That's quite the tale. His heart aches a little as he imagines the story unfolding.
Francis is thinking while Ethan speaks, trying to pick at the loose ends. Marcus was an interesting man but could also be quite simple in his own way.
"One wonders what he was doing in such close proximity to another vampire the night you were attacked. You tend to be quite solitary unless you're working in a family unit."
So perhaps they knew each other. Even if Marcus said otherwise. It seems unlikely to Francis that Marcus would just conveniently come across a mess like that. Certainly it is possible, as all things are, but it would be much easier to say otherwise.
Though.. in the same breath.. if Marcus ever fed Ethan himself then he would know, more or less, the truth. At least some of it. Distracted and messy as fledglings are. Perhaps drawn into a beautiful dream by his sire's venom.
Francis is very aware that some bloodlines possess the ability to hide things in their blood. Choose what stories are told.. it's an extraordinary power. His previous husband was gifted in that way along with many other (endlessly exhausting) talents.
That's...very true. Ethan never really thought about the how or why of it all. He just accepted what Marcus said as truth - he found Ethan, and saved him.
It makes him press his lips together in a thin line, tapping his new ring against his glass.
"You think he maybe knew my attacker?" Had Marcus actually been there for it?
He wets his lips, taking another long swig of his drink, nearly finishing it off.
"Yeah. It was...mutilated. Not even recognizable. We burned it."
"The correct thing to do. More?" Gesturing to the glass in the middle of his thought.
"I have a few, red wine, whiskey and.... margarita"
A knowledge of flavored blood. Imparted attributes.
He also wasn't expecting this conversation to happen tonight but it's a part of Ethan and they should be getting to know each other. And he must confess he has been terribly curious about Marcus.
The fact Francis knows about the flavors...well. It's kind of telling, but it's not that surprising. He seems...
Well.
Old. Not in a rude way, but in the tired, well traveled way someone can be without actually looking ancient.
"Whiskey." He knows where it comes from, it's unethical as fuck, but it's either do this or let vampires run wild and murder a bunch more people than are already the source.
"Back up a minute. Do you really think Marcus may have known who attacked me?"
Whiskey it is. And Francis answers as he gets up to retrieve the right package. Highly concentrated percentage. Supposedly delightful. He doesn't much care for it, himself.
Though he has.. perhaps eaten his fair share of humans.
"I think it's possible. As I said it seems an unlikely coincidence. It is possible he was present at the attack.. which went terribly wrong or was clumsy from the start.. So perhaps a fledgling. Perhaps a fledgling in his care. You weren't lured or dosed.. a compassionate vampire, as you know, relies on the the sweetness of their venom and has a willing meal."
He returns and opens the bottle, pouring it like he would wine before sniffing the the opening and taking a sip, himself. Mf. Yes. Very strong.
"But you were maimed by someone who didn't know or care what they were doing and left behind. And then he.. finds you? Takes pity? Takes you home and turns you? It seems.. guilty."
He washes the blood from his tongue with a sip of wine, refilling his own glass.
"And perhaps the person who attacked you felt.. slighted? Insulted? Perhaps their indiscretion saw them punished and they wanted revenge? People kill for less..."
In his unraveling the situation from an outside perspective Francis didn't stop to consider what the truth might mean for Ethen. If it is, indeed, the truth at all.
"I must confess I did not know him well enough to be able to answer that question. We were cordial but not close. A lie- and the shame- such as that would be a secret close to his chest."
Short answer, he doesn't know.
"There is wild magic in your kind as with all of us, but it is stronger in some than others. Bloodlines pass abilities down from sire to sire. Some are elemental in nature. Some are able to choose what they reveal in their blood. It is possible he had this ability. My late husband did."
"Cordial enough to broker a marriage," Ethan manages; he is not angry or sad, he's just..
Fuck, what is he even feeling, anymore? Perhaps he is both of those things interwoven together,; tendrils of sentiments interlocked in an inescapable cage - rage, frustration, realization, fury at his own stupidity and naivety.
He is not angry with Francis, though - how could he be? It isn't this mans fault, from what Ethan can tell, he is simply trying to assist - albeit in strange, roundabout, subtly argumentative ways.
"Late husband," he manages to acknowledge. "I'm sorry." Knowing he's the second...or third, or...whatever, because he doesn't know how this works, he doesn't know who or what he married, fucks sake he could have married a demon for all he's aware - it doesn't make him angry or jealous, just a little sad.
Cordial enough, indeed. But Francis doesn't really seem the type to have many close friends.
"Ah.. well."
Gotta give Ethan something, right? Even though it is such bad form to talk about previous relationships. On their wedding night of all fucking things, not that he's expecting this to end the way a normal one would.
"When I say late I also meant late and ex. It was all rather complicated. But thank you all the same."
Thought it might not even matter what he says because he isn't sure if Ethan takes it in. Not that he has to. He can tell the vampire is processing a million what ifs.
"Marcus," turning the conversation back, "came to me for help once. A friend of a friend of a friend. He needed knowledge which I possessed. He was funny. Earnest. But foolish. We kept in touch occasionally. What did he tell you about his sire?"
Ethan stares into his glass for a long while, wishing the little patterns swirling in the drink would evolve into something that would swallow him down and rescue him from this strange and awkward situation, but no such rescue appears.
Instead, he's still sat on the couch of a stranger on the oddest wedding night of his life, discussing how it's entirely probably the man he thought saved him was a goddamn liar.
"Not much. He didn't really bring it up too often, but I know he was old. Marcus, I mean. Old enough that he knew a lot of things historians don't. Helped with my horology sometimes, but it wasn't even remotely his specialty."
He takes a very, very long drink of his whiskey blood wine, clutching the glass a little tight. "Can I have more?"
But he's too nice to say that, and he pours himself another glass before getting up and moving to wander around the room, touching this or that, studying the books.
"Why me, do you think." It's a little sharp. "An accident?"
The tone of voice suggests that he has, indeed, upset his new husband.
Mm. Perhaps.. perhaps he shouldn't have said anything.
Francis considers the questions for a moment, watching Ethan as he explores. Which he is more than welcome to do. The room is full of interesting old curios.
He's unsure whether he should continue this conversation but..
"An accident," he repeats. "That he knew about. That he let happen, that someone he knew came along, nearly killed me, and then...what. Where'd they go? He kill them? Took me instead? A replacement good boy?"
He sets something down a little hard, and takes a sip to relax himself.
No, it isn't, but Francis doesn't take in personally. The scenario he's suggested is, on backwards glance, an enormous betrayal of everything Ethan knows.
"I could be wrong." He is on occasion. Sometimes. Rarely.
"It could very well be that he just happened to be in the right place at the right time."
Very convenient, though.
"It could be that he was tracing your assailant for some other reason and found you along the way."
It's just that the attack, leaving someone bleeding out like that, screams Fledgling Gone Wrong. Any vampire worth their salt knows to hunt and never kill. It's so messy and unnecessary, that's what the venom is for.
"I doubt it," he mutters in response to Francis. Yes, he could be wrong, but the more Ethan dwells on it, the more he doesn't think that's the case. It sounds exactly like what happened - like all the stories Marcus told him and fledglings gone wrong, about the loss of control. He'd driven the point home so, so many times to Ethan - and he'd listened. He'd listened, and he'd learned, and he'd worked so hard to not be a disappointment, to not lose control and hurt someone.
"Doesn't matter, I guess. It's over and done...I am what I am. That can't be changed." He takes a deep, deep breath. Dwelling and staying angry at his friend won't do anything now. All he can do is work with what he's currently got.
"No," Francis has to agree. There's no 'breaking the curse' as it were.
Because what he has become is no curse at all. It is simply wild magic.
"But what matters is what you choose to do with it. If it is any comfort you have become part of a noble ancestry. You aren't as doomed to the shadows as you may think."
He fills his wine glass again and sighs, trying to summon a spell of calm into the room. Pheromones blooming to comfort his new mate.
"You're still the same person you always were. You only lose your humanity if you choose to."
"Now you sound like Marcus," he says, a little wry as he relaxes under the gentle sway of the spell. "He said something similar a lot. Not nearly as eloquent as you, of course."
Marcus wasn't an elegant or particularly well educated man - not the way Francis seems to be, anyway. He was more streetsmart, reliant on hands on education as opposed to reading it in a book. He'd trained Ethan hard...probably too hard, but it ensured his (apparently replacement) fledgling didn't fuck up and kill innocent people on accident.
He holds a little trinket in his fingers, looking at it but not really seeing it. It hurts, to think that he was lied to, and it certainly feels like betrayal. But dwelling on it and letting anger consume him just..
It just sounds exhausting. Ethan has so much other shit going on around him - a new marriage, the club to run - he just doesn't have the spoons available to be pissed about it. All he can do is decide to forgive his dead sire, and more on.
"What do you mean by noble ancestry?" He chooses to focus on that as he sets the trinket down and wanders back to the table to refill his glass with drink.
"Some of the greatest men to have ever lived were born from the great serpent," he replies simply, watching Ethan come back.
"All the lore in books and movies.. it's utterly false. All this... vampires coming from tortured souls and curses- Bram Stoker was a religious zealot without any truth to his name. A terrible origin story when the truth is so beautiful. Where do you think your teeth come from? The venom? The mechanics of it?"
It is so very rare that he almost doesn't know what to do with it. Like he almost doesn't trust it.
But he wants to. And so he relishes the feeling.
"Vampires, but not as you know them, were originally shifters called Naga. Sanskrit, of course. They took half-human, half-cobra form— although they could shift shapes to fully take on one or the other."
For someone not of this race he seems well versed, but that is Francis' talent. He is well versed in many things of this nature. Which is sometimes too much to bear.
"It is said the Hindu god Brahma banished the Naga to their underground kingdom when they became too populous on Earth. More likely there was an altercation between Naga and Man but the records I have are vague and the only true account was destroyed in Alexandria."
He pauses to sip his wine, trying to gauge Ethan's reaction.
"Though quite a lot of Buddhist scriptures mention a Naga king by the name of Mucalinda, a Naga king who spread his great cobra hood to shelter the Buddha from a storm that arrived while the prophet was deep in meditation."
He's very different from your past, uh. Husband(s). And your kids. He's attentive, watching every move he makes, the way his lips move when he speaks, the intonation of his voice. It's fascinating and intoxicating.
"Wow. Really? This is...crazy." He's never heard of any of this before, never in his life. Shifting closer, Ethan takes a swig of his glass, then rests his chin on his hand.
"So you think a possible altercation ended up with...us?"
"Naga as a species had to evolve to survive. Humans are animals of the day as so they became nocturnal. Resources were difficult to share. And reproduction became difficult. But. As they say, life finds a way."
Did he just. Yes. Yes he did. Goes to show how much wine he's had.
But he speaks with total certainty.
"Wild magic is an incredible thing, Ethan. It can create an entire new species. Strong and clever. Hiding from humans right under their noses like many others. It is adapt or die."
Perhaps it is the similar ancestry that draws Francis to modern day vampires. Something of a glimpse of worlds gone by. And where the Naga changed to live, his own kind tried the cooperation route and failed. It leaves him a little bitter, but it is what it is. He, and all his kind, are fools.
"You may blame the Catholic church for your terrible reputation. Because of course any magic at all must be the work of the devil, they've seen to that. The truth is you are simply different. Born into your race through the new way."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Francis is thinking while Ethan speaks, trying to pick at the loose ends. Marcus was an interesting man but could also be quite simple in his own way.
"One wonders what he was doing in such close proximity to another vampire the night you were attacked. You tend to be quite solitary unless you're working in a family unit."
So perhaps they knew each other. Even if Marcus said otherwise. It seems unlikely to Francis that Marcus would just conveniently come across a mess like that. Certainly it is possible, as all things are, but it would be much easier to say otherwise.
Though.. in the same breath.. if Marcus ever fed Ethan himself then he would know, more or less, the truth. At least some of it. Distracted and messy as fledglings are. Perhaps drawn into a beautiful dream by his sire's venom.
Francis is very aware that some bloodlines possess the ability to hide things in their blood. Choose what stories are told.. it's an extraordinary power. His previous husband was gifted in that way along with many other (endlessly exhausting) talents.
"Did you ever find his body?"
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It makes him press his lips together in a thin line, tapping his new ring against his glass.
"You think he maybe knew my attacker?" Had Marcus actually been there for it?
He wets his lips, taking another long swig of his drink, nearly finishing it off.
"Yeah. It was...mutilated. Not even recognizable. We burned it."
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"I have a few, red wine, whiskey and.... margarita"
A knowledge of flavored blood. Imparted attributes.
He also wasn't expecting this conversation to happen tonight but it's a part of Ethan and they should be getting to know each other. And he must confess he has been terribly curious about Marcus.
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Well.
Old. Not in a rude way, but in the tired, well traveled way someone can be without actually looking ancient.
"Whiskey." He knows where it comes from, it's unethical as fuck, but it's either do this or let vampires run wild and murder a bunch more people than are already the source.
"Back up a minute. Do you really think Marcus may have known who attacked me?"
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Whiskey it is. And Francis answers as he gets up to retrieve the right package. Highly concentrated percentage. Supposedly delightful. He doesn't much care for it, himself.
Though he has.. perhaps eaten his fair share of humans.
"I think it's possible. As I said it seems an unlikely coincidence. It is possible he was present at the attack.. which went terribly wrong or was clumsy from the start.. So perhaps a fledgling. Perhaps a fledgling in his care. You weren't lured or dosed.. a compassionate vampire, as you know, relies on the the sweetness of their venom and has a willing meal."
He returns and opens the bottle, pouring it like he would wine before sniffing the the opening and taking a sip, himself. Mf. Yes. Very strong.
"But you were maimed by someone who didn't know or care what they were doing and left behind. And then he.. finds you? Takes pity? Takes you home and turns you? It seems.. guilty."
He washes the blood from his tongue with a sip of wine, refilling his own glass.
"And perhaps the person who attacked you felt.. slighted? Insulted? Perhaps their indiscretion saw them punished and they wanted revenge? People kill for less..."
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"What the fuck."
He takes the refilled glass blankly, his expression still aghast, though his jaw tightens a little.
"No...he wouldn't have lied. Would he?"
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In his unraveling the situation from an outside perspective Francis didn't stop to consider what the truth might mean for Ethen. If it is, indeed, the truth at all.
"I must confess I did not know him well enough to be able to answer that question. We were cordial but not close. A lie- and the shame- such as that would be a secret close to his chest."
Short answer, he doesn't know.
"There is wild magic in your kind as with all of us, but it is stronger in some than others. Bloodlines pass abilities down from sire to sire. Some are elemental in nature. Some are able to choose what they reveal in their blood. It is possible he had this ability. My late husband did."
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Fuck, what is he even feeling, anymore? Perhaps he is both of those things interwoven together,; tendrils of sentiments interlocked in an inescapable cage - rage, frustration, realization, fury at his own stupidity and naivety.
He is not angry with Francis, though - how could he be? It isn't this mans fault, from what Ethan can tell, he is simply trying to assist - albeit in strange, roundabout, subtly argumentative ways.
"Late husband," he manages to acknowledge. "I'm sorry." Knowing he's the second...or third, or...whatever, because he doesn't know how this works, he doesn't know who or what he married, fucks sake he could have married a demon for all he's aware - it doesn't make him angry or jealous, just a little sad.
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"Ah.. well."
Gotta give Ethan something, right? Even though it is such bad form to talk about previous relationships. On their wedding night of all fucking things, not that he's expecting this to end the way a normal one would.
"When I say late I also meant late and ex. It was all rather complicated. But thank you all the same."
Thought it might not even matter what he says because he isn't sure if Ethan takes it in. Not that he has to. He can tell the vampire is processing a million what ifs.
"Marcus," turning the conversation back, "came to me for help once. A friend of a friend of a friend. He needed knowledge which I possessed. He was funny. Earnest. But foolish. We kept in touch occasionally. What did he tell you about his sire?"
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Ethan stares into his glass for a long while, wishing the little patterns swirling in the drink would evolve into something that would swallow him down and rescue him from this strange and awkward situation, but no such rescue appears.
Instead, he's still sat on the couch of a stranger on the oddest wedding night of his life, discussing how it's entirely probably the man he thought saved him was a goddamn liar.
"Not much. He didn't really bring it up too often, but I know he was old. Marcus, I mean. Old enough that he knew a lot of things historians don't. Helped with my horology sometimes, but it wasn't even remotely his specialty."
He takes a very, very long drink of his whiskey blood wine, clutching the glass a little tight. "Can I have more?"
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"Forgive me, have I upset you?"
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Yes. Immensely.
But he's too nice to say that, and he pours himself another glass before getting up and moving to wander around the room, touching this or that, studying the books.
"Why me, do you think." It's a little sharp. "An accident?"
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Mm. Perhaps.. perhaps he shouldn't have said anything.
Francis considers the questions for a moment, watching Ethan as he explores. Which he is more than welcome to do. The room is full of interesting old curios.
He's unsure whether he should continue this conversation but..
"From the sound of it, yes."
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"An accident," he repeats. "That he knew about. That he let happen, that someone he knew came along, nearly killed me, and then...what. Where'd they go? He kill them? Took me instead? A replacement good boy?"
He sets something down a little hard, and takes a sip to relax himself.
"I'm sorry. It isn't your fault."
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"I could be wrong." He is on occasion. Sometimes. Rarely.
"It could very well be that he just happened to be in the right place at the right time."
Very convenient, though.
"It could be that he was tracing your assailant for some other reason and found you along the way."
It's just that the attack, leaving someone bleeding out like that, screams Fledgling Gone Wrong. Any vampire worth their salt knows to hunt and never kill. It's so messy and unnecessary, that's what the venom is for.
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"Doesn't matter, I guess. It's over and done...I am what I am. That can't be changed." He takes a deep, deep breath. Dwelling and staying angry at his friend won't do anything now. All he can do is work with what he's currently got.
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Because what he has become is no curse at all. It is simply wild magic.
"But what matters is what you choose to do with it. If it is any comfort you have become part of a noble ancestry. You aren't as doomed to the shadows as you may think."
He fills his wine glass again and sighs, trying to summon a spell of calm into the room. Pheromones blooming to comfort his new mate.
"You're still the same person you always were. You only lose your humanity if you choose to."
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Marcus wasn't an elegant or particularly well educated man - not the way Francis seems to be, anyway. He was more streetsmart, reliant on hands on education as opposed to reading it in a book. He'd trained Ethan hard...probably too hard, but it ensured his (apparently replacement) fledgling didn't fuck up and kill innocent people on accident.
He holds a little trinket in his fingers, looking at it but not really seeing it. It hurts, to think that he was lied to, and it certainly feels like betrayal. But dwelling on it and letting anger consume him just..
It just sounds exhausting. Ethan has so much other shit going on around him - a new marriage, the club to run - he just doesn't have the spoons available to be pissed about it. All he can do is decide to forgive his dead sire, and more on.
"What do you mean by noble ancestry?" He chooses to focus on that as he sets the trinket down and wanders back to the table to refill his glass with drink.
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"All the lore in books and movies.. it's utterly false. All this... vampires coming from tortured souls and curses- Bram Stoker was a religious zealot without any truth to his name. A terrible origin story when the truth is so beautiful. Where do you think your teeth come from? The venom? The mechanics of it?"
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That's new.
He sets the crystal decanter down, staring into the dark liquid before settling on the couch, glancing at the empty space next to him, a brow raised.
"I have no idea where any of it comes from. Just...that it exists."
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"Would you like to know?"
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He faces him properly, toeing his stupid fancy shoes off and drawing one leg up under him, glass in hand.
“Yeah. Tell me.”
Someone is listening to you for once, Francis. Isn’t that something.
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But he wants to. And so he relishes the feeling.
"Vampires, but not as you know them, were originally shifters called Naga. Sanskrit, of course. They took half-human, half-cobra form— although they could shift shapes to fully take on one or the other."
For someone not of this race he seems well versed, but that is Francis' talent. He is well versed in many things of this nature. Which is sometimes too much to bear.
"It is said the Hindu god Brahma banished the Naga to their underground kingdom when they became too populous on Earth. More likely there was an altercation between Naga and Man but the records I have are vague and the only true account was destroyed in Alexandria."
He pauses to sip his wine, trying to gauge Ethan's reaction.
"Though quite a lot of Buddhist scriptures mention a Naga king by the name of Mucalinda, a Naga king who spread his great cobra hood to shelter the Buddha from a storm that arrived while the prophet was deep in meditation."
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"Wow. Really? This is...crazy." He's never heard of any of this before, never in his life. Shifting closer, Ethan takes a swig of his glass, then rests his chin on his hand.
"So you think a possible altercation ended up with...us?"
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Did he just. Yes. Yes he did. Goes to show how much wine he's had.
But he speaks with total certainty.
"Wild magic is an incredible thing, Ethan. It can create an entire new species. Strong and clever. Hiding from humans right under their noses like many others. It is adapt or die."
Perhaps it is the similar ancestry that draws Francis to modern day vampires. Something of a glimpse of worlds gone by. And where the Naga changed to live, his own kind tried the cooperation route and failed. It leaves him a little bitter, but it is what it is. He, and all his kind, are fools.
"You may blame the Catholic church for your terrible reputation. Because of course any magic at all must be the work of the devil, they've seen to that. The truth is you are simply different. Born into your race through the new way."
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