In the Milliways Library

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

Artie's been in Milliways for a full month now and still has no solid lead on the damn vampire. It would help, he reflects, if the place had any semblance of organization. It was two weeks before he discovered the library, and he's still trying to make heads or tails out of the cataloging system or lack thereof. Some parts are well-organized; others are well-organized according to a completely different schema; but the majority of the books seem to be just thrown together willy-nilly. Not unlike the Warehouse, only more so.

(Speaking of which, Artie would give his left testicle to have this intact first-edition copy of the Spates Catalogue of Other-Worldely Denyzenns and Desygnationes back home. But given that the thing is an illuminated volume almost the size of the table it's sitting on, it'd be difficult to sneak out of the building.)

Comments

[vojvode]

"Excellent. I'm given to understand you've been researching me?"

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

"Nnnnot you specifically," Artie hedges. "I mean, how could I, I only just met you, I don't even know your name or where you come from or what kind of... entity... you are."

Although he can hazard a pretty damn good guess.

[vojvode]

The vampire cocks an eyebrow, a bemused smirk twisting his lips.

"Speculate."

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

Artie swallows.

"The literature on the subject is pretty wide-ranging, and contradicts itself a lot," he says slowly, "but given the abilities you've displayed here, and the reported activity over the past month or so... I'd guess you're a European vampire."

[vojvode]

The shadows in the room shift, and there is an exhalation, a gentle breath of air across Artie's face. The previously empty space at Artie's elbow is now occupied.

"Very good, Mister Weisfelt. Did they tell you my name?"

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

Artie just barely keeps from jumping out of his skin.

"What? They? They who? I don't--"

[vojvode]

Be still.

The vampire rests a hand on Artie's shoulder, heavy and cold.

"Your -- hunters."

He's not sure who they are, but there are always hunters, wherever he goes.

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

"I haven't been in contact with them."

There's no point in lying about it. He'd know.

[vojvode]

"Then I beg your forgiveness for my -- manners." He moves to face the little man, his hand rising to touch the brim of his hat.

"Vlad Tepesh."

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

Vlad Tepesh. Prince of Wallachia. Also known as Vlad the Impaler, inspiration for Bram Stoker's... fuck.

The realization, and the alarm that comes with it, are still buried under Vlad's supernaturally imposed calm. Artie's outward reaction is little more than widening eyes and a quiet, sharp intake of breath.

[vojvode]

"So you have heard of me, then?"

He sits back on one heel, clearly intrigued at the notion.

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

"I'd say there are very few people who haven't," says Artie quietly.

[vojvode]

"How interesting."

He eyes the chair opposite Artie, and moves take a seat. He stretches long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankle, his fingers steepled before him.

"Wild stories told by the Turk to scare little children, no doubt."

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

"Oh, you have no idea," says Artie with a faint chuckle. "You're the vampire in popular culture. People who wouldn't know Wallachia from Walla Walla have heard of you."

[vojvode]

He understands that this is a compliment, inherently. But...

"Walla. Walla?"

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

"It's a--town in Washington State," says Artie "You wouldn't have heard of it."

[vojvode]

"As some have not heard of Wallachia."

He interlaces his fingers, peering across the top of them.

"So Mister Harker's little epistolary work made it to the New World, then?"

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

"And then some."

[vojvode]

The vampire hums a little, dark amusement twisting the corner of his mouth.

"Like I said, lies. Told to scare little children."

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

"And the rash of exsanguinated patrons, is that the work of some other vampire?"

Hey, it could be. You never know.

[vojvode]

The Prince laughs, a low, gravelled sound.

"My dear Mr. Weisfelt, I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

"Yeah, I'll bet you don't," mutters Artie. "And stop calling me that. I haven't gone by that name since I was twenty-two and you damn well know it."

[vojvode]

"A high price to pay, but no doubt, you feel it was worth it." His voice is a sneer wrapped around a hint of grudging respect.

"Regardless -- Mister Nielsen -- your concerns are completely unfounded. Surely you don't think I would murder indiscriminately in the presence of so many -- powerful patrons?"

[doyousmellfudge_archive]

"Murder? Who said anything about murder? Nobody's been murdered." Yet. "But someone or something is leaving people with severe anemia, puncture wounds on their necks, and no memory of how either one came to pass. That might not be a vampire, but it sure as hell sounds like one, and if you're not responsible, Mister Tepesh, then maybe you could offer some assistance in finding out who is?"

[vojvode]

The Prince tilts his head a little, the corners of his mouth drawing down. One elegant hand rests on his chest.

"Are you accusing -- me of these petty crimes?"