Sirius the first

Stumbling into the darkness due to the amount of alcohol and absinthe running through his undead veins, Damon was barely surprised when he pressed into another body in the Parisian alley. Damon pulled away to take a look at who he had stumbled into and a grin formed instantly on his mouth. His hands instantly went to his shoulders in delight; they were sturdy against his touch.

He wasn’t expecting to see Damon, though perhaps he should have been paying better attention to his surroundings.

"The problem with hunters is their persistence." Damon explained annoyed. "They are reckless with their lives making them more dangerous than an average human. Also, depending on how experienced the hunter is… they know to work around my strength and speed." Thinking of fire, Damon couldn’t help a shiver. Yes, hunters could get creative. "Perhaps ‘worry’ isn’t the right adjective. They’re simply an inconvenience." Like a bug, Damon thought, nobody wanted to have a bug in their home. "Pests, really."

Damon eyed Sirius in appreciation over the idea of stringing a hunter up. “As much fun as turning the hunt around on them sounds… Hunters are elusive. Even if we found one, who would live to tell the tale?” He shrugged. “And our plan could backfire and attract more hunters to the city.” A disgusted expression crossed Damon’s face. “So, no— I wouldn’t recommend turning their deaths into a spectacle.” 

Though he liked the idea that Damon had enjoyed his imagery. He took his glass, studying Damon's exquisite features, and wondered. Did vampires choose only those of great beauty to change? Most likely the thought to seeing someone with the face of a garden gnome for all eternity was unpleasant. He imagined himself, and Hesper, preserved as they were, for an eternity. Perhaps such a change might finally ignite his wife's lust, at last. Damon appeared to have healthy enough appetites.

"I don't intend to leave the city in the foreseeable future," he admitted. "My home in England is perfectly well protected; at present, it could not be located by the keenest cartographer, and certainly no bomb could ever cause it harm. I see no reason to return home, and I still have things I wish to achieve here in Paris. I must say that I've very much enjoyed your company. I hope we will visit with each other again; I should like to learn more about your unique way of life."

(It seemed positively rude to say 'I sincerely wish to inspect your organs, one by one, replace them in your body, and test the very limits of your healing', so Sirius did not.)

"Killer ‘preying on the city’ sounds a bit dramatic." Damon replied cooly. There were many killers in the city, thanks to the reopening of the Moulin Rogue. "I assume you’re referring to the killer that’s leaving a trail for the press cover." He continued flatly. "It’s not a vampire." He answered, perfectly confident in his assumption.

When the killings had first started gaining attention, Damon had been worried for Stefan but after learning more, he realized that they didn’t match his little brother’s style or any other vampire’s for that matter. “We have no reason to cut someone up.” He explained. “Unless we want something.” He added slyly. “Besides there’s too much blood left in the bodies— also the bodies are rarely ripe, making the deaths are too calculated to be a vampire.”  

"It could be a witch using the parts for a sacrifice." His brows furrowed thinking of the disaster that could bring. "Or a human that’s decided to copy Jack The Ripper, which is more common than you’d ever know." Damon was evidently unimpressed.

“Well,” he said. “One doesn’t need to be a vampire to be a killer. But I can assure you, sacrifice of that sort in magic is quite rare. A life is all it takes; even for the darkest magic, the taking of a life doesn’t need to be anything more than that. One twitch of my wand and anyone I need dead would be dead. If,” he added, with a mild smile, “I was so inclined to do such magic. And whatever you’ve heard about my… colorful family, I can assure you, we are not all monsters. Most of us enjoy the gift of being able to perform our small charms and the occasional hex when needed.”

Sirius had often wondered where the dark streak originated, and why they weren’t all similarly monstrous. If the thought of attempting to bed his own wife again wasn’t so deeply unpleasant (really, she could have affected a smile from time to time) he would have eagerly anticipated the birth of his own progeny, and enjoyed waiting to see how they might be shaped themselves. By the time they were of age, he would have discovered the secrets to immortality, and they would all be young and beautiful forever.

And here, in front of him, was the key to that secret. Damon was, indeed, young and beautiful, and would stay that way, if Sirius could resist the urge to cut him open over and over and learn those secrets.

He’d expected brutality, if he was honest. Although he’d heard that vampires could induce whatever emotional state they desired, he hadn’t expected that they would desire to induce bliss, not like this. He wished he could take the girl away now, drain her spinal fluid, discern what if any biological changes had taken place… he imagined chemicals flooding her body, the sorts of chemicals Sirius had detected in women who had truly been brought to a peak and tipped over the edge.

Had he had any less self-control he might have found his own body stirring in reflection. He of course did not.

Had he been of lower station than the head of the Noble House of Black, he might have asked Damon to take him somewhere and demonstrate the technique again, on himself. And he wanted more than anything to hold Damon down and cut him open, learn the secrets of a vampire brain, and heart, and circulatory system. These things held nothing but fascination for Sirius.

And yet, perhaps a vampire who could be counted as a friend would prove to be the better long term investment?

Perhaps Sirius could revel in his true nature, with such a friend at his side?

“Remarkable,” he said, in a voice that might have sounded bored, but wasn’t. “You have no need of magic, then.”

The girl was still hanging on Damon’s side. It was… distasteful. Though perhaps only because of the wasted opportunity. He vowed never to go so long between kills again.

"I can usually make anyone feel whatever I want them to feel." He explained in a husky voice, better suited for the bedroom. He pouted a little at Sirius. "That nifty little trick of ours doesn’t work on witches though. Sorry to report… you’re immune to my charms."

“Of course,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. Perhaps I’ve had too much to drink.” He coughed discreetly into his hand. “Being away from England has me enjoying myself far too much. Back there it’s impossible to avoid being watched by those who would like to exploit a weakness.”

He’d heard that vampire could enchant their victims in that way; but as with so much, it was impossible to know whether all the stories were true. Still, it was good to know it didn’t work.

“Wizard,” Sirius corrected. “I don’t like to correct people, but I know you’re from the New World. My wife is a witch.” In more ways than one, he thought. “I am a wizard.” He nodded his head.

"I’ve met a lot of people like you." Damon replied and he leaned back in the booth, slouching in his place with utter casualness. "I take it you’re not a servant to nature then?" A smirk crossed his lips in understanding. Of course, Sirius was notoriously wealthy… He must have been only a servant to himself, which made him "fun" but not necessarily more trustworthy.

"You can say the word." Damon playfully rolled his eyes. "Not like it’s dirty. Especially not here." The club was a popular spot for the undead, how did the witch not realize that? "Vampire." He wiggled his brows in confirmation. "And… This isn’t my first war." Damon finally answered his question vaguely.

“I prefer to think of nature as being a servant to me,” he said. “I see no reason why it should be the other way around. It’s not a particularly popular opinion, but I’ve always preferred to be feared than loved.” He glanced at the serving girl in her sequins, great bosom heaving forward, and imagined what she would look like cut into pieces. “Carafe of good red wine,” he said, dismissing her with a wave. He tried not to think what it would be like to be delivered a glass of still-warm blood, instead. He tried. He tried to imagine his search for immortality over. Killing not to discern the secrets of some recently discovered gland or the function of some other brutal biological fact; killing just to kill, and feed, and relish that moment when a heart went still against his tongue, instead of under his hand.

“Someone with as much power as the head of the House of Black wouldn’t so easily turn his back on magic, in favor of your… particular lifestyle,” he said, very formally. “But my gracious thanks for your kind offer.”

He had no idea if it even was an offer.

Damon had considered feeding on her in front of him, but he decided to be a tease instead. Plus, there was no knowing if the witch would retaliate and punish him for feeding on a human. Witches could be such bores that way.

Sirius was salivating. He hoped his posture betrayed nothing, but his eyes, he thought, must have been wide and dark, as she walked away.

“I enjoy all manner of liquor,” he said, regaining his voice. “And good wine.” He smiled his mild smile. Safe, reserving judgment, hoping his voice wouldn’t crackle as his breathing got more ragged. He cleared his throat.

“I have to confess I have never met… someone like you before,” he said, pushing a glass away from his hand. “Very interesting.”

Certainly there was more than one killer in Paris, right now, and Sirius couldn’t help but wonder if he might be sitting across from a second.

Walking to an empty booth, Damon overheard people speculating about the latest killings in the city. There had been a spree of missing girls. “Does having a killer at large frighten your wife?” Damon asked as a service girl sat on his lap.

Although he was well aware that he was not the only killer in Paris. He wondered if he would ever meet his more prosaic counterpart, or whether they would drift through their days unknown to each other.

Ironic that Sirius’s wife was one of the few women in the city who was actually safe from his blade. Shrew, how he adored her. “My wife is rather difficult to frighten,” he said drily, glancing across as the (whore?) woman draped himself across Damon’s waist.

And then his heart nearly stopped.

"I’ve seen a lot in my time. Guess you could say that I came back jaded from the war." Damon admitted, but not bothering to mention which war. Why was he saying such things to a stranger, simply to fill in the silence? He should have shut up and returned to the party, but instead he stayed. Curiosity kept him in place.

And yes, His desires were strong. He needed to kill, he wanted to kill. He needed the resonance of a final heartbeat in his ear and his hand. Still he maintained the cool façade.

“A drink sounds ideal,” he said, pushing his weight onto his front foot and pulling his hands from his pockets. “Just the thing.”

It was unusual for someone so young to refer to the war in such glib tones but Sirius assumed it was a brief stint. One so well dressed came from monet, and could easily remove himself from the army, should the need arise. And there was a cachet to referring to one’s service.

"My Father used to employ a witch. A Bennett." He revealed. "I’m from the states, obviously, I have no idea how far her line travels." Now, he was lying. Damon knew of every Bennett witch that he could get his hands on. "My Father never knew she was a witch. If he did, he would have burned her alive." Damon smirked once, but it lacked its usual charm.

Hmm. Perhaps he’d leave that.

“Like an interesting man, if ignorant. I imagine we would be subject to the same sorts of punishments, if we were foolish enough to attract that sort of attention; truly, we are very cautious. Keep to ourselves. There’s no need to have the mug- the non-magical population aware of our existence.”

It occurred to Sirius that someone who knew about witches might know about the other things Sirius sought. Perhaps he wouldn’t kill this one so soon. (Though the images in his mind were very difficult to dismiss; Damon first begging for release, and then begging for death.)

Sirius’s quest for immortality was far from concluded, and the rumors of vampires and demons in the Moulin Rouge were what had truly attracted him to her doors.

"You wouldn’t want to touch my hands. You don’t know where they’ve been." Damon spoke somewhat snidely and placed them in the pockets of his overcoat. "The name’s Salvatore, as in Savior. You can call me, Damon.

He was irritated, momentarily, by the refusal to shake hands. Don’t know where they’ve been? Unlikely. Far more probable that he wanted to conceal something. Still, Sirius kept his smile up. Certainly someone to keep an eye on. He slipped his glove back over his hand.

“I have specialized interests,” he answered. “Of course, I enjoy the dancing. Spectacle.” He held Damon’s eyes. Yes, there were many secrets there. Perhaps when he cut Damon open and investigated the nature of his organs – not tonight, but soon – he would learn those secrets. “Danger doesn’t interest me – it just so frequently goes hand in hand with opportunity.”

Of the human activities, Damon was quite partial to dancing. Yet tonight, he was out of step and almost quite literally. Damon needed air before he started feeding on the redhead in his arms. Barely excusing himself, he headed quickly for the nearest balcony. The cool air of winter would help his restless nerves… he’d make sure of it. It was pitch black outside and the only shape that could be seen among the shadows was the snow falling on a man’s shoulders. Ah— good— a meal after all, Damon thought.

"Pardon." Damon approached swiftly. He was ready to use his old line about needing a light, even though he rarely smoked the cigars that he kept in his left breast pocket. Tobacco stained the teeth.

It had been several weeks. The war made it easy to dispose of bodies, but difficult to find prey, and he had sincerely hoped that he might have some luck here, in the Moulin Rouge – but no. Everywhere inside he felt eyes on him. He felt almost like prey himself. Perhaps in a less expensive cut of suit?

Somewhere, in there, Hesper was enjoying herself. That was an entirely separate irritant, though no less present.

He looked up as someone joined him on the balcony, assessing him carefully. Someone to seduce, and kill? Perhaps not. He had a predatory air of his own. Sirius had heard that certain creatures frequented the bar, though he had a degree of confidence that he would recognize any such creature readily enough, if they met. He put on his mildest smile. Perhaps he might find himself on-side with this rather interesting-looking young man, and who knew what the future could hold.