Chapter Text
Her turning was botched. Not enough blood taken and given at once for it to be as perfect as she dreaded, as per the luck of young Miss Mina Ha. Standing in an alley next to the acclaimed and infamous Baroness Hotel, Mina scrutinized both her luck and her hand under the neon glow of the building’s sign. Today, she had spent so much time sewing a new dress that she did not notice when the sun began to creep ever closer and closer to the small gap in her curtains, resulting in a burn on her left hand.
Her dominant hand.
Just her luck.
It had taken five hours for the burn to heal enough for her to stomach the thought flexing her hand, and even seven hours later it had not healed enough for her to put a glove on the patch of raw skin. Any other vampire in New York would have been healed within the hour. But not Mina. Because she was a botched turn. Stupid parents and stupid vampires and stupid turn-rituals and—
—someone was watching her. How she did not notice the Drifter strolling up to her side of the alley and subsequently sizing her up, she blames her brooding. He looks her up, down, up again with… some visible emotion. Confusion? Contempt? Pity? No matter the emotion that made his nose crinkle and eyebrows furrow, she despised it with every strand of half-dead DNA in her body.
“You always ignore people that’re trying to call you?” The Drifter asked, his voice drawling like he just woke up from an unsatisfying nap. He fiddled with one of his pockets, and Mina’s hand twitched towards her purse while shifting to lean on the wall to cover her movement.
She wondered if he would notice her going for her gun. “Only if I give a shit about them. What do you want, plague dog?” Drifter let out a rough cackle and pointed behind her.
“For you to step about three paces to the left. There’s a door for me and I don’ think my comp’ny’s gonna be too happy if I’m late.”
With a somewhat disgruntled huff, Mina glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, the wall on which she was previously leaning had changed from white brick to a gilded redwood door with warm gold light leaking from the gaps between the frame. She noted that the door number hailed an infinity symbol instead of a comprehensible number. Drifter, suddenly much too close for comfort, reached for the door and gave it three sharp knocks. As swiftly as he invaded her space, he was a few steps away from her. Before she could finish fishing her pistol from her purse and put at least one well-deserved bullet between the Drifter’s eyes, the door opened behind her, inwards. In a moment that Mina would dub “not her finest,” she squeaked as she fell back into the room she was not invited into.
There are quite a few rules that humans think vampires have to follow: the dozens of religion-exclusive limits to where and when the creatures of the night can tread, if they can withstand the touch and taste of garlic, the idea that placing a single wild rose on the coffin of a sleeping vampire will keep them within, shapeshifting and crossing moving water, Mina could ramble on for hours (in private, of course) about how the antique and made-up rules keep the Barony from real power. However, one of the rules that vampires do unfortunately have to follow is the whole “cannot enter a dwelling without permission” thing. Mina still fights with that rule. It’s not that she physically can’t enter a dwelling, it’s just that when she falls through the threshold of the Baroness’s room, she begins to burn.
This is now two burns that Mina has to deal with.
The excruciating pain only stops when gloved hands catch her shoulders and the Doorman frantically gives her permission to enter the Baroness. It’s a bit hard to see through the smoke that her flesh is giving off as it melts, but Mina thinks the Drifter enters after her and the door disappears promptly after he closes it. Drifter, of all not-people, kneels to her level to assess her burns with a scary level of care. It’s hard to hear what he and the Doorman are saying over the buzzing shriek of her melted nerves and the thick, choking odor of her own burning skin.
Mina doesn’t know how long she spends on the carpeted floor with Drifter and Doorman frantically yelling over her before a hand is shoved in her mouth and pierces itself on her fangs. Thick, warm blood fills her mouth before she can protest.
“My deepest apologies, Miss Ha.” The Doorman whispers to her. “But you need to drink to heal, and Drifter isn’t exactly the best bloodbag. Please, Miss Ha, drink.”
His blood is inhuman. Mina knows the Doorman isn’t human, she’s watched the man stand in one spot and not so much as blink for half an hour. She didn’t expect for his blood to be that bright cyan blue that matches his eyes and taste electric on her tongue. Sighing with a relief she hasn’t known in months that only comes with drinking living blood, Mina grabs hold of Doorman’s arm and adjusts the limb in her mouth to catch a vein. Whatever magic is flowing through the Doorman’s arteries is potent indeed, as Mina’s burns are healing in record time and looking as though she never even went to the Baroness. It is only after she feels completely sated that Mina releases the Doorman and accepts a small towel he offers her.
The room is not silent. Soft music floats through the air from a small radio, a window is open just enough to let in the murmur of the outdoors, and both Mina and Doorman are panting. He looks paler than usual after bleeding for her, pupils blown wide and legs shaking as he stands and lends her a hand. She takes it and stands on tingling legs.
“How are you feeling, Miss Ha?” He asks, voice level as though he wasn’t just bled almost-dry.
Mina hums uncomfortably. She’s still holding his hand. Drifter is out of her field of sight. “Where is…”
Doorman raises his arm, the one Mina drank from, now clean and freshly re-gloved. He flourishes it to a corner of the room where the Drifter sits at a table next to a crowded bookshelf. He isn’t looking at them, instead dragging a pen across his arm. It looked like he was trying to write something on the pale skin that matched an image from a paper, gaze flitting from his arm to the paper to his arm again. What can only be described as a surgeon’s to-go essentials lay on a leather rectangle sit next to him. Mina can smell the metallic tang of silver from the tools.
“Drifter, our guest is back to her full faculties. Can you please explain the silver scalpels to her before she panics?” Doorman asks the question casually, like he were asking about the weather or the price of a newspaper. Drifter flinches as he is startled out of focus and gives Mina a once-over.
“Get over ‘ere, fledgling,” He calls. “Wanna show you something.”
“Why should I?”
“Doorman won’t let ya leave until you give this a chance,” he drawls, motioning to his setup. “Trust me, I don’t wanna do this either. But you’re a pretty shitty vampire to be honest, and you’ most likely gonna end up dyin’ if you don’t try cheatin’ like I do.”
Who the fuck does this old fuck think he is.
“What the fuck do you take me for, you sad old man? A child who can’t figure out how to button a blouse?! Some… some…” She’s too insulted to think of other comparisons. Mina hasn’t blushed in months, but Drifter’s words set a fire in her chest that has most definitely made her blood start boiling and moving to her cheeks and ears. “Why?! Why would I want your sad excuse for help when I can do anything I want to on my own? I can–”
“You couldn’t see me earlier, could ya? Back in the alley. I was stalkin’ you that entire time just to bother you and I wasn’t even hidin’ and you didn’t see me. You still have human eyes. Human ears, teeth, tongue, heart. Wouldn’t notice it if I wasn’ lookin’ but you were scarily oblivious, fledgling,” Drifter had fully turned to look at Mina and Doorman at this point, looking her dead in the eyes. “This isn’t even me tryin’ to piss you off anymore, I’m wondering if your ambition is gonna go to waste because you’re too prideful to ask for any sort of help or guidance. You need help, and I’m offerin’ it with no strings attached. Use that brain o’yours and make a good choice.”
He sighed and turned back in his chair, looking back at his work. Opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and pushed his hair out of his face.
Doorman coughed into his fist and placed his hand on Mina’s shaking shoulder. “What our emotionally constipated friend is attempting to say is this; we’ve noticed that using alchemical sigils as a sort of tattoo imbued with magic can enhance certain abilities. Drifter has quite a few already as you can see. This one here,” he singsongs, crossing the room in a few quick strides and pointing at a small, dark scar in the shape of an X on Drifter’s arm. “This is the symbol for talc. It is said to be a protection from any poison or plague, but in practice it only provides a boost to the inhuman immune system and speeds up healing factors by a small amount. If you were interested in getting a sigil, I would highly recommend this one.” He said it in a service worker’s tone, but there was something in the way he traced over the raised skin so tenderly that made her think he was being sincere. She pointedly ignored the way that Drifter seemed to preen under his touch and look at the other man like he owed the Doorman something beautiful.
Mina sighed. Paced in a circle and smoothed out her hair. Ignored the white-hot bolt of excitement that raced through her core and made the journey to the table where the Louisiana Boogeyman sat being practically pet by a doorman-god-thing. Smoothed her skirt again as she sat in the free seat across from Drifter.
“You first. I would also like to know why you need the Doorman here for this.”
Drifter pulls his arm from Doorman’s reach and motions to the small collection of silver blades in front of him. “It’s silver. Now I’ve been doing’ this for a long time, but I still have the instinctual fear of getting cut by it. Doorman’s here to either hold me down or make the cuts himself. ‘S why so many of ‘em are so neatly done. I usually get borderline feral by the end of it so it’s better when he’s here.”
Mina could only purse her lips and adjust her seating to avoid rolling her eyes. Them being two man-adjecent monsters aside… did they know how romantic they made this sound?
“Okay. Okay. I changed my mind, I want to get the talc sigil first. You two are being sickeningly soft and it’s messing with how I have you categorized in my head.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. So either help me get better at living by cheating, or stop acting like a honeymooning couple.”
Doorman covers his mouth with a hand and his chuckles with a fake cough. “Excuse me,” he says, like he doesn’t know exactly what he was doing and has no remorse for sullying the Drifter’s reputation in front of a fledgling. “Shall we begin, then?”
Mina nods and shuffles off her overcoat, baring a shoulderblade to the two men. “How does here look?”
“No one will notice unless you want them to, Miss Ha.”
“Perfect. No offense, but I don’t want any of the Barony knowing I associate with either of you.”
“None taken,” the Doorman says, as he walks over to Mina and prods at the skin. “Do you moisturize? Your skin is in incredible shape for someone with no metabolic functions.”
“I do! I’m glad someone finally notices my hard work. I seriously don’t think any of the older counts here in New York know how to take care of their appearance besides makeup and clothing. Like, Drifter, do you know Anthony Bali and his wife Lucine?” Mina begins, more than happy to gossip and complain about her superiors while Doorman preps her shoulder and sanitizes the scalpel. “They have actual people–human people–that they feed from regularly and they still look like wrinkled suede purses. It’s insane how little they seem to want to match their status with their looks.”
Drifter nods at her, a hand on his chin supporting his face as he watches the girl rant and his host test the blade on his wrist, nod in approval, then sanitize the scalpel again. “Y’know this is gonna hurt like a bitch, right?” he drawls. “Even I don’ like it and I can take a hell of a beating.”
Mina sucks in a breath. “I can guess it will…” Her bottom lip gets caught in a fang.
“Here. Hold on to my arm. Better break bone than one of Doorman’s tables.” True to his word, Drifter scoots his chair closer to Mina and offers his arm. Mina doesn’t take it immediately.
“You two are being really nice to me. Why?”
“Because you’re stubborn and hate me,” Drifter answers. “I’m gonna sound like some weird mentor figure from a cheesy novella, but you kinda remind me of someone I used to know way back.”
“How far back?”
“When I was human. That’s all I’m tellin’ you about that. No more questions outta you or else I leave.”
Doorman taps Mina’s shoulderblade, getting her attention. “Are you ready, Miss Ha? I’ll do my best to make this quick but it will hurt. And it’s best to take up Drifter on the arm offer. I am quite precious about the quality of the furniture here at the Baroness.”
“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get this over with.” She takes Drifter’s arm, ignoring how cold his skin is and taking a deep breath. She doesn’t need to breathe, but it’s a hollow piece of muscle memory. It makes her feel human.
The scalpel burns before it touches her skin. She hears the skin sizzle, hears Drifter hum as she digs her nails into his skin. It’s like blue fire is injected into her dermis, the silver searing her skin so hot it’s cold and making her feel dizzy with the liquid agony pouring into her shoulder and down into her arm. The room blurs and spins and she shakes and whimpers with the waves of pain. It feels worse than the almost full-body burn she suffered on her way into the Baroness, worse than the night she was turned and her whole body died. She thinks the Doorman and the Drifter are saying something, but she cannot hear them over the rushing behind her eyes and the pop and wet crackle of a bone breaking under her hands. She vaguely hears Drifter yelp at that. Any other day and Mina would be gloating over that, making the urban legend she shares eyes with feel pain, but now is not a time where she can process light filtering into her retinas, let alone an emotion like glee or smugness or fear.
No… no. She feels fear. A small blade drawn into her skin has made Mina Ha feel an ice-cold dread she has not felt since the faceless fanged figure bit into her neck all those years ago when she had lost her future as a Fairfax. When Mina Ha died.
The room goes white, then black, and the pain stops.
Mina wakes up laying on her stomach, head cushioned by a soft pillow. Her shoulder is sore. She is alive and was sleeping on a very comfortable couch that she’s too short to cover all the cushions of. Or maybe the couch was oddly long…? There is growling, soft but fearsome, somewhere far away. She thinks she hears kind words, a quiet groan and the snip of shears through thick fabric. Mina opens her eyes and squints at two figures sitting at a table in the corner of the room. One sits hunched over, nails digging grooves into the wood, as the other sits up straight and dutifully wraps a bandage around his arm. They are bickering and blood sizzles on silver blades next to them. The figure with the bandage flicks a bright blue gaze in her direction and smiles a genuine smile with no teeth. It’s almost charming.
“Welcome back, Miss Ha! How do you feel? Oh, the mark took beautifully and looked to be on the track to fully healing by the end of the night when I bandaged it. I do hope you find the results as lovely as I do.” Mina blinked sleepily in response to the Doorman’s report. Her gaze slides over to the Drifter, who is adjusting the bandage on his arm and shuffling the fabric of his jacket over it. “Oh, Drifter is fine as well, in case you were wondering. You gave him a perfect break across both the bones in his forearm earlier. You should be proud.”
The man in question huffs with a gravelly voice. It sounded like he had been gargling glass when he said, “Not bad work, kid. Y’know, I almost killed Doorman when he first carved me up. You got strength. Now get some more sleep. Sun’s coming up soon.” He wipes off the blades with the side of his jacket and rolls them back up in the leather strip they were laying on, then slips the roll into his pocket as he sits back down.
Mina sighs, something in her gut melting as she sinks down into the couch cushions again. She feels the cushions near her feet sink as well as Doorman settles down with a book and a steaming cup of tea. Him and Drifter chat, soft words a sharp contrast to the bickering that had characterized the evening until now. She thinks they’re talking about the weather. It's going to be overcast today. Mina can keep her curtains open while she works on her dresses, not needing to test the scar on her shoulder.
Tomorrow, Mina will not thank them. She will chat with the maids and the bellhops that flit through the halls of the hotel, leaving and entering the building without anyone telling her to, and then give the Doorman a small sketchbook full of drawings of new uniform concepts for the workers of the Baroness. She will track down the Drifter and begrudgingly offer to patch up and reinforce the worn and raw patches on his jacket. She will hand sew the garment with care, and when she pricks her finger she will not worry about getting blood on the fabric. It is healed before the thread finishes passing through the thick fabric.