who didn’t make it, if not more.” She shrugs like that isn’t as heartbreaking as it maybe should be. “But that’s the risk my parents took.”
Well, Yang certainly looks stricken enough to make up for that, but Ruby appears to be caught somewhere between horrified and fascinated, which, Blake can attest, is when she’s at her most absorbed and also her most dangerous. “So what happens if you do get born then?” she asks, shuffling her way closer as if she can absorb the information out of Weiss by proximity alone. “If you’re mortal, how do you become vampires? Do your parents… turn you?”
A morbid thought, but she’s not as off the mark as she may be hoping. Weiss, thankfully, takes the lead on this particular inquiry. “No, we just don’t live very long. Our turning is about as natural as it gets, really.” She takes a moment to inspect her nails, as if they’re not bitten down to stubs by the edges of her fangs. “Vampiric blood plays very poorly with a living body, so sickness is inevitable sooner or later. Most of us are dead within the year, and that’s when we turn. Well… sometimes.”
Yang—who was very much lost in a stupor and was probably still digesting that whole first bit about the dozens of dead siblings, if Blake’s reading the vacant expression in her eyes right—jolts back into awareness with the rest of the (un)living, and she frantically looks around as if it’s her who’s been caught in a prank. “Sometimes?! What, even then it’s not a guarantee?”
Blake just holds up their hands. “As they say, them's the breaks.”
“My parents certainly didn’t have high hopes for me, which turned out to be a running theme,” Weiss says, lips thinning. “I was very ill right from the start—I didn’t last three weeks after I was born, so the odds weren’t great.”
“I lasted just over a year. My da was astonished,” Blake adds with a grin, because even though it isn’t a competition and it’s really just up to fate to decide, it still feels good to see Weiss scowl about it.
“That is pretty impressive,” Weiss admits after a moment, before she offers a smile that’s just a little on the sardonic side. “What were they feeding you, O-negative?”
“Very funny,” Blake sniffs. “Everyone knows AB-plus is the choice of champions.”
Ruby, meanwhile, chews this all over as she picks at the lint in the carpet, and then she inches her way closer still until she can prop her chin on the edge of the sofa, peering up at Weiss with her big glimmering eyes. It’s adorable and Blake would probably say as much were the subject of this entire conversation something else entirely and Not This. “Does that mean if I’d been born a vampire, I’d have… you know?”
Weiss pauses, grimacing in a way Blake feels in their soul, and then pets Ruby on the head. “Well, yes. That’s why I thought you knew; I was sure Summer would have told Yang, at least.”
At that, Yang takes in a big, long, deep breath that puffs out her chest and must surely make her ribs ache… and then she lets it go with a long wheeze, slumping down like she’s been squashed into shape. “Well, I guess she didn’t want to go hey Yang, just so you know; if Ruby takes after me you’re about to be diagnosed with seven different forms of depression. Like, how are you guys so chill about this? That’s—like, no offence, I love you both—but that’s wildly fucked.”
Weiss and Blake share a look between them, and then Blake shrugs—because, really, what else can they do?
“I mean, that’s our secret, I guess,” they say. “Being a vampire comes with the depression for free.”