rage—rage against the dying of the light

“I just want to clarify that I did not seek you out. I….” Jon knew when to bit his tongue and force a smile past the anger seeping into the air between them. He despised anyone with fangs and fur, he despised himself for being one of the beasts. Jon hated his life of isolation and depression.

“You know the answer to that. I don’t go chasing after the wolves. I don’t socialize. Part of me wants to and here I am just twiddling my thumbs in the midst of a growing moon. How do I even begin to associate with them. They don’t want me and I sure as…..” Jon spoke as if he were not speaking to an elder Lycan, one who had went out of his way to help him time and time again.

“You were gone for a while and I actually tolerate you. I don’t know anyone else that well yet. Hell, I don’t even know the bastard that bit me. I wish I did. I’d……” He wanted to say he would kill them, but that was a statement that lacked any real threat. He couldn’t kill them if he tried. It was growing harder to hate them at all at this point. Hadn’t there been advantages to this life, and he knew firsthand what the pull of the moon was like. They probably didn’t even mean to bite him.

.

“We’re not meant to be isolated.” In that moment, Christopher recognized the hypocrisy in his statement, but he continued. “I don’t know if I mean humans or us because we were once humans too regardless of how we became Lycan.” Christopher kicked at the ground putting more space between them. “Look, I’m not a fucking headshrinker; I can’t help you get your shit together, but I’ve been a lycan long enough to have a handle on this.” He motioned vaguely toward the sky where the moon shone.

“High praise.” His tone was flat expression impassive. “He can’t help you. And if you’re planning some kind of revenge to make you feel better—“ He shook his head. “I have a lot of experience in that department too and an eye for an eye is not as simple as it sounds. Revenge doesn’t give you back what you lost and if you don’t get over it, you’ll just keep losing more.” Somehow those words felt like the kind way of saying, either way you’re fucked, buddy. “Find me the day before the full moon. Bring scotch. We won’t talk. I want to be your friend as much as you want to be mine.”

“One giant pissing contest, would you agree?” Lilit allowed the humor to line the words as she spoke them into existence. A gentle chuckled to follow such a heavy conversation of pride and prejudices. “I like to piss in private, maybe that is why we get along so well. I care little for who is superior to whom when it comes to outside of the gene pool. I am inclined to be the best vampire I can be without trying to also be the best Lycan. How do they say, its like comparing apples to oranges.”

“I do not despise you as you might think. I know it is hard for your kind to see a vampire and not retaliate due to the deep rooted hatred passed through blood. I do not blame the young lycans who have no idea what they are even fighting for. I have been around long enough to see how useless it is.”

She had hoped he would have a better explanation, a better idea for her to convey to Alchara. This was not what she wanted to hear. “Do you judge me as a treacherous snake to my kind, or a valuable ally who sits at the enemies side to whisper in his ear? I can assure you my venom is not directed toward you.”

.

Christopher snorted and made his way to yet another photograph. “That statement is only funny considering my nature,” he said, unable to escape the mental image of lycans pissing to claim territory much to the horrification of their supposed more proper counterparts. “Our actions speak louder than our genetic make up.” Christopher spoke the words, and yet a part of him knew that they did not live in a meritocracy. The cards you are dealt and a smattering of luck dictate superiority far more than personal value. “I disagree. We are not apples and oranges. What makes the best lycan, vampire, and human is the same and yet can only be defined by the individual based on what they value. Or perhaps, no matter how blasphemous this is to some, we are saying the same thing after all.”

“I think it’s rather egotistical of me to assume every vampires despises me specifically.” He followed that statement with a particularly canine smirk. He could think of a few whose vendetta was very specific to him. “We’re pawns in a family feud that has lasted far too long. Two households, both alike in dignity—“ he muttered with a flourish of his hand. “Our ending is predestined.”

“You are not an ally.” It was not a position he would hold her too, but an ally required sacrifices Christopher wouldn’t expect from a stranger and lowering his defenses to believe would make him a poor leader indeed. “As to your position amongst the other faction, that is no business of mine. If you stray from your own, that may directly benefit me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You are not the first to be involved with a Lycan, but I’d recommend discretion for both your sakes. If your lycan friend is part of a pack I suggest they remain with them for the full moon. If not—“ he pressed his lips together in thought. “I believe Minnewaska State Park is lovely this time of year. Control requires more than one full moon.”

— a des reflets d'argent, la mer

sometimes michel just likes to take his time to think. even if it’s not about much, he values the personal reflection and the moments he’s able to slow down — and perhaps this is where his own surprisingly introverted self comes alive. and now that he felt a bit more nourished — because maybe he wanted to squeeze in a quick and cheeky bite beforehand — he began picking up a couple stones along the way before deciding on a pleasant spot on the ledge. at this point, skipping rocks just felt like second nature to him, almost like a very unnecessary and unhelpful sixth sense. picking up the hobby over the years, the mindless gesture just felt comforting now. a bit nostalgic even. sitting in his thoughts for a couple moments, a very specific scent took him out of them briefly and as the scent approached him, he decided to tilt his head up out of curiosity, small smile growing as he recognized the other. one he definitely didn’t see himself forgetting any time soon, especially as he learned of his frenchman status. because no matter what, before he was a vampire or immortal, he was french. that’s for certain.

“ah, we should change that, mon ami.” he flashes a bashful smirk before tossing the stone in his hand, flicking his wrist in a casually calculated way — the gesture second nature to him at this point. “i was a pretty boring, timid fledgling. mostly skipped rocks, read books for the first few decades, actually. kind of picked it up then.” he releases a humorless chuckle at the memory of that odd period of his existence, finding the idea of spending so much time doing so little much more ridiculous now than then. though, in his defense, he admits that he was also horribly depressed during that time.

michel glances over to meet the other’s gaze, interested in hearing more from him. “how’s everything been treating you though?” he turns to ask, this time offering his own stone to the other for him to try. “well… considering.” he continues, because he understands the circumstances and recognizes his own privilege in it, too. although he didn’t know too much about chris — outside his liberation affiliation and the already established french connection, of course — personally, he always admired his presence within the liberation. and truthfully, he’s been meaning to get to know more of the members individually, too. if only to become more invested, make some friends, and steadily gain trust along the way.

Being called friend by any vampire who wasn’t Neo still sat oddly with Christopher no matter how many had offered their aid to the Liberations and those who stood neutral. He knew that the individual was not the enemy, but years of regimented distrust could not be discarded so easily. “When I first changed, I leaned to play chess.” Once he was in a station where is was permitted. No one bothered to teach a peasant even one who’d managed to make the ranks amongst knights how to play a noble game.

“How old are you?” It was perhaps rude to ask, not that Christopher paid mind to niceties. But Michel looked like he’d barely been out of childhood when they changed him— maybe in his early 20s. One thing Christopher could be grateful for what that they’d practically plucked him out of the grave. Thirty-nine was by no means old, but very few in his station made it that far in his time. “Well, there was a time when having a job was seen and lowly and observation was the height of society.” Frankly, Christopher had done very poorly for himself during the regency which was why he spent most of his time in the Americas.

Sunday in the Park

AUTUMN  HAD  APPEARED  OUT  OF  NOWHERE  ,  temperature  definitely  demanding  a  hoodie  ,  but  z  still  wasn’t  ready  to  pull  out  her  full  -  length  pants  &  tights  just  yet.  plus  ,  she  loved  the  contrast  of  her  actual  age  against  how  young  she  looked  in  an  over  -  sized  hoodie  ,  knee  socks  ,  &  chunky  sneakers  ;  &  it’s  not  like  she  would  ever  get  cold.  

meetings  &  get  -  togethers  with  christopher  were  few  &  far  in  between  ,  &  usually  spontaneously  thrown  together  plans  ,  which  she  understood  with  how  busy  the  pack  &  his  duties  kept  him.  the  promise  of  his  company  put  a  little  extra  jump  in  her  step  as  she  made  her  way  to  his  location  -  she  liked  chris.  z  couldn’t  ever  remember  knowing  another  lycan  as  old  ,  or  even  almost  as  old  ,  as  herself.  .  .  &  there  was  definitely  some  solidarity  to  be  had  between  two  old  dogs.  lips  curled  slightly  at  her  own  bad  joke  as  she  crossed  the  street  ,  able  to  see  chris  hungrily  eyeing  the  park’s  inhabitants  from  several  yards  away.  she  shook  her  head  ,  &  sped  up  to  a  run  to  be  behind  him  in  the  next  moment.

her  tone  was  playful  ,  but  she  knew  he’d  know  she  meant  it  ,  ❝  don’t  even  think  about  it  ,  monsieur  chevalier.  go  into  the  mountains  &  hunt  something  worth  your  time.  leave  the  cute  little  park  duckies  alone.  ❞  her  words  curled  in  slightly  ,  lips  pursing  with  her  slight  baby  talk  as  she  bent  towards  a  duck  near  by  ,  before  circling  the  bench  &  sitting  herself  down  next  to  him.

ambered  hues  were  bright  in  the  sun  ,  &  her  good  mood  would  be  obvious  in  the  slight  curl  of  her  mouth  as  she  looked  him  over  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  time.  ❝  you’re  a  sight  for  sore  eyes  ,  chris.  how’ve  you  been  ?  how’ve  the  new  leechers  been  ?  tell  me  everything.  ❞

“How much respect would I lose with you if I told you that the duck started it?” He turned his bared teeth to her, this time in a smile instead of a growl. “I have coffee.” He offered the other drink and motioned for the seat besides him on the bench. As if offended by Christopher’s presence or bored now that they no longer held his attention, the ducks waddled away, some floating on the water, others intimidating an older human woman into sharing her sandwich with them. “I’m glad we were able to carve out this time together,” he told her in earnest. He sipped his coffee, it was still hot and the sweetness of it almost dessert like. It put him in an odd spirit. Tranquil, almost happy.

“The pups are coming along well.” And to Christopher anyone under 500 years old was in fact a pup, regardless of their human age. “I’m rather impressed with the new batch. I wonder if escalating tensions have put a fire under their asses, but they take training seriously. One had me walking with a limp for the better half of the morning.” Luckily Christopher healed fast. And of course a trainee being able to take him by surprise would always impress Christopher. 

death: what are three things you want to do before you die?

1. Christopher hopes to live long enough for space travel to be a viable thing for the general public. He has a curiosity he wishes to satisfy of what would the moon do to a Lycan if he were to visit it. It is one of those thoughts that only came into his mind when he was getting ready to sleep or was a little drunk. He doesn’t share this thoughts with too many others, but he has a theory that it isn’t the moon which affected lycans but rather the time. After all, young wolves feel the need to shift even on cloudy days. 

2. This one is definitely a secret wish, perhaps secret from Christopher himself. He wishes to experience a normal life, a family, a job, something not tied into saving all Lycan kind. When he was human it hadn’t been a choice because he’d been too busy trying to survive; and ever since he became Lycan, Christopher was thrust into war and serving other people’s political agendas. He wonders what it would be like to just be average, lycan or not. But he knows he isn’t really suited for that. 

🌧- For a heavy, emotional secret

Christopher has only ever changed one person. It was a long time ago, but Christopher could not forget it. In fact, it had changed everything for him. It was also the reason he refused to ever change someone again.

“If it’s lighter, what’s the point of keeping it a secret? Besides, absolutely nothing embarrasses me.” Christopher can’t dance. It’s a shame because he does have a strong appreciation for the  art form, but his body just doesn’t move that way. He did alright during the regency era, where most movements, especially for men, were rather stiff and consisted mostly of memorizing where he needed to stand and whose hand to reach out for. Anything that comes after the 1900s, Christopher is terrible at. 

“So you will help me out this month, Great.” Jon managed to sound annoyed, but underneath the bravado he was relieved that Christopher had been willing to offer help. Jon had spent years trying to control this and it never amounted to anything. At least now he would a plan.

“I know you come here like clockwork asking about my game plan. If you weren’t going to help me then you wouldn’t have come here asking about my plans. I won’t beg you but I would appreciate a little help for the moon.”

Jon would not find himself begging a man to help him, but it would be foolish to pass up the help when it was offered so readily. “What do you propose I do? I’m 51 and still can’t control this shit.” Jon was growing angered by the pathetic nature of his condition. It was lonely and sad. So in his true character, Jon slammed his fist into the nearest light post causing a cracking of his knuckles and a large dent. “I’m sick of being isolated and yet I can’t get over the rage every lycan brings out of me. I was just trying to help someone I thought was in trouble and I get transferred a curse that destroyed me.”

Helping Jon out would be helping himself out. Again, Christopher wasn’t a saint, he just took his responsibilities seriously. They were lucky Jon hadn’t been found out before. But despite the man’s insistence on behaving or rather misbehaving like an overgrown adolescent, Christopher had to assume he had some kind of survival skills.

“Vampires have always been sore at Lycans for tainting the bloodlines. Lycans came from vampires and a vampire took up the sword against its own kind, though they viewed them as tainted. It’s in the essence of Cain who murdered his brother.” Lilit added the more straight forward story that was spread among the species. Lilit, however, was resigned to dwell in the tale of heroes and kings of Greece. It was all the same vision painted in different shades of bloodshed.

“Familiarity happens when the creators of the history never die. Of course, vampires portray your kind as inferior because we crave dominance. We view ourselves superior, well I view myself superior to everyone….. even our bloody king.” Lilit laughed at the confession. Why was this lycan so easy to speak to? Maybe it was her newest devotion. Her existence smoothed a long life of resentment.

“I need her to control herself this moon…. malakás…” she uttered the curse under her breath at the realization of being stuck under the weight of a moons wrath. “I can’t risk being near her, can I?” The pain ebbed into her voice as she questioned him further. He would no doubt realize there was more than just a casual friendship with an unknown wolf.

Sore was a cute way of saying hated. It was enough to make Christopher break his flat and indifferent expression to roll his eyes. “Vampires see Lycans as tainted, Lycans see Vampires as less than—“ Speaking in the third person helped distance himself and his current partner in conversation from the situation at hand. It felt less accusatory  and communicated what he meant better. Christopher did not blame Lilit specifically for what happened and he felt secure enough in saying she didn’t directly blame him. But in such sensitive topics, distance was necessary. “Cain and Abel, East of Eden, Hamlet, I don’t remember my siblings, but I’m sure we weren’t always friendly.” They hadn’t started a global conflict but who knows, maybe if they’d had enough time and power.

‘’No, no that’s truly alright. I’m driving tonight.’’ she uttered with a polite smile at the gentleman that had approached her for conversation. He kept trying to offer her a champagne flute, but she couldn’t exactly explain why she refused. Telling the human male that she only indulged when alcohol had a certain ingredient, that flowed through his veins, added to it’s concoction, wasn’t exactly the greatest manner to start a conversation. Perhaps if she wished to start a wide spread panic, it would be perfect. Maybe for another day. Today was all about honoring a certain someone. ‘’Will you excuse me?’’ she uttered, slipping past the persistent gentleman and leaving him quite confused over why she’s left so suddenly during his enthralling story about the time he traveled the world.

She made her way through the crowd, weaving over to the opposite side of the lobby, plainly making sure that human would believe she had somewhere to be. The moment her friend from work had left, he had descended upon her like a hawk, and she was in no mood for his foolish flirtations. She’d come to enjoy herself and revel in the memory of her mother. The woman that had introduced her to the musical and theater arts when she was still a small child. Her mother, the concert pianist that has passed away many years after her only daughter had vanished into the night. Neo didn’t feel any sadness over the matter any longer, but still felt a need to celebrate the woman that had in some way shaped her into whom she was. And what better way than to visit the theater on the day of her mother’s birth as an homage?

This rendition of Scheherazade had been magnificent! It had been a musical masterpiece and she wanted to reminisce to her hearts content, but a small tap to her shoulder followed by a familiar voice pulled her out of her reverie. ‘’Chris?’’ she exclaimed as she turned to face him, the surprise to her features quickly being replaced with wide smile. ‘’Oh my–’’ she cut off her own words as she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace. ‘’I truly wish I could say the same…’’ she teased as she released him and gave him a once over, taking in the very high class four piece suit he was wearing, reminding her of the Christopher she used to know sixty years ago. But then she took in his scruffy hair, outgrown beard and skeptical gaze… 

‘’But yes! Hydration and sun avoidance are certainly part of the daily routine… It’s a good thing I’m quite the night owl.’’ she chuckled, delighted to have run into an old friend. Some might question how on earth she became friends with a lycan, but the road to friendship had been a bumpy one to say the least. She’d needed time for him to grow on her, but now she could honestly say, Chris was one of her closest friends. ‘’You know, facial hair adds about 200 years–’’ her brow raised in mock defiance. ‘’– and the twenty-first century has the technology you know..’’  the corner of her lips tipped upward in amusement. She was a genuine tease, but she’d always loved picking on Chris for some reason. He just made it too easy.

‘‘What did you think of Scheherazade?’‘ she asked, smoothing down her dress. ‘‘The violin solo was breathtaking wasn’t it? It truly set the tone for both the King’s trauma as for the virgin wives.’‘ she spoke, a thoughtful expression to her features. ‘‘I mean, his fear of betrayal, coupled with their fear of never seeing another sunrise… truly brought to life by that violinist.’‘

-

Christopher swept his fingers through his hair, putting it back in place. “I can always trust you to be honest with me, at least.” He wasn’t too concerned with his looks. He’d lose the beard soon enough because he liked having the option to drastically change how he looked based on whether he had it or not. He hugged her back, strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, albeit a little awkwardly since Christopher was decidedly not a hugger. “I never thought I’d run into you, but I suppose where good music goes, you follow.”

He walked them to a high table and set down his glass, leaning against it as they continued talking. Because of the choices he’d made in the last 60 years, more specifically the last 40 since he became Christopher, he felt a bit out of place in such an environment. He knew that he blended in well enough. His suit was designer and bespoke; his hair and beard were a bit wild, but artists and art lovers alive had a creative license when it came to style. But having Neo there worked wonders more than the suit ever could. He was back to more careless days where going to the theater or orchestra was done almost nightly.

He laughed. “What’s another 200 years?” Looking the exact same, except for a few added scars—and even those faded with enough time—for the last 900 or so years got tedious, but at least Christopher was not an especially vain man. “I’ve heard of these things called beard trimmers, but I don’t trust them. I much prefer my knife.“ Christopher did in fact own a bear trimmer and someone had even gifted him with beard oils. The issue was that other than showering and brushing his teeth, Christopher rarely paid attention to how he looked. “I like to think I look scarier this way.” And that carried a tiny grain of truth with it.

NO  SMALL  AMOUNT  OF  JOY  was  to  be  had  at  the  obvious  way  christopher  seemingly  wanted  to  crawl  out  of  his  own  skin  as  sinclair  compelled  the  waitress  away.  it  was  harmless  ,  really  ,  &  yet  he  could  see  the  lycan’s  jaw  tick  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  ,  like  he’d  just  told  the  woman  to  go  climb  up  to  the  roof  &  jump.  he  painted  a  purposefully  innocent  look  on  his  face  ,  sea  -  foam  hues  wide  &  innocent  as  his  lips  pursed  to  take  another  thick  pull  from  his  milkshake.

a  quiet  hum  prefaced  his  response  ,  ❝  oh  ,  come  now.  i  meant  nothing  bad  by  it.  all  the  fine  lines  give  you  character.  i  wished  i  would’ve  been  a  little  older  when  i  was  turned.  i’m  stuck  being  perpetually  baby  -  faced  for  the  rest  of  eternity.  hence  ,  your  creatively  amusing  shirley  temple  shake.  ❞  the  sarcasm  in  his  tone  would  be  impossible  to  miss.

at  chris’s  next  comment  ,  sinclair  could  only  snort.  he  was  grateful  he’d  pulled  away  from  his  dessert  in  time  ,  otherwise  ,  he’d  be  choking.  ❝  well  -  trained  ?  that  functions  ?  is  that  what  you’d  call  your  little  rag  -  tag  group  of  pups  ?  i  certainly  hope  not.  you  &  z  might  be  the  only  ones  that  actually  stand  a  chance.  zac  too  ,  if  he  can  think  with  his  head  &  not  his  heart  for  five  seconds.  &  i’ll  tell  you  ,  it  definitely  does  matter  to  me  ,  the  liberation’s  readiness.  but  i  suppose  you  are  right  about  the  fact  that  we’re  not  here  to  sling  insults  at  each  other.  .  .  as  fun  as  it  may  be.  ❞  chris’s  last  question  would  be  promptly  ignored.  sinclair  had  already  spilled  his  guts  &  plans  to  enough  people  ,  &  the  fact  was  ,  chris  simply  didn’t  rank.  he  could  have  a  nice  chat  with  zac  if  he  really  wanted  to  know  what  sinclair  was  planning.

lips  were  back  around  his  straw  ,  killing  his  milkshake  with  a  few  final  swallows.  fingers  wrapped  around  the  glass  ,  lifting  it  to  his  mouth  &  tilting  it  back  until  the  cherry  hit  his  tongue.  his  body  rejected  the  sensation  immediately  ,  but  clair  chewed  on  ,  personally  enjoying  the  splash  of  candied  -  cherry  flavor.  

❝  hmmm  ,  no  ,  apologies  mon  lupe.  i  cannot  speak  for  the  current  state  of  things  back  home.  though  ,  if  you  do  end  up  going  ,  get  me  one  of  those  shitty  little  eiffel  tower  keychains  ,  yeah  ?  ❞

—

Christopher studied Sinclair’s face, not liking that he was incapable of telling how honest the other man was. He couldn’t gage whether or not his comment was sincere or just continuation of his facetious and mirthful commentary. “Yes, youth, what a horrible curse. Maybe you can grow a beard.” He scoffed. “In my defense, I also expected the shake to taste like shit. Who in their right mind decided mixing grenadine and vanilla ice cream was a good idea?” Christopher didn’t actually try it. “Is there actually Sprite in there as well?” Wouldn’t the lemon in the soda make the cream curdle. He grimaced, best not to think about it.

Christopher grinned, a true smile, bared teeth an all. “Please do continue to describe as such. Make sure, especially in the company of any other vampires, to mention that we are handicapped and that our only leader has a soft heart.” It would only benefit them for the vampires to continue to think them weak. After all, wasn’t it the Lycans’ hubris which led to Aleksander’s victory in the first place. Hadn’t they thought themselves the evolved and improved creature.

her initial worry was that she didn’t wish to disappoint the man in admitting she didn’t have any money to pay for shawarma or whatever else they’d be having. her second worry was that he’d feel obligated to offer and pay for a meal after already handing her a dagger to protect herself with. her third worry was that he was right in that she may not be up for the activity of walking. she didn’t wish to be a burden, but it was clearly in her nature to be so. there were things she wished she could change about herself, but that was the least of them since it made for far better company than sewer rats and other homeless people of New York. it wasn’t everyday Alchara made friends. “Sure.” an uneasy nod would couple a hidden expression of gratitude in his generosity towards her, a stranger.  “But nothing too expensive, okay?” 

though he was right in his assumptions, she’d chuckle at his words. a string of advice would hang in the air for but a moment. she wasn’t certain if he were serious, but she was one to take advice literally in terms of humans and not cards– “Are you an expert then? In daggers and bodies?” eyes would carefully scan his face as if to search for a murderer’s mark. “Just how long have you been this way? And… just how many knives have you left behind in corpses?” 

she wanted to ask if they were only bad guys, too.  while he seemed safe, she could never be too sure, then again, it wasn’t every day a Lycan had given her anything of substance, like a knife to help defend herself with. she would further press for advice, “When does it…” she’d shuffle with her hands in her pockets, a dagger safely tucked away and an insecurity in her stance as words approached, “When does it stop hurting? The change – well everything. I’ve asked plenty of others, but I never get answers I like.” 

—

There was something she wasn’t telling Christopher. Something she seemed happy to keep hidden by asking him questions about himself instead. He wondered if Zac had any contact with her. She wasn’t pack, he was sure he would have recognized her or at least seen her before if she were. She could be a prospective member or new to town. Christopher opened the door to a local Falafel place, which also boasted to have the best shawarma in New York City. A claim Christopher had seen before at many other such places. It was fairly clean and well lit and that was sometimes all a person could really ask for. “Don’t worry about it. I got it this time.” His statement didn’t leave room for arguments. Christopher wasn’t known for being kind of generous. He certainly didn’t go out of his way to perform acts of service, but when the opportunity presented itself, it was no skin off his back to offer a meal.

“I wouldn’t call myself an expert.” Then, what was he? He was more proficient with a weapon than a pen, maybe even a fork. “I’ve done this a long time,” he explained. “It’s important that you know how to protect yourself. Especially now.” He pressed his lips tightly. It was difficult to admit just how familiar he was with ending a life. It was never something Christopher would be proud of. He knew of other soldiers who wore their number of casualties like a trophy, but they were few. Only monsters enjoyed the kill. The rest of them did it for survival. “Is that your subtle way of asking my age?”

They were directed to a table by a tired looking host who took his place behind the cash register as soon as they sat to answer the phone. It was a small mom and pop operation which became evident when that same host brought them their waters and took their drink orders. “I’ll be 899 years old this Spring.” He wasn’t sure which day exactly, but he remembered celebrating it in Spring.

Christopher frowned and looked down at his menu. The weight of ending a life heavy on him and he’d ended so many. “If they’re corpses they pose no threat. I take the knives back and properly bury the bodies if possible.” He’d been a religious man once. He met her eyes at that question. “When you accept it. When you become one with the wolf. It’s not— It’s not a curse or a punishment. What hurts—“ As far as Christopher had philosophized. “Is the denial of a natural thing. Like forcing yourself awake when you need sleep or starvation. It’s unnatural for us not to shift.” Even though he could control it, Christopher shifted as often as it was safe to. 

“It is far too early in the evening for bribery.” Her eyes would glint with a hint of amusement. Their banter, something Lilit had not intended to kindle, was more bearable than the elder vampire imagined it to be. He was a Lycan, like that mattered to her anymore. “I find it to be a double edged sword at best. My culture, as an independent entity, is a fascinating subject to ponder. As a lump sum, you realize the influences it had on the ever changing world around it.” 

Lilit noted the approaching heartbeat, stepping toward her companion as she spoke on art and other subjects that a human would deem to be normal. “Obedience of blinded nature leads to a generation who cannot think for themselves. My sire….father shared a very old myth from his youth. Are you familiar with the legend of King Lykaon? He tricked the gods into eating human flesh. In my father’s rendition, it was blood. The gods fell from Olympus to become immortal beings suspended in eternal youth, stripped of all godly powers. They resented Lyckaon and made him the first bitten vampire. Lykaon in turn sought out further demise by tainting his own blood. It was better than being like the beings he despised. He became a Lycan and the war is forever raging between the two. I would wager that this myth is not too far fetched from truth, one cultures interpretation of another. The written history is along the same lines if you are interested to know it.”

“This piece is not my favorite.” Lilit brushed it from her sight, turning to fnd something more secluded to enjoy. “I have a secret, one that no one knows. I need the help of an elder lycan or I wouldn’t consider revealing it to you. How do you teach a Lycan to control their changing on a full moon?”

--

“Perhaps, but flattery never hurt anyone.” He examined the photograph before them, not at all interested in it, but wanting to keep up appearances for the sake of continuing their conversation in relative privacy. And if wolves and vampires came up in the conversation, the other patrons could just assume that Christopher and Lilit were discussing myths and folklore.

“That sounds rather familiar, doesn’t it?” Christopher remembered little about what began the conflict between the two factions. As far as he could recall, they’d already been deemed the enemy when Christopher learned of their existence. He knew that his type, Lycans, had been bred for the purpose of war, at least those he’d encountered in his youth. They weren’t entirely innocent in the conflict and neither were the vampires, but history was controlled by the victors. So for now, Lycans were meant to be serving a punishment for what— claiming to have been the evolved version of vampires. Christopher knew one thing. He’d had no say over his change, in fact he couldn’t even recall it happening. And, as a soldier, blind obedience was his default.

“No, I’m not familiar with King Lykaon.” Lilit’s on recounting of their origin fascinated him. Having never met an ancient—if any had even survived from the time of creation—Christopher had no reason to think her version was any less true than the one he’d been fed as a pup. “History shifts to suit modern audiences and well, there is always room for interpretation. Some call us cursed, yet as science has advanced humans have done everything in their power to stay alive.” Christopher shrugged his shoulders. “The more wars I fight in, the more I begin to think that we invent petty excuses to abuse those we deem less important than us.”