Jacob Dashwood

“Yes, in fact.” Nicolas replied with a slick, sickening smile. “Now that I think on it, you should feel very  f l a t t e r e d  at the time I’ve taken out of my day in order to end you. After-all, I can think of so many preferable uses for my time. Then again,” He mused waving the glass of scotch around, “I suppose I have an endless amount of time in front of me. You, on the other hand…” He tilted his head, a pitying hum reverberating at the back of his throat. “- Not so much.” After all of the tortures he’d inflicted on the younger vampire, Jacob’s prognosis was grim, even if he turned around and walked out of the house at that very moment. He would’ve needed help to recover, help he was not likely to receive way. They both knew that now.

In some ways, Nicolas wondered whether his own fate would be any different, were their positions reversed right now. Would anyone come for him?.. He had his sister, he’d made a few friends over the years - enough to be counted on one hand, maybe - but even those he’d  h u r t  and let down as though he was destined to cause nothing but pain. It was different than the torment he was inflicting on Jacob - but arguably more agonizing because it was not physical in nature. It was mental, emotional; deep under the skin where it struck at the most vulnerable parts of them. His legacy was more than kingdoms rising and falling throughout history - than blood, murder and mayhem to be shared around some campfire in scandalized whispers. It was a trail of hearts he had no right to break over the years - hearts he’d broken anyway. Disappointment here, betrayal there, robbing loved ones of their fragile hope in him and replacing it instead with grief and with gall… Why had they not abandoned him?…

Jacob was right. There was a few who’d be very, very pleased at his demise. How many more would be pleased if an Original were to die? And even at this bitter end, even with a corkscrew in his lungs, a stake through his spine and enough broken bones to fill a graveyard, Jacob tried to grasp at the remaining straws of his pride. What good would it do him?… What good did it do any of them, in the end?… No one was here for him, no one would cry for him - the room was  e m p t y .  It was a bleak enough thought to dampen even Nicolas’ own triumphant mood though he hid it well. Certainly, his taste for the running commentary had soured somewhat. “Go to hell…” He echoed almost thoughtfully, before knocking the drink  back in one gulp. Hell … Yes, he supposed there was that to look forward to. “Kind of you to prepare it for me, keep my seat warm and all that.” He snorted, wiping at his mouth. “That’s as good a toast as any. Fine scotch too - pity you wouldn’t stomach it in your present state.”

He strolled towards the younger vampire, listening to each laboured breath, to the sound of his heart, struggling to pump any remaining blood through his failing system. “Well, I suppose on that touching note…” He let the empty scotch glass slip from his fingers and shatter a few inches away from Jacob, before leaning down to yank the injured man up by the throat. Nicolas ignored the cry that went up in pain as he dangled - it wouldn’t be long now. And then, without remorse or delay, he drove his hand into the man’s chest and reached for his heart, severing it from its home. Nature took over then. Five hundreds years caught up with the vampire as his skin turned a molten grey, red veins pulsating to a deep black around his eyes as the life finally left them. The Original released his bloodied grip, and the corpse dropped to his feet. The quivering organ in his palm finally stopped twitching and he released that, too.

“Goodbye,  J a c o b  D a s h w o o d .”

By now, Jacob just wanted Nicolas to get on with it. They both knew how this was going to end. All this talking and drinking was doing, was prolonging the torture. Something Jacob understood, absolutely. But he also hated it when he was the victim. “You’re trying to bore me to death?”, he edged his opponent on He was not going to beg. He would never bed. Not for death. Not Nicolas. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to speed up the process by taunting the Original. There was nothing boring about the piericing pain in his lungs, about the way he had to struggle for every intake of air, about the pain in his back and about the way he couldn’t move his legs. It was agonizing. It was something he had never thought he had to endure in his entire eternity of living.

And there would be no one to come for him. There had never been anyone close enough to come and check how he was doing. It didn’t matter how long Nicolas would choose to continue this torment, the end result was going to be the same. Jacob was going to die. Alone, the way he had lived. He had never been able to look past his hatred, past his arrogance. Never had that bothered him, until now he realized that all his life hadn’t meant anything. He hadn’t achieved what he had wanted to. The moment his body would turn to ashes, people would breath in relief, but then he would be forgotten. A ghost from the past, someone to forget about. And that might hurt him even more than every broken bone, every wound, every bit of pain Nicolas had inflicted on him. His life had meant nothing.

He wouldn’t keep Nicolas’ seat warm. He had no idea what the afterlife, what hell would look like, how much he would still remember from this life, but if there would be even a shell of the man he had been left, he’d make sure to do everything in his -probably very limited- power to make Nicolas’ arrival and stay there more of a torture than his own. He cried out when Nicolas yanked him up, an involuntary reaction when the stake was splintering in his spine, one that he hated because it showed weakness, but at least it would all be over now.

The pain of Nicolas’ hand plunging in his chest was only a weak echo of everything he was feeling already. It was over. After all the agony since he had opened the door tonight, it was finally over.

And then everything turned black.

“Oh, don’t let me take your spotlight! This isn’t about me - It’s about you…” He assured the dying man in saccharine tones. “Are you not enjoying your own medicine? ‘Tis the last thing you’ll ever taste.” The corkscrew was doing good work in keeping Jacob from healing. His strength was sapped, his scream upon hitting the floor gratified the Original.

‘What are you waiting for, an audience?’

“What a splendid idea. Unfortunately, I couldn’t even  c o m p e l  someone to give a toss about you in this town, so that isn’t an option.” And in case Jacob was having any trouble understanding the dig - “You aren’t the best vampire who ever lived, nor even the worst. You’re one of the countless middlemen, nothing worthy of a campfire.” Nicolas tutted. “Speaking of campfires, however; you prefer your possessions burnt to cinders?  G o o d , that gives me my answer - Consider them donated to the most dismal poorhouse in all of Arcadia.” He added, not out of misplaced charity, but only to dig the knife deeper into Jacob’s impending mortality. “Those poor sods will want for nothing by the time I tear this place down…” Nicolas remarked thoughtfully, as he reached out to grab onto the nearest chair. Minus one piece in the collection. It was a beautiful thing, made of silver and oak to match the dining table set. He felt it splinter under his hand, cracked off a piece large enough to act as a makeshift stake. Turning back, the Original thrust it through the vertebrae of Jacob’s thoracic spine, just below the heart. Not close enough to kill, but a poetic lead up to the finale. 

Then, Nicolas stepped over the body and strode back towards the drinks cabinet to help himself to its contents. He poured a celebratory glass of scotch and turned back to the younger vampire. “I daresay no victory is quite so complete without a toast. Any last words?”

He sighed, the movement making his lungs hurt more, and he couldn’t help a coughing fit. He could feel the blood that was slowly filling his lung coming out. This whole thing grew more humiliating by the minute and he just wanted Nic to end this. “Should I feel honoured that you go all this way to show me what you think of me?”, he tried to uphold some of his arrogant behaviour, but that was immediately followed by another coughing fit.

He tried to shrug, but he immediately winced because of the pain in his shoulder. “I don’t say anyone would shed a tear about me dying...” That bridge had been burned. He had tried, honestly tried, when it came to Lexi, but he just wasn’t a man who could love. Or be loved, for that matter. “I do think however there are more than a few who would be delighted about my demise.” That list was long. Alexandre and Amber would only be a the top of it, but he was bloody sure there were more. Not that he wanted them to see him like this... it was humiliating, a stain on what he had once been. He gritted his teeth when Nicolas continued to rub in the fact that he wasn’t worth anything. That his stories wouldn’t be told until eternity. And as much as he did not want to believe the Original, he was afraid it was the truth. He let his gaze wander over his belongings. The furniture he had specifically ordered made after he moved here and discovered he wouldn’t leave anytime soon. The books, that had been his companions for years. The paintings on the walls... the idea that it would all be used by those lowlifes hurt, maybe even more than everything what Nicolas had done to him. He didn’t comment on it though... knowing that everything he said would be used against him. Would be used to torture him more.

Still, he winced when Nicolas broke his chair to pieces. He should be glad, it was one less thing that would be used to humiliate him even after his death, but the demolition of everything he had built hurt anyway. Still... would this mean it was over? “Finally...”, he sighed, before screaming in pain when the wood did not find his heart. Instead, he was immobilized further, unable to move anything but his arms and his head. It made him afraid... Yes, he would be able to heal from this, but it wouldn’t happen. He just didn’t know how much longer Nicolas would continue before finally killing him. Getting out of this alive, like he had let Sutton live, would not be an option. If he would survive this, it would be a victory for Jacob. Nicolas had no reason to let him live, burdened by his conscience like Jacob had done to Alexandre. Jacob had none. He didn’t feel remorse, he wouldn’t be guilty. He was afraid, though. And he was wondering if this was what his father had felt while being tortured to death by Alexandre. If his father had realized as well at a certain point that death was unavoidable. If his father had realized he would not leave the mark on history that he had wanted to make. If his father had wanted to beg his torturer to end it, eventually.

He smirked and fell back a step when Jacob roared in a delectable mixture of frustration and pain - finding the corkscrew plunged too deep within his viscera to retrieve it. His skin was already making the mistake of healing over the foreign object - and the more it eluded him, the more pain it would undoubtedly cause. A laugh escaped Nicolas when the injured being questioned why he didn’t finish him. “Come now, Jacob! Do you not recognize a dose of your own medicine when it is fed you?…” The Original queried, strolling around the living room and taking in the destruction he’d wreaked upon it. A pity, really.

. “Apologies for the damage,  m a t e . I’ll make sure to fix it up before I liquidate your assets and   d o n a t e  them to the nearest poorhouse that I find. You can take comfort in that, I suppose.” He added in a tone that conveyed wicked boredom as he took in their surroundings once more. “With any luck, some miserable bastard will end up with more fortune than he’s known his whole life. That, or I’ll turn your creations into kindling wood and light my personal fireplace. Tell me; which would you prefer?… Who knows, maybe I’ll drink a toast or two in your memory every now and then…” He paused, before sucking in his breath as though he’d made a mistake. “Oh! But I  f o r g e t ; you won’t be leaving a memory to remember.” He paused, frowning down at the younger vampire who was struggling futilely to get off the ground. “Isn’t that right, Jacob?” He asked, purposefully omitting the man’s last-name, as though it too, was already forgotten. When Jacob managed to rise to his knees, Nicolas was quick to undo the progress; raising the heel of his foot to give the injured man a lazy kick in the spine. “Now, now! No need to stand at attention… Make yourself comfortable - I insist.”

“And here I thought you did not approve or my methods, Clark...” He wished he could say more, do more, do something against him, but the piercing pain of the corkscrew that was nesting itself more firmly in his lung with every movement that he made, the weakness he felt because of the blood loss and the fear starting to wash over him, also took away one of his greatest weapons. Because yes, he was afraid. He was afraid to die, he was afraid of what Nic could do to him before he would -inevitably- die. He was too weak now to get out of this.

He shook his head slightly, trying not to show how much he would despise if his precious belongings would go to those who deserved it the least. His first editions, his expensive furniture, his elusive liquor collection. “By all means...”, he groaned between the exertion of trying to get back on his feet. “Burn it all. I wasn’t planning on leaving it to anyone.” Especially not to those he had never even found worthy of a thought. The likes of Nicolas... and yes, it hurt even more that it was a peasant like him that would end his life. He bit his lip when Nic kept pressing on the matter that he would be forgotten. He didn’t want the Original to be right, but a part of him was afraid it was the truth. His victims were dead and he had no one cared enough about him to remember him. “Maybe I’ll be remembered in the cruel nighttime stories they tell around the camp fire. The creature that wreaked havoc in whatever part of the country he chose...” But not his name. Not the Dashwood name. With him that name that had made him proud his entire life would perish.

He saw the kick coming, but he was too weak to do anything against it. He screamed in pain when he landed at his shoulder, the impact of the fall only making the pain in his gut worse. He struggled to turn around to his back, at least wanting to look at his tormentor. He wouldn’t go down as a coward. “How long are you still going to enjoy this, Clark? Then I know how comfortable I need to make myself...” By now he just wanted this all to be over with. He wouldn’t recover enough to stand a chance. To recover, he needed someone to remove that bloody corkscrew, blood to replenish himself and time to heal and none of these three things would be granted by the Original. He knew that for sure, because he would have done the exact same thing if he was in Nic’s position. “What are you waiting for? An audience?”

‘It is none of your business what my reasons are. What I had in mind for her is my concern.’

Nicolas nodded slowly, indifferently. “Alas, I suppose it is not meet to feign any interest in your justifications - for they’ve always been a tad meager and moronic to my ears. I highly doubt it would be any different now.” He was beside a drinks’ cabinet now, and - spotting an object of interest - slammed one fist into it, shattering the glass. “Know only that siding with the weak is the mistake I would have made in siding with you.” His fangs had already descended, eyes appearing more demon’s than man’s as he turned around. 

“Let us end this charade, shall we?”

With one hand he hurled the empty candelebra at the younger vampire. It missed, but it didn’t matter, his purpose was accomplished when Jacob ducked to avoid it…  – And unwittingly impaled himself on the vintage corkscrew that Nicolas plunged up into his abdomen. It pierced the inferior lobe of his right lung; collapsing his diaphragm and making it more difficult to breath so long as the obstruction remained. Jacob fought him with every passing second - but to no avail. Nicolas shoved the instrument further up, trying to keep his slippery grip as blood pooled over his fingers. When the corkscrew was in too deep to be removed, he grabbed his opponent’s arm as Jacob made to elbow him, yanked it back, and dislocated it at the shoulder. Using that vantage point, he sunk his fangs deep into the aristocrat’s throat.

It was ended not to kill - but to humiliate. It was the ultimate  o f f e n s e  to which a vampire could be subjected. To be mauled by one of their own kind; for a centuries’-old predator to be made prey… He wasn’t finished with Jacob Dashwood just yet, but it marked the beginning of the end, and nothing good was meant to follow. “My only failure was in not thinking to record this fine moment so that Amber could watch your demise and  l a u g h  with glee.” Blood was pouring down his chin now and with a violent shove he flung Jacob towards the nearest wall. “Because that is all you will ever be, Foolish Creature - a laughing stock for a wolf who is already learning to outsmart you… A spurious, unaccomplished waste of space!” He wiped one sleeve across his mouth as he headed to the broken cabinet and grabbed a bottle of aged whiskey with a contemplative sigh. “… The failed son, of a failed father.”

He shrugged. If Nicolas wasn’t interested in his plans to become the most fearsome creature on earth, all the better. If he, against all odds, would walk out of this, he wouldn’t need the hot breath of the other vampire in his neck, because he had no doubt Nicolas would try to prevent what he was trying to achieve. Even when it was just out of a foolish sentimental reason to rescue some idiotic werewolf. He shrugged at Nic calling him weak. That wasn’t something that would hurt him, not coming from this man. He just had made a mistake in thinking there was ever a possibility of them working together. “Gladly...”, he answered when ducking to avoid the last candelabra. He was tired of the whole threatening act. It was better to fight this out, once and for all.

He hadn’t counted on Nic attacking immediately and before he had managed to get away, he felt the piercing pain of something entering his stomach. He tried to get a grip on hit, he tried fight off the older vampire, he tried to do everything in his power to get away, but with every second, he felt the thing do more damage, pierce his long, make it harder to catch his breath. He might not need that air to live, but he did need it to fight. He struggled until Nic let go, but when he tried to get the object out, he found it was already lodged too deep inside of him, out of reach. He roared in frustration and pain and tried to elbow the other, with less force than he would usually have. He felt like wounded animal, fighting for his last chance, knowing that he would need a miracle to survive this. And he did not believe in miracles. He screamed again when he felt how his shoulder was dislocated and then when the sharp fangs pierced his skin and Nicolas started to drain him dry.

He struggled, not wanting to give himself over. He recognized this exactly as what it was. A humiliation. An attempt to make clear how powerless he was against the other vampire. Reduced to nothing more than one of the humans that he himself had used for nothing more than food and fun. His struggle became weaker though. Without being able to breath properly, with more and more of his blood flowing away, he lost his strength as well. When Nicolas threw him away, he crashed against the wall and fell on the floor, where he laid for one moment, before trying to push himself up on his arms. “Why don’t you just finish it?”, he sneered, weakly, trying to ignore the attempts to talk him down. “We both know that’s what you’re really here for. Or are you only talk?” By this time, he thought it might be better to goat the Originals into finally killing him instead of executing who knew what kind of torture and humiliation Nicolas could still think of. Jacob tried to get to his feet, rather dying while he was standing than lying helplessly on the floor, but he didn’t manage to get further than kneeling.

“Ah yes, your  r e a s o n s .” Nicolas permitted in a tone full of condescension. His arms were extended wide, candelabra still firmly held in his grip as Jacob jumped back to avoid him. “You wish to torture her further, I imagine - use her, manipulate her, haunt her - well it will not happen!” He gave another half-hearted slash of the candlestick, more focused on rebutting Jacob’s ridiculous diatribe than on putting an end to him where he stood. No point of going to the grave without a lesson to take with you. “Don’t attempt to make yourself feel better; no one has me wrapped around their finger. If she has found herself an ally in me, it is because she played her cards wisely - more wisely than you!” Because in her wisdom, Amber had chosen to be kind, Amber had chosen to  b e f r i e n d  him. Not even the strongest, most lucrative alliance could rival the meaning of that word. @thexdarkxwithin 

“Does it gall you?” He shouted, leaning back on the balls of his feet briefly as he readjusted some of the candles. “Does it infuriate you to know that you’ve been outwitted by a youngling? By a wolf, a young girl - a  n o b o d y ??” His tone rose in volume, deafening as it echoed around the walls of Jacob’s home. Although Amber was not here to see it, this would be the hour of reckoning, of her greatest retribution. “See it now, Jacob Dashwood, recognize Death as she looks you in the eyes! No king is here to save you, no baron to redeem you,” He grabbed a lit candle by the neck and threw it like a dart towards the younger vampire. “You will  D I E  by the hand of one who was born with less than you - but who became far more than you’ll ever be.”  He dared Jacob to laugh now, knowing full well he would not be the last one standing. Nicolas wasted no time in reaching for a second candle, a third -  all of them - like a round of bullets faster than any rifle and with far deadlier aim. “Your name has already been lost to the history books! You are nothing, but the spoiled son of a worthless father - who’s mark was no more lasting on this earth than a line drawn in sand. And you will end just like him - a failure!” Once he’d lobbed the last candle he went into full shift - fangs dropping, the whites of his eyes going pitch black, as he leapt forward to finish the job he’d started.

He rolled his eyes, starting to get annoyed by the self righteous posture of the other. For someone berating him for drawing out justice, this whole thing was taking awfully long. Not that Jacob wanted to die, but at least in a fight he could try to do something. This whole... sentencing, it almost seemed, the whole enumeration of what Nicolas perceived to be his crimes started to become tedious. “It is none of your business what my reasons are. What I had in mind for that girl is my concern. And hers, I guess, once I decide to execute it. Not from some failed vampire who suddenly decided to side with the weak.” The whole idea of friendliness between those two had clearly never been more than just that, an idea. When for months the only outcome of another meeting was the one that seemed to come now. His death. And he wasn’t willing to accept that. He kept his eye on the candlestick, even when the attempts to get to him were half hearted. The Original was strong enough to suddenly surprise him. “Who says I’ve been looking for allies, Clark? I’ve been alone my entire life. I enjoy depending on no one but me... You? You and I might have made a good team back in the days, but clearly that was nothing more than an occasional occurrence.” He didn’t need to trust anyone but himself. He was strong enough to face everything. Except maybe this man who seemed to want him dead...

He shrugged. “I might have underestimated her. Nothing I can’t make right though.” Not if he would have his way. Not if Laveau hadn’t suddenly disappeared on him. Now everything had changed. He ducked when the first candle flew his way, doubting between turning his back on the other vampire to check if it had set something on fire, or keeping his eye on the deadly danger that was standing in his living room. He opened his mouth for an answer, something he always managed to have, but nothing came to mind. He knew Nicolas was here to kill him and he knew he had missed his chance to prevent that. Which meant that the other vampire was telling the truth, something that was too humiliating for him to face. “I need a bit more action and a bit less talk, mate, or I will start to doubt how real your intentions are.” Goading him on might help... it would either speed up the process and leave him dead sooner than he would want, or he would provoke Nicolas in doing something sloppy, which might give him a chance. The second candle missed as well, but the third did land on his shirt. He could smell the fire, feel the heat of the flame on his skin before he managed to shake it of and stomp it out.

‘Amber Davis? What the hell does that bloody annoying werewolf have to do with this?’

“Oh,  E v e r y t h i n g .” Nicolas informed him in a tone that did not at all encompass the sentiment of that word. “Really, Jacob, your preoccupation with tormenting her is more than a little unbecoming. But then, I suppose it should come as no surprise given how  e a g e r  you were to continue torturing the boy who poisoned Arcadia’s water source.” Not that he pitied the boy; his own mercy would’ve extended only as far as a quick(er) death, but the point still stood. He didn’t know why the younger vampire disliked Amber as much as he did - but neither did he care to find out. The fact that Jacob himself was a present and constant threat to Amber was more than enough to warrant his removal.  

“Do not underestimate the little ones, Jacob… Occasionally, they cast a very great shadow.” In this case, one that would swallow the aristocrat whole. But for his sake, Nicolas was willing to add a little flair. He reached into his inner-pocket and pulled out one of the discreet weapons which he regularly kept on his person.

A lighter. 

“I was born in a village that has long since turned to dust. Indeed, the son of a farmer whose name was lost to antiquity almost as soon as it was birthed.” He raised one brow as he spoke, his tone ironic but his fingers careful as he lit the first candle on the candlestick. “You, inherited your lordship as soon as you were in swaddling clothes… A title for which you did not toil, and an inheritance that you never earned.” Nicolas informed the younger vampire idly. It was a desperate argument to make, one he’d heard countless times before from counts and barons and kings who were outraged -  but  p o w e r l e s s  - to stop a nobody like him from dashing their kingdoms to the ground. “I amassed six dozen titles like yours and better in my lifetime. I fought for them, I conquered. And still I’d trample them underfoot with narry a sigh if needed. What have you had to work for, Dashwood? What have you accomplished?” He asked, setting the candelabra aside fully lit upon seeing the younger vampire preparing to strike. A split-second later he dodged the blow of a marble figurine that would’ve given him a nice migraine had it landed. “What real legacy do you leave behind you??” Nicolas demanded, ducking as Jacob swung the figurine towards his throat again. In the blink of an eye he’d grabbed the lit candelabra and slashed it dangerously towards Jacob. “Your only objective in five hundred years was to kill a gentler man and even in that! YOU FAILED!!”

He shrugged. “I’m just more of the type of a long, outdrawn justice while you seem to go for the swift execution. Difference of style, I’d say.”, he grinned, not losing his opponent out of sight. “But you would have been more satisfied when I would have killed her swiftly after her attempt to blackmail me? Trust me, I do have my reasons.”, he almost growled. Why was it so hard to just leave him to his own business. “Besides, I might have my reasons for not ending her pathetic existence yet.” The ritual he wanted to use her for. The ritual that might not happen at all if this would end the way the Original wanted it to.

“So she managed to wrap you around her little, thieving finger, didn’t she?” If the consequence of that wasn’t that Nic apparently wanted to kill him, it would almost be hilarous. The werewolf without manners and the ancient vampire, teaming up. Who would have thought that... it seemed Nicolas had a heart after all. One that was bloody inconvenient at this time.

He raised his eyebrows at the sight of the lighter. Fire could kill him, quite painfully even, but that would require quite some work. And a possibility to put out the fire before it did too much damage. Still, it was more dangerous than the candlestick Nicolas had brandished before. “Yes, I inherited my standing. That is the way it should be acquired, Clark. Work... work is for peasants. For those who will never be good enough. We laugh about your kind, Clark. Wanna be’s. Always trying to be something that they will never be.” True nobility was born, not made, after all. “And are you trying to lighten the atmosphere with those candles? No matter what, I’ll hate you anyway, Clark.” He spun around when he missed Clark at the first strike, losing him from sight for one second, a second that could be deadly in a fight like this. “I’ve left my mark on this world, trust me...” He had killed his way through history, he had witnessed more key events throughout time than most others. He just hadn’t been able yet to make his final move. “And I’m not done doing that...” He would go further than anyone before. If he would walk out of this, that was...

He jumped back when Nicolas started to use the candelabra, not wanting to risk a fiery end. “I was the one deciding not to kill him. I was the one deciding I had reached my goal. You don’t get to judge that. I did NOT FAIL!”, he yelled, trying to find a way to get to the older vampire, slowly losing the caution he should keep up with an opponent like Nicolas.

“No, I daresay I don’t have a vendetta against you, Dashwood. But your taste in enemies certainly inconveniences me. Alexandre Sutton, Amber Davis…  R e a l l y , has no one ever told you to pick on people your own size?” He drawls. Despite the turning tables, Nicolas hasn’t lost his own choice of weapon in this fray. The candlestick still glints malevolently in one hand as he gives it a whirl, keeping some distance between himself and Jacob as he watches the younger vampire looking about in the hopes of evening the odds. 

‘ I should have staked you, the moment I opened the door.’

His laughter was sharp as it sliced through the room, echoing against the sloping ceilings and the empty fireplace. “And do you really believe the odds of success would’ve been stacked in your favour?” Caution certainly had its merit, but suggesting that he might’ve met his demise at Jacob’s doorstep because of the timely swing of some old coat-rack would be offensive, were it not so amusing. “If it brings you any comfort, know that your efforts would’ve been all for naught either way. Though it would’ve saved me ennui of your onerous opinions. ‘Low-life’ you say? Now isn’t that just the pot calling the kettle black?” Though he’d been somber and determined upon entering Jacob’s home not fifteen minutes ago, the latter’s bitter quips were certainly doing wonders for lightening the mood. Whatever slim, slim thread of contrition he’d been feeling was quickly dissolving. He even hung back in wait of Jacob’s reply - rather than looking to swiftly end the other vampire.

“Amber Davis? What the hell does that bloody annoying werewolf have to do with this?”, he suddenly wondered. He knew about the link between Sutton and Nic, as strange as it was, but the involvement of the girl was a surprise. “As for someone my own size... I do think Sutton fits that bill, don’t you?” The man was just as old as he was. That the doctor had denied himself the life that could make him strong, wasn’t his problem. “And if Amber had just minded her own business, she and I wouldn’t have any problems.” He had tried to ignore her, something she made very hard to do. He eyed the candlestick with a bit of suspicion, not completely sure what Nicolas was planning on doing with it. It wasn’t wood, after all. It couldn’t kill him, but it was clear that that was Nic’s goal.

The laughter of the Original actually hurt his pride. The whole idea that he might have had some chance against the other vampire was one of the things that kept him in a fighting mode and that being disregarded wasn’t something he appreciated. He shrugged. “I could have tried. I’m not some weak newborn, Clark. No matter if you’re older than I am, I do still have some skills. Sometimes you don’t need to be stronger than your opponent to win.” In a fight like he was facing now however, he would need to be exactly that to survive. He shook his head. “You... you were born where? In some hovel? A farmer’s son? I on the other hand was born the son of a lord. No matter what, my standing will always be far above yours. No matter how important you chose to make yourself during your long life.” He grabbed the first thing under his reach, a small statue, heavy, but unfortunately made out of metal instead of wood and charged at Nic. Knocking the man unconscious would give him time to get away, at least. Or find a better weapon to end the older vampire’s life.

The shorter, broken piece of the coat-rack slashed through the air moments after he landed his own hit, splintered wood meeting skin and resulting in an ugly gash across the Original’s cheek. Any higher and it’d have taken out his eye. A particularly inconvenient injury to be sporting, given the dangerous blindspot and the time it took to regenerate such an organ - nevermind the  p a i n . He reminded himself that he’d have to be on guard, no matter his own prowess, Jacob was no meager newborn. Nicolas ducked to avoid a second blow, plowed forward to regain some of the ground he’d lost when Jacob fought back, and body-slammed the younger vampire, momentarily stunning and surpassing him.

“What is time for us, Dashwood? What difference does it make if it was yesterday or a century ago that I ruled Arcadia? How long ago was it since your vendetta began with Sutton? He with the upperhand, wins.” Evolution was beautiful, but brutal in its simplicity. He grabbed the younger vampire in a chokehold when the latter beelined towards him, and threw him across the room to impose some distance.

“This… is not… how it… can end…”

“ F i g h t , Jacob… I would expect nothing less of you. But know that this was only ever going to end one way.” Surely, the younger vampire knew that. And if not, he was in for a rude awakening.  “You had a choice when I walked in today, a chance. You choose  w r o n g .”

He had to admit... the feeling of flesh under wood was satisfying. He wasn’t going down without a fight... if Nicolas truly wanted to kill him, Jacob was deteremined to make the older vampire work for it. You never knew what could happen. Until he was caught by the Original, helpless in his grip, no matter how much he tried to wriggle out of it.

It felt like a disgrace. Just like the last time they fought. The moment the other decided to make his move, Jacob was helpless against him and he hated it. More than anything he had hated in his long life, he hated this feeling of having to surrender to someone stronger than him. 

“You don’t have a vendetta with me.”, he managed to get out. “This is not like Sutton and me. A town is not a blood debt that demands to be paid.” He struggled back up on his feet, only to feel the arms of Nicolas like iron around his neck, denying him the air he needed to speak. The impact when he landed was almost a relief compared with the chokehold. Not being able to speak... his tongue was just as much a weapon as the rest of him. Against someone who was physically stronger, a strange situation for him, it might be his most important weapon in his arsenal.

“Not ‘a say’,” Nicolas corrected coolly. “The say. It was on my word that this town was built, on my coin too.” He still remembered those early years when Arcadia was still in her infancy; when Victoria had attracted their first settlers, with all the docile charm that a Founder ought to have - while he busied himself with the odd building or woodwork endeavour. It was hardly an act of charity on his part; he accumulated considerable wealth as the town grew, and the woodwork was his mark of pride - the subtle link between himself and his sanity. The Original siblings had, after-all, only just escaped France with their lives; after a particularly ugly plot on his part involving the National Hunters’ Guild.

“Do you know who stipulates the comings and going of a town, Dashwood?” He asked in neutral tones, strolling about the warmly-lit living room as he took in the details. “He who has the means to  e n f o r c e  a stipulation… Do you know who has the means to enforce it?” Nicolas continued, picking up an ornate silver candlestick and turning it in his hand. “I do.” The answer was simple, matter-of-fact as his gaze lifted to meet Jacob’s. And given the younger vampire’s incriminating words with respect to Alexandre (’I haven’t decided just yet. Probably when I finally choose to end his miserable life’ ), the Original knew it would fall to him, once more, to enforce the stipulation. 

“Let that be your final lesson, Jacob Dashwood.” With no other warning, the elder vampire flashed forward, the jeweled candlestick glinting for a split-second, aimed for Jacob’s jugular. 

“And how long ago was that, Clark?” Ages, probably... the town had been here for a while, there has been a history without Nicolas, without his sister. “I can’t remember you being on the welcome committee when I arrived here. Apparently you let go of your toy and you know what happens when you do that...” It gets taken by someone else. It gets changed into something you might not even recognize anymore. And Jacob wasn’t planning in having Nicolas threaten him out of the town he had made a home of. He wasn’t going to leave with his tail between his legs. If he had planned on doing that, he would have left as soon as the barrier went down.

“What do you expect me to do now, Nicolas. Run for the hills, just because you don’t appear to appreciate my presence here anymore?” He dropped the polite pretense, knowing that there was only one way this was going to end. Nicolas wanted to kill him. Which meant he had to try his hardest not to give the Original what he wanted. The moment the other vampire went for him, he snapped the coat rack in two, managing to hold on to one half of the splintered wood, but he wasn’t fast enough. He knew, in that split second he still had to think that he shouldn’t have bothered with the fake politeness. That he should have had a weapon at the ready, the moment he opened the door.

Nicolas looks at the fireplace, at the vast selection of books framing it, at the armchairs that were at least a couple of centuries old. They seemed to share the habit of carrying their respective pasts; steeped in history like animals drowned in blood - or like a noose around the neck. “Have your instincts really told you nothing?” He gives no other answer to the question.

“Maybe not. And yet maybe it would be in your best interests to do so, especially if ‘where you live’ happens to disagree with me… You appear to be a well-read man, Dashwood. Tell me; does that extend to Arcadia’s history? Are you aware of this town’s founding fathers?” A misnomer, really. He hadn’t had a paternal bone in his body when he’d granted VIctoria’s wistful request all those centuries ago - but she’d had more than enough nurturing instinct for the both of them. “Nevermind the past, let us turn to the future. Where does the game end?.. You and Sutton; when does the chapter close on that miserable, moth-eaten story?”

“Maybe.” They told him to be wary, that this might be the time when Nic came to fulfill the promise he had once made. It was just something Jacob refused to believe. It couldn’t end like this. Not before he had finished his masterplan, not before he had the means to fight back like he should be able to fight back. He just had never had anyone tell him what to do. He wasn’t going to start that now.

He shrugged. “So merely because you had a say in founding this town a long time ago, that means you’re can stipulate who lives here and who leaves?” He shook his head, turning around to face the Original. There was no way he was going to turn his back on the man. He didn’t move... he didn’t want to lose the only chance on a weapon that he had right now. “You left. Others took over. In case you didn’t know that, that’s the reason you don’t determine anything here anymore.” He had to hold back, he had to stop poking the dragon, but this... peasant telling him what to do, just provoked him into speaking when he shouldn’t. He sighed. “I haven’t decided just yet. Probably when I finally choose to end his miserable life.” He raised his hands. “I just don’t see why you care so much, Clark. Besides, I haven’t touched him since we met last time.”

It took him no less than two seconds to register Jacob’s smirk - and no more than four to notice the hand he’d slung over the coat-rack.  He knew it was no mere coincidence; no accident in posturing. If nothing else, then the tension practically oozing off of the other man was certainly a dead-giveaway. But he put up with the ruse nonetheless, cocking a brow as he glanced at younger vampire. “At ease, Dashwood. I’m not about to take your picture.”

He stepped forward without waiting for permission, crossing over the threshold of Jacob’s sanctuary, gratified as always to find that there was no barrier to keep him from doing so as the property did not belong to a human. An oversight on Jacob’s part, really. A few more centuries worth of experience might’ve taught him a valuable loophole or two when it came to such arrangements. Getting a witch, compelling a human to allow entry - or turning the legal contract over to a more pliable, more easily-compelable human… The possibilities were endless. Nicolas allowed his gaze to sweep over his surroundings, before returning idly on their owner.  “Tell me, Jacob… Why do you remain in this town? You’ve terrorized Alexandre, you’ve drank enough liquor to spoil a desert… Surely you have more captivating ways to preoccupy your time.”

“Then why are you here?” The time for casual house visits had been over after the time Nicolas almost killed Jacob. Before that? Sure, Jacob would have believed the more or less innocent facade, the promise of friendship in the other’s voice. Now? Not so much. He hadn’t forgotten the death sentence looming over him and he wasn’t planning on having it executed before he was better equipped to deal with the other vampire. “I didn’t exactly think we were best friends, Clark.”

He didn’t exactly step back when Nicolas entered his house, but he wasn’t giving him an inviting space either. He didn’t want him there... that much he made clear. He shrugged. “I didn’t think I owed you any explanation about where I choose to live, mate. I happen to enjoy my time here, as strange as it sounds.” He wasn’t done here. He still needed to fulfill his other goal and with the supernatural hotspot that Arcadia was, he couldn’t think of a better place to do that than here.