Chapter Text
The rules of the game were simple:
1. Blend in with the humans.
2. The first to be discovered loses.
3. Anything goes.
—_-+-_—
Walking up to the ruins of what had once been a bustling and lively town seen many times from the upper levels of his castle, Scott felt what he could only describe as a smug sense of satisfaction.
Serves the town right. Staging a revolt all because he demanded a few sacrifices. Weekly. For centuries. Ungrateful, honestly. He had told them, time and time again, that the Goldsmith name was the only thing protecting them from uncertainty. Other towns and people left Oakhurst alone for they dared not anger anyone from the Goldsmith Coven. Truly, the townsfolk had been getting a bargain! He was kept fed and content, and the town was protected and provided everything they needed.
Scoffing, Scott shook his head lightly as he reached the barely standing spruce gate that was somehow in better state than the stone structures inside. He could hear people inside as well, conversations and heartbeats growing clearer and louder as he strode nearer.
Listening more closely, Scott decided to veer towards the center of town, where he had heard talk about removing someone’s foot, which sounded like the much more interesting conversation of those going on.
Catching sight of three humans surrounding the ruins of the former clock tower, Scott took in those he could see. A tall one with long red hair laced with flowers, somehow not wilting despite certainly having been in their hair for quite some time, wore a green dress and a somehow both disgusted and incredulous expression. A shorter one with blond hair secured out of his face with a black band stood seemed to be the loudest of the group. Dressed in clothes that may be in the style of the upper class, but were definitely not the high quality fabrics Scott would expect from an aristocrat, he appeared to be in the midst of an argument with the third and final person present. Close cropped hair, a monocle, and a white cotton apron, the third one smelled of blood and chemicals. A doctor then. Likely one with a military background given his appearance and how he held himself.
Scott called out as he approached, “Hello!”
“Surgery? For a twisted ankle? What kind of doctor are you? Precisely?” the one with flowers in their bright orange curls asked, incredulously before turning to greet him with a tight smile. “Hi.”
The whiny one continued near screaming at the doctor. “Sounds like you’re the only twisted one here!”
Rolling her eyes and ignoring the doctor defending himself, the original speaker spoke up again, “Let me guess: you’re also new?”
Blinking, Scott looked behind him towards the gate as he replied, “I mean, I was just walking down the path, yes.” They looked him up and down as he continued walking towards the small group, assessing. “Do you live here? I would be quite surprised.”
Obviously not, the town was decimated and couldn’t survive with the Goldsmith protection, but he had to seem like he knew nothing about the remains of the town, despite watching over its growth for centuries.
The one in white spoke up. “No one is from here. We’re all…”
He trailed off as the taller one nodded along. Clearing his throat, Scott began, “I will say, I do believe-”
“It’d be pretty pathetic if somebody did live here.”
The whiny one. He would have to go early on. Scott hated being interrupted. Even so, he could not help but notice the other looking at him, a gleam in his eyes. Scott had seen that expression many times on the faces of young fledglings looking towards their sires for approval, hoping to one day have the power they did.
Staring at him for a second, eyes slightly narrowed, Scott resumed, nodding, “Yes, well, if someone did live here, I would be quite worried about their wellbeing.”
He made sure to add a hint of distaste to his words to clue the annoying one in that he agreed with him. Regardless of how much Scott wanted him dead for his moment of insolence, he had no idea how soon that would be. Better to build bridges so that Scott can burn them down with the humans on them when the time eventually comes.
The redhead nodded, humming in agreement before their gaze was caught by something in the dilapidated clock tower.
The supposed doctor smiled. “They need an immense amount of DIY help.” A joke, if the laughs from the other two were any indication.
DIY? What in the world was DIY? Language and dialect changed so quickly that it was not a good indication of how long he had been out. But how to find out without directly asking for the year? That would tip the humans off to something. It seemed the language was more casual now though. Scott would have to tone down his usual formality if he wanted to avoid suspicion for as long as possible.
Adding to the clear disrespecting of the previous tenants of the town, Scott laughed, hiding it behind a blunt-nailed hand. He’d had to retract his claws after feeding earlier, an unusual sensation for him after so long having them proudly on display. They were now just sharper than a typical human’s, which he could pass off as a fashion statement or a trend of the upper class. “And maybe spiritual guidance because the choice to stay here, if this”—he gestured to the remains around them—“is what you lived in?” A shake of his head. “Goodness.”
He sounded like a prude. Goodness? Really? And he can not say anything he usually would without coming across crass or hellish. Scott did not think the humans would appreciate an “oh Satan” as much as he would right about now, and it is not as if he can call for the Lord. Holy words and all that. Vampyric laws of nature made it that much more difficult to blend in, likely the original intention.
Attention drawn to the tall one now standing in the tower, Scott strolled over to see what had caught their focus, the whiny one following to look at an odd structure surrounded in glass.
“Oh. What’s that?” he said, echoed by the one already inside.
Very eloquent, humans.
Holding in an eye roll and a scoff, Scott only shook his head as he said, “I have no idea.”
The doctor, who had followed upon hearing their questioning, frowned at the structure before shaking his head and addressing the loud one. “Uh ignoring…that for a second. What even are your names?”
“Me?” he asked, blinking. “Oh, uh. I’m Martyn.”
“Martyn?”
“Yeah,” Martyn nodded at the doctor. “I got lost. Basically, I fell asleep outside of the carriage and seems like my father just decided ‘see you later’ or he just simply didn’t check. I don’t know which of the two it was”
Scott attempted to hold back a chuckle, hiding a smile behind his hand and feigning sympathy with his eyes as best he could.
The redhead, not even trying to disguise her amusement at Martyn’s circumstances, said, “Not the favorite son, are you?”
Martyn winced, disguising it with a forced smile and chuckle, but Scott saw right through it. Not how much it truly hurt. No. How forced it all was. Now, Scott was no mind reader, but he was incredibly gifted at reading people. He better be, considering he had centuries of practice. Martyn was a liar. Scott knew this for a fact. After all, like recognizes like.
He was a good liar, for a human, considering he seemed perfectly confident in his story, heartbeat steady and even in Scott’s ears. Maybe not a complete fool after all.
The doctor seemed to find the situation humorous as well, but at least had the decency to pretend not to. “I am so sorry.”
The “forced” smile remained as he said, “It’s fine. It’s not the first time it’s happened. Although, getting lost for days on end”—shaking his head a bit—“is the first time it’s happened. Especially because we’re a little far from home.”
“Mmhm,” the redhead nodded, eyes slightly narrowed. Had she noticed Martyn wasn’t being truthful as well? “Well, I’m Cleo.”
Nodding in acknowledgement, the doctor responded, “Nice to meet you all. I’m Dr. Legundo, but please just call me Legs. Do let me know if there’s anything ailing you, and I will do my best to be of assistance.”
Yeah, that was not going to happen.
Scott nodded before tilting his down in a small bow. “My name is Scott. Scott Goldsmith. And the pleasure is all mine.”
Cleo’s eyes narrowed further as her nose flared the slightest bit. Not a fan of the wealthy it would seem. The doctor had little reaction, only nodding back. Martyn seemed intrigued but also, hidden in his eyes, worried. Likely that Scott would call his bluff if anything he said did not line up with the true lifestyle of the upper class. Not that Scott would be able to, considering he had no clue how they acted in the present day, whenever that was.
Putting his observations on the back burner, Scott shifted the conversation to the other group of recent arrivals. “Do any of you know who the individuals in that other group over there are?”
It was Martyn who responded, taking the attention back off of Scott. “No. I was trying to hide and sneak, but this one”—he gestured at the doctor—“spotted me.”
”They are lunatics.” That was Cleo. They continued as the other two bickered, something about “good vision” and “training”. “They are absolute lunatics. I wouldn’t go near ‘em to be honest.”
Drawn from the squabble, Martyn looked at Cleo, “Oh? Are they wrongins?”
He takes back what he said. He was still a fool. Wrongins? Even as long as he had been asleep, Scott knew that was not the way aristocrats spoke now.
“They- they-” Cleo seemed to struggle to find the words as they tried again. “They are very…”
At the same time, the doctor nodded, saying, “There’s a few…”
They looked at each other, wincing before Legundo continued. “Yeah. There’s a few speaking crazy.”
Cleo couldn’t seem to hold herself back as she stated, “One of them is looking for Bigfoot.”
Martyn barked out a laugh as Scott scrunched his face in confusion, taking note of the human who had begun walking towards them from the other group.
Apparently, this “big foot” was something well known. Just not to Scott.
“One of them has a big foot?” Turning to the best dressed human he had seen so far that had finally reached their little circle, Scott asked, completely lost, “Are you the one with the big foot?”
Caught off guard, the human shook his head, blinking in confusion brought on by Scott’s sudden question. “Uh, no. I think that is one the others over there mentioning-”
Cleo cut him off. “This is the butler.”
Truly, no one here has any manners.
“The butler?” Scott asked, pushing the irritation at the insolence back. Looking at the recent addition to their talk, he supposed it was rather similar to the servants he used to have. The ones he assigned to his staff looked better, of course, but still. Scott held some snarky comments about asking for some refreshments. Considering he intended to play the long game, it was better to have as many of the humans willing to at least somewhat listen to him as possible.
Martyn evidently had no such reservations about getting others to like him.
“Yeah! You look just like the ones in our house!”
Seems Martyn wanted to cement the idea of him being a spoiled brat into everyone’s heads. One with no tact, apparently.
Still a bit lost due to being interrupted only to have his attention consistently jerked between them, the butler answered Scott a bit hesitantly. “Yes. I am Abolish. I, um, worked with butlers before. I was not assigned to be a butler, though. I was taken in by a lord, and as a token, I became his butler.”
The way his eyes kept shifting told Scott enough about his story.
It was Cleo who once again spoke up. “Oh, so you’re a butler’s butler!”
“Sort of. In a way, I suppose.”
“You’re a double butt, that’s what you are!”
So eloquent, that Martyn.
As Martyn chanted “double butt” to a tune young children often used to taunt others, the doctor laughed, more at Martyn himself than at the childish humor as Cleo asked through her own laughter, “How old are you, precisely?”
“Yes,” Scott said through his own forced laughter. “I was going to say, when he said he was left by his father, he appeared to be a bit too old for that, but perhaps mentally? That seems to be on track.”
It was the doctor who said, still laughing, “I’m starting to maybe potentially clock why.”
As the others left, Scott continued, “Indeed, I am starting to believe it may not have been accidental.”
Cleo laughed harder, fiery curls bouncing as their head shook, agreeing with him.
Martyn seemed to take most offense from the doctor, though, as he exclaimed, “I’m sorry Mr. wanna-chop-everybody-up-the-second-that-I-meet-them.”
“I said nothing of chopping-”
“No,” Cleo said, “to be fair, you did.”
Mm, no I do not believe he did, Scott thought, thinking back on the conversation he had heard upon walking up. He said nothing, though, as he definitely should not have been able to hear that from as far away as he had been.
“I wanted to provide care!”
“You were going to take me to surgery for a twisted ankle!”
That was true.
“I can confirm you did.”
“You could’ve just massaged it or something!”
At this point, the two were practically attacking the poor doc.
“You know,” Scott said, cutting off the antagonizing of the medical “professional,” to add to it, “it kind of looks like you are wearing a wedding gown that is just a touch too short for you.”
A look of pure indignation took over Legundo’s face. “These are doctor’s robes!”
Looking him up and down, Scott only let out a small, “Oh.”
“I can’t have blood on my clothes. If necessary, I need to be able to provide care or assistance. I’m a surgeon.”
“Mm, well, I do not believe any of this feels clean enough for surgery.”
Scott’s observation was met with murmurs of agreement from the others.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Legundo shook his head, “which is what I said to the child”—gesturing at Martyn—“before he started running away and calling me a madman.”
“And how many of his limbs did you remove before that point?!” Martyn clearly missed the implication that he was the child.
Shaking his head, Scott watched as two new figures joined their slowly growing gathering. The first was a young woman with an atrocious sense of fashion. And the other…
“Is this the one with the big foot?” Scott asked Cleo, pointing at the fashion disaster.
Shaking her head, they said, “I don’t think so.”
Abolish continued to look entirely lost.
“Don’t listen to the Bigfoot gal. She’s kind of downplaying the whole seriousness of the situation right now, okay?”
His Sire had always been much faster at picking up the dialect of the areas they visited. More experience, he claimed.
Ignoring the man for now, Scott voiced his thoughts out loud. “Wait, are they looking for people with big feet, or do they just have big feet?” He shook his head. “I am confused.”
“I’m a size eleven if that helps.”
Not at all, but thanks, Martyn.
“Yeah, I don’t really get it either,” the poorly dressed woman agreed.
“Same,” Scott nodded.
“I’m sorry, who are you all?” the young man asked.
“Yeah I was about to ask,” Abolish added.
As introductions went around once again, the two newcomers were identified to the group as Drift and Avid.
“Hello, I’m Scott.”
The contraction took more effort than it should have.
“This is Double Butt,” Martyn says, pointing at Abolish.
Ignoring him, Scott continues, “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, hi!” Avid smiled as he began to dig in his pockets. “Here, take some of this.”
Garlic.
He was just forcefully handed an entire clove of dirty, smelly garlic that had most certainly been pulled from the ground quite recently.
“Why, thank you,” Scott said, forcing himself to stay neutral.
“You’re welcome!”
Such a smug look on his face. So proud of himself for his find.
Scott was going to kill him.
“Ooo, what’s that?”
Avid turned to look at Martyn. “Oh, would you like one as well?”
“Yeah, please!”
Cleo stepped closer to see what was happening before scrunching her face in disgust. “Why are you giving people raw garlic?”
Completely ignoring her, Scott walked to the garlic man and threw him a potato, a bit more forcefully than necessary. “I can trade you some vegetables.”
Eyes alit with mirth, he said, “Oh, wow! Thank you for the potato. That’s wonderful!”
As a conversation began about crops and farming and people began giving Cleo all of their vegetables and seeds, Scott “accidentally” dropped his newly acquired garlic. Crouching down, Scott spoke near silently under his unnecessary breath, “I am going to shove this nasty ass piece of filthy vegetation down your throat and make you smile as you choke.”
Standing back up, Scott ignored the light chuckle he heard through Avid’s hand, now covering his mouth to hide his own response. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
Eye twitching, he gave Cleo the crops he had, including some berries he had picked earlier and the clove of garlic the idiot had given him. He shook his head at Cleo’s raised eyebrow, smiling tightly.
“I’ve got nothin’, but I trust ya, I trust ya,” Drift said casually, tucking her empty pockets back in, before noticing the structure inside the tower remains. “Wait, what is this?”
Whipping his hair out of his face, Scott answered, “I am not sure.”
Martyn walks over and bends down to look at the structure. “Everytime I crouch near it it just-”
“Everytime someone stands a little too close to it, I hear something on the wind,” the doctor interrupts.
Watching as the others join Martyn, Scott hears Avid call out, “You’re consecrating!”
Scott tilted his head, stepping back and laughing nervously, “You are doing what, exactly?”
Avid perks up from just outside the tower, “Consecrating!”
“Is that contagious?” Scott asked, playing dumb. “I-I am not sure I trust that. What exactly do you mean by ‘consecrating’?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Avid pushed out through his laughter, mischief plain on his face.
“Oh, come on. Live a little!” Martyn seemed to be enjoying himself, hands on the faintly glowing glass.
Before he could say anything, Scott felt Avid’s hands on his back, not so gently shoving him into the radius of the structure. That little-
The glowing suddenly dimmed completely as Martyn, Drift, and Cleo step back, varying looks of confusion on their faces, talking over each other about what could have caused the interruption, before Martyn pointed at him accusingly. “No, I think it’s because you walked in, Scott.”
Shaking his head and raising an eyebrow, Scott tried to cover, “No, I- Cleo literally stood up! What do you mean?!”
And she had. Of course that was after the consecration had been interrupted but he doubted anyone had noticed, the timings fairly close. It very well could have been her fault to any who were not paying their full attention, but Martyn was having none of it.
“What are you guys doing?”
A newcomer.
Brushing himself off, Scott left the tower remains and humans to discuss the structure, subtly hooking an ankle around one of Avid’s own and pulling. Stepping around the now grounded man, Scott didn’t bother hiding a smirk as he walked off to greet the other group nearby, ignoring the huffs and the rushed reassurance that he was “fine! Just tripped over my own feet” from behind him.
“Oh, well, I’m Pearl, and I lost my entire family—”
Damn.
“Damn.”
His thoughts exactly, tall man.
“—and, uh, now, I’m going to be settling in a new place and a new life.”
Finally noticing the looks she was getting, the woman backtracked. “I know. Sorry to drop- I know it’s heavy!”
“That is incredibly sad,” Scott said, making her jump, having been the only one of the group not to notice his approach. Now looking at her head on, Scott took a moment to assess the new group around him. Long brown hair with a rose behind one ear, the tall woman in front of him appeared well dressed, in a black dress, front sections hitched to her knees, and boots similar to the riding boots he used to see the townsfolk wear when they brought their weekly tithe to the castle.
The tall man who smelled of ink and paper nodded. He was also clothed in much finer clothing than the others Scott had met so far, clearly having money at least at some point or another. Fairly handsome for a human, but a bit scruffy for Scott’s taste. “Wow, trauma dumping on us like that.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. It was a long time ago. It’s ok. It’s fine.”
It definitely sounds that way.
Looking at his sad excuse for claws, Scott said, “That is quite a bit of, how did you say, ‘trauma dump’ to just say to people you only just met.”
“You asked!”
The short one with the glasses shrugged, tucking a strand of red hair behind an ear. “Yeah, we just met.”
He liked the short one. Simple yet ‘cute’ described her style well, wearing a sweater vest and short skirt in a green palette, complimenting her dark red hair and golden eyes, which shone with light and life. Avid would like this one.
“Sorry…”
“I did not.” Scott lowered his hand. “I walked over just now.”
Something was off with this one. He could smell it. Sniffing lightly, trying to identify what it was, the others kept speaking.
“I like it. We feel close already.”
That is one way to look at it, tiny one.
“Aww,” the odd woman smiled broadly, teeth too sharp. Scott imagined if she had a tail it would be wagging furiously right about now.
Dog.
Shit.
This could be a problem.
“The energy changed quite a bit,” Scott said, putting a pin in that for the time being. “They are around a magic circle beacon thing.” He pointed towards the ruined clock tower. “You two are discussing your family being dead.” He gestured in front of him. “I feel like I have walked up to the wrong town.”
Silence for a moment.
“My dad was killed by a werewolf…I think.”
Satan on a stick, these people.
“Now, that was trauma dumping.”
Agreed, wolf woman. Agreed.
“Oh.”
Recalling his earlier discussion, Scott paused before directing his gaze back at the small one, who also smelled of ink and paper, though not as clean as the other. “Are you the one looking for people with big feet?”
“Yeah, she’s the Bigfoot watcher.” That was the tall, scruffy man again.
There was a sharp gasp of excitement before he had hands on his own. “Yeah! Yeah, Bigfoot. Bigfoot, really any kind of creature, werewolves, sirens…”
Shrugging, Scott said, “I have about a size eleven. Is that big enough or…?”
“Oh.”
And now she’s looking straight down at his feet. Great.
“That’s pretty big.” The tall man. “I’m a twelve so I’m a little bit bigger. Look at this.”
Another gasp before the little one’s attention is shifted again.
It was going to be a long day if everyone was this odd and easily distracted.
Offhandedly, from her place near their feet, the little one says, “You know this guy’s famous right here.”
Nodding, the tall one nods, “I’m a famous writer. This is true.”
“Oh!”
Ah, the one in the back speaks. Sort of.
They seemed young but well kept. Clean clothes, manicured hands stained with ink. His hair was long but well maintained. Upper class then. Not as loud as the others but Scott was fairly good at spotting those of higher standing. It made getting what he wanted easier if he knew who to direct his charm at.
The tall woman tilts her head, and Scott can practically see how her wolf ears would tilt to the side with her. Like a curious puppy. “You’re famous?”
“I’ve wrote many books. I’m a published author.”
Who clearly has an overworked editor if the use of ‘wrote’ was any indication.
“What’s your pen name then?”
The wolf woman seemed as skeptical of his claim as Scott.
“Have you ever heard of M?”
Raising her eyebrow, the wolf says, “I’ve heard of the letter M.”
Stifling a chuckle, Scott asks, “What are some of the titles? Perhaps, I would recognize it by name.”
Grinning ear to ear M starts rattling on about his bestseller, a book called Twilight, which was apparently about Vampyrs and Werewolves. Ironic considering he had one of each currently in his presence.
“I think I may have heard of that one.” A bold faced lie. “When did that one come out? I believe I have read something else with that title, and I want to be sure.”
“Oh, well, it’s been a good few years now. The first one released in 1798.”
1798.
“Oh?” his voice quaked slightly, but Scott forced it back. “So, it has been out for…?”
Despite being slightly confused, M answered, “Uh, about eight years now.”
The year was 1806. He had been put to sleep in 1206. He had been asleep in that blasted coffin for six-hundred years.
Before he had a chance to spiral or anyone else could say something, a wave of burning warmth swept out from the center of town, where the beacon structure had been. Scott felt as if the air was being forced from his lungs as his frigid body shuddered. There were exclamations of confusion and surprise throughout the ruined town.
“Did you say something about a magical beacon? Did they-”
Blinking away the shock and forcing the burning to the back of his mind, Scott cut the little one off, briefly forgetting his own manners. “Yes. Yes, they were doing something over there.” He shoves a hand in the direction of tower ruins and watches as the wolf, big foot girl, and M run towards it. Looking back at the other two who had yet to say much of anything since he had walked over. “I do not mess with that nonsense. None of that spiritual magic stuff interests me in the slightest.”
A half-truth. He did not fool with the holy magic that washed over the town, but Vampyrs were creatures born of magic. Dark magic but magic nonetheless. Briefly looking over at the tower, Scott watches as the humans scuttle around like rats trying to find an escape route in their confusion. Such simple creatures. The centuries must have also impacted how humans feel about magic, seeing as none of them seemed to understand that the beacon was emitting holy magic, light magic. Nothing for them to worry about at all. If anything, they should be taking comfort in it.
Scott was shaken from his thoughts as the mustached man, who had yet to really say anything since Scott had walked over, began to speak, wincing at the activity in the town center. He was much more his taste. Long hair tied back, shirt unbuttoned further than considered respectable, to show off his chest or so he could move better, Scott did not know. Did not care, honestly. Not when it created the image before him.
“Can we come over here for a proper greeting?” No one was perfect of course. An odd accent. Barely understandable, to a degree. Certainly not one Scott had ever heard in all his centuries of living and traveling.
“Yes, of course, of course,” the young man, who had remained mostly silent as well in the previous conversation, replied.
Nodding, Scott joined them as they walked a bit further, a fair distance away that a creature with average hearing likely couldn’t catch the conversations drifting across town. Scott just forced the talking away from his focus, unable to block it out entirely.
It was the young man who spoke again. “As many people have already said, I love your accent. What part of this world do you come from?”
He chuckled lightly as he said, “Why, thank ye. My name is Renhardt Dogmourne.” He bowed deeply at the waist, an action Scott quite missed being directed at him. A sign of respect in a town that seemed to lack it almost entirely. “And I come from the Capital City.” He was met with responding nods. “Where are ye from, and what be yer names, dontcha know?”
The other smiled wide as he answered the other, “I’m from the Capital as well! My name is Jack Van Pyroscythe, but please, call me Pyro. I’ve come to write about this town. It’s my final piece in university. I wanted to come to research the people and the culture and the place, but there’s not much place left. I feel like I’ve come to the wrong place. This is Oakhurst, right?”
As he spoke, Pyro looked around town nearly the entire time, seemingly unable to keep eye contact for long, stumbling over every other word and repeating himself often. Upper class he may be, socialization was clearly not his strong suit.
Sighing almost sadly, Renhardt nodded. “There isn’t much to research, I’m afraid.”
Scott nodded along. “I believe this is Oakhurst. I’m Scott Goldsmith.”
“Greetings, Scott,” Renhardt said, bowing again. Scott liked this one.
“Greetings, Scott, greetings.” Pyro nodded, still avoiding eye contact.
And Scott was nothing if not well-mannered, Vampyr or no, so he bowed his head in response. “Well, I am a manor lord. I have a little manor just a couple towns over. I was hoping to see the rest of the world outside of the lands I was raised in, but if this is what is out there, I may be sorely disappointed.”
Lies and truths. It is always easier to keep a story together if it is sprinkled with truth. Just enough to be believable but not enough to give anything away.
The conversation continued for a while as the sun progressed slowly across the sky. At the weak level Scott was currently at, the sun was little more than a slight nuisance. It did not yet hurt, but it was rather uncomfortable.
Renhardt, or Ren as he claimed to prefer, expressed his distaste for Scott’s noble standing but refused to give an explanation as to why. Pyro mentioned his concerns regarding wolves in the surrounding woods, which was ridiculous considering wolves had not lived in this region in the centuries Scott had governed it. Likely, Pyro had heard Pearl before she had arrived in town and any of her pack that had been with her. Wolves didn’t just rarely travel alone. They never did. They may travel briefly or scout ahead, but even then, there were typically at least two or three together at all times. An odd case, to be sure.
The three eventually joined more of the new townsfolk closer to the gate, a young woman in red, a young man who did not look well enough to even be standing, and Martyn. The young woman identified herself as Apo Kuna.
It was the young man, who only gave the first name Owen, that caught Scott’s attention, though.
Bandages around his hands and neck, axe at his hip, old worn and dirty clothing. A done with life look upon his face. A slow, slow stuttering heartbeat.
Vampyr.
He didn’t seem to register Scott showing just how inexperienced he was.
Giving a subtle sniff in his direction, Scott had to stifle the instinctive scrunching of his eyebrows as he tried to decipher exactly what the odd scent encompassing the other vampire was. Owen smelled like a fledgling but with an air of staleness coating it. He could not smell another Vampyr on him so his Sire had likely been gone for quite some time, another indication that he was not a fresh fledgling.
He would have to investigate further.
Scott was drawn back to the conversation as Martyn responded to Ren’s questioning, likely as to who he was. The day was just going to be introduction after introduction, wasn’t it?
“…Martyn uh- Woodhurst.”
Creative.
“He got left by his dad on the side of the road,” Scott added on helpfully.
Wincing and nodding, Martyn continued, spinning his web of lies. “I know that Oakhurst and Woodhurst all come from the same familial tree. Somewhere down the line, my great Grandpappy probably owned this place. And maybe I can find the deeds!”
“Yeah maybe…” Owen clearly either did not believe him or just straight up did not care.
“Well, this land is owned by the military now so I seriously doubt that will happen. They told me to come here and set up an outpost.”
“Oh, what kind of outpost?”
Looking at Owen, Apo seemed surprised that someone seemed somewhat interested in her military position. “Ah, just to overlook the land.”
Tilting his head, Martyn asked, “What does the military want with a shack like this?”
Owen sounded equally curious as he said, “Yeah…?”
It did not appear the young Apo actually expected anyone to question her or her position here. “Uh… well, they just said like a lot of tourists come here so they don’t want it to get, like, littered and stuff.”
Yeah, she clearly had no idea why she was actually here.
Raising an eyebrow, an action that Scott felt he had done more in the past few hours than he had the entire year he was last awake, Scott laughed lightly. “I feel like people would need to pay me to claim ownership of this.”
Which, if Scott did not already own the land, regardless of what little Miss Military said, would hold true.
Murmurs of agreement sounded from the group around him. All except for Martyn, who wouldn’t understand a social cue if it smacked him in the face.
“Hey, I’ll tell you what. I’ll take it off your hands.” He pointed a thumb at his chest as he smiled, so damn proud of himself. “I will happily own and run this place. Why not?”
Why was Scott not surprised?