Virgil Solomon's Story

Virgil’s smile seemed only to gain its peculiar stolen kind of brilliance in greater measure at the question. An angel, was it? He’d been called many things, some of them even complimentary, but in a thousand years, that one was distinctly-new. Not because it had never been thought—he doubted very much that, given his particular stature and coloration, no one had ever made the connection—but certainly, he’d never had it said to his face before. How perfectly, delightfully frank. Ephraim was like that, but he never thought or said nice things. His brother was also protected from the dangers of being so painfully honest in a way that this girl most decidedly was not. However had she survived in the world?

“I’m afraid not,” he replied with some subtle mirth. It tinged the edges of the statement only barely, while the rest of it had a feigned melancholy to it. The words were meant to be ambiguous in their underpinnings, and so they were. Only he’d bother to tell the truth in such an unclear manner. From his sleeve, he withdrew a hand, and it traveled upwards, his first two fingers alighting on his lips as though contemplatively. What he was thinking about was in no way obvious, however.

The unnecessary apology, he’d ignored, much more interested in the fact that what he’d intended to convey with his words had gone right over the girl’s head. It took a particular kind of mind to genuinely take his statement to be about the scenery—either she was more than a bit slow or very, very naïve. The first would have interested him not at all. The second, well… that was another matter entirely, wasn’t it? What did one do with someone who seemed unable to see the world as it was? It was a bit like examining something under a microscope, or in a glass cage, contemplating what experiment should be conducted for the furthering of his ends. Perhaps she was fortunate that he didn’t see much point in ruining her rose-colored perceptions at this point—a cynic could show him nothing he did no already know. An innocent, though… he did not often encounter one of those.

With a quick glance down at the presented hand, Virgil extended his own, but not to shake it. Oh, certainly not—in the time he considered most his own, manners demanded something very different, and he did relish in the unexpected. Closing his fingers gently over her palm and his thumb across the top of her hand, he crossed his free hand over his chest and bowed over the hand, giving her knuckles the faintest calculated brush with his lips. It was quite the olfactory rush, and his keen ears could hear the thrum of the pulse at her wrist, but his face did not betray that, not in the slightest. Indeed, his expression was still innocence and light when he unbowed himself, releasing her hand slowly. “A pleasure, Miss Hollins. Virgil Solomon, at your mercy. I am familiar with your delightful establishment, though I daresay my last visit may well have been different were you present.” Perhaps, perhaps not. It had been quite fun as it was, especially watching Morgan squirm as he had. The poor lad—he was just too easy.

And Virgil, alas, had no mercy to speak of.

The girl sneezed, and Virgil cocked his head somewhat to the side, taking a moment to gauge the temperature. Ah, yes, it was slightly below a certain comfortable threshold for humans, wasn’t it? The vampire shrugged, but it was not an indifferent gesture. Rather, it dislodged the outer layer of his ensemble from his shoulders, and he caught it in one of his hands. It left him in only the yukata proper, but of course, cold was little obstacle to him. If the idea was to win over the populace, well, he’d be the first to admit that he wasn’t terribly concerned about it. But he knew well enough the benefits of having people believe the best of you, and it was with this in mind that he settled the wide-sleeved garment over the young woman’s shoulders. “I would be a poor kind of man indeed if I allowed that, now wouldn’t I?” he mused, entirely rhetorically. “I do believe I bypassed a purveyor of hot beverages on my way here; would you care to partake?”

Evading the squad sent by the Court had not been easy, but she’d done it. It had been Lenore’s turn to throw off the pursuit of her coven this time, and it was a duty which she took very seriously, using decoy vials of the members’ blood to create a false trail, manufacturing paperwork and airline tickets, and so on. The goal wasn’t to make the Court’s agents think anything in particular, only to obscure the truth with alternative possibilities. They would be found eventually—they were always found. What mattered was that it wasn’t so soon that they would have no time to recover. Perhaps this time, they would even be able to settle for a few decades or so. It was unwise to remain in one area for more than ten or fifteen years, because eventually it became impossible to hide that they were not aging, but lately, the Court had been finding them even sooner than that.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t handle a truly nomadic life, only that it was hardly a life at all. Sometimes, she did not understand why Ephraim did not simply choose to stand and fight them—it was well within their capabilities to do so. The Court would have to mobilize more of its resources than it should be wiling to risk to pose a threat to the twins, and even then… it was hard to say what the result would be. That was probably why he never pushed it; he had no interest in knowing, not when it could get one of the others killed.

He was really quite a bit kinder than he generally gave himself credit for. Lenore released a breath, straightening her shirt absently. She wasn’t exactly in formal festival attire, or at least not compared to some of those humans she’d seen so far, but the jeans, leather jacket, and red shirt were not inappropriate for the setting, either, so it would do. She needed to find Ephraim and Virgil eventually, and make her report, but right now, she would be quite contented if she could simply see any of them. It had been a good two months since they’d parted ways, and she found no shame in admitting that she’d missed them.

The town was still wholly unfamiliar to her, so Lenore simply wandered, picking up occasionally the scent of this or that Coven member—Ari and Morgan seemed to be the closest, but so was a peculiar human scent, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to interfere with… whatever was going on. She couldn’t tell from just the smells alone. Ephraim was further off, but she tracked him anyway, because Virgil and Arya were further still. The tall woman wound her way through the crowd with a sort of easy grace that she’d had even as a human, but refined simply by observing Virgil—he could touch everyone or nobody in a crowd as he moved past, depending on what he wanted, though she erred always on the side of decorum, slipping past those who stood or strolled with the ease of a fish in a river. What on earth was Ephraim doing around so many people? He hated people, generally speaking. There was another strange human-smell around as well, and she caught sight of his retreating back over the heads of the crowd, a human woman walking in parallel.

An intended victim, perhaps? It was most unlike him to select one from a crowded place such as this—Ephraim preferred a bit more of a physical challenge when possible, and tended to go after hunters or those hiking, making their injuries easily ascribable to accidents. This was not his method, so she was left to conclude that perhaps he was here for another reason. Blinking, she shook her head and decided to leave that alone for now. He would doubtless have detected her presence by now, and she would leave him to make his own decisions about what to do about that.

Turning instead to a vendor, she ordered a cup of tea, scrunching her nose faintly when what she received was a teabag in hot water, but she would drink it all the same. Waste was not something she liked, however inconsequential the matter. Wrapping her hands about the paper cup it came in, Lenore picked a spot against the side of one of the stalls and leaned comfortably, embracing the opportunity for a small respite. Like any of her kind would, she gained substantial attention for her mere presence, but she was used to ignoring such things by this point. Humans were naturally curious, and their aesthetics were generally similar—vampires had adapted to that. This fact was neither here nor there, really. She was a little curious herself, honestly, particularly about these odd scents she was picking up. The woman with Ephraim had one, as did someone—a male, she thought—near Ari and Morgan. Virgil was at least in the vicinity of another, probably much more overt about his interest in such a smell than she would ever be, and there was yet one more, wandering seemingly without aim through the shifting mass of the crowd somewhere nearby.

How very peculiar.

Virgil had decided that he liked the sound of her voice—it had something faintly musical about it, none of that high-pitched, whining nonsense that came out of some people he’d met. An unfortunately-high proportion, if he were to think about it any more than he already had—but he wouldn’t. He was having far too much fun to spend much extra time considering things that didn’t merit his attention anyway. The girl had decided to use his first name, and had of course naturally requested that he eschew the formality in her case as well. Such were the common manners of the day, of course.

He was well-aware that he came across as a bit… archaic, but that was simply one more part of the persona he’d assumed. It certainly wasn’t the only one he had; Virgil wore faces like other men wore shirts: for exactly as long as it was convenient and comfortable to do so, after which point he would shed them for new ones that better suited his designs. This one was as close to what he’d used to be as he ever got anymore, and that was because only a minimum of acting was really necessary around the members of his dysfunctional little “family.” Even humans didn’t require guises particularly exotic—it was enough for him to lay on the manners and the charm, and that was as he preferred things.

She really was a little darling, wasn’t she? Precious, in all honesty, and such an unusual thing, with the light pink tinge to her face and the completely oblivious earnestness to her words. He could have easily given things a very different tone by turning on the various and sundry interpretations of service and ‘good times,’ but it would rather defeat his purpose. He wasn’t a vulgar man unless he had to be. There was a line between this and sensuality that was to be walked, and he spent most of his life balancing on the wire suspended between them. More fun to be had that way.

“I assure you, Calleigh, I will be quite fine,” Her concern for his condition was amusing in its own right, given how little he had cause to notice the temperature around him, but of course, he did not expand the explanation to its full breadth. There was something to be said for having secrets, and simply refusing to invite questions in the first place.

As for his speech patterns… well, there was a reason he chose to use them when he could very well use more modern parlance. There was a certain elegance missing from the recent couple of centuries, and Virgil considered this a genuine and disturbing loss. He felt no particular compulsion to be forced into a certain kind of behavior by the temporal situation, and so while he blended from time to time, he did allow himself certain liberties. It also had the occasional benefit of appreciation, as now. He softened his expression slightly, she cheer in his smile melting into something with a more tender aspect to it, and he sighed slightly under his breath, barely audible. “Well, that is one way of taking it, I suppose.” His tone suggested that he was a bit flattered, and he looked from her extended hand to her face with a slight furrow to his brow, as though contemplative.

“I’d not like to presume…” he started, but then the smile returned, a small thing, with just the faintest edge of slyness, and he took her hand with the wrong one of his; instead of holding it directly, he used his gentle grip on her fingers to thread her arm through his own, another old-fashioned gesture not used nearly often enough. Her palm, he placed on his forearm, reducing the distance between them to a bit less than half a foot. “But that should be much warmer, should it not? The least I can do is act as I sound, I believe. I’d hate to disappoint you, after all.” And indeed, though the manner of dress was all wrong, they did look rather like something from another century at the moment, considering. It was thus that they set off for the nearest of many beverage stands in the area.

“So, Calleigh, if you do not mind my asking, how did you come to be in this rather charming town?”

This human was rather peculiar, she thought. She has interacted with many of them, both before and after her changing, and perhaps it said more about her than him that she had not often encountered any who would demonstrate this level of concern over what happened to a stranger, especially considering how minor the injury really was. Still, it was not as though she could offer her guarantee that no mark would be left, for if she were indeed what she pretended to be, it may. So she canted her head slightly to the side, amused beneath her gentle expression to be on the receiving end of such ministration. She’d been a doctor, and now she was something else, a healer of a more supernatural kind, and as such, she’d always treated herself. Even in her distant childhood, she’d been the caretaker of her siblings, all eleven of them, so this was almost surreal in its strangeness.

It had at least given her a sense of how to be a good patient, and so she did not shift or stir uncomfortably as the handkerchief was applied to her burn, and accepted the compliment with grace. “My thanks—it is kind of you.” She allowed her meaning to remain ambiguous between the comment itself and the general nature of his present action, as in truth she referred to both. Lenore felt a vague sense of bewilderment, but took care not to let it cross her face. Occasionally, people still surprised her, even after this many years. It was not wholly unpleasant, but she would never grow to expect it, by any means.

Regardless, she was a woman who paid her debts, a trait engrained in her by some combination of disposition and following Ephraim Solomon around for more than a century, so she made note of this one. She would find a way to repay it—while it was true that it was only a small thing, that was not necessarily obvious, and did not count against a certain reciprocal obligation. Small things could be quite important, as well.

A feminine voice broke into the scene, so to speak, and she was reminded quite sharply that the world still moved at the same pace around them. How curious. Judging by the fact that this human responded without hesitation to the name, it would logically be his. Liam, then. She would not forget it until she could find some suitable form of recompense for this kindness. What would happen to it after that was not her concern—they were all too nomadic, and human lives too transient, to allow for any other attitude. She did not know the third person to whom they referred, and it was hard to smell anything else at all when Liam was in such close proximity, but now that she was actually paying attention, she realized that the situation at hand may not be so far beyond her as she’d initially supposed.

She managed a half-smile at his apology, and shook her head faintly. Her mind was half-elsewhere, but that did not stop her from replying. “Think nothing of it,” she replied mildly, inclining her head in response to the offer. It was at least a clue about how to go about paying this debt, and she lifted her uninjured hand in reply to the silent farewell. If she noted the fact that the other woman was apparently less-than-pleased with her presence, she gracefully ignored it. Was it a function of the brevity of human lifespans that they were so quick to jump to conclusions? If so, there was nothing she could do about it, and she refused to correct every misunderstanding or explain every action she took. People would think what they wished to think anyway.

She waited a few moments before striking off in another direction, sensing that perhaps Virgil would be better-equipped to smooth over what might be a very uncomfortable situation than Ephraim would—and she simply lacked the authority. Ari and Morgan had no particular incentive to listen to her, assuming she would even know what to do in the first place.

Virgil swept into the kitchen in his usual fashion, but his serially-unimpressed brother mostly ignored him for a little while. He’d been out of the country again—Ephraim could smell the faint trace of French wine still on him. It helped that he was carrying two bottles of it, which he packed away in one of the cupboards. When one was Virgil, one did not bother purchasing imports. One went right to the source. Turning another page of his paper, Ephraim pulled a pen from a pocket and started in on the crossword. “How was Paris?” asked in his usual monotone, still not glancing up from what he was doing.

Virgil was used to it, and took one of the other seats at the table, crossing one of his legs over the other and toying idly with the ends of his hair. A secretive little smile played at the edges of his mouth. “As I expected to find it,” he replied, a hint of playful wistfulness suffusing the answer. Ephraim grunted something unintelligible in response, because it was a nonanswer, and they both knew it. Honestly. Sometimes, Virgil wondered if they’d have any reason to talk to each other at all were they not brothers and mutually involved in this little coven endeavor. Well… he might. He tended to enjoy prodding people who resolutely did not like him. It was a habit he may have encouraged too much in Morgan as well, though the boy had always been like that to an extent.

“It’s not as if much ever changes, Ephraim,” he said knowingly. “They have no plans to leave us alone. They never have, and they never will. What we are scares them, and rightfully so. It should.” There was a rare chill in Virgil’s tone when he said it, and from the way his eyes narrowed, it might not have been so hard to tell that they were twins, after all. But he blinked, and sat back a little further, throwing one arm carelessly over the back of the chair, and the resemblance was gone. “Where have the others gone off to, anyway?” He had a feeling he already knew.

“Arianrhod has taken it upon herself to apologize to the human for her conduct. Lenore has gone to escort her. Morgan is probably prowling around the same place, and you know as well as I do that Arya is rarely far from him.” He sounded bored with the recounting, but Virgil knew better.

“It bothers you, that they’re magnetized to those humans.” If possible, his brother’s scowl deepened. “And of course, you’re hardly an exception, are you, dear Ephraim. It’s been, what, centuries since you spent an evening in a woman’s company… well, family excepted, of course.” The tightening of Ephraim’s jaw was the clue that he’d gotten the reaction he wanted.

“You’re testing my patience, Virgil. I’m not like you, and neither of us lacks control the way Morgan does. We’re also not going to do something as stupid as Ari did.” There was little point in trying to convince his brother that it wasn’t as he was implying, because Virgil was always going to be like that, and what he said an what he believed could never be relied upon to be the same anyway. The sound of tenor laughter faded from the kitchen as his brother departed, but somehow, not even that made him feel any better about this. Because he was wary, just not for the reason Virgil had implied.