The Ideal Vampire [Lit, open]

The Ideal Vampire [Lit, closed for Insidious_World

[OOC: I don't expect posts this long by any means! But I wrote it out for fun as the entrance post. The character that the story would continue with would probably be the man. The description of the storyline can be found http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?p=36912615#post36912615 ]

Clara didn't consider herself to be a terribly soft woman, blonde-haired petiteness aside. She had worked on the force for many years, broken many fresh vampires to the work and many young agents, too. It was possible to continue to feel human because she believed in the cause, in the neccessity of it. There were so many people in the world who deserved to be safe, and so many threats against them.

But she would at admit that Rafael had been a bit special for her, vampire though he was. He was passionate, expressive, a challenge, and she found she had enjoyed getting to know him in the past three years.

It was easy to tell what he was thinking by the set of his lips and an indistinct feeling in the center of her chest. Different though they were, their bond was deep and old enough for her to know at a glance that he was as afraid as he was angry; afraid or despairing, or some combination-- the first was as often as not tight and hard in his chest, while the second, when she had felt it, ranged from wild hysteria to deep suspicion, and it made it difficult to tell them apart. Whatever it was, it didn't suit him at all. The Rafael she knew was proud and vain and biting, and it pained her to see him like this, no matter how much she'd like to deny it.

"I'm being reassigned. There's nothing I can do about it."

"Go to hell," he snapped back, tone acidic and drawl thick, the rare vulgarity coming out very sincere. His vowels were drawled but his consonants had sharpened after years of mandatory speech lessons. He was understandable now. "See me oh so uninterested in the petty beauracratic excuses. They will stick me with some pathetic, power-mad novice only interested in humilitating dominance displays because I have proved ultimately too obediant to you."

"Rafael..." She wondered if he was really so self-centered that that seemed like the real reason for it to him, or if he was just grasping at straws. His former handler had manhandled him into something like neurosis, and the alternating attitudes of defiance and fear had sometimes made it hard for her to see how far she had to go to convince him to listen.

The ideal vampire, in her training regime, was secure in their submission and obeyed because they understood the benefits. It was difficult to motivate Rafael, even once she'd learned how much he loved music, art of any kind. He'd tried his best to keep it from her, no matter how great his enthusiasm; perhaps because of it, really. He thought she would try to take what glimpses of it he got from him.

In reality, she wished she could have indulged him more often, even if it was difficult to do so with their strange hours and constant traveling. (Indulged him in any tangible way, she'd reflect when she thought of it later. So many of the things she'd wanted to do for him had been canceled by missions, by orders from above.) It was possible that someone else would have been able to do it better, of course, she knew and cared nothing about art...

"Clara," he mocked, the rejoinder sing-song as he realized she was not going to continue speaking. She fleetingly wondered if she heard affection. "Your fair-weather reports have sealed my fate."

She found herself simply staring at after he said it; maybe they had. She couldn't imagine what the home office could be thinking, giving the Rafael she knew to someone fresh from school. Still, it would be true from her reports that she had done very little to motivate him, even once they had gotten to the point where they talked frequently. He rarely fought with her seriously; and while he was no where near tamed, while she had never written that... Maybe someone had presumed.

Either the new agent was going to die a painful death, or they were surely going to damage him more than should be acceptable for work in the process of trying to bend him to their will. She regretted it. Rafael would suffer either way, and even if he killed the new agent she thought she wouldn't blame him. It was like murder to put a rookie with an old vampire unless they were a through loyalist, and Rafael despised everything they stood for with all his considerable passion.

She had thought she had made it very clear, even years ago-- best person to hand him off to would be the type of veteran agent that enjoyed longer, more complicated missions, the type that were slow paced but dangerous, or a particularly high-powered officer that needed a vampire as a specialist advisor as much as a bodyguard. Someone he might open up to, the type of pseudo-cultured man or woman that be able to goad him into ranting about the Florentine state or Louis XIV's theft of Italian opera composers and actually follow.

Once you earned his respect, Rafael was reliable, predictable, and relatively trustworthy. He had made few serious escape attempts over the years, and he'd tried to kill her exactly twice, which for a vampire of his age and temperament reflected quite well on both of them. He was sharp-tongued and intelligent, and she'd reflected many times that he would be wasted on most people in the field, that perhaps he was wasted on her. She appreciated that he spoke as often as he did, but she didn't particularly care to follow most of the content.

His real strengths came from his ability to make others agreeable to his suggestions, his knowledge of old magic, etiquette and history-- and how often would that come up on the type of search and retrival missions most fresh agents were assigned? He was suited for detective work or even political manuvering, and it was stupid not to consider his potential. Of course, the rather rare (vampiric) affinity with fire was a tempting reason to leave him just where he was, she was sure...

"I'm as angry as you are," she said finally, meeting his eyes. "You're right, it's a waste. You've behaved very well--" she say him bristle at the word choice but say nothing-- "And you're paying for it. But the agent will be here very soon, and there are some things we--"

A knock at the door of the meeting room. She glanced to him, and he nodded curtly. They were out of time. She could only look at him for a moment longer and wish him all the best.

--

The vampire was a bit less than average height seen objectively, yet the effect was of a taller man. He was elegant in the way that only someone who has been slender for a very long time could be, every movement smooth and balanced. The dark, closely tailored clothes suited him, tight in all the visually appealing places and worn with the air of someone who had come to care much more about effect than comfort. His hair and eyes were dark, and although the first was rather long and curled, his gaze was quick and sharp.

He was clearly inhuman when seen under the florescent lights. If they discomforted him, he didn't let on for a moment. He did not move forward, nor come around the conference table, but simply stood by his current handler, expression piercing and wary. Who was this, who would remove him from what had become--dare he admit it--a comfortable enough arrangement, this other agent who thought he was so capable?

Florescent lights... He set his expression, ready to meet whoever this young upstart was.

"Come in," Clara called, and Rafael watched her rise from her seat, slight but proud. He wondered what she would have said to him, had they had the time.

The door opened, without much ceremony. The man who entered did not wait to see if his presence might not be welcome, but closed the door and approached the pair behind him. He did not move as one timid, but came in with full confidence as one who believes that he had every right to be there. Despite the boots he wore, his tread was all but noiseless on the cold tiled floor. He placed the file he carried gently upon the table, somewhat contrary to the almost-arrogance of his entrance.

“Greetings, Agent Clara,” he nodded to Clara as he offered her hand. His voice was calm and collected, seductive even, but there was a coldness that unnerving about it. “And Master Rafael himself, it is an honour. Please, relax yourselves, I’m not big on formality.”

One might have reassessed their judgement of him at that point. It was evident that he had probably just entered man hood, his face unlined and unscarred from the rigours of duty. The wild raven-locks of his hair were kept bound by the agency cap he wore, as was his physique by the black leather jacket and camouflage pants that he wore. The fingerless leather gloves he wore completed the image of the upstart agent who cared more about image than of practicality. Or at least it would have seemed, if only his dark eyes weren’t so utterly void of emotion, save an intensity of focus that was unusual to see in a person of his age.

“You may have been told already, but allow me to introduce myself. I’m Vincent Constance, formerly of D.O.W. I was recommended to this unit, to take charge of Master Rafael.”

No one is wholly immune to flattery, and it had been a very long time since Rafael had been allowed any title. He inclined his head warily and stepped back to allow Clara through without the idea of speaking ever crossing his mind. She would punish him later, he would have reasoned, though the realization that she likely wouldn't get another chance to might have made him bolder.

The other man was a bit taller than him. Well made up, he supposed, even if he would have never worn anything so informal when he worked, he supposed those were the standards of vampire courts and not that of the modern military. He was attractive enough; his voice alluring. But his eyes... His eyes he did not like. He stood a little straighter.

Clara took his hand, her grip firm but brief, her manners as crisp and fitting as her dark uniform, the silver rank pins all aligned. She smiled faintly as she looked him over. Her image had been of a nervous young thing, underconfident and powerless, or else a newly graduated agent arrogant in their ignorance.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Vincent, if an unexpected one. I was aware that there were trainees that needed my supervision, but I had expected to take Rafael with me," she stated, neither complaining or questioning. "I'm sure you read my overview on him already."

He was a decent fire mage, but untrained and completely disinterested in improving, she'd written. Proud, sharp-tongued, talkative when comfortable, a perfectionist. Easily provoked, but generally reasonable. Nervous and difficult when threatened, and punishments in which there is any uncertainity about length or conditions ought not be considered except as a last resort. His first handler had nearly ruined him that way, she had noted in more delicate language, and getting him to trust the force's intentions was still an on-going project... Among other things, which she hardly remembered. There had been little time avaliable for her to pull anything together. She couldn't remember, just then, if she's mentioned any of his hobbies or preferences in her summary, and it made Clara feel a little awkward to realize it.

"If you have any questions...?"

“That won’t be altogether necessary ma’am,” answered Vincent, who was wary about allowing too much information to circulate in front of his new charge, and he could always contact her at a later time – her report on Rafael had been extensive enough that he wouldn’t need further information for the moment. “It’s a little unfortunate, but we will have to talk about transferring Rafael’s bond in short order.”

Removing his cap and setting it upon the table and smoothed his hair back, looking at the vampire out of the corner of his vision. Members of the D.O.W. were not used to working with partners, at least on such a close level. Rafael was something of a special case, and thus his leash was being shortened – he had read files concerning this case; the one not present at this meeting. Finally he turned to Rafael.

“Master Rafael will be remaining with me in my own apartment, and our first assignment will begin on tomorrow’s eve. I do not expect this to be difficult, and so I do not expect any problems. None whatsoever.”

The last part he drove in pointedly emphasising the words, his tone slow, factual, and patronising. The fact that Rafael had tried to kill Clara during his time with her had not gone unnoticed, and under normal circumstances it would be suicide to set up a rookie with such an individual. Vincent gave a sigh and cracked his neck as he considered the options available to him. The vampire in front of him was not as physically intimidating as some, but anyone with experience with vampires knew that such a fact was irrelevant, and Rafael was amongst the older class of vampires, and it would be mistake to underestimate him. But that fact caused a faint tug at his lips.

“If there is nothing else, I’d like a moment alone with Agent Clara.”

There were forces in every person, Rafael mused silently, that were always in opposition. He could not for the life of him decide whether to spit acid at this patronizing young thing or gently set him straight. The first would be infinitely more satisfying, and some hotter temper urged him to do it-- and yet... The latter was better for his future, whichever of the paths he would have to take.

"You lead me to understand that you are feeling uncommunicative and rushed," he murmured softly, accent flat and strongly American. Only the rhythm was there to give him away as the speaker of some Romantic language, subtly emphasizing the verbs and lending his voice a quality like water lapping at a warm, rocky shore.

"I have not held a city in my power for many years, and I need no title-- I would rather receive from you my first name and civility." He paused there, and began to move forward across the room, fluid and (yes) without anything of the sheer physical threat that vampires were famous for. His eyes lifted only briefly to meet the other man's, dark and weighing. Rafael could have just almost passed for human under scrutiny; he had been nothing more than a dreamer when he had been human--

"The gift, Agent Vincent, would be as reciprocal as you would allow it to be, I promise you. I will be in the metaphysics library in MU-- you may find it just across the cat-walk," he informed him, and without a second glance back at either of them, took the doorknob to go.

And yet, he had not been human for many, many years. That dreamer was little more than a dream himself, with the warmth and softness of early Renaissance pseudo-realism, supple long-waisted women balancing weightlessly in Greek myths and impossibly huge, hushed cathedrals reaching toward the sky. It had been a different world, then, more suited to dreams...

Clara watched him go with something stirring uneasily in her chest, though her expression remained impassive. Once he had reached the library, it would be farther away from each other than they had been in half a decade. The destination didn't surprise her in the least. It was less than five minutes away, and he liked reading very much. Like him, too, to be arrogant enough to presume he could keep whatever pain the bond breaking would cause him in silence.

"Let's keep this very short," she said briskly, turning her attention back to Vincent. "Give him five minutes and he'll be halfway through convincing some poor, stupid soul to summon up dead vampires or demons or something else equally destructive."

For what seemed like a long while Vincent waited, with Clara watching him. Once the vampire was a vague pinprick in the back of his mind, Vincent turned his attention back to Clara, his tone affording her great deal more respect than he had formerly shown.

“I’m going to be honest with you Clara,” he said, his tone assuming that lilting form it had before, driving each word home with particular emphasis. “I’m here because your agency doesn’t trust your charge anymore. I’m here, because there are certain developments – classified I’m afraid – developments that concern Master Rafael, in an indirect, but significant manner. I understand that both of you are reasonably close, closer than he has been with any other at least, so I afford you this as a courtesy.”

“Master Rafael, is now on a short leash. A very short leash. Your agency cannot afford... potential rogue elements. I am here to assess Master Rafael. Rest assured, I will give him every opportunity to prove his... worth and... capability, but, more importantly, his... willingness to... submit to proper authority. If Master Rafael proves recalcitrant, violent even, then my role shifts from assessor to... executioner. It will be a very unfortunate turn, but one that is out of my control. Rest assured, it is only my last option.”

One moment Clara was looking at him in the eyes, the next an empty seat.

“All that I’m asking is your understanding if things should reach such a stage,” he said from behind her as he poured a glass of water and drank slowly. “It would be unfortunate if sentiment were to get the better of your judgement.”

“Honestly, I am indifferent if anything I have told you... reaches Master Rafael, as he’ll find out sooner or later.” In truth he was counting on it, especially if it was from Clara’s own mouth. The weight of her words would carry far more than any he could, however eloquently he might put it. Even if he was the most talented rookie out of the D.O.W. for a long time, his inexperience undoubtedly played against him in the eyes of the vampire, and he had to pursue all avenues he could, before resorting to direct confrontation or force.

As Clara turned to him, he was again behind her as he opened the door to walk out of the room.

"Thank you, for your time Agent Clara."

The door closed shut and a certain pressure that had filled the room, previously unnoticed, lifted, leaving the sole occupant feeling drained and weakened.

Clara was unshakable. After enough years on the force, one learned that there was simply no time to waste on being shocked. If Vincent Constance had been born human, she was willing to bet that he'd sold enough of his soul into summoning that he wasn't anymore. Not truly. She had seen fast, she had seen fine air mages, and they hadn't been anything like that. He left her with the same empty feeling in the center of his chest as she'd felt talking with the demon she'd accidentally summoned as a trainee.

A lifetime wouldn't free her of that memory. She got up, poured herself some water, and sipped slowly, pondering the situation. If Rafael was told in a letter, he would react more favorably. He'd take the time to think before he went flying off the handle. Then, there was nothing to stop him from doing just that now.

Sentiment wouldn't get in the way of seeing him killed if that was what had to happen-- she wouldn't've survived living with him otherwise-- but... But she thought he would bend if it meant his life. At least, she hoped he might.

She smiled slightly to herself as she put down her glass and opened their bond for the last time. It was the end of an era, she supposed.

Rafael, she called silently, summoning the bit of his soul she'd held since bonding him.

He acquiesced to her request immediately, his consciousness brushing up against hers, hot and uneasy. Clara.

She pondered only very briefly what to say. She had always been the type to get straight to the point.

He'll kill you if you don't learn to behave. He's representing a higher power.

In the wake of his reeling shock, she felt a certain unexpected righteousness.

Be good. Goodbye.

Part of her-- a very small but significant part-- smiled again as she broke the bond between them and reflected that he deserved it.

---

He clenched his teeth silently, every muscle in his body tense. The circular chair cupping his back, the cool air conditioning, the book he had in his lap (American Calligraphy from Spencerian to Present, the Evolution by Years) all ceased to matter, and he saw colors flash in front of his eyes as what was left of his soul danced in front of his eyes, soft yellows and white, hints of red. For a few moments, there was only pain, but the pain faded into something like euphoria, the rush of the fullness of his magic returning to his command, pushing everything else aside.

For how long he couldn't say, but for a time, he felt he simply was. No thoughts passed through his mind, only wonder and contentment as he carefully examined was he was. By the time his eyes opened again, be it after minutes or hours, he felt ready to face this Vincent, to be calm in the face of whatever he would ask of him. To have his magic be his own again would be enough for now.

Walking to the library, Vincent made a final browse over the Rafael’s file. Having committed all the details to memory, the file shredded between his fingertips and the fragments crumbled. Opening the door to the library, he found Rafael and he seemed to be just recovering from some ordeal or another. It took him only a moment to ascertain that man already knew. The link between them has to be good for something after all. Well let us hope it will turn out to be productive.

It would be a novel experience working beside the ones he was more use to hunting down – it would be the first time he dealt with one on a relatively peaceful level. He had been sincere in his assessment that it would be wasteful to have to end Rafael’s life – the years he had were considerable, and his vampiric nature would have had a chance to completely settle and mature.

Removing the heavy leather jacket and cap, he placed them on the coat holder and observed the few people who were going about their affairs. Too many for his liking. The bespectacled girl at the counter smiled at his approach giving her perfunctory greeting and query with a bit more cheeriness than she was usually due.

“Leave us. Now”

The girl blinked in surprise.

“But sir...” Whatever else she might have said died away as she stared at him perplexed. With no great hurry she stood up and walked out of the door, as did every other person in the library. He went to where Rafael was and sat before him. In the absence of his jacket, he wore a black fishnet vest that held very closely to his body, his two guns held by a leather holster, as was the large knife at his back. Beneath the clothes he was steely in build, as one might be who spends time under trying conditions of physical extreme rather than hours in the gymnasium. Once he had made himself comfortable, he spoke.

“I imagine it feels invigorating to have a measure of your power restored to you Master Rafael?” His tone was casual, even affable, before he realised a courtesy he had omitted. “Ah yes, you did request that I not address you as Master Rafael, did you not?”

“I address you as such out of respect for your venerable age, and the fact that you are undoubtedly powerful member of your kind. But do not misunderstand – one of us adjudicates and commands, whilst the other serves, advises, and carries out the will of the other. I’m already certain you know why I’m here Master Rafael. It would be better for us to work together, rather than seek the alternative. Do you not agree?”

Rafael was quiet for a long, long moment, quiet and still. He thought of a double strung harp, a massive dark thing that he had sent years mastering, and the comfort he had taken in the presence of his sire watching him-- he could still remember her perfume, the scent of something spicy like incense layer with a hint of honey. Strange that she came to his mind now. She would be horrified at what the man was wearing, undoubtably, though Rafael himself was not quite sure it was unsuiting. Unsettling, perhaps, to think that he would be under this man, who must be so well-known and feared here that the library had emptied at his entrance even in street clothes.

"It it a welcome feeling, yes, and thank you for asking," he replied finally, the response delicate and measured as he sat up slowly, moving toward the edge of his chair and making the most of his full height.*

"But it does strike me as somewhat cruel that you state my purpose so blandly, and yet still insist on giving me a title, though of course it is your own choice," he said, the words cautiously but steadily formed. He had told Clara to tell him, he realized, the other man's choice of words striking him more clearly.*

"But does it not strike you the same way, Vincent? I will call you Agent if you insist, but it is an old and good name..." He looked into the other man's eyes for a brief moment and almost swallowed, the enormity of what he was offering more worthy of awe and fear than any tangible creature he had ever faced.*"I think I can imagine it being somewhat easy to follow you as a man but likewise very difficult to serve you as an-- adjudicator."

“Choices are only as difficult as we choose to make them, Master Rafael,” he spoke plainly, “and I suspect following me will not be as easy as you say – I am here to test the bounds of your loyalty after all, your propensity for obedience. For one as venerable as yourself, I imagine the years of your life have taught you independence, which is, of course, not the game being played at this time.”

It was interesting to see his reaction. They both had a long way to go, despite the meekness offered for his explicit benefit. They would soon see how things would turn. They would see very soon.

“Well let’s not waste too much time, as I imagine you’ll want to know what you’re being assigned for. In short, our first mission together will be reconnaissance and interrogation, which if successful leads us to the... kill, unless of course she proves cooperative. Not squeamish are you Master Rafael? This is who we are after at present.” From his trouser pocket he produced a photo which he hung before the other. He wouldn’t have to explain much, for Rafael would be familiar with his old master – few men would forget, even if they had met her only once. Vincent’s smile would have seemed gentle to a stranger.

Snatching the photo back and replacing it, he went on: “Well, you’ll have a night and a day to ponder, then we get to work tomorrow, you and I.”

“Well then,” he said from behind to the vampire who was staring at the empty chair before him, “shall we make a move on? Your new home awaits.”

A subtle change had come over the person before Rafael, from the iron professional to an almost light-hearted fun loving individual, which was as disturbing as watching a giddy child who went to do murder. With a grand sardonic gesture, he threw open the double doors to the hall way outside and gestured for Rafael to follow. In the hallway outside, the men and women who had quitted the library earlier still stood, staring blankly with soulless eyes at nothing. With an irritated glance, Vincent spoke, “Return.”

Without comment, complaint, or delay, they began to file back into the library.

Rafael pressed his lips carefully together as he listened to him speak, the formerly rather soft set of them thinning. You are utterly obnoxious, he chastised the other man mentally, but I suppose it is easier to follow a arrogant but decisive idiot than it is a waffling one. Rafael was starting to get the feeling that his patience would be tested more than anything else.

Thankfully, he had that in abundance. He had watched the rise and fall of things much dearer to him than anything involved in this. The man was wrong to think that his age was what had taught him independence... Quite wrong at that. The intrigue of being a young vampire in a large court was a deadly and delicate balancing act; to lead Vienna, landlocked on all sides by hostile powers, had been, if anything, worse. To please his sire had been most difficult of all, and even now he damned her as often as he dreamed of her touch.

And then there was America-- that was what was to blame for all this, he thought bitterly. If he had never left Europe for half-uncharted shores and the promise of anarachy, he would have never learned was it was to do solely as he pleased.

He turned his eyes to the photograph almost without listening (routine, routine; no, he wasn't squeamish, few vampires were), looking over it briefly before glancing up at his handler. She was not his sire, no, but he had served her... His feelings on that, too, were mixed. He was, however, rather sure that Clara had believed she was.

It was easy to dislike the other man's smile, hiding what he guessed was a well-developed sadism (he had never heard of a vampire being asked to go after their maker, even here), and easier still to dislike the ghastly way he appeared and disappeared, the way the library's former occupants crept back to their places. So, he was a mage, of some strange sort... Rafael would examine his aura later. For now, he followed them.

"Maria is at least a century older than me," he returned from a half step behind Vincent, keeping his distance half out of respect and half out of... Hmn. Of something similar, but related to the wary, deep-set disgust he'd felt when he'd first seen a vampire feed on someone he knew was too sick to consider. It was the greater of all the reasons that he returned to talk of business out of all the other things he could have responded to. "And likely more. Unless you can do that same trick to her, it will not be easy."