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"So, what do you say, my boy?"
Dorian, the one and only son Vlad Masters had, blinked. His fingers drummed against the wood of the desk the two of them were seated at. It felt hollow and light.
His eyes drifted around to look anywhere on the desk or room but in front of him.
Anywhere, from the worn out copy of a book apparently called 'The Great Gatsby' firmly stationed next to his father's paperwork, to the corporate white paint on the wall behind him, to his cup of coffee that Dorian had almost spilled on the way here, to the superficially installed potted plants in the corners of the room.
His ears almost twitched at the lazy breeze and chirping birds, the sounds almost mocking his situation from the outside. He turned his face in the direction of the window, and let the breeze attempt to comb his hair as an apology.
"Is there anything I can say?"
"You can say 'yes' child."
The young boy sighed, standing up and slowly inching closer to the open window. Thankfully the office they were in stood comfortably on the second floor. He paused to glance at his father's eyes.
The man's eyebrows were quirked up and drawn together. And his lips were a thin line.
"Well... I'm not going to say no... But. This is too much too far. I thought -"
"Ah, you and your anxieties. You're a grown man, aren't you? You can handle getting blood drawn."
"Lab grown. I'm three weeks old."
Vlad's eyebrows squished themselves together further. Dorian's breath was barely escaping his lips, as his eyes found the moment perfect to scan the floor for dust.
"... And yet you can do such incredible things. You're smart my boy, really you are. You do your chores, you rarely come to bother me with useless trifles when I'm working, and I'm very proud of how quickly you find your way around the tasks I give you. I love you, my boy. That's why I need your help."
Dorian's back blocked an incoming breeze, and he froze, finally looking up at the man again. The young boy's fingers brushed against the window frame. He could practically hear the leaves rustling outside, but something prevented him from taking his exit.
"I... I know. You're busy with investors and such. But what does that have to do with... With that?"
Dorian gestured at the syringe in front of Vlad's meticulously polished desk plaque.
All at once, his father's face peeled back into a winning smile. His wrinkles seemed to smooth out at the motion.
"Well my dear boy, you were going to get siblings soon. Such a shame that won't be happening without your help, isn't it? I thought you would be less alone, you know? That seems to be your biggest problem, given how much you talk to me about it. Now you've gone and spoiled the surprise."
This time, Dorian's lips thinned, and his eyes bore into the seemingly innocent syringe on the desk. The syringe stared back. Dorian's fingers gripped the frame harder.
"What do you need my blood for? You made me, you can make them."
"Ah, I have already tried multiple times. The thing is, you my boy are somehow stable, and I need to figure out why. If I do, you should be substantially less 'lonely' by the middle of next week."
"I would be substantially less lonely if you talked to me more."
Dorian said suddenly. His father's smile stood completely still. Almost immediately, the young boy doubled over as if punched in the stomach, looking up with a guilty expression.
"I mean... I really do love you, and I appreciate this, but I just... You already keep saying you're busy, if there's more of us you might not be able to divide your attention and I'm worried for everyone, I-"
"Oh no, no Dorian. I wouldn't dream of such a thing happening. Besides, you know I need to perfect the process so I can make you more stable too. You are remarkable, but remember-"
" I know."
The young boy shivered, but slowly let go of the railing. He took the time to examine the floorboards again. They were made out of wood. And the wood had swirls in them. One of them ended at the foot of the desk, right next to his chair. And the chair-
"Dorian."
Dorian pursed his lips. His eyes darted back to the window for a brief millisecond. He had been practicing flying recently... Maybe he'd prefer the feeling of dripping goop on the grass instead of the embarrassment and guilt. His father was busy, right? Doing what was asked of Dorian should make things much easier for him and he clearly had Dorian's interests in mind... So why this selfishness? Why was Dorian so reluctant?
The young boy stood there, blinking and thinking in his own mental bubble. He stole another glance at the window.
Vlad got up, and closed it behind Dorian, putting what might've been slightly more force than necessary into the action.
"The breeze might give you a cold."
Dorian frowned and, putting what might've been more force than necessary in the action, walked over to and sank down into the chair again. His body sank into the soft chair, and he began rocking his feet back and forth, spinning the wheels of it across the floor.
"I don't get it, why don't you have a machine that can analyse samples from a distance. And inside a person. You have cloning equipment, which I doubt is commonplace anywhere. Why not make your life easier and-"
"Your arm, Dorian. And stop doing that, the sound is irritating."
"But-"
"Your arm, Dorian."
The young boy bit his lip and shut his eyes. His arm almost seemed to retreat into his body, but he fought against it to shakily extend it outwards. His feet planted firmly in the ground as he practically felt the sharp needle inching towards his skin.
Ancients, how he hated this. But he couldn't be selfish. Being selfish was bad, and it led to bad things for other people. In a few weeks, he'd be grateful, and he'd have other people besides his father, his father's ghostly employees, and his father's rather intelligent and creepy hologram to talk to.
"There we go my boy, not so difficult is it? Now sit perfectly still. If you move too much I might just need to take a sample again."
At the sound of his father's smug voice, Dorian's teeth grinded against each other in sync with the needle piercing through his skin.
He exhaled, taking care not to lose focus on the arm, lest he get another two hours of chores for not practicing his intangibility.
After a while, the needle left the arm, and Dorian's eyes twitched open again. His father's fingers tapped the container of the syringe with a satisfying sound. The man's smile was big and bright, almost as much as the glowing green liquid inside.
For a second, the sinking feeling in Dorian's stomach lessened and gave way to pride. Try as he might to be disgusted by the fact it was his internal liquids, Dorian couldn't help but appreciate glowing things. He'd wanted to ask if he could decorate his bookshelves with fairy lights for a while now, maybe he could ask his father right now?
He opened his mouth briefly.
"You can go now. My study is open to you. I expect you to take initiative and clean the carpets while you're in there... you know how messy the birds are, yes my boy?"
Dorian's lips twitched a little when his mouth closed, and he stood up, bowing politely.
"Yes, father. But you see, they're not that messy, it's just old people... Or vulture shedding. That's what they said at least."
"Well that's information I didn't particularly care to hear. I'll have to talk to them about sharing their... old age issues with you. Good day, Dorian."
Dorian walked out of the office, trying to take his father's advice. Perhaps thinking too hard about this - the needle that is, not the vultures' shedding as he didn't care to think of that issue either - would be bad for him. Or perhaps ignorance was more convenient this time.
He snorted, walking past a bookshelf with various american football trophies. When he was made Vlad had coded him with a European dictionary and Dorian wasn't about to let him know he'd made the mistake of arming him with the proper definition of football.
He had just stood silent, trying not to correct him, because even after thinking about this objectively, there were only feet involved in the game the Americans call football if you landed on somebody like they did in movies and cartoons, and your nose caught a whiff of the fragrant smell of sports.
'Soccer' didn't even make sense. Apparently there was a historical reason behind it - something about college students adding the suffix 'er' to trendy things - but Dorian could honestly care less. Perhaps he didn't understand the value of football socks, but there was a ball that was kicked around, so 'football' sounded better.
Dorian hated the sports... things that his father had, upon realising he was fully conscious, began to educate him on the ins and outs of, and Dorian, being only a few minutes old, didn't remember or want to remember any of it.
Sometimes he wondered if that counted as childhood trauma, considering how he didn't know how his brain was even developing.
Maybe that was why he didn't like those golden trophies and stupid jerseys. Maybe the rant was his first taste of what his life would be like. Weird that is.
Dorian shook his head and made way for the big library-like room he'd almost like to call his second room. If he could access it whenever he wanted of course.
His father hadn't forbidden him from anything, but Vlad Masters was a no nonsense person and parent after all, and he kept important documents in there that Dorian took care not to bother in any way while he searched for the next novel of his choosing.
He opened the door, bracing himself internally for the gaggle of vultures to talk over each other for a while before he could actually ask them about their current adventure.
"Ah! There he is, the big lad!"
On the chair sitting gingerly in front of a taller bookshelf, was perched a rather green and old looking glowing vulture. Its eyes crinkled with amusement, and he adjusted the fez on his head with his wing as he eyed him.
"Good, good. It'd be an embarrassment for you to go to the great beyond before me, I tell ya. Where were you?"
Dorian raised an eyebrow at the lack of two other vultures and a lot of noise and closed the door as quietly as possible and made his way over to the chair.
"Please don't. I'm not always here, you know? And um... I was with father. Apparently I won't be the only one here soon."
The vulture cackled, though his eyes flickered with some sort of guilt that passed just as quickly as it appeared.
"Enjoy yourself while you can then, child. Enjoy your youth and freedom before... Well, before the younger brats sap it like a desert does water. Hey... Maybe we can take you with us in the ghost zone at some point when you tire of them? You're in prime shape for an adventure or two you know?"
Despite his flippant words, the old bird's eyes crinkled with excitement, and his wing pet Dorian's hair.
"Anyways... being the eldest... It's a challenge. But you've seen me in action! You have theoretical training from everything I've told you and you've got the guts necessary. You can navigate the battlefield of watching others make poor life choices."
Dorian smiled despite himself and stole an expectant glance at the fireplace. No other birds in sight yet. In fact, the door to the lab wasn't even open, the fireplace was fully intact and firmly nestled in the stone walls of the study.
"Where are they, by the way? Your brothers?"
The bird sighed deeply and removed his wing from the boy's head, folding it back up.
"Get me a glass of ectoplasm child, I need it. Sometimes I wonder why we still bother with that guy. Don't he know how far the Far Frozen is? It's a miracle I managed to drag the bozos back here, they got caught in a blizzard. But they'll thaw. We've been through worse."
Dorian paused, lowering the pitcher of ectoplasm he was pouring into a cup and looked at the bird. His eyes met the amused stare at the vulture, and he set the pitcher down, holding out the cup to the old bird. The bird regarded him with a knowing stare and leaned in closer, blanketing Dorian with one wing.
"You know what I'm talking about? All the stupid situations we've argued over in front of you? Like the carnivorous canyon..."
"The Storm domains."
Dorian continued quietly.
"Yes child, indeed. But life's never one to let an old vulture rest. You see, the journey this time, started here, right outside your father's ghost portal, where he gave us the mission. Parched and dry we were, meeting a friend over at the wicked ghost genie's desert lair to pull him out of danger, which is a story for another time.
Then your old father comes up to us and goes 'I need a few large cubes of ecto ice for the filtrator system to cool it' like it's no big deal. I had half a mind to tell the fool to mind his own business, screw off with his techy mumbo jumbo and go fetch them himself, but we did need money, so we just said yes and flew over to the Far Frozen."
Dorian blinked, tilting his head in curiosity. He hummed for a moment.
"You've never told me ghosts have money, actually. I assumed father paid you with food or medicine or something like that."
The vulture shrugged his wings, clicking his beak.
"You're too innocent. Capitalism follows us everywhere, dead or not.
Anyways, Second suggested that Vlad was just screwing with us and actually trying to set that... human record Guinness thing for biggest vodka or whiskey, or whatever it was he mentioned. I don't remember. Second is an idiot."
The vulture paused, dipping his beak down into the cup and took a few large gulps of the substance.
Dorian waited patiently, holding the vulture's fez in place so it wouldn't fall while he was drinking. He wasn't sure how big ice was related to big alcohol, but it wasn't a prominent question on his mind.
The bird soon raised his head again, nodding in appreciation, and gulped down one last sip.
"Anyways, here's where things get real interesting. Perhaps too interesting for me at this age. So this large yeti comes up to us the moment we set claw in the snow, and says hello. And we say hello back, because..."
Dorian nodded.
"Because it's polite."
"Yes! But politeness kind of stopped after that, you see? We told him we were there on a mission for ice, and he goes and tells us to check somewhere else because they don't have any cubed and polished ice yet and apparently unworked ice from the land was dangerous and yada yada yada.
The Far Frozen. The one place with frozen in the name. Can you believe that? No ice. None.
Unfortunately, Third opened his big stupid big beak and told the yeti to bugger off and fetch the leader of the tribe. Snowbite, or whatever his name was. Acting like a real pest.
Anyways, so Third mucked things up with his attitude. Then Second tried to help and made things worse by mentioning his stupid alcohol thing. Thought the yetis would be down for that, like the big furry ghost monsters living in a frozen tundra care for spicy juice made from fermented fruit. Like they were known for parties and getting sloshed.
Real piece of work, I tell you, get ready for a lot of that going forward. You will hear the dumbest things."
Dorian snorted, holding out an arm for the bird to perch on.
"Don't scare me about that, please. Having siblings sounds fun."
"Not when they're idiots it's not."
The vulture's eyes crinkled, and he pecked Dorian's head playfully.
"Anyways, Second suggested to the tribe's leader that we all get drunk. And you know what?"
Dorian's eyebrows shot up. The old bird couldn't actually mean...?
"No way."
The vulture chuckled, leaning in and lowering his voice.
"They agreed. I didn't quite catch the leader's name in the ensuing chaos, but he was a real friendly chap. Slapped Second on the back and asked what alcohol was. We told them, and apparently they didn't know that it was made from fruit, so they rushed us over to their lead cook and brewer. "
"So Second wasn't dumb, technically?"
"To be fair, he was, but he was also smart on accident. Happens to the worst of us, including me. Then again, he still has that wild youth in his heart I'm too cynical for. Only that old coot would think of teaching a whole tribe of giant ghost yetis how to brew alcohol.
Third almost imploded because of that, ruining our fun for a few minutes, until we convinced him that this was actually a great plan. You see, we fed him some lies that this was our plan we hatched while he was off to the... Erm... Ice bushes, as it were. That we'd get the yetis drunk and steal the ice cubes under the cover of... also being drunk, I guess."
Dorian raised an eyebrow, remaining silent. He didn't know how three vultures would haul over a couple of ice blocks without them melting, but he'd seen and heard them do even more improbable deeds successfully.
"Don't look at me like that. Creativity is the spice of life, child."
The bird raised an eyebrow in return, adjusting his fez a bit and clearing his throat.
"So, where was I? Ah, yes, we managed to rope Third into our scheme with clever arguments and peer pressure, as we usually do. Remember this tactic, you'll need it if you wish to survive. "
"Alright, I will."
Dorian nodded, bringing the cup of ectoplasm over the the vulture's beak once more. As much as he didn't want to interrupt him, the bird's already hoarse voice was getting worse. Still, Dorian held the image of a snowy landscape full of excited yetis and three confused vultures in his mind, and the cup steady in his hand.
"Ah, thank you, my child. Now - after we convinced Third, it was time to improvise our plan into action. Third carries all our notes and recipes, so we had to wait for him to dig out an alcohol recipe that might be usable with the Far Frozen's fruits.
From what we know, their agriculture is quite hardy and tough to deal with the weather, so we assumed the fruits and vegetables are the same way. We bickered for a while until we found a suitable recipe - which I'm not telling you because you're too young - and we presented it to the lead chef and brewer.
The fellow was more than happy to try it, and wouldn't you know it, it worked! Luckily, we have high tolerance, so we tried it and nothing happened. It was strong, but we're older and wiser and more trained than the yetis in this type of skill. We knew our plan would be a success."
Dorian nodded, still holding up the vulture on his arm, even though it was starting to get a little cramped. The bird looked down and adjusted himself a little, trying to shift his weight in a way that made it easier for the large but still not that strong boy to hold him up.
"So then that Snowbite guy shows up and takes a big ol' brave swig of the brew. Then the brewer followed. Then the assistants. Then they carried it off to the others. And boy, was that when we realised how terrible that plan would turn out to be."
Dorian's eyes widened and he leaned forward. His lips parted and he whispered excitedly.
"And then? What happened? How did you escape after whatever happened happened?"
The vulture adjusted his fez and preened a little, opening his beak to speak.
"Well child, your old uncle First is a professional at keeping things together under pressure!
You see, after we realised that the yetis were... inexperienced, we panicked and watched as they lost control of their powers and caused a giant blizzard that topped the nearby fields with even more snow and ice, and then we-"
"Dorian! Come down here, will you?"
Dorian froze, and First flew up, moving back to perch on the couch with a stoic look on his face. Dorian looked back at him. The vulture shook his head. He then pulled the glass of ectoplasm a bit closer with his beak.
Dorian's eyes wandered around the huge study, which had once again become a cold, regular room, unshielded from the warm wall of feathers on the side of his head. A giant celling and shelves with books that registered as no more than little lines next to one another. A cold stone fireplace secret door combination still tauntingly closed and adorned with the blasted sports merch.
A few gulps of ectoplasm later, First looked up again.
"... You know, child?"
"Yes, uncle?"
"Maybe once they thaw, we can finish the story together. I think you can already guess that they were in the heat of things if they ended up frozen and I... Didn't. I Think you can keep a secret about this, yes? They're survivors. All of us are, really.
The Infinite realms are unthinkably empty without somebody to help you navigate."
The vulture said softly, nodding at the door reluctantly.
Dorian shot a steely glance at it, raking his eyes over the heavy wood. A sigh left his lips, and the tension dissipated.
"Thanks, uncle."
"No problem, my child. Now go before that old coot loses it even further. Lord Clockwork knows this man is careless with his marbles. Keep getting lost they do, and he barely makes an effort to find them."
And with a shrill sound, the door opened and Dorian slipped out. The sound of it shutting felt like a confirmation of something. Of some sort of denial.
Vlad shouted once again, this time more forcefully. Dorian cringed and phased through the floor, ignoring the way he felt sticky after emerging on the other side. If he paid it no mind, it wasn't happening.
He floated down to the floor, looking at his father impassively as he landed in their impressively unimpressive kitchen.
The man's face had returned to a bored neutral expression. He gestured at the dishes in the sink that Dorian knew weren't there before. The rumpled tablecloth and a few stray crumbs on the little lunch table in the room that Vlad slightly straightened out with one hand confirmed that suspicion.
"Make yourself lunch and clean the dishes after. Take care not to overeat, we need to keep you healthy.
And do remember to put away your dishes away as well. You need to act like a proper, respectful young man, and you shouldn't be told to do such things, but you are still young, so I'm still going to remind you.
Big plates in the cabinet above the oven, small ones in the one bellow as usual.
I would also be pleased if you brought me some coffee should you ever decide to venture into the lab, yes? Making new life is exhausting work, and I'll need support from my dear child."
"Yes, father."
"Good. Ta-ta for now."
"Bye."
"Goodbye father, my boy."
"Goodbye, father.”
"Perfect. I'll be seeing you later, my boy. Enjoy your new books, they're out in the foyer. I won't be available to help you move them into your room, but you are strong enough to carry a few boxes, so you'll be fine. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
Vlad said, clearly satisfied by the exchange, and made way for the door as Dorian made way for the sink.
The door slammed shut behind the man, and the thuds of his footsteps echoed through the clean, spotless, cold floor. The weather outside had become even more sickeningly sweet, the light filtering through the open window of the kitchen and lazily dissipating into the kitchen tiles and walls, and the breeze had begun rustling the fake plants strewn about the room once more. As he reached for a sponge, Dorian's back was hit with warmth, and he could almost imagine the softness of feathers once more as the feeling almost made his eyes hazy with its comfort.
He turned on the tap, perhaps putting a bit more force than necessary into the action.
Blast the weather. Why was it so sunny?
Dorian thought that the trees outside, no matter how symmetrically planted, were perfect for lounging under. Perhaps once he was done and he unpacked all his books he could actually go get some sunlight?
As much as he enjoyed the comfort of the dull lighting in his pod before bed, the more he glanced at the silver tap in front of him, the more scared he was for his complexion. He'd seen enough pictures on the internet to know that he... Well, he had eyebags. And nice cheekbones!
Blessing though those were to some people, mainly goths, punks, emos and other people who liked the dead aesthetics, Dorian didn't particularly like to look dead or sick.
It put his face at odds with his bulkier and very much well maintained body. In his ghost form maybe the deathly complexion would work, but as human?
Vlad had a healthy looking skin tone at forty, somehow, so Dorian should probably work on... also having one.
Sick victorian child was one of his favourite character archetypes, not foundations, thank you very much.
After he set aside the plate and cutlery to dry, he reached for the towel, making sure to get the last of the wetness from his hands rinsed off. But it wouldn't stop feeling wet.
His teeth pressed firmly against each other and he stared at the slightly greener than before towel. He needed to clean that too now. The laundry room was close to the lab, so maybe once he moved the books back into the study for easy transfer into his little section of the sterile, cluttered room...
With that in mind, the towel was promptly stuffed into his pants' pocket. He patted it gently and opened the window of the kitchen, scrunching up his nose at the sunlight assaulting his eyes.
After that, his feet began to walk on their own, stopping in front of the map of the castle in the middle of the empty hallway. He knew the way of course, but having help was... Well, helpful.
The castle's corridors stretched and weaved together, with no elevators no less, for reasons related to ghost powers as Vlad had explained, and had a height that made one feel lost no matter how many times they walked the floors of the magnificent building.
After seeing it on the outside, Dorian could only conclude that the place was built to ensnare people either by enchantment or confusion. Though he could personally do without the bright green and yellow.
He liked the colours, but in small amounts. Purple would suit a castle more, given the colour's historical connection to royalty. Vlad liked being seen as royal.
Though perhaps a deep blue might also do some good. Perhaps if his father ever got bored of the look of the huge castle, Dorian could pull up a few colour combinations he thought would work well.
He shook his head and traced a line on the map, reminding himself of the route to the lobby. It would be easier to phase and float the few floors down, but... Easier wasn't always good, with the state of his body. Stairs it was.
This place needed elevators, badly.
... Dorian wasn't about to bother his father about such a little, unnecessary detail.