Chapter 121
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 120
Arthur hadn’t expected anyone else in the library this early, and certainly not Mr Basarab, but now that he sees him… he decides to approach. He didn’t see Darcy yesterday, and he kind of wants to, but he gets that she might need some time and space, he doesn’t want to crowd her.
And it also means that he feels like he’s had some space himself to settle down from everything that’s happened. Another immediate crisis is behind them. It doesn’t fix everything, but… it’s something.
So he dares to walk up to Mr Basarab and greet him. “Um, good morning. I don’t mean to disturb you, I just wanted to say… thank you for all your help?”
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“That is very gracious of you, young scholar, but I believe we are quite equal in that regard. I may just as well thank you for all your help with my dearest puíț.” Vlad smiles magnanimously, and yes, he’s well aware he is in an amenable mood, but he sees no reason to hide that or to withhold it from Mr Lancaster. After all, he just spent some hours helping to set up a big event for him, so he is precious to his granddaughter and he shall treat him charitably for it.
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“… Puíț?” Arthur doesn’t know that word- he’s not sure whether Mr Basarab is referring to Darcy or not.
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With a chuckle Vlad indicates the chair across from him. “My apologies, I have long lived among people who speak my language, it is not quite a habit yet to remember that you wouldn’t. Puíț is a term of endearment in my native Romanian, something you would call a young animal, like that brilliant wolf pup that is my granddaughter’s drac.”
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Arthur takes the indicated chair- feels a bit awkward about it, of course. “Ah.” He nods his understanding of the translation- and Romanian has only one word for a young animal? English has so many… but that’s beside the point.
“Well, Darcy is my friend, my… family, I’ll do anything I need to help her. Um, which… I guess I also wanted to say, since I realised that, I also understand why you wouldn’t want to hurt your brother,” he admits.
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Folding his hands in his lap and giving Mr Lancaster some consideration, Vlad finally nods. “My granddaughter is blessed to have you in her family, and I am glad to hear that you have found it in you to not begrudge me my reluctance to hurt one of the few people I can call family.”
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Arthur nods slowly. “If some hunters wanted to kill Darcy because she attacked John and Quincy, I also wouldn’t agree with them. I’d look for a different way. I suppose… I suppose it’s not very fair, but I’d rather that strangers get hurt than that someone I care about does. Even if the person I care about does the hurting.”
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A moral discussion? Vlad isn’t entirely sure he is qualified for this, but then, he struggled with it so much that maybe he is exactly the right person to help. However, he wants to make it abundantly clear to the young man who he is getting commentary from here. “Have you read what history says about me? If not, then it might surprise you that I, for one, am in favour of your decision and would advise against dwelling too long on what is fair in life. At least in my meagre experience of some centuries, fair is a delusion of most creatures able to grasp the concept.”
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“Um, I read what I could find… Which wasn’t that much, and I’m a bit dubious as to how biased or not it is. And, uh…” Arthur fidgets with his hands, suppresses the impulse to pull his feet up on the chair cushion and put his head on his knees. He’s pretty sure that’s not how mature people are supposed to sit. “I know life isn’t fair. It’s really, really unfair. Which, doesn’t that mean I should try to make it fairer? I want to be nice. So many people aren’t, I want to do better than that. But… but apparently, if I had to choose between my friends and family and letting the world burn, I’d let the world burn…”
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“I’m sure you found your share of the Hungarian and German propaganda against me, somehow the Romanian version never makes it out of my own country.” For just a moment, Vlad scoffs and suppresses a grumble about the never-ending political games the larger empires around him played, but that is beside the point now. Instead, he gentles his expression and puts his folded hands on the table to lean in a bit closer to the young man struggling to form his life’s convictions. That is a laudable and anything-but-easy task.
“No man can stand against all the world alone. On that you may believe me, I certainly tried.” He did indeed and the absurdity of it, as well as how far he did get with it, makes Vlad chuckle and smile. “Your only chance of success is if you choose a battlefield you can oversee. You cannot make the world fairer. You cannot be nicer to every single person who will cross your path. But you can work and dedicate yourself to make life fairer and nicer to the people who matter most to you. And that is still an honourable pursuit.”
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“…So no donkeys were ever staked?” Okay, still a bit beside the point- or is it? He’d rather the man he’s talking to about, well, his values wasn’t someone who’d be cruel to an animal because it annoyed him. “Um… and why can’t I be nice to everyone I meet? At least until they give me reason not to be?”
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That story again. No, Vlad isn’t stifling his groan and annoyed moustache twitch. “One would think even my enemies would know when they are going so far into defamatory lies that it becomes obvious, but apparently people will believe most any hare-brained story about an evil foreigner.”
Much more to the point right now, however, is the second part of the young scholar’s question. “There is a difference between being courteous and respectful until somebody has proven themselves unworthy thereof, and being nice. That may well attract those who know how to use it. But take that as the advice of a man who has grown cynical of social interactions from centuries among people who entertain themselves with social games.”
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“It didn’t seem like a very sensible or believable story,” Arthur assures him. Though he supposes people are indeed happy to believe all sorts of things. “…What’s the difference between being courteous and respectful and being nice? I suppose if you’re nice, you’re being friendly in addition? At least, that’s how I’d see it?” He hasn’t actually properly thought about what he means by ‘being nice’, has he? Not being like the people making a berth around a dying boy and his friend, he thinks. Not being indifferent.
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“Excuse my obvious political and military background speaking,” Vlad cautions before he goes on with his answer, “but being respectful and courteous is treating a person as a potential ally, a person you will aid in equal terms as they will aid you. Being nice is offering more of yourself than you have any likelihood to ever get repaid. It may be noble for a clergyman, but it is not a sustainable strategy for most anybody else. And not a survivable one for most people, I am sad to add.”
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Arthur purses his lips. “But I don’t want to live my life always thinking about what everyone I meet can do for me, always considering tit for tat. That’s so… I don’t know. Cold? Impersonal?” Then he realizes what bothers him about it, and shivers. “Too much like my father.” Because that’s, at an extreme, his father’s approach to other people, isn’t it? They’re just there for what he can get from them.
Well, Arthur supposes there’s no ‘equal terms’ applied. But still… “I want to help where I can. Just because I can. But I suppose there are plenty of people who’d try to take advantage of that,” he acknowledges.
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“On danger of sounding arrogant, but was I cold or impersonal to you at the theatre?” Leaning back in his chair, Vlad smiles, because he once more is struck by how negative a view these Westerners have of courtesy and respect, how much they think one needs to be nice to do things that cost little or nothing.
No, his measures are very different. He is nice with his wife by spending time in a crowded store so nobody else has to, he is nice with his granddaughter by spending his entire night helping her set up something that he will not get anything from himself, but, to him, talking amenably with a stranger about his country is not nice, it is merely courteous, as it puts no imposition on him whatsoever.
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“No, you were pretty nice, as I’d call it,” Arthur agrees, then ponders, but decides to ask: “What if Radu had showed up and lured me away or something afterwards and you’d noticed? Would you have done anything about it?”
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With a rising eyebrow, Vlad smiles. “Always right for the hard questions. The sign of a good scholar. Now, you are human. As such, I would have deemed you generally safe with my brother.” Sighing and looking away, Vlad adds: “I freely admit that his actions with Mr Harker surprised me. I cannot help a sense of it being my fault, although I could not explain the way his insane mind arrived at its conclusions. So to answer your question honestly, my first duty would have been to Quincy and his safety. I would have investigated more because I try to not be completely unaware of what my brother does, not because I would have felt compelled to protect you from a danger I would not have deemed high.”
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Arthur isn’t sure whether he’s more surprised or disturbed. “…Someone messing with my mind wouldn’t be a high danger?”
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“Ah, that is your concern.” Unfolding his hands, Vlad leans his chin on one and ponders. “Mindcraft is a very common aspect of my society. And I shall not defend it for its, at times, very power-and-merit-obsessed faults, however, again, you are human, the worst I would have expected my brother to do is to search for anything you might know that would hurt me. And more likely than with mindcraft, I would have expected him to charm you. The danger to you would have been to the extent of a pleasant conversation that leaves you unknowing on how much you helped him.”
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Arthur pulls a face. “That’s a pretty big danger if he puts that knowledge he got from me to a use I don’t want it put to,” he points out.
“And also, I really don’t like the idea of anyone rummaging around in my head. It’s… invasive and disturbing. …Though I suppose Quincy catches some thoughts sometimes, and that hasn’t been too bad so far,” he admits. “But if someone could just look at all my thoughts…” He shakes his head. “Those are supposed to be mine, to be private.”
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“I may or may not live secluded in a mountain fortress because of a very similar sense of privacy.” Maybe that levity around the issue should show Vlad that he has grown far too accustomed to the Court, or it may merely be his acceptance that whatever knowledge Radu can use against him, it is his own fault for letting him find it. “As to your discomfort with it, yes, it is seen as rude, but our laws only forbid outright attacks on each other at the Court. I have counselled my daughter’s men and even herself on this danger. As I said before, a lack of fairness is not a merely human attribute.”
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“So basically, if I ever plan to visit that court, I should put a lot of work into keeping my mind defended, and not so much physical ones?” Though Arthur assumes it would take some quite powerful spellwork to keep the older vampires out. Maybe he just won’t go near that court. “And I guess you’d base any help or intervention on your own standards of what’s bad and what isn’t. Which… I mean, I guess is unavoidable to a certain extent?”
He tilts his head in question again. “But, hypothetically, if Radu did the getting-information-out-of-me thing, either with magic or with charm, and I found out and was really upset about it, and also that you could’ve prevented it but decided it wasn’t important enough, and then I was mad at you because I disagree- would you think I’d be unjustified?”
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“You would have every right to be mad at me.” Having said that, Vlad nods with a chuckle and a shrug. “I do not pretend that it is not a fact that I, too, am a product of my society… societies, I should say. My loyalty and priorities go towards my family and my House. I cannot and will not worry about every stranger who may or may not be affected by the mere fact that I exist. I do not hold it to be sensible to take responsibility for every person that crosses my path or I may well find myself guilty of not preventing any bad thing that could befall them. That way madness lies.”
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Arthur nods slowly. “That’s fair. I guess… I guess I need to figure out where my line is between what I can and can’t be responsible for?” Yes, that sounds like a productive line of consideration.
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“Indeed you should, young scholar, and as much as I enjoy our philosophical discussion, that is a line only you yourself can draw. I cannot be of assistance there.” Leaning more comfortably in his chair and daring to go for a wink, Vlad adds: “Unless you enjoy a good bad example or fifty.”
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“Um,” Arthur says, not sure whether that’s a genuine offer, or, even if it is, one he wants to take Mr Basarab up on.
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That insecurity makes Vlad laugh as he rises, slowly, still trying his best not to appear intimidating, he knows his drac can seem large and foreboding without meaning to. “I can see that I have used up your social resources. In case the errands my granddaughter has set me, and the political preparations I need to do for my daughter, keep me from conversing with you again, let me bring our conversation back to its start. You have my gratitude for everything you have done for my granddaughter. May I offer you my first name as a token of, maybe not familial bonds, but certainly deep respect?”
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“Oh,” Arthur says, and blushes as he rises, too, because he doesn’t think anyone has ever offered him ‘deep respect’. “Um, you’re very welcome, and, uh, likewise? You can call me Arthur, if you want.”
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“It would be my honour. If you would excuse me now, it is most certainly past a sensible bedtime, and I would not want to chance my wife chiding me.” With a bow and a smile, Vlad turns towards the mezzanine, and ponders if it would be too risky to try stealing one last kiss from Mina before he retires. She may well be in the kitchen, oh well, he shall take it as a challenge.
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“Um, good night, then. Good day? Er… sleep well?” Arthur offers, and gives his own nod of good-bye, and goes to find his own reading for the morning.
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It’s been a day! Come on, Blondie said that Darcy’s not steaming, she’s working on something. Quincy demands to be let in on it! Or, at least, to be let in on her emotions. Talk them out, because there have to be emotions to talk out after that ritual he’s not going to think about in detail again. Just… yes, fine, he wants to apologize. So here he is, early morning and about ready to just sneak into her room, her bed and hold her until she wakes up to him being there. If Cobb’s there, then he doubts he’ll have a problem with that. That guy, after all, only comes in two settings: Not there and clingy as hell.
Hah, good, the door isn’t even locked from the inside, no reason for him to pick a lock, (pff, inside locks for decency’s sake, those are a joke!) but when he slides the door open gently he realises that the room is empty. Where…? Just about to start snickering because uh huh, did a certain Cycy sneak into her Blondie’s bed?, Quincy has the weirdest feeling that no, he’s not alone. And yes, as he turns there’s Cobb, not even an inch away from him.
With a startled shriek, Quincy steps back, smacks into the door and curses at Cobb immediately hovering over him, asking if the poor thing hurt itself. He is not a poor thing! How many times has he told him now that he doesn’t like being fussed over? Rubbing his shoulder and closing Cycy’s door properly, Quincy glares at Cobb and swallows because, phew, those hungry eyes always, but right, miffed at him. Aaaaand clingy mode it is, apparently. Great, now he has a patron glued to his side, not conducive to sneaking into Blondie’s room as well and betting on Cycy bailing him out when Blondie inevitably yells at him.
Fine, fine, boyfriend management first. Uh, what the…? Why is he even surprised? This one is so bloody weird at times. He can never predict which way these conversations are going, but apparently they are suddenly back at the woes of that one prostituting himself out and that he only fusses because he knows how hard it is. (What is? Quincy doesn’t fully follow, but okay, what else is new with Cobb’s incoherent conversations?) Wait? How hard it is to be in a position like Quincy? Kitten, he is not a prostitute and, ahem, he is pretty sure he made it clear that he’s not a bottom, either, so the sudden spiel about Cobb lamenting that Quincy must understand how much it means that Cobb would surrender to him like that leaves him angry more than compassionate.
Especially, uh hello? Surrender? Point one, not his kink, not his kink at all, he rather likes his consent, thank you very much, and point two, get that BS gendered view of it out of his sex, please. There’s nothing surrendering about it. He knows some amazing and proud bottoms and they are not making themselves less or surrendering or Divine forbid, female with it. Ugh! That angry rant gets him a grin from Cobb, and some gushing about how amazing he is.
Yay, empty fawning for standing his ground on something that shouldn’t need standing ground on in front of somebody with Cobb’s background. Somehow, that just makes him angrier. As does Cobb’s sudden yammering about not wanting to be rejected for his fussing, he just wants to take care of the most amazing man he loves so much.
Sure… sure you love me. Quincy rolls his eyes and tries to set his boundaries again. To Cobb yammering even louder how sorry he is, and he just wants to learn and please tell him! (What has he been doing repeatedly?) No, no, this time he’ll learn, but he needs Quincy to always let him know what he needs and to let him help him. He’s a knight and a noble and he just wants to make sure that he does this patron thing for the struggling actor right.
Struggling actor? Excuse him?! Now Quincy finds himself yelling that he is not struggling, he had the bloody position at the theatre before Cobb came along, and he has had it up to here (about a foot above his head) with overbearing men trying to decide things for him. That… turns Cobb into a whining mess about him always going overboard on the caring, Darcy could tell, he just cares so much when he loves somebody, and please, stay with him, don’t abandon him. If he leaves he’ll take a light out of his life but of course, no, he doesn’t want to be overbearing, he’ll learn!
He’ll even give him more space, there’s a small theatre in Whitby, wouldn’t that be nice? He could visit Quincy there. That’s what patrons do, right?
With a groan, Quincy has just about had it. He reminds Cobb that he has no affiliation whatsoever with that theatre, so that wouldn’t work, and really, calm it down about fifteen notches. He’s not abandoning him, (at least not right this moment, but he sure as hell isn’t going to stay put forever with this moody madman.) No, Quincy schools himself into a smile, hiding the slight suspicion that this is a hopeless case, even he is helpless in the face of this much BS to fix, and reminds Cobb that he’s a healer, he won’t just leave when there are wounds to see to. But for right now, that means helping more with the household, so well, he’s on the way to help set up work for Blondie.
Oh thank the Divine, that makes Cobb find some bad excuse and run off. Memo to himself, either work or Blondie are a way to get that one off of himself, and he’s sure he’ll need that cheat again at some point.
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Arthur actually finds himself a bit adrift. Suddenly, all that crisis urgency is gone again, and he doesn’t have anything pressing to figure out except how he wants to wrap his Christmas presents once Mr Basarab brings those- Oh, Arthur supposes now that they’re on first name basis and all, maybe he should’ve gotten him something after all? Well, it’s too late now. He supposes he’ll see next year- whatever is next year. It seems very far away at this point, given how much has happened just in the last few months. Hopefully, they’ll all still be alive and nobody was murdered by vampires or hunters or the Shiver or random bandits or whatever.
For today, he goes do his usual animal rounds, and on his ride across the grounds on Hannibal. Then, after a change of clothes and a quick bite of lunch, he heads to see where everyone else is- he’s only seen Dr Seward and Art at a distance when he was riding, and nothing at all of the others. He can hear people move around the house, it’s not like they’ve vanished (he’d be concerned if they had,) but nobody shows up in the kitchen or dining room and everyone sounds really busy.
Also no Darcy. So he decides to poke his head in the study, but it’s only John and Quincy there. John waves him off with a grunt and an: “Almost done,” when he asks if he can help, and Quincy suggests that they could test his powers some more. Arthur gladly takes him up on that, though they very soon run out of things to try that they haven’t already the day before.
“Well, don’t look at me, I’m new to this dhampir business,” Quincy says when Arthur admits that he can’t think of anything else. “You’re the expert.”
Which makes Arthur think that, no, actually, he isn’t the expert- but they have some hunters in the house, if there are experts, it’s Art and Dr Seward!
So they head out to where he last saw them- a part of the grounds they aren’t at often, but actually, it’s quite lovely. There’s a lily pond, and little stands of trees, and paths winding among flowerbeds. Of course, there’s more unseasonal flowers blooming here, against all reason.
Whatever Art and Dr Seward are discussing, they break off when they see Arthur and Quincy approach. But since Art gives them a welcoming smile, Arthur decides not to worry about interrupting.
Hearing about their ideas, or lack thereof, for further testing of dhampir powers, Art agrees to come with them. He even has a few blood vials, still, so Quincy can try out how different blood affects his powers.