legendary hunt

HAXIAN!!! 

Haxian stood in the beautifully decorated dining hall of Bloodhaven hours later. Furnished richly, in tastes that clearly suited Orobas' with dark woods, deep colors that weren't overbearing on the senses, and pretty scents of flora and sandalwood aroma. Such a smell made him think back to their homelands. He struck a match and lit the end of incense, the tip of it burned hot and bright red before blowing out into a trail of wispy smoke. 

How long it's been since they were allowed anywhere near their birthplaces. The entire east had changed since ancient times, different names, boundaries, shaping wars, and infiltration's of outside influences. Where home was didn't entirely exist properly anymore. The bounties too high, a perfect place to suicide in total destruction if they both decided immortality was enough. 

Haxian wore a traditional meets modern variation on the tang suit jacket of pale blue and white, folded creases, and looked comfortable. Against the grayed batlike visage of his skin and the shifted additions to his features, it was a strange visual combination. However, Haxian felt the most comfortable in silks and linens over designer suits Orobas always adorned.

COME BACK! GET ME OUT! GET ME OUT! GET ME OUT!!

He stared out the window as Orobas screamed in his mind, the humans that pretended to be a part of this place already left for the night and gave the whole area a comfortable tranquility. In the basement were a few newborns, and a couple others working on things for Bloodhaven. The Elder's presence usually had the occupants within the clubhouse, finding other rooms to settle in. Fear was a strong undercurrent here. However, tonight they were working on a few things for him, setting up training for the younger ones, it was honestly a flashback to his times with his master. That time of his life boring until he found Orobas, and now he was walking the same path. Things always came full circle. 

His blood family had always done things a little differently than others. Perhaps it was because of how they were chosen. Around him now were diverse structures of makers and progeny’s, some left to their own devices, some made without care, others shared the same sentiment as them, and kept close as lovers, siblings, or undefined. Haxian always had a different feeling about it. Orobas was his to wield and have. Period. There was nothing else to it, and such an obsessive passion couldn't be defined. 

AHHH!!!! I NEED TO EAT!!! ITS ALREADY BEEN DAYS BEFORE LYDIA!!!

Haxian continued to listen to the idle chatter in the room. The conversations amusing at times, as they asked him questions on his history, and begun putting together a timeline of his long life. Most in the room were barely pushing a hundred, missing so many wars, and critical historical moments. Orobas' idea was to document his story, his progeny one who always allowed his mind to forget the past when the moments didn't matter or hold significant weight. Haxian had to wonder if Orobas wanted to remember things or to piece together excuses to step away from him. 

A soft-spoken vampire asked him something he almost missed, he turned towards them with a gentle, yet terrifying smile. "No, that moment actually transpired within France. There was a small villa there that was occupied by a witch who had decided to cash in on our bounty. We compelled the entire village over the span of a week, so it seemed organic and their ideas. Then we sat back and watched the witch hunt unfold. It was loud, with pitchforks and fire. We watched her fight, and we watched her burn at the stake." 

"That was the area that the slayers found you," one of the vampires asked, and Haxian nodded. 

"Such an old family-- France never was the same after. We never went again," Haxian felt those distant memories toy within his mind. Slayers weren't entirely feared by him, but for Orobas, whose name carried through time-- they would always, eventually find him. If he had to define fear. 

"Eldon would know, right? He carries that scar on his chest, the one that almost took him out. He showed us one night when he was in a 'giving' mood," one of the younger vampires chuckled, doing air quotes. "Where is he anyway?" 

'It would be odd to see him without the other,' Haxian thought. Though it happened more than people gave them credit for. Even those in the clubhouse always assumed if the Elder was here, so was Orobas. 

"He's not here?" Haxian inquired and lied. 

"No, we haven't seen him for a few days actually. He said he’s been busy," someone pulled on a cork from a bottle and poured a generous serving of blood for everyone in crystal glasses. Haxian kept looking out the window. Morning could creep up upon the world soon.  

"Then don't worry about it," Haxian said simply, and the group seemed to get the idea rather quickly.  

It hurts. Impossibly. Haxian. I’m so tired. Don’t leave me here. 

Those last words in his mind came through, but internally, their bond stilled and quieted. Haxian stepped away from the group and moved through the front door. A wisp of smoke followed him, the air around his body disintegrating his cells, and further until he disappeared from view. The other vampires glanced at the open door and brush of wind without realizing his exit before he was simply gone. Haxian appeared out of thin air and stood upon an old well tucked in the woods. 

His hands folded gently and settled down into a lotus pose. His back was straight, wisps of sandalwood scents filled the outdoor space from having lit that incense. He closed his eyes. Feeling that bond, the tether of communication that was always there. Simple chatter, little words, and jokes that only they spoke to one another. Having entire conversations without anyone any the wiser. 

He turned on Orobas’ phone, glancing at the casual messages he was having before tonight. 

I hate all of them. These people in your life. Haxian spoke between their minds. Nothing was said back. It was silent. So impossibly silent.

What is it about White Crest that makes you call this place home? 

Haxian frowned, his hand curling around the phone tightly as the silence was deafening. The Elder’s anger consumed. 

Why are you changing so much?

Haxian looked out at the rising sun in the distance. 

“When you wake up. My progeny, Ji-u.” Haxian spoke Orobas’ birth name, the one deeply lost in the history of their lives. Forced to change it almost immediately upon leaving his homelands. Something he’d never ever forget.  

Orobas has been passing his days in a cloud of confusion. It was worn with a blank face, his attitude and temper short, and most of the people he worked with kept an even wider distance. Harsh had suggested they share a couple blood bags, which was frankly so disgusting. Orobas brought instead, two bottles of blood and wine from his favorite dolls. He already had a lot of strings pulling in the right direction involving Lydia. She may have him bonded into a failed situation, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t sitting idly by as it devoured him. No, he was working on gaining access to her house, and he was setting her up for something heinous. 

“Harsh,” he poured the wine in one glass, wanting to smell it and savor the bite of tang and dryness that most food carried. He sniffed it, fingers long and cradling the liquid, his eyes have been blood red since his injury and even now, they were eerie in the comfortable environment. His complexion was grayed, like he was starving himself, but it wasn’t anything to do with that. The scars on his face would always be there from the holy water, small pockets just along his jawline, only caught when the lighting in a room struck his profile. “Before you decided to get rid of your soul, did you ever love someone?” 

Honestly, the stuff Orobas had brought over was better than what Harsh had tucked away in the fridge. He always forgot how much better it was when it was fresh. Maybe he should go for a hunt. Orobas would probably be up for it. It wasn’t like there was much point in playing the good little vampire now. No one was watching. No one cared. It didn’t matter. As days had gone by since that call, it was starting to seem like nothing did. Breaking things, getting into trouble, it wasn’t the same as it had been before the deal. It was all just hollow. 

The question caught him by surprise, but he nodded as he considered his own glass. “Yeah, I did. I think I’ve told you about her… well, a little anyway. Eleanor. She was the one who turned me. But that was a loooong time ago,” he said, pausing to take a sip. Spiked blood at least never lost its appeal. A rueful smile snuck onto his face. “Back then, I thought she and I were going to be together forever, like you and Haxian. But… even before it all went to shit, that might’ve been wishful thinking. I don’t think I really knew what I was asking for. All I knew was that I wanted to be with her as long as possible.” He paused, shooting Orobas a curious look. “Why do you ask?”

Orobas unbuttoned his deep blue suit jacket, exposing a crisp white shirt underneath, and leaned back on the couch, lounged out over sitting stiffly like he typically did. Likely wrinkling his nice clothes, but Orobas didn’t seem to care right now. He sipped the drink slowly, crimson gaze on his friend. “Hm, I hadn’t entirely put that together. I assumed we all have a bit of a relationship with our masters, not always with our consent.” Orobas absolutely hated that Eleanor died, it was a moment he dwelled on for his friend often. “But love isn’t something I’d define it as. It’s, something else-- I don’t know what.” Orobas didn’t think he loved Haxian. He wanted to please him, keep him impossibly close, and it felt more like they were one of the same person versus a partner. A lot of people said often that any definition of relationship with Orobas was also one with Haxian. 

It made more sense at Harsh’s pain, and though Orobas’ face usually lacked much emotion to it, a soft snarl curled his lips as anger coiled easily. “Mhm,” he took another drink, wanting to relax and not fall into the pit of anger again, and the numbness of wine and blood was welcomed. “I’m in a binding with a Fae at the moment. I have to find true love, or I will keep feeling as bad as I have been. Not sure on the time table, but it’s getting a little unbearable and such things will dissolve for me. Last time I felt this ache, I might have picked a fight with a brood in Berlin. Results, more enemies to say the least. I left that Elder with no one.” He glanced over, Harsh with his suave energy and easy smiles, even when he was brooding. 

“Carrington seems certain I already love someone. I just don’t know who. I’m that ignorant over it.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Harsh nodded, even as he scrunched up his nose at the word ‘master’. Eleanor had never been that for him. She taught him and guided him, but she was a partner, not a master. And he definitely wasn’t that for any of the vampires he had turned. Most of them had gotten what they wanted and left, or he had. Maybe some of them had wanted that. Harsh never bothered asking. He could tell them how to avoid slayers or the best places to go looking for people to eat, but beyond that, he didn’t really have much in the way of sage wisdom to offer. “Really? Huh. With how long you guys have been together, I guess I kinda figured you guys would have it all worked out by now.”

Brow furrowing, Harsh leaned forward, eyes flicking over Orobas’s face. He hadn’t missed the way he seemed subdued and the almost sickly color of his face. Fae bindings, he had heard of them, but… honestly, he didn’t know much. Someone had told him ages ago to watch what promises he made to certain people, but Harsh hadn’t given that much thought. “True love, huh? I’m guess the fae didn’t give you any instructions on how to do that. That’s… kind of a fairy tale thing though, isn’t it? I mean, how is your fae promise supposed to know it’s true love?”

That last bit did catch his curiosity. “Oh yeah? Did he say who he thought it was or just that you act like you’re in love or something?”

The two definitely didn’t have anything worked out. They existed, like twin shadows that slid into countries, cities, and homes and tormented the world. There weren’t many relationships formed in their long life. A few at most, and the rest of the world simply passed by. Perhaps that was a problem, but to Haxian and Orobas, existence was enough for them. At least until recently, when Orobas wanted more of something he didn’t know how to define. He was the one straying from the norm, the one causing ripples in their relationship. Four hundred years later, and Orobas still might not have felt every emotion. 

“I barely know love, to add the word true as a defining factor means little more to me. This Fae enjoys power, I understand them profoundly in that way, this was a guaranteed way to keep me from killing them. Something impossible, hm? Not a bad play.” 

Orobas drew his hand up into his hair, and combed it back in a sweep to brush it from his eyes. It was rare for him to ever let himself appear this disheveled, but in the back of his mind there was the second piece to that promise that he knew very well. To be vulnerable in front of them. Orobas glanced over to meet Harsh’s gaze. “Hm, Carrington is a romantic. Someone who sees the world differently even while carrying the same immortality burden. He would be the only one who would think I could feel such a thing, or already have..” Orobas chuckled. “Carrington would believe evil could somehow feel such an emotion. I wanted to cut him up for suggesting it, and he still hugged me.”

Orobas still intently looked at Harsh, “I don’t know what sort of love would fulfill the promise. I was hoping it was you to make my life easier. I do care about you more than others.” 

“It seems pretty unfair if they made an impossible promise. Is that allowed?” Harsh sipped at his drink. That didn’t seem right. But he knew next to nothing about fae. He had met a few in his time, maybe more than he knew, but as far as he was aware, he had never made a promise to one. “Even if they like power that much, swearing you to something you can’t do seems like it should backfire on them. But, I don’t think it’s impossible. It’s just… worded weird, like a fairytale. I think true love is out there for you, man. You’ve just gotta find it.”

He couldn’t remember ever seeing Orobas so messy looking before. It wasn’t a bad look on him. Then again, he wasn’t sure anything would be. Orobas had that natural sort of prettiness to him that even four hundred years had not managed to dull. Harsh had noticed before. He wasn’t blind. “Carrington’s sweet, a little soft though. But I mean, he might have a point. I wouldn’t say I’m romantic, but I figure that love looks different to different people. Yours might just look, y’know, different.”

A slow grin spread over Harsh’s face. “Oh yeah? Well, I am pretty loveable. You do give me a lot of leeway on… well, everything. I know I’m your favorite. I… don’t know if I’m a great pick for your ‘true love’ though. The whole, y’know, soul thing… but I’m working on it. Maybe after, I don’t know, we could see what happens.”

“Who knows, I don’t know enough about the Fae,” Orobas laughed gently, greatly amused at how Harsh worded it. He wasn’t one to read like Haxian did, and the word fairytale always sounded so funny to him. Humans write stories about the supernatural, creating warnings for the future generations, or their children. It almost made what he was so much worse-- their glamoured ideas to what was terrifying a little off from the true monster. 

“Carrington had said that exactly as well afterward, so that makes two of my friends believing in me. How cute.” A deep throb of pain made his eyes close, the longer he allowed this promise to feel unobtainable, the worse it was getting. “You are my favorite. Emotions will probably feel overwhelming and beautiful. I can’t wait to see you kill someone with it-- the rush, the entire moment, the feed. Mmm.” His voice tapered off, the thrum of pain wearing on him even with the blood. Maybe he should have brought one of his dolls over the bottles. Blood wasn’t enough to curb this feeling though. 

“Friendship was omitted with that one little word. True--,” Orobas set his glass down and settled more on the couch, clearly in mild distress, but keeping most of it from showing. “Hm, there is someone that might fall into that, but it’s not something I ever cared to admit. Nor she.”

“Me either,” Harsh said, with a little frown. “Maybe I should work on that. I, uh… sort of still have people thinking I’m a slayer. It would be way more convincing if I actually sounded like I know what I’m talking about.” The fact that it hadn’t actually been an issue so far was probably more just dumb luck than anything else. And given the warnings he had gotten since arriving in town and some of the strangeness he had seen and heard, it would probably be a smart move in any case. 

“Aw c’mon, that’s what friends are for, old man.” He gave Orobas a teasing grin as he shifted, lightly nudging at him with his knee. Preening, he pressed a hand to his chest. “Go on, tell me how much you like me. I could listen all night, baby.” 

Smile fading, Harsh sat up, shifting closer to Orobas. His hand was careful as it landed on his back, moving in gentle circles. “Yeah? Who’s that? If you need help tracking her down, I can do that. You seem… rough, man. And I mean that as nicely as possible. Is there anything else we can do to make this easier on you? You wanna go kill something? That always cheers you up.”

Orobas let himself plop, only five people in existence could see him this way, vulnerable and trusting, and Harsh was near the top. He shifted until his head was in his friend’s lap, tossing his legs over the edge of the couch and closed his eyes. With a gentle shift, he encouraged Harsh’s hand into his hair and simply stilled to enjoy the closeness. “I don’t want to do anything right now, just being with you is nice. You have more friends then I don’t you, slayer?” Orobas asked playfully. “I’m jealous, I want all your attention. Playing with hunters, too. How fun. Have you killed any vampires to prove your role?” 

There would be a time that Harsh might want to not do that. But Orobas understood the thrill if could bring, or the necessity.  “No, I see her often. I don’t even know if I feel that exact thing for her, but of anyone-- less Haxian, I have no idea. There isn’t much I can do though. This is what happens when you break promises on this scale apparently. To be honest, this isn’t nearly as bad as gargling holy water. I’m not sure I will ever fully heal from that ordeal.”

Harsh didn’t need much prompting, threading his fingers through Orobas’s hair without hesitation. The closeness was nice, comfortable. Having someone so ruthless, so powerful curling up with him like a kitten was surreal, but in a good way. “I am pretty popular,” he said, teasing right back. “Hey, you get plenty of my time, babe. You know you’re my number one. Not yet. I’m… kinda hoping it doesn’t come to that. If I do, I’ll make sure it’s not anyone you know. There’s this asshole I turned a while ago--Caleb, he could use a good staking if I need to prove myself. But I’m mostly just trying to lay low.”

Grimacing, he gently stroked Orobas’s hair. No wonder he looked so off. Gargling holy water sounded like a nightmare and a half, Harsh would sooner stake himself than try that. “Well, you might as well keep trying with her, see if the feelings start to click. So uh, why were you gargling holy water? I don’t think you told me about that one.”

“I can get you whomever when you need it. There are always vampires coming here that don’t need to be here,” Orobas said easily. Better Harsh uses their death to his advantage, though Orobas wasn’t very shy about dealing with younger vampires. It was an interesting problem to have, being that Harsh could sever a bond with his own blood, but Orobas didn’t judge him for it at all. It was what it was, if Harsh figured that was worth it to keep up appearances. 

Orobas tilted his chin, exposing the underside of his jawline where pocketed scars now resided in blemish. “It burned through the side of my mouth, and jaw. My gums are scarred over as well, enough that it's always aching to even eat. Hm, she requested it, so I really had no choice in the matter. That is the entire thing, my debt to her must be seen as significant if the magic is so binding. I did weirdly enjoy it though, but I have quite the relationship with pain and torture. It will be fine-- in the end, I will have my way with her.” He seemed to ponder a moment. “Do you think love comes from a place of good, Harsh? Or that it’s designed for mortals? What I feel for you and a few others, never felt like any word was enough to describe it.” 

“Oh yeah? If you’ve got some suckers who need to go, I can take them out. That might be easier. If anyone’s giving you trouble, just let me know.” Maybe it was callous, but Harsh had never felt much connection to anyone he had sired. There had been one or two before he had thrown his soul away, though he had lost track of them more than a century ago. And any that came after… they had their uses, he had taught them the ropes and then moved on. It was better that way. 

Harsh’s fingers were careful as they brushed gently over the scars. “Shit,” he muttered. “How long ago was that? You think there’s, I don’t know, some kind of magic that could fix it? I know a couple people, maybe one of them could make some kind of potion.” That was probably a pretty big if. Still, it couldn’t be that hard to fix, right? His fingers moved back to Orobas’s hair almost idly as he considered the question. “I mean, I don’t really know. I feel like it’s a pretty abstract thing. I think… good and bad don’t have much to do with it. It’s just what you feel, right? I don’t think there’s any kind of checklist to fill out on how love works. But if someone’s important to you and they make you happy, I don’t know, maybe that’s love.”

“There is no need,” Orobas grinned, “though magic is fascinating, my body is covered in such things. It’s just another mark, maybe this time, a small reminder of my slip up. I was due one, you can’t go through time like we do and not make mistakes.” Though what wasn’t said was the obsessive factor in all this, that Lydia could keep hurting him if she desired, it would eventually flip, and his turn would be something incredibly worth the pain and frustration. Orobas listened to Harsh explain further on the topic that drew him here. He could listen to him speak for hours, could maybe even humor falling asleep even if it was dreamless meditation. 

Carrington had been intense and direct with his expressions on love, and Harsh seemed to be easily satisfied with the simplest words; happiness, importance. To a mortal who had circles of friends, and family, Orobas only had a handful. Immortality for him wasn’t lonely, he was satisfied with who he had, but it did make his view on this difficult because of it. “Abstract is a good word to describe it, it almost seems impossible to define. Maybe that will be how I get around it. What it means to me, believing my version of it could fulfill the promise. She doesn’t even need to love me.” He said, but the softest furrows met his brow. 

“Tell me, if love is abstract in how you see it, then how do you see vulnerability?” 

“Yeah, I guess your scars are pretty sexy. I’m more talking about the whole… part where it still hurts to eat and stuff. Cause that seems like it would be rough.” Harsh didn’t think about it naturally. Empathy was one of the many things lost to that hollow inside. But… if he forced it, he could at least say that if he was in pain every time he ate, he would start ripping heads off to try to fix it. Then again, Harsh had never been the type to be patient about that. If there was a problem, he was going to fix it as soon as possible, no matter what it took or how many spellcasters he had to go through to get it. 

“That could work. Loopholes are always good. Unrequited love is still love.” That sounded right at least. It probably wasn’t healthy, but whatever. If this fae was going to jerk Orobas around, making him chase after some fairytale dream, why couldn’t he sneak around to get it? “Vulnerability? I don’t know. I guess… it seems a little like a weakness. But I don’t know if it’s always a bad thing. I think I used to like it, kind of. At least with some people. When I was with Eleanor, I could let her see everything, and it was kind of scary, but it also made me feel… safe. Or like she understood me. So… I guess I see it as being kind of risky, but it can be worth it sometimes.”

“I see,” Orobas could picture Harsh enjoying that time. It was a nice visual in his mind, and compared to others, he’d likely not think about it in such a way. Trust and feeling safe were too rare things in his existence. Even if right now he felt both, along with content, and calm. “I think, I don’t stop to think about any emotions-- now that I have been asking about them. For existing as I have, it wasn’t something that required it. It’s funny-- people make the assumption that I don’t have a soul, and I always had wondered why. Maybe not acknowledging the smallest of emotions has given that impression.” 

He didn’t aim to poke that sore spot for Harsh, but Orobas, even in such a good mood, could be cruel. “I wonder if Haxian can feel love, now transforming-- going beyond what we are. I have never had the desire to mutter such things to him. Through so many centuries. I should do it shouldn’t I? I might get thrown out a window though, and I live in a high building.” Orobas laughed genuninely amused by the visual, there was a lightness in him that he rarely felt. Like the pain from the promise was unraveling slowly without his awareness. “Hm, it’s probably saying too much. But I’m not opposed to learning new things. Come on, read to me. Anything, I don’t care what. Let me rest a little.”

“Yeah? I mean, I don’t think most people think about those things too much. People just kinda feel their feelings.” Harsh laughed softly as he brushed Orobas’s hair back from his forehead then smoothed it down again. Honestly, he had thought the same at first. Orobas did sort of fit the bill, he was similar to other soulless vampires Harsh had crossed paths with. But… not completely. Despite the blood dolls and the casual way he dealt with killing, Orobas could understand other people in a way Harsh had left behind two centuries ago. “I think most people just don’t really get how the whole ‘lack of soul’ thing works.”

Harsh cocked an eyebrow before shrugging as he dug his phone out of his pocket. “I’ve got a couple ebooks on here, some news stuff--oh yeah, I took a bunch of pictures of these books from the old Scribe HQ. It’s a lot of informational stuff, but some of it’s actually pretty interesting.” He flicked through his pictures for a minute before settling on a nice long passage. “This one’s actually about soul stuff. Let me see, ‘the soul is less of a spirit and more a manifestation of the self’...”