#henrybuchanan

 Maximus: "I understand, and it means the world to me that you care. Truly. Knowing lingers when you're gone."

 Sophia: “And if there was something- anything I could do to stop it… and I had left…”

 Maximus: "That's," his eyes dropped to his feet, then hers, "a dangerous way of thinking, the possibilities. They'll swallow you whole if you let them."

 Sophia: She gave a slight smile at that and looked back at him. “Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to get lost in it.”

 Maximus: "If you might take anything away from my experiences, Sophia, let it be knowing when to wake up."

 Sophia: Sophia set her jaw. “I am awake, Maximus. I just hate what comes with it.”

 Maximus: "I agree," he said softly. "If it's any consolation, you've made the hours outside of daydreaming tolerable."

 Sophia: “It’s a little bit of one, I guess,” she replied. Tolerable. That was what it had to be, didn’t it? Not happy, not peaceful— tolerable.

She glanced back at the party within. How much longer did she have before they’d be missed?

 Maximus: Tolerable was the softest word of choice. Some days, when given several hours to himself, able to spend in Sophia's company, it was much more. It was indeed peaceful, truly happy. But these were blips. Tolerable was the umbrella. Sophia pulled him from the daydreams that had maintained his sanity for over a lifetime of torment.

In their last spare moment, Maximus took her hands and kissed them. These hands, sometimes stained in blood, were pure and precious.

"I love you." A whisper too low to carry. It was time to move. The scratch of an invisible fingernail over the back of his neck signaled the hour.

 Sophia: “I love you.” Sophia reached forward, hooking her arms around his neck in a quick embrace. They were safe, in the shadows.

But it wouldn’t last.

“I’ll take the back way out,” she said softly, pulling back and pivoting with grace despite her heels. She couldn’t think too much about it, leaving. She’d stop again. And they didn’t have time for that.

Perching on the railing, she tucked her purse strap across her shoulder. The wind tugged at her hair, and loosened it from its pins. She looked back at him one more time. “Take care of yourself.”

 Maximus: Graceful as always, and as she would always be in his eyes. Not a blunt instrument to be used against him. They would not win against this love.

A bow as a final farewell, Maximus turned, ready to face the potentials of the next room. Of Henry Buchanan, willing or unwitting accomplice for a second time. He would not assume his behavior, regardless of their last encounter. He expected brutality. Better or worse without Sophia's presence, he would soon know.

 Henry: He was lounging on one of the sofas at the far end of the room. A human woman was draped along his lap while a vampiress perching on the arm of the sofa drank from her wrist.

The flicker of red caught in his eyes as Maximus returned to the fold.

 Maximus: Just as expected, as Maximus had warned. Berger had made arrangements. A party should always carry favors. Given her servant's previous performance and the assumed still-present company, the crossroads demon was just delighted to make her announcement. This time, her hand was held towards Henry Buchanan.

The same words, like a repeated song. "For the next hour, you belong to Henry Buchanan. You will address him as his lordship. You will obey him as my word, as scripture. Do you understand?"

This was worse than Vlad Teppes. To hope otherwise would be foolish. Maximus was fairly certain their recent history was of little consequence. He needed to return to daydreaming.

Gently, Maximus bowed his head. "Yes, m'lady."

 Henry: Henry pressed his tongue to the back of his front teeth as the instructions were given.

A woman like Berger did nothing without thought. He imagined his little show of taking control of the demon at the last party made her think he’d be an easy pawn in her games.

Henry Buchanan only ever played his own games.

Or so he told himself.

“A generous offer, Ms. Berger,” he called. The donor in his lap slid off of him into the waiting arms of another vampiress that had sank to his side, and he stood.

 Maximus: Maximus would not be so assuming as to begin undressing without permission or command. The only tell Henry would find being the gentle swallow with his approach. That was what he had wanted before, was it not? He had to wonder. As much as he wanted to daydream, nonsensical thoughts would not come.

 Henry: Henry circled the demon a moment, enjoying the eyes that were on him even among the clamor of the party.

“Miss me?” he breathed as he came to stand in front of Maximus.

 Maximus: Eyes remained forward, refusing to fall in Henry Buchanan's presence. Not any night before, and not tonight. How could he, when he knew the intimate details of his strained expression, and the soft skin of his throat beneath his fingers?

"Always a pleasure to be in your company, m'lord."

 Henry: Henry tucked his hands behind his back and cocked his head to the side, studying the demon. “We both know I’m not a lord. Don’t we, Ms. Berger?” Henry looked from Maximus back the double doors of the balcony he had come from.

Sophia was nowhere to be seen now.

“Thank you for the gift,” he called back to her. The main parlor was too crowded, he felt, for someone as undecided as he was in that moment for how the night would go. “Perhaps somewhere quieter, Townsend?”

 Maximus: Henry's response caught both demons off guard. Only one gave a visible response. Gray eyes quickly glancing at Henry directly, eyes forward again.

Berger's smile matched her fluttery laugh.

"You stand as your employer's will. You are much deserving of reward. Please, enjoy the fruits of your labors." She, meanwhile, would turn her attention back to the darling young thing in a silk mermaid dress.

Maximus bowed to his new master, waiting for Henry to lead elsewhere.

 Henry: It would be to a smaller parlor that Henry led them to, not far from the location of another in appearance.

He snapped his fingers at a young pair of vampiress wrapped in an embrace by the fire, and they scattered to leave them quite alone.

“I don’t do well with condescension,” Henry replied evenly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He made no offer to the demon.

 Maximus: Maximus stood to the side of the door, remaining silent as Henry sought the comfort of whiskey.

It had been a statement, not a command, not a question, so he saw no benefit in response. His gaze fixed forward, waiting for one or the other.

 Henry: Henry took a burning sip and turned back to Townsend. “Sophia up and left, I take it?”

 Maximus: A question he would have to answer. A slow breath was taken, first.

"I imagine for a proper hunt, m'lord." His voice remained cool.

 Henry: “Hardly.” Another sip, and he took a few steps towards the demon. “And what you do you call this, then?” He pointed between the two of them.

 Maximus: "I believe this to be a token of friendship, by my mistress to your family, Master Henry."

 Henry: Henry’s lips curled in a smile. “You can speak plainly. It’s not just that.” He was master here. Berger’s words. He stood directly in front of him then. “What’s she got up her sleeve?”

 Maximus: "If you wish for me to speak plainly, please know this: I am yours to command, but I am still duly tethered." His eyes remained forward, just shy of Henry's direct contact. No master would look him in the eyes unless to make a point, and those ocean eyes seemed determined for just that.

 Henry: He watched him, hands behind his back. “I just get the leash, you mean. Until midnight and we all turn to pumpkins.”

 Maximus: Interesting response, considering the source. A little more poetic than expected. He was tempted to speak again, but rather, he bowed his head. Henry had it exactly right.

 Henry: Henry would take the bowed head as a small win. He turned away and set about a turn of the room. He’s given permission for the demon to speak. Let him. If he dared.

 Maximus: Henry had presented questions, and the demon, his temporary demon, had answered. Now silence filled their private space. Warm and palpable, fixed only by the gently crackling fire and gentle ticking of the ornate mantel clock.

This, Maximus could do, as he was certain Henry knew. Standing perfect, shoulders wide and tight, eyes forward, admiring the fire. Would he not be presented at all, tonight? If not, surely Henry intended something worse.

Henry: Henry stopped at the fire and turned to face Maximus again. “Too talkative one minute and silent the next. It’s like you’re determined to spite me.” Of course he would be. “Tell me. How do you want this to go?”

 Maximus: To be considered talkative was truly the insult. At what point had he offended, he wondered. His association with Sophia, or was it their last back-and-forth that warranted him the wagging tongue?

"Without violence," he said gently.

 Henry: Henry very nearly scoffed. Sophia wasn’t here, and it hadn’t stopped them the first time the demon had been offered, so it warranted very little by way of a show.

“Or what, you gonna choke me out?”

 Maximus: It seemed Henry still held a grudge. Their last meeting had done little to mollify, unfortunately. He should have expected such.

"I cannot harm the one holding the leash."

 Henry: Vampire and violence were synonymous, weren’t they? Henry stood again, moving towards Townsend. “Until time is up, of course.”

 Maximus: "Not often am I granted permission to defend myself," the demon answered coolly.

 Henry: Henry smirked. “Bet you had fun doing it, too. Don’t tell me it didn’t feel good.” Another step, just out of arms reach, and he produced a cigarette pack, lit one.

 Maximus: He'd felt several things in that moment years ago. Irritation, relief, satisfaction, even a trace of pride. For himself, and for Sophia's resolve. He'd felt pity for the man in his clutch. Curiosity as well. He wanted to know how Henry had felt.

Slowly, Maximus raised his hand to his collar, loosened his tie, pulled aside the fine fabric to expose his throat and shoulder. The lone freckle on his clavicle like a beacon.

 Henry: Henry watched him for the better part of a minute as he smoked, pale eyes roaming along the expanse of the demon’s throat. He swallowed the thirst that swelled at the sight.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

 Maximus: "You didn't present me with one," he countered.

 Henry: “I would have thought you’d have caught what was implied.”

 Maximus: "Implications don't move my tongue."

 Henry: “Clearly.” He was going to make him rephrase, wasn’t he? If he wanted an answer. So he would. Slowly. “How did it feel? All that strength and no way to use it. Then suddenly.” He lunged forward in a blur to stand right in front of the demon, clapped his hands one. “Bam. Opportunity.”

 Maximus: There was power in the rephrasing. Regardless of potential violence won upon the next forty-five minutes, his small victory would be savored.

It seemed to have spurred a different intimidation tactic. He breathed slowly, eyes remaining forward.

"I am forced to do many things I am not proud of. Your mouth concerned me, as did your intent."

 Henry: “And what was my intent?”

 Maximus: Though answering a question with a question would have been nostalgic, Henry's status had become elevated.

"Domination."

 Henry: Henry considered the answer, shrugged. “What can I say? I was in a mood.”

 Maximus: "Does your mood move you towards my throat now, m'lord?"

Henry: Henry’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Do you want it to?”

 Maximus: He could only lie and skirt so much. "No. Your manner of foreplay is rather verbal."

 Henry: He laughed, and it was hollow. “Is it?”

 Maximus: Gray eyes met blue, staring deeply and patiently, despite previous statements. He would rather this torment be over and done with. It was Henry's unpredictability that was slowly knotting his stomach. At least Vlad Teppes' intentions had been clear.

 Henry: He watched Townsend for the better part of a minute. Then, without much warning either way, he leaned forward and produced a pen. A flourish of ink and a room number on a bit of stationary by the sofa.

“I tire of whatever that woman has up here sleeve.” At least not without his own power play in the mix. “You’ll find me there. I know well enough you’ve free time after these things.” Sophia positively reeked of him, after all. And it wasn’t from brushes at parties like this one.

“Good night, Townsend. Do what you like until our time is up.”

And with that, he made to make his own exit.

 Maximus: The demon remained still. Eyes returned forward at nothing while Henry wrote. His hand was almost reluctant to move from his collar, having expected this to be some method of trickery in letting his guard down. The Henry from the gala and this Henry were the same, but confusing. This change of pace was surreal.

It was only a minute into the silence did Maximus finally move to fix his clothes, then to examine the note. If he stared long enough, he might decipher the meaning behind the scribble.

And then he remembered to breathe. Deep loose breaths disallowed on duty.

What did this mean? Why would Henry offer something like this? The choice was his own, and he found himself more curious than concerned.

The bit of paper was folded and tucked away. He would remain in privacy until the appointed time. In a way, giving Henry a head start in his departure. Why he gave him this, and why he was prepared to lie, he couldn't explain to himself, but the truth would spill from his lips before the final goodbye.

And Maximus would find himself standing in front of the jotted room number an hour before sunrise.

 Henry: Henry set his glass down on the bedside table. He hadn’t expected Townsend to come, or rather, he’d expected the chance that he wouldn’t would be greater than the chance he would. He’d discarded his dinner jacket when he got in, and he answered the door now in white shirt and black slacks.

“Look at you showing up,” he said. He smiled a crooked smile and stepped to the side. “Come in, Mr. Townsend.”

 Maximus: The man Henry regarded as David Townsend stood tall. This, despite the significant loss of color to his cheeks. Already pale skin now faded and bloodless, calling attention to blush lips and gray eyes. The demon scanned what he could of the room from his position, reluctant to take the next step forward.

"What is it you want, Henry?"

 Henry: “Just to talk.” He looked past Townsend to ensure they were alone. “Without your mistress.”

 Maximus: She would not know of this evening. Too far from her imagination that her servant would stand in this doorway. Whatever Henry intended would be their secret. Perhaps, if not for Sophia.

He would step through the door. What was one more mistake in eternity.

 Henry: The door closed behind him, and Henry moved to lounge on the sofa in front of the fire place. It was a modest suite, older in its styling, but to his taste.

“Sit. Stand. For Christ’s sake I just couldn’t stand being treated like a pawn in someone else’s game.”

He wasn’t sure what had prompted the invitation. Loneliness, perhaps. Or the ongoing feeling that he and Townsend had unfinished business.

“Contrary to our first meeting, I much prefer someone who can talk back in my company.”

 Maximus: This must be a dream. Gone too deep in his own imagination. He was probably still standing in the parlor of Berger's home, awaiting further instructions. Lost in his thoughts still as -

He remembered again to breathe, sharply inhaling through his nose. A small noise to cut his silence.

"The last guest," he struggled for her name. Not normally an issue. "Danica Cutler, Berger's new favorite, satisfied her intention."

 Henry: Henry pointed to his own face. “Hence the paleness,” he said. “We’re all fucking animals, didn’t you know?”

Why he said that, he didn’t know.

“Sophia know you’re here?”

 Maximus: Coming from Henry, he caught a scoff in his throat. Swallowed down with a sotto voce apology. Never would he have imagined seeking Henry's forgiveness, which confirmed, this wasn't a dream. He was very much awake.

Exhausted and finished, his shoulders began to relax. The shake of his head was short and subtle.

 Henry: Henry steepled his fingertips, feet propped on the coffee table. “You gonna sit or what?”

 Maximus: "I would rather know how you intend to use me."

 Henry: Henry dropped his feet and leaned forward. “I could have bitten you already if I wanted to. During my hour, remember?”

He shrugged and sat back. “Leave. If you want.”

 Maximus: "Kindness to purchase my time and trust?" He was not so easily bought. Not for a lifetime, but for five minutes more, perhaps. Another two steps forward, hesitating not from Henry's hospitality, but the sting like sharp needles ascending in a cascade through his spine. He had not yet fully healed. Standing there, just feet away from Henry, he was reluctant to remove all guard. To discard his coat and reveal his change of clothes. Proof of the damage Danica had caused.

 Henry: “If you want to think of it that way.” Henry shrugged. “But it’s like I said. I’m not playing anyone else’s game.”

Henry let out a breath. “And you aren’t either, going off of your arrival tonight.”

 Maximus: Another painful swallow. This was an opportunity. Perhaps not the one Henry intended, but one he might utilize.

"I wish to understand you."

 Henry: He bit back a laugh, lounging further back against the sofa. “Why?”

 Maximus: Maximus came to stand beside the sofa. His version of at ease in the form of resting fingertips on the leather surface.

"Why not?"

 Henry: “Could think of a few reasons.” One of which was petite, blonde, and pretty. “I fear you’ll be disappointed, Mr. Townsend.”

 Maximus: "That you're corruptible, angry, desperate to prove yourself, jealous, beyond redemption? Where might I be disappointed?"

 Henry: Henry’s lips twitched. “Pick one.”

 Maximus: "Disappointment requires a higher standard than what I've been given."

 Henry: Henry considered the statement, then simply shrugged.

 Maximus: Maximus stared at nothing in particular for a time. "Do you wish to be understood, or remain an enigma?"

 Henry: “But you already seem to know me so well.”

 Maximus: "That is, if it is true or not."

 Henry: “And you suspect it isn’t.”

 Maximus: If he were frank with himself, he was simply too tired for this conversation. Curious, but tired. His wit had diminished with blood loss. And since he could not sleep, existing within the event horizon of Henry Buchanan had been an idea. A good idea? No, but it was an idea.

"I suspect nothing. I harbor curiosity."

Rather than wait for another bout of silence, he continued, asking, "What makes you think you were Berger's pawn?"

 Henry: “I didn’t say I was. Just that she thought she could use me as such.” He didn’t miss a beat, looking down at his hand a moment. Many people thought that, and there had been a time when he had been at that mercy. He was not vulnerable anymore. “I don’t envy you there,” he added. “She’s a right foul bitch, that one. Bit like—“ He paused. Composed himself. “Like someone I used to know.”

 Maximus: "Treated, yes."

Weathered gray eyes studied the vampire again. There was something there. Like a vague figure behind frost glass. He knew that figure; the details lost behind ambiguity.

"May I ask you something? Something... meaningless to anyone but myself?"

 Henry: He looked back at the demon. Curiosity killed the cat. But satisfaction… “Yes.”

 Maximus: "That night, at the gala..." The act of asking is where Maximus lost his will. The words buried in his throat, shut in by closed lips.

 Henry: Henry turned and sat down on the bed. He watched him. He felt a mixture of a thrill as seeming to have the upper hand with Maximus’s silence and something else he couldn’t place. Something not soft. But not hard, either.

“Go on, then,” he prodded. His voice wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either.

 Maximus: "It means nothing, to know, how you felt. With your teeth in my neck the entire time. Means nothing to anyone but me." Henry could feel whatever he wanted. It was a price to pay for answers, when he doubted he would ever have an opportunity again.

 Henry: He blinked and thinly managed to hide the shock. “You… do yourself a disservice,” he said. He was starting to feel that pushing more buttons than he had would result in the demon having enough, turning, and leaving.

And perhaps he wasn’t ready just yet. To be alone.

And the question had stumped him. Hard, if he was being honest with himself. Why had he reacted as he had? “Your taste, for one thing.”

He slinked closer, watching Maximus. “Why do you want to know?”

 Maximus: As Henry rose to his feet, Maximus felt an instinctual pull to back himself in a corner. Like a child. As his father had felt. As Mays had felt. As Shore, and every other predator.

And yet, in contradiction, he didn't feel he was alone in his vulnerability. He realized, standing his ground, fighting the urge to lower his chin more than the inch it had, that this wasn't the first time he'd felt this way with Henry. That night, years ago now, answering questions with questions, he'd felt the same.

"Many reasons have been given to me since before I died. Why people... do things to me. I want to know... yours."

 Henry: Henry stopped in his path a few steps from Maximus. “I wouldn’t say it was personal. There was plenty at play, wasn’t there?” He shrugged. Perhaps it was jealousy. Jealousy that… she had still found friendship with Maximus at an intimacy that set his teeth on edge— Emotional, not physical. That—

“Status, power, vanity… pushing various buttons.” He shrugged. “As I said. Nothing personal. Not until…” he was saying too much, and he hated it. The words died there, and he looked away into the fireplace.

 Maximus: Maximus was aware of his effect on people. Whether darkened by their deeds, or those kind enough for sympathy. There was something about his demeanor that made people want to involve themselves. Press upon their intentions to elicit a reaction. That quiet, patient nature also made him a confidant. Henry was not-so-living proof, as Maximus had seen time and again.

He didn't mind. Freely offered information was a weapon. But at times, it was another pebble on his shoulder, weighing his body into mud.

"Not until she tended to me," Maximus assumed to finish.

 Henry: Do you love her? He remembered Townsend asking him. Henry ran a hand along his well-groomed beard and looked back at the demon.

He’d rather him simply think he was irredeemable, that he really was as awful as his worst deeds— a cardboard cutout of the melodrama’s villain.

It was safer.

“We all have soft spots,” he finally managed. “I never handled them well. Soft spots make you weak, and irrational. But damn if they aren’t still there. No matter how inhuman you become…”

Henry watched Maximus as he spoke. “Vlad told me how you helped her track down the slayer last year, you know.” He didn’t know why he said it, perhaps to indicate that he was well aware she was one of Townsend’s soft spots, too.

 Maximus: "It's a simple spell. I could teach you."

Maximus wasn't the only one with an innate ability to evoke reactions. There was something about Henry. Perhaps the reason he had come to this hotel in secret. He wanted something from the vampire, and he had yet to articulate what. The answer for the gala was barely satisfactory. He didn’t know which was worse, personal, or impersonal.

"Soft spots are our humanity. Without it, we're... little more than beasts. These soft spots. Their stronger than... vanity, or illusions of power. Every... pain inflicted, I would have inflicted again."

 Henry: Henry arched a brow. “I wasn’t talking about the spell. But… thank you.” He wasn’t talking about the offer with his thanks, either. It was all subtext, all something Townsend would have to read between the lines for.

“Humanity.” He scoffed. He had spent decades trying to forget his human years, and yet Townsend was claiming it worth preserving. “So, you deem it worth keeping, obviously.”

 Maximus: It was an impersonal offer adjacent to their conversation. A window of escape, should Henry take it. An olive branch.

"What is the point of living without it? You and I... will live forever. What is the meaning behind it? Coins and respect from those we'll never equal in age? For how long? A few decades? Centuries? Until they're bored."

 Henry: His eyes flashed at that. “I’m building something. Me. Not just for Vlad.”

That had hit a nerve. He could see his sire Veronica, pretty petite and blonde. He could see how she cast him aside when she was done…

Henry turned about-face and took off in a near blur before stopping at the decanter of whiskey on the bedside table.

“Do you drink, Mr. Townsend?”

 Maximus: Henry's tone almost seemed to reverberate with inflection. His own imagination, surely. That bit of fear, like a string in his stomach, Henry could tug with his fingertip. Not always, but sometimes.

But also, he wondered, if he had not heard something... youthful.

"Bourbon," he acquiesced. "Please."

 Henry: He calmed down as he poured the two glasses. He paused before turning to offer out the glass.

As for his part, he had to fight to keep from downing the burning liquid in one go.

 Maximus: The offer was a simple yet effective method to get Maximus to move from the safety of his distance. Deeper into the room. Deeper into this conversation and into Henry's hands. This wasn't some grand manipulation. He didn't have to come. This was a bed they'd both made.

"Thank you," he said, taking his glass in both hands.

 Henry: Henry drained half of the glass, gulped it down. He found himself unable to decide what to do next, so he turned and topped the glass off again.

He’d pay for it the next day.

“When was the last time someone offered you whiskey?”

 Maximus: Maximus stared into the drink as he considered telling the truth. There was no harm and no shame in the telling of it. It was simply private.

"Weeks ago." His voice barely carried.

 Henry: “Oh?” Why had he expected it to be longer?

 Maximus: "You wish for me to elaborate?"

 Henry: He sat down on the sofa that ran along the sitting area. “If you want.”

 Maximus: If you want. Everything felt like a game with this man.

"A friend. Unlike, and not unlike Miss Sophia."

 Henry: “So you do this a lot. Sneak out…”

 Maximus: "And how will you use this to your advantage?"

 Henry: He arched a brow. “My advantage?”

 Maximus: "You say you're no one's pawn, but is that what you intend of me?"

 Henry: He shrugged and sat back. “I haven’t decided yet.”

 Maximus: "You wouldn't be telling my mistress anything she doesn't already know."

 Henry: “I didn’t say anything about her,” he pointed out.

 Maximus: After a sip, his glass was placed upon the table.

"That's not terribly original, Henry."

 Henry: “What isn’t?”

 Maximus: "Using me."

 Henry: Henry crossed one leg over the other. “What would you prefer then?”

 Maximus: "I would prefer we... not be enemies."

 Henry: Henry’s lips twitched. “And what would that look like, David?”

 Maximus: "What does this moment look like?"

 Henry: Henry smiled, flashing teeth. “That’s not very original.”

 Maximus: "Asking you questions?"

 Henry: Giving him a taste of his own medicine. Henry just shrugged and settled into comfortable recline on the sofa and watched the demon.

 Maximus: Could very well be our love language, he mused. His glass was returned to his lips.

"Thank you, for tonight. No matter your intention, or the outcome."

 Henry: Henry arched a brow. For one reason or another, that hadn’t been expected. Civility had been foreign to them up until now. “You’re welcome.”

Maximus: He couldn't say what compelled him to move, other than the obvious nature of his profession, embedded in his very soul. Must have been one of the last hotels left in the entire city to use a wood fireplace. As so much of history, he would mourn its passing.

His hand outstretched, soft words in Italian, he swiped his hand from left to right. The three logs crackling within the hearth replicated, stacked over the original.

Rather than assume, he would venture to ask, "Do you appreciate music, Henry?"

 Henry: Henry’s eyes trailed after Maximus, ever a predator, even at rest. He arched a brow at the question. It was unexpected, in some regards.

“I do.” His silence spoke the next question. why?

 Maximus: Multiple times tonight, taking Henry by surprise, and he was oblivious to all. His own doing.

"I thought you would say no."

 Henry: A huff of a laugh left him in an exhale, and he rested his hands behind his head. “Yeah? Why?”

 Maximus: "It's a coin toss." He glanced at the vampire. "It's not entirely personal. I don't like comparing you to monsters, but you've lent yourself to the stereotype. They either hate it, or love it."

 Henry: “Do they?” He considered the assessment. It wasn’t far off, surprisingly. He had just never considered it. “How old are you?”

 Maximus: There was no need for his age to be a secret. There was nothing to gain or lose from the knowledge.

"I was born in autumn, 1870."

 Henry: “Huh. Interesting.” He looked to the fire as it sparked to life. “We’re five years apart.”

 Maximus: "Would it insult you to know older, or younger?"

 Henry: He smiled. “Hardly. I’m older.”

 Maximus: For what felt like the first time in their relationship, Maximus' smile was earnest, lacking the veil of professionalism. A soft, delicate warmth reached his eyes, and slowly faded as his gaze returned to the fire.

"A little Henry, ruling the nursery when I was born."

 Henry: “Nurseries weren’t exactly where I was…” He grit his teeth at the thought, and he stood up to refill his glass of whiskey in one fell swoop.

“Always American, I assume?” He asked.

 Maximus: By now, Henry was being studied. Gray eyes following his every move. His expression remained gentle.

"My mother was from Grosseto. She met my father in New York, when he was visiting family. Italians weren't looked upon favorably, at the time. If anyone asked, she was French." The Louisiana drawl filled in the unexplained, or so he assumed it would.

Henry: Henry let the bite of the whiskey pull him back to the present. “You don’t sound like you’re from New York…”

Maximus: "I should hope not." There, some humor for the vampire.

Henry: He bit back a a laugh and covered with a prompt drain of his glass. “It is kind of a shit hole isn’t it?”

Maximus: "It has its charms. None of which being accent."

Henry: Henry sucked in on his cheeks and nodded. “And how do you feel about the Brits?” Not that he had identified as one for years.

Maximus: Maximus' smile was gentle and fleeting. "Been blessed to know a few... to have given me fond memories."

Henry: He’d count himself out of that list. “I see.” The liquor started to swim with the blood he’d consumed earlier. An echo of warmth was in his porcelain cheeks.

Maximus: "A specific area to question. Is that for a reason?" His gentle expression remained as he looked at the vampire.

Henry: Henry shrugged. “Thought it would be obvious.”

Maximus: "Are you walking a scenic route towards a personal question?"

Henry: “What sort of personal question do you have in mind?”

Maximus: "I'm supposed to have the answer to a question you haven't asked?"

Henry: He shrugged. “Humor me. Read my mind…” Henry bit back a dry laugh and wiggled his fingers through the air, lounged back on the sofa.

Maximus: "I... " His mouth slowly shut. He couldn't even say that. In fear of breaking his spell.

Henry: He turned his head and looked back at the demon. “Hm?”

Maximus: "You... will ask me something or not."

Henry: He let out a huff of a laugh, dry, a sort of ease in his chest. “By all accounts, you should hate me. What made you come?”

Maximus: A question which seemed to relax his shoulders. A great soothing ease from his throat to his stomach.

"You're familiar."

Henry: “How so?”

Maximus: "Your damage. Your bite. Your presence." The obvious and the poetic.

Henry: He smirked. “More comfortable than comfort, huh?”

Maximus: "Misery is familiar, isn't it?"

Henry: “So it would seem.”

Maximus: "You asked for me, just to see if I would?"

Henry: “I was curious… and I thought I would see what you were like without an audience.”

Maximus: The next question should have, could have been of Henry's assessment. Instead, the demon softly sighed.

"I have to go."

Henry: That simply wouldn’t do.

He flickered from the couch to stand in front of Townsend, a flame in his own right in the firelight— ethereal and just as hard to pinpoint in any physical with the speed.

“Tell me. Man to man. What you want from me. Familiarity.” He waved the thought away like a gnat. “In your heart of hearts, why did you come?” What did he want? “You could have refused. Yet here you are.”

Maximus: By now his speed no longer startled him. No more lowering his chin. No urge to back himself against the wall. Exhausted, but half an hour was enough time to acclimate to the vampire.

"I told you," he said, soft as silk, "I had a question. I'm curious about you. I want to understand you. I think we can be more than foul with each other. We have enough villains fixed on using us. I've given you every answer."

Henry: The corner of his eye twitched, the intensity of the moment snapping taught on his features. He could all but feel Townsend’s heat, could taste it when he breathed.

“You have,” he conceded, and his voice was softer. Like the wind was out of his sails.

Maximus: "What is it you want from me, Henry?" A hint of insistence in his voice, because despite their conversations, he felt as though he was grasping at smoke. He had the shape of him, but nothing so important as the nuance. He had said he was curious, but surely there was something else.

Henry: Grasping at smoke, indeed. Henry reached forward, grabbing the demon by the lapel of his coat.

Not violent, exactly. But not gentle either.

He leaned closer still.

“Your attention,” he hissed. “Your focus. Whatever wildness is wrapped up neatly in those fucking manners…” Like the night they had met. The night he had fought back.

Maximus: His violence was, just as he thought before, poetry. At that very moment, clothes gripped in his fist, he reminded him of sculpture.

You want me. Of all people, all things, you want me. You fool. You mistake.

Henry would be denied his gaze. Eyes closed as he took a breath. Just a moment to consider this affront on his life. The ramifications of his actions.

The demon leaned forward by an inch, opened his eyes.

"Earn it."

Henry: Henry smirked in satisfaction when he found his gaze. Earned it? As far as he was concerned, he already had.

The trick was keeping it.

He inclined his head to the left. “What’s your price?”

Maximus: He too wondered what price he could possibly bargain for. His chest rose high, allowing Henry's hand to press deeper. The question repeated as a chant. He was just... exhausted. Tired of this night. Tired of his mistress. Tired of being used. Tomorrow would be the same. And the next day. And the next day. This was his sentence. This man another method of torture.

"I have enough monsters in my life, Henry. Would you be so kind... and show me something else?"

Henry: Henry was a monster too. That was the truth of it all. Perhaps a different kind, with the rot and stink of a London street thug for roots instead of status and silver spoons, but a monster nonetheless.

He felt a pang in his chest at the thought, at some far flung grief he thought he had cut out.

“Sit down,” he breathed, releasing Townsend and nodding to the sofa in front of the fire.

Maximus: He didn't have to. He could leave at any time. Hadn't felt the magnetic pull of a demonic circle trapping him in this hotel room. He had no reason to obey, other than harmful curiosity.

And so he crossed the room, taking a seat with his elbow on the arm of the couch.

Henry: Henry kept his gaze on the wall directly behind where the demon had stood until he sat down.

“Is that what she gives you? Something less monstrous?” He watched him, prowled a step closer. But the menace was gone, and he didn’t bother specifying who he was referring to.

Maximus: "She reminds me of someone," he confessed. His eyes remained on the dwindling fire, but what he saw was a memory. A kind, gentle face. Soft eyes hidden behind bend gold spectacles. His reason for being eternal damnation.

"Someone that did a monstrous thing, but... it's not her nature any more than it was his."

Henry: Henry sucked in on his cheeks, taking another step forward. Another.

Finally, he sat at the other end of the couch, one long leg crossed over the other.

“Opens up all sorts of moral questions, that statement.” Henry situated himself a bit more comfortably. “Monster. The definition varies, you know.”

Maximus: Henry's voice pulled him from New Orleans and back to the hotel room. Funny, he couldn't remember seeing the vampire sit.

"I believe, given what I am, that I would be rather an expert."

Henry: He actually laughed at that, but it didn’t have the bitterness to it. This was the closest he’d ever been to a real conversation with the demon. At the very least the closest he’d been to letting a wall fall.

Even if it hadn’t yet. Not completely.

“Are you? And what’s your definition, then?”

Maximus: Maximus took a deep breath as he considered. He knew in his heart of hearts but had never articulated.

"What someone desires to do... when left to their own devices, determines a monster. I can tell you every vulgar act forced upon me when left in a room with other demons. I am given no mercy. I can tell you, when I am left alone with her, the thought never crosses her mind."

Henry: “It wouldn’t, would it?” Bitterness leaked in. Receded. He had known that soft touch, and hadn’t had a clue what to do with it.

Henry let out a breath. He cut his eyes back to Townsend, a quick glance more than anything.

“And you… what monstrous acts have you committed? To claim such expertise on the matter but never walk in their shoes? Doesn’t really add up.”

Maximus: Henry was given his full attention. Somewhere complex between humor and enlightenment in his eyes.

"Do you understand what I am? Why I am under Ruth Berger?"

Henry: “Besides the obvious…? You’re a demon. What’s your game?” He smirked, moved his hand in a cross through the air like a priest. “Tell me your sins. All that jazz.”

Maximus: His eyes closed to the cross. He felt nothing, fortunately. Not from a vampire. Not from Henry.

"If you've heard the myth of crossroads, then you know the deal I made. I broke the deal. I ended my life. My monstrous act. I am a servant. I am at the mercy of the unmerciful. This is my expertise, because this is my Hell."

Henry: Henry used the excuse of closed eyes to watch Townsend. He didn’t pity him. But he did find some measure of… something. He made no movement to comfort. Not in the softer way Sophia would.

“Berger’s a manipulative bitch,” Henry muttered. “I know her type. Only the names change…”

Maximus: "I would much rather her ilk," the demon said, softly. There was suddenly a faraway look in his eyes. A little disassociation. "It's the ones she offers me to as punishment... "

Henry: “Like me?”

Maximus: "You made an impression."

Henry: “I did, did I?” That wasn’t a surprise, but interesting way to phrase it. “On who?”

Maximus: "Who else?" The demon blinked, sucked in a breath as though for the first time.

"You're not the worst or I wouldn't be here."

Henry: “‘Not the worst’.” That wasn’t something he heard a lot. He shrugged. “I guess there’s something to be said for the potency of vampire venom.”

Maximus: "You think I'm inclined to you because of your bite?"

Henry: “I don’t know. Humans can be. It’s how we keep the ones around that are particularly… desirable.” He shrugged. “That said, human or not— it’s not unpleasant. Makes an impact.”

Maximus: The demon gently scoffed. He wondered how Henry had interpreted this conversation. Something seemed lost in translation. What's worse, he felt a desire to confess things to Henry. Things he hadn't shared with anyone. A beast like Henry could accept the horrors when he would be reluctant to give them to those he dearly cared for.

"The impression you left on my mistress makes her believe you'll behave the same as those that skin me alive or use my body any way they see fit, until returning me at midnight. Twelve is her lucky number. And I... I don't know why I'm still here if only to lay my confessions on you."

Henry: “Your mistress isn’t as good at reading people as she likes to think. It wasn’t personal, you know. That first night.”

He flicked a bit of lint off his pants and chuckled darkly.

“I’m not a priest, much as I might look it.”

Maximus: "You made it personal when you did it twice."

The demon softly smiled. To himself, of course. He was having trouble looking at the vampire now, embarrassed by his honesty.

"Forgive me. Churches give me a rash."

Henry: “You have a point, I guess.” He was a jealous being, at the heart of it all. But as obvious as that might be, he wouldn’t admit to it. Ever.

“I suppose they would, wouldn’t they?” Ironic. They didn’t do it to him. “Go on then…”

Maximus: He could go on, tell him every last detail of torture at the hand of other demons, witches, but shook his head. He shouldn't have said anything to begin with. Shouldn't have joined Henry on the couch. Shouldn't have come here at all.

"Does it please you to hear?"

Henry: Henry considered the question. Did it please him?

His life was a patchwork of evil, violence for the sake of violence… but did it please him?

No. Not precisely. It was a necessity he had learned to enjoy.

“Not… exactly.” Was that one expected, he wondered?

Maximus: Henry would find his guest staring. Gray eyes gently confused. A subtle wrinkle in his brow. No, not the response he expected. What he had expected would have had him leaving with a scoff, affirmed to his behavior.

Must have been a lie. A pseudo demon cleverly playing his role.

To say he must leave yet again would be redundant. After a few blinks, he forced himself to his feet. Henry was determined to keep his presence. He was better prepared, this time, to stand his ground.

And would continue in silence as he straightened his clothes, preparing to leave.

Henry: For the first time in a long time, Henry felt… clumsy. It made him lurch, for a moment, and what could only be described as a light of innocent surprise crossed his cruel features as Townsend stood.

He had thought he was offering an olive branch, however twisted. As if not taking humor from another’s pain was enough.

“You’re off then?” He managed, attempting to compose himself.

Maximus: Attention, focus, and wildness. Those were Henry's words. In return, he had asked for something left of monstrous.

His obedience and ounce of kindness would be rewarded. A gift Maximus assumed the vampire would appreciate. It was only a guess. Assumptions based on nothing more than body language.

"Stand up."

 Sophia: The car pulled into the driveway, through the trees and towards the coven house. Sophia checked her phone, set it on the dashboard, and reached up to open the sunroof— it wasn’t lost on her, the irony of a family car having a window specifically for letting sunshine in. She poked her head up anyway, then her shoulders as she looked for Leslie.

“Hey!” she called to him as the car rolled to a stop. “Long time!”

“Soph get down,” Henry muttered, grabbing at her waist. “He sees us.” His tone was playful, though. No hint of malice. They’d been doing quite well recently in the “no fighting” department.

Rather than get down, though, Sophia propelled herself up and through the roof completely. She moved in a pale blur as she came to a short stop in front of Leslie.

One of the donors she’d already had that night might have had a touch of something in their system already.

Henry got out of the driver’s side, shutting the door as Sophia rocked up on tip-toe to peck Leslie on the cheek. He moved at a slower pace than she had.

 Leslie: The moon was almost full, shining down on what appeared to be a newly waxed car like illumination on water. A touch higher class than anything in this yard. He expected as much from these two.

That same quickness he had witnessed their last night together. And just as before, her celerity caught the witch off guard, laughing in surprise at her sudden appearance.

His hands came naturally to her hips, then her face, cupped gently as he offered his own, more intimate kiss. He wasn't afraid to.

"Every time I don't expect to see y'all again," he greeted. He was neatly groomed tonight. Hair barely dry from a shower. Attached to his skin, mingling with his lavender scent, was that of grilled chicken and some kind of herbaceous sauce. He hardly noticed.

"What are we doing tonight?"

 Henry: “We have to keep some measure of excitement, don’t we?” Henry called, coming to stand next to the two. He wouldn’t deny the enjoyment of the sight of the two of them, even with a simple kiss.

There was something of a voyeur in him.

Sophia cast him a teasing look and turned back to Leslie. “We’re taking you downtown. Somewhere really nice.”

 Leslie: "Nice like what I'm wearing, or should I change?"

He couldn't just kiss one without kissing the other. A single warm hand neatly cradled Henry's jaw, pulling the vampire to meet his lips in a lingering chaste kiss. Seeing them still stirred butterflies in his stomach.

 Sophia: “You’re perfect,” Sophia assured him. “You’ll fit right in with us.”

“You should take that as a compliment,” Henry said to him as he returned the kiss. “She’s never called me perfect.”

Sophia reached for Henry, taking his hand as she sidestepped back to stand next to him.

“We can get our hands on all sorts of good stuff there,” she said. “And I believe it’s our turn to host.”

 Leslie: He wanted to chase those lips. He didn't know when he'd have them again. Seemed a mystery with these two. He felt at his clothes, searched for any stains of cooking on his button-down. There was usually something, which was why he cooked shirtless most of the time, but tonight was blessedly free of an excuse to stall.

"Just lemme get my bag. I haven't checked my blood sugar in - too long," he realized. "Be just a minute." Just a minute to the second he rushed back into the house for what he needed and his jacket on the way out.

 Sophia: Sophia waited in Henry’s arms in the cold. The car was still running, heat steady for when they returned.

When Leslie came back, Sophia reached for his hand. “We’re taking you to this place downtown. It’s one of my favorites. Henry showed it to me the first time we were down here.”

 Leslie: Leslie would meet Sophia halfway, squeezing her hand for warmth he knew she'd enjoy.

"Are we dancing?" he smiled, slinging his bag over his shoulder as they walked.

 Sophia: “Maybe,” she replied, rocking up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Why don’t we get in the car and we’ll tell you?”

“It’s a fairly good drive,” Henry added, moving around and opening the driver’s side. “But we’ll make good time.”

“Especially the way he drives,” Sophia teased.

 Leslie: "We're going!" He smiled, reluctant to let go of her hand first. Only when they reached the back of the car. He only hesitated a second.

"I think I'm being presumptuous; do you want to ride next to...?" he gestured to Henry.

 Sophia: She looked from Henry back to Leslie. “Well, I was going to sit with you in the back,” she replied. She opened the back door and poked her head in. “As long as Henry doesn’t mind.”

Henry spared a glance for her in the rearview mirror. “Your choice,” he called to the witch.

 Leslie: "We'll have to give Henry distracting attention." The back seat it was. Belmira might argue he was too trusting, but there he was, spending his night with two vampires, tossing his bag into the passenger's seat next to Henry.

 Sophia: He had nothing to worry about. Not from her, at least. And if she had any say in Henry’s behavior, he didn’t have anything to worry about from him either.

Sophia slid across the expensive leather to make room for Leslie.

“I think that’s what he wants, isn’t it?” She spoke that last bit to Henry, and she could make out the raise in the curve of his cheek in a smile at the comment.

 Leslie: "I can start now." Lithe enough to wedge between the seats, cupping Henry's jaw long enough to steal a kiss. He had missed them both and felt no need to conceal his pleasure with their company.

"So, how long's the drive?"

 Sophia: Sophia rested her hand on Leslie’s back as he kissed Henry, rubbing along his warmth.

Henry returned the kiss with a hint of tongue, pulling away to shift the gears into reverse.

“A half hour or so,” he said. “We’ll be going downtown.”

 Leslie: Henry giving just enough to leave Leslie wanting. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he would take that desire with him as he settled back in his seat. Sophia's hand sandwiched between his own.

Downtown. He'd just been there, hadn't he? The Blue Room. But no, that was months ago.

Leslie stared off at nothing, absorbed by his own thoughts until a bump in the road returned him.

"Catch me up on your life, love." He smiled at his hostess.

 Sophia: Sophia smiled at the attention and shifted closer to him.

“A whole lot of boring,” she replied.

She heard Henry give a little scoff and shot him a look, slipping into Leslie’s lap. “Parties, mostly. We did get into a fight up in New York last month… but…”

“We won,” Henry finished for her.

 Leslie: A part of him wanted her to buckle up. He wouldn't say this, of course, but that part of him existed. Caring and cautious, contradicting the situation he allowed himself to be in every night in their company.

His arms made themselves at home around her waist.

"A fight? What - other vampires?"

 Sophia: Sophia rested her head on his shoulder, waiting for Henry to expand.

“Slayers,” he replied, looking back at Leslie in the rearview mirror briefly before pale eyes went back to the road.

“It was a territory thing,” Sophia added. “Boring stuff.”

 Leslie: His arms were soon around Sophia's waist. She could rest in him the entire ride if she wanted to.

"It's not boring to me. You two fought these people? With... magic, guns, hands?"

 Sophia: Sophia nestled against him. “It just depended,” she sighed. “We all have our specialties.”

“Tell him yours, Soph.”

Sophia sat up, cutting her eyes to Henry a moment before she looked back at Leslie. She reached for his hand and lowered it down along her frame to rest at the hem of her skirt. She raised the hem…

A knife, holstered and secure was situated in a garter against her thigh.

 Leslie: Leslie looked between the two, wondering what that silent conversation was just then. Had Henry said something he shouldn't?

His hand was easily guided, watching her eyes all the while, searching for something in her expression when he felt the familiar curves and tip of a blade.

"Are slayers people like you, or hunters?" he asked gently.

 Sophia: Sophia hesitated.

“They’re humans,” Henry answered, watching the two in the rearview mirror as Sophia let her head fall to rest on Leslie’s shoulder.

“They specialize in killing people like us,” Sophia added. “They figured it out to maintain territory.”

“Or to try to,” Henry added. He merged off the main road, moving into the main part of the city.

“They aren’t… good people,” Sophia said. “Mafia types.”

 Leslie: "They know? Do you think they've kept it to themselves?" Who would believe them, he wondered. It was easier to believe someone was a witch - or thought they were - than something like that. Why his people had been tortured and executed for centuries by comparison. One was just a folk tale to most.

Sophia was gently squeezed.

"I don't understand people's capacity for evil."

 Sophia: Sophia considered the question. “They do. Easier to fight us when they have a leg up on everyone else.”

She closed her eyes as Leslie’s arms enveloped her. Rather than agree, she just pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s change the subject,” Henry called. “I’m not walking in with a sour mood.”

 Leslie: Easy enough to do. Leslie kissed into Sophia's hair and smiled, watching Henry as best he could from the rearview mirror. How could he be anything less than content in their presence he didn't yet know.

"I can fix that. Soon as we stop the car... or hit a red light. Bet you a kiss."

 Henry: Henry looked up and met Leslie’s eyes in the mirror. His lips quirked. “Can you?” He didn’t doubt it.

 Leslie: His pleasant smile became a grin. Well, that was easy. "I already have."

 Sophia: “Don’t call him on it. He’ll just get grumpy out of spite,” Sophia replied in a mock whisper, lips roaming to kiss along Leslie’s neck.

Henry rolled to a stop at the red light in front of them and turned to look back at Sophia with an indignant look.

 Leslie: Excellent timing. Neither were wearing a seatbelt at this point, which made leaning forward, arm around Sophia's waist, all the easier. A pause just long enough to capture Henry's lips. After all, he'd won the bet without even trying.

 Sophia: Sophia smiled, running a hand along Leslie’s back as he kissed Henry. Henry leaned into the kiss, and it wasn’t until the beeping horn of the car behind them alerted him to the fact that the light had turned green.

Henry turned away languidly, rolling his window down and flipping the bird to the driver behind them as he pushed through the intersection.

 Leslie: Rather than startle, Leslie laughed at the horn, and continued with Henry's reaction. There was an interesting personality beneath the stoicism. Charm, sass, opinions, lust. He knew this man intimately, but these little moments meant the world to him.

But kissing one without kissing the other was a sin. As soon as his back rested in his seat, his hands roamed Sophia's neck and hair, gently guiding her into another kiss.

 Sophia: Sophia smiled against Leslie’s lips, a muffled giggle passing as Henry hit the gas and she fell back against Leslie’s chest.

 Leslie: A laugh soon followed by the man holding her. Just shy of bumping foreheads. Still, his fingers brushed over her face in a subconscious wellness check.

"This place we're going. Will there be... more like y'all?"

 Sophia: “Maybe a few,” Sophia said. “We have friends in Atlanta. They mentioned they’d be in the city when they heard we were coming…”

Sophia wanted to melt into his concern. It was warm, gentle… Different.

Henry pulled up, glancing back at the two before he reached for his wallet in the glove compartment.

“Even if they’re not, plenty of things to keep you entertained,” Henry replied as he stepped from the driver’s seat. Sophia followed suit, moving off Leslie so he could get out of the car too.

Leslie: As though he needed more vampires to keep him entertained. Had him wondering if Henry believed that was all they offered in terms of company. That was just wrong, but he couldn't find the words to breach the subject smoothly.

Instead, Leslie just smiled and nuzzled into Sophia's neck.

"As though I need anyone else," he decided upon with a stretch, pulling Sophia back to his chest for a kiss between her eyes. It was a truth, and he believed in them wholeheartedly.

Sophia: For the duration of the ride, Sophia had set about planting gentle kisses to Leslie’s throat, his jaw. It was a sort of teasing for both of them, she imagined. His scent was so sweet.

And she didn’t mind Henry’s eyes on the pair of them in the rearview mirror when he could spare it. It wasn’t jealousy. It was an enjoyment all its own.

For Henry’s part, Sophia’s suspicions were correct. He watched Leslie’s face, the strong planes of his cheekbones in the dim light and the shine of Sophia’s golden hair.

He very nearly missed a turn.

Leslie: He realized early on that Henry's mode of affection was both masculine and silent. Perhaps even subdued. Either his behavior had been taught, or tailored. There was every chance he didn't know what he was doing, but that Leslie doubted. He was as mysterious as he was beautiful.

And Leslie had no clue what he was thinking.

But Sophia, whatever she withheld, her secrets weren't as obviously tucked away. He didn't have to think as much, which was by no means an insult. There was freedom in her smile, gifted to those she offered it to.

"So, this is it?" Leslie asked, arm placed upon Sophia's hip.

Henry: The car stopped in front of a sleek building. A valet in a crisp white shirt hopped down from the small booth at the entrance.

“This is it,” Henry replied, opening the car door and stepping out. He tossed the keys to the valet, and Sophia stepped from the car to take Henry’s hand.

“Come on,” she said, keeping hold of Leslie’s hand in a form of human (for lack of a better word) chain.

Leslie: Either he was about to be swept off his feet, or eaten by a pack of vampires. Was that the group term? These were arguably the best people to ask, but he would sooner ask his family than potentially embarrass himself.

"Valet and all! You're absolutely certain I'll be allowed in here?" He didn't feel at all dressed appropriately.

Henry: “Of course. You’re with us,” Henry replied with a toss of his head. It carried merit, the statement. No one fucked with The Teppes’. Or their friends.

At least, no one that was a member of the fucking wait staff.

“Soph,” Henry murmured, reaching for her waist as they stopped at the main entrance. “Take Leslie upstairs. I’ll be right there…”

He watched her eyes flicker behind him, no doubt noting the person who had caught his attention.

“Make it quick,” she replied softly. Then, to Leslie, she said, “come on. Henry has business, apparently.”

Leslie: Reluctantly, the witch nodded. He didn't know what had just happened, but this wasn't the place to ask. But this place... he couldn't put his finger on why it gave such a bad feeling.

Sophia's hand was squeezed. Halfway up the stairs, he hunched, whispering in her ear, "Everything alright?"

Sophia: She glanced back over her shoulder, down to the approximate location Henry had disappeared from.

“Yeah. Just someone that works for him showed up. He wasn’t supposed to unless…” A sigh of disappointment, and she looked up at Leslie apologetically. “Unless it was an emergency.”

Leslie: An underling, he thought in fascination. Moments like this, he realized how easy it was to forget who these people were. What they were. What Henry was capable of.

"An emergency where you both need to leave?"

Sophia: She shook her head. “Probably not. It kind of comes with the territory. This happens a lot…”

She reached for Leslie’s hand and guided him up the stairs. A posh little club would greet them, filled with all sorts of walks of life. A band played smooth jazz propped up on the stage.

“Let’s get a drink until he comes back. I’m sure he’ll have treats…”

Leslie: "How did he know... " Maybe he shouldn't ask. Curious how anyone knew where they were heading, unless this had been planned more thoroughly than he had assumed.

Sophia's hand was squeezed. The music was almost a distraction, but now he couldn't get out of his own head.

"Treats?"

Sophia: “Hm?” Sophia looked back at Leslie. “Oh, scent. Tracking. And… to be honest, no one in the family ever really goes off the radar for long.”

Perhaps she’d said too much, but she didn’t care.

“Yeah…” She placed a finger at the tip of her nose and winked at him. “Something to excite the night.”

Leslie: Leslie felt a wave of sympathy for them both. His life was an open book, but certain aspects were still a matter of privacy. They were choices, not entitlements.

"Y'all excite me all on your own." Her hand, swallowed by his own, was kissed.

Sophia: He made her smile in ways she had forgotten she could. Sophia squeezed his hand and turned to lead him up the stairs.

At the top, a man in a crisp white shirt and vest stepped forward and gave a polite smile in greeting.

“McClintock,” she said, flashing the ring on her hand. “And Buchanan. With a guest.”

The waiter looked Leslie up and down. Despite the pageantry, it was clear that the place didn’t have a dress code. All sorts were here.

“Right this way,” he said with a gracious smile. He would lead the two of them to a circular booth at the far end of the club. A stage was straight ahead, and it looked like the band was on a break. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Leslie: Leslie followed along, perfectly happy being led by the hand. There was nowhere he intended to stray if only a glance back in the hopes of seeing Henry behind them. No such luck.

With the offering of a drink, Leslie looked to his hostess. Was there anything she desired, short of his own blood? A thought that warmed his cheeks instantly.

He needed to be mindful. He'd left his insulin in his bag in the car. A mistake, so easily distracted tonight.

"Yuengling Lager Light, please. You?"

Sophia: “Vodka tonic,” she said. “And a whiskey neat for Mr. Buchanan.”

She sank into the seat, sliding over so Leslie could join her.

“He should be back soon…”

Leslie: Leslie took to her side. Arm opened and splayed over the back of the booth opposite of Sophia. Not wanting to appear to be claiming her.

"How many people here... are like you?"

Sophia: “Mm. Half, at the most. The ring’s a giveaway, but not everyone will have it.” She nodded towards a couple situated across the way. “That’s Roman and Desmond. They’re older than Henry.” They were also responsible for recruiting donors, but she didn’t mention that.

Henry’s blond head appeared then, nodding to the two men she had just pointed out as he passed them.

“And you know that one…” She cast a coy little smirk back at Leslie.

Leslie: Despite the shocking revelation, Leslie managed to smile at the sight of Henry. Half was not at all his expectation, and only as she explained did he realize he had one.

Guildias: How could he miss those eyes when he refused to look anywhere else? Interesting shade of blue to say the least, and a lot to be said behind them. A mutual respect had to be given in this instance. A mere mortal could be immobilized with his gaze. Their hand his for as long as he desired. To do so to Vlad's underling, however entertaining, would strain a naturally tight rope.

But, if this man had no intention to release, then accept the consequences.

"An island," he nodded, bringing his hand to his lips. A kiss to those knuckles, gaze still locked.

"The pleasure is mine."

Henry: Henry’s eyes narrowed. That was not something he’d considered the other would do, and his hand slid from his grasp almost an instant after lips met his hand.

He righted himself, adjusting his jacket.

The sound of a pulse coming from the doorway gained his attention then, and he quickly realized Sophia McClintock had seen whatever ... whatever that had been.

Henry felt himself straightening all the taller in an attempt to hide what had happened from the human girl’s gaze. He did not enjoy looking like a fool.

Sophia looked from Henry to Guildias from behind the shine of her glasses. “Am I... interrupting something?”

Guildias: Guildias slowly righted himself to his proper height. He could say, at least in this instance, that Buchanan did not shatter expectation. He seemed young, but he'd been mistaken before.

"Still too early to tell," said Guildias. His wry smile wrinkled one side of his face.

Sophia: Sophia watched them where she stood, a tiny smile on her lips as Henry turned from Guildias and looked at her.

There was something in Henry’s eyes that always struck a chord in her, something she couldn’t quite define but understood it wasn’t precisely human. In quiet moments, she would feel his eyes on her across the room before they darted away when she looked up.

Now, he stepped forward. “Guildias, as I said. A pleasure.” Stiff upper lip, he barely paid attention to her save for a small nod as he made his exit.

Sophia waited until she assumed he had the chance to put distance between them before she looked back at Guildias. “Sorry if I ruined the moment,” she finally said as she stepped closer into the room.

Guildias: Curious how Buchanan's reaction might have differed had he simply played along with his callow attempt at a power play. He wanted to call to him, itching to know what a beast like that might do, but the night was young, and he was sure to see him again.

"You're improved company," Guildias greeted, leaning down to near equal height to whisper, "And I chance you enjoyed that."

Sophia: Sophia seemed to consider how best to reply to that for a moment. “It’s certainly not something you usually see here.”

Her smile said she did enjoy it.

“I’ve noticed the family has the tendency to take themselves very seriously.” An observation, one that couldn’t be taken as a condemnation to any listening ears.

Guildias: Around his temples wrinkled once again. A subtle wink. Humans could be quite entertaining. At least this one.

"There's a time and a place for solemnity, just as one needs a bit of levity to survive. Balance, yes? Now, would you like similar treatment?" His smile bloomed full, dark eyes hinted by mischief.

Sophia: Sophia arched a brow. Similar treatment. She looked over her shoulder. Weaker human senses meant she had to depend on what she could see— and even that was limited when compared to the creatures that lurked in these halls.

She looked back at him and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Sure. Why not.”

Guildias: Similar treatment with softer locked eyes. Her fingers gently pinched and pulled to a warm lingering kiss.

"How shall we begin tonight?"

Sophia: Sophia felt heat rush to her cheeks. It was a vulnerability that was so very human, and she often cursed her inability to control it.

Hand returned to her side, she took the opportunity to turn and move towards the sofa. Rather than sit, she stepped behind it to a record player. “I was thinking we could start with music,” she said.

Guildias: He doubted Vlad Teppes ever treated her this way. Kind for a vampire, cold for a human. He could win her loyalty with veiled threats, money, promise of power, but not a heart.

"I had a feeling. If not music, it would have been books."

Sophia: She smiled to herself at the comment, perusing the collection she’d brought with her. “Books will be next,” she promised him. “Music is easy.”

She produced a promising Beatles album. “We’ll start with this one.” It was placed on the player, the needle dropped... and music filled the room.

Guildias: "We shall see about that." He made his way to the table, and examined the album. "I recognize the logo from clothing." The music did seem familiar, but having slept so long it didn't seem worth mentioning.

"Is this a personal favorite?"

Sophia: “I just figured it would be a good place to start.” She looked up at him. He towered over her, and her glasses flickered in the lights as she craned her head to look at him. “We’ll move onto rock next.”

Guildias: Guildias bobbed his head a moment and then smiled. "What genre is this?" he asked.

Sophia: “I guess this is rock, too,” she mused. “But more from my father’s era. I grew up with Bowie.”

Guildias: "And who is Bowie?"

Sophia: She would go on to sum up the music she knew, the music her father had shown her, the music she’d come to like recently.

She landed on a CD, then, and held it up for him to get a look at the cover. “Nirvana.” She glanced back over her shoulder conspiratorially. “I snuck away to go to one of their concerts once,” she said when she looked back at him.

Guildias: Guildias listened with the intensity of a faithful student. Withheld questions until the end of her mini lesson. He wanted to understand what new genres had come to being since slumber. Rock-'n'-roll was promising, and so too, upon listening, were the tunes of Nirvana.

"I appreciate it's honesty. Raw emotions were once accepted only by an orchestra and a deaf composer. Now they flock to the depression of a man with a six string. It's timeless."

Sophia: Sophia wasn’t used to being... well, listened to. Not in this house. She slowly came alive a touch more and more as she spoke, and she smiled when he offered his own thoughtful response.

“People always look for connection,” she said after a moment.

Guildias: "Indeed. To think I could have seen The Beatles before having a lie down."

His smile dimpled into the corner of his mouth. "Have you heard of Sister Rosetta Tharpe? I think you might find her... inspirational."

Sophia: “My dad loved The Beatles,” Sophia said after a moment. “And as for her, no... I don’t think I have.”

Guildias: "Should you have the time, I recommend you seek her music. She debuted sometime around my turning, during my travels."

He watched her a moment. "What else did your father enjoy?"

Sophia: “He liked being outside,” she said after some deliberation. “Camping, looking at the stars...” She smiled at a treasured memory. She didn’t talk about him very often here.

No one asked her to.

She peeked up at Guildias. “Why?”

Guildias: Guildias breathed in as a form of expression. Studied her. "I never had a daughter," he confessed. "But, family means much. To some, everything. Born with a friend."

Sophia: That was a sentiment she had heard in these halls before. Sophia nodded slowly, and turned to take a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs.

“What about your family?”

Guildias: Guildias reached for something under his shirt. A necklace, given the thin shape.

"Certainly not the last of my bloodline walking the earth," he smiled.

Sophia: Sophia pondered the topic for a moment. She wondered if that was a biological bloodline or a vampiric one, but made not motion to press the issue.

“I see...”

Guildias: "Do you? Seems a dainty line for the topic, Sophia. What is it you're really asking?"

Sophia: “I think I do,” she replied. She hesitated. “I’m the last... McClintock. At least that I know of.”

Guildias: "That must feel lonely."

Sophia: “You say that like you don’t know.” She peeked up at him behind those round glasses, smiling a little. “What’s the necklace for?”

Guildias: "I don't know loneliness." Not this body. His even tone spoke to some form of truth. Too calm and unhesitating. But the mention of his dallying fingers presented another reaction: a long stare from behind thick lashes. Somewhere between humored and not at all.

"You wish to see? Come." He tugged at the golden chain beneath his shirt.

Sophia: She had yet to find the line with Guildias. With Vlad, it was fairly easy to pinpoint— that line she toed constantly without ever crossing it.

She was not stupid. She was well aware of her own fragility among the undead.

Slowly, she stood again, watching his expression as she tried to pinpoint what exactly he was feeling, and moved closer.

Guildias: Careful little thing, he thought.

A gold chain, followed by a working gold compass locket. Quaint and out of place around the neck of the Setite dressed in black and dark teal.

"Once upon a time, a man fell in love with a woman. She bore him two sons. She loved her two sons to death. She loved them so much, it was literal."

The round locket was carefully opened. The interior a smudging of gray dust.

Sophia: Sophia looked away from his face after a moment, down to the locket— no, not just a locket— it was a compass. She furrowed her brow and looked it over, arms crossed across her chest as he told his story.

She took in a breath. “What’s that?” she murmured, indicating to the dust with a nod of her head. She made no move to touch it.

Guildias: She knew. He didn't have to give detail for the answer he saw in her eyes. Explanations should be concise.

"These are my sons."

Sophia: Sophia swallowed thickly. Her pulse quickened a little with the realization— or, perhaps more accurately, confirmation of her suspicions.

“I’m... so sorry,” she breathed, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Guildias: "Curiosity didn't kill the cat tonight." The locket was closed and re-hidden.

Sophia: She hadn’t expected that. A necklace, something like the Teppes rings. That was what she’d thought it would be.

She stepped back, meeting his gaze at the comment. It seemed so... out of place given the circumstances.

“What were their names?”

Guildias: A passive warning was all he had intended.

Names was where the vampire hesitated. The first delicate question requiring poise. "Volker and Didier. We couldn't agree on French or German, so both."

 Sophia: She bit her lip and stepped away, subconsciously giving him space. “They’re lovely,” she said softly.

Guildias: "Ashes can be quite lovely," he agreed. "I have a request, if you'll be so patient."

Sophia: She hadn’t meant the ashes, but his next sentence stopped her from saying as much. “What is it?”

Guildias: "I'm in need of new clothes. I'll confine myself to sport coat and fedora if I'm not mindful."

Sophia: She found herself grateful for the change in topic, and she smiled a little at the thought. “A shopping trip?”

Guildias: Her smile forged one of his own. The switching of subjects was a need for all in company. She was the first he had ever told; he intended to keep it that way.

"Desperately. I'm in need of a timeless fashion."

Sophia: She nodded in thought, looking back over her shoulder. It seemed like she was always the one being dressed, things picked out for her.

She looked back at him. “There are stores open this time of night, I’m sure. The trick will be getting a car...”