“I wouldn’t know…”
About any war times, the trace of bitterness remained, but matched with a glimmer of a smirk some of the edge had been neutered. “I’ve only been alive thirty-five years.”
Which in itself was somewhat of a lie; alive for twenty-nine, the risen dead for nearly six. It also gave Alex more insight than he knew, how old he was in their
terms – potentially dangerous if half the population weren’t already aware that he was the latest fledgling of the mafia queen. As it was, there was no secret to his young years, and his mannerisms, his mood and struggles were testament enough on their own without his admission. “So I just remember a time where my only concern was whether the human was owned or not, not whether I was paying a fair price, or if they’d let me.”
After all, it wasn’t like Tigers waltzed up and sought permission to slaughter.“I didn’t mean to judge, it’s just different being on this side of the fence.”
Especially when one championed the release of the humans from their shackles only to find he preferred the relative comfort and ease of keeping them bound now that he needed to feast on them. “Takes some getting used to I guess."
Gabriel needed to shut the hell up, opening up to a vampire, one undoubtedly, obviously older than him given her wartime stories, and commenting on how he struggled with the life given to him, passing judgement even when he proclaimed otherwise.
He had used blood once or twice before in spell casting, by all means it was a powerful ingredient but those spells and practices were outlawed, the use of human or any beings blood strictly forbidden; it was animal blood he’d practiced with. There were tales of witchcraft steeped in blood, entire practices throughout time which favoured blood but they were etched in antique tomes he shouldn’t have had, but somehow had acquired through his store, the one he no longer owned. The books however, he still had those. “Stranger? I practically live here don’t I?”
He laughed, accepting the compliment quietly, eyeing the red head up for good measure to gage if it were simple conversation of a shrewd businesswoman charming patrons to part with more cash or something more. “You’re a vampire.”
He offered tongue firmly in cheek, agreeable and friendly generally weren’t their attributable traits. “I don’t know, maybe you’ve got a dungeon downstairs with humans strung and drained, beats me.”
He’d seen something similar in Italy, entire soirees dedicated to the hunt, the bloodletting and indulgence of the entire feast. He had attended on such party, one on the milder scale that simply offered open bloodletting of anything that wasn’t vampire on the provision it could walk away at the end, and he’d enjoyed it more than he’d care to admit. “I don’t understand a word of that.”
If he had the mind to recall, he’d probably try his hand at Italian, or even a random Latin word which would have evoked some will to levitate, no good it would do him; but he was beyond that little bit tipsy where his mind just wasn’t up for that level of strenuous activity of relative smarts and worldliness. “I know!”
Sharper than intended, his fingers twitching and near grabbing her hand to keep it there as nails trailed across his skin, the glance heated as he relinquished her and his glass. “It’s complicated.”
He offered, one of his usual remarks to describe or explain away something so simple that wasn’t. That his mind warred with who he was versus who he’d been and the ghosts at his back which always watched, always judged.
Don’t become one of them, not truly one of them. Drink blood, but don’t enjoy it. Never forget what you were before, forever mourn your loss. Hate it. “Italy.”
He raised his brow, as brief a sojourn as it was when he had an expanse of years ahead of him, when a good portion of that time had been spent on sea there and back fleeing the Resistances’ uprising. “I was born here.”
Which explained his haunted memories. “We only returned a few months ago, now that things have… settled.”
We, him, his sire, her group of misfits, Gabriel standing and pushing his chair out enough and lifted the corner of his shirt just enough to show the branding of the snake tattoo on his abdomen; everyone knew what the serpent meant – Calpulli, and its leader was his eternal mistress. “But that’s all, other than a few stops en route, it was never safe for witches to travel, the cost of protection more than we could ever afford unless you, I don’t know bound yourself to a vampire or fae with nomadic tendencies I suppose.”
He pulled his seat back in, roughly tucking the shirt back into place, at this hour it didn’t much matter. “And you? How long have you been here Miss France?”
The smirk tugging at his face, a slew of nicknames he’d probably call her now, none of them her actual name. @Jess