can a monster really change that much?

[faebysitting]

rook/lilia au where Vampires are a major problem, VtM style type shit with feral lost in the Sauce homies. iykyk

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a first meeting

[faebysitting]

The centuries had not been kind to creatures of the night such as him. The constant nagging desire to divulge in his bloodlust had, at one point, dragged him into the depths of depravity. However, that was not the type of person Lilia Vanrouge was anymore. There still came the obvious urges, the obvious desires, but he'd retired, so to speak, from the bloodthirsty mess he'd been when his ward first came to this world. It was a matter of over a hundred years before he'd come down completely from the intensity of it all, finally able to focus his attention on what mattered to him: helping Malleus adjust to this world, adjust to the idea of taking over the throne once his grandmother steps down. That was the plan, at least, until...

Only four years had passed since the day Lilia had gone into hiding. Vanished, from the sights of anyone aside from his visits to the Castle, as well as one Prince's visits out to his cottage in the middle of nowhere. The previously feared vampire was nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be found, aside from the occasional sightings within a few small villages, the occasional report of a suspicious death that could, possibly, be attributed to vampire activity. There were others in the world, other vampires who could kill as easily as him. That, perhaps, was the only saving grace, keeping him from being found out all too easily.

At least, that's what he expected.

Was it clumsy of him, to avoid wearing those silly large sunglasses on his last trip into town to retrieve necessary supplies? To, when someone mentioned that he looked familiar, be mysterious about it? Would these small slip ups be the end of him? Those thoughts, frankly, hadn't been on Lilia's mind. He figured the large hat was enough, the smile that he offered cheerful and calm. The way he paid for the goods and spoke fondly of a young child he was picking out a small stuffed animal for. All of it must have been enough, to keep the Hunters at bay.

Right?

It's a dark night - he can see the moon shining through one of the open windows, if he looks out, focuses his attention there. No, for now, he was focused on sitting with the small human boy he called his son. Their palms were pressed against each other--

"Oh, my! Look how big your hands are getting. By this time next year, will they be the same size as mine?" Lilia teases the small boy gently, before laughing quietly at the yawn the child tries to hide. Dropping their hands, Lilia pulls him closer in his lap, hand resting against his back as the small boy presses his cheek against him, to rest.

One of the man's pointed ears twitch, as he hears a sound - feels something, approaching. But from where? Had he left the front door unlocked again by accident? Was Malleus here for a surprise visit? No, it felt different, sounded different... Gritting his teeth, Lilia lifts his head, trying to spot what it was, what he felt, what he heard. His hand instinctively rises further on the child, resting against his head as if to protect him.

Re: a first meeting

[beauman]

The Hunts are are a clan that may even be nearly as ancient as the Thorn Fairy's reign, or the Titans' imprisonment. Though the lands they call home may change, their mission has always remained the same: to cull those monsters and direbeasts which couldn't safely coexist with the world. The Shrouds may study those who have sunk too far into Blot to ever return, praying for a solution, for salvation--but the Hunts have no such hope. Their problem is not one that could ever be solved once and for all by a miracle.

Their ruthlessness is their mercy, their gift to the world. For every irredeemable abomination they strike down, the rest of the world can live in peace--and the rest of their kinds can rest assured that they won't be so feared as they otherwise would be. Even if people don't know of their clan, they still know that they are protected, that watchful eyes look kindly over them from the shadows. People talk, spread rumors, share their fears and their knowledge, all the while knowing that those whispers might just reach the right ears.

Tonight, those whispers had carried him here, wrapped in silence and darkness, bathed in a fury so still and cold and pure that it almost feels as though he's floating outside of himself. There is no space for fear in his heart, not when facing such great and terrible quarry. If he doesn't strike now that he's managed to track the creature right to his current lair, then there's no telling how long it will be before he resurfaces. How many more innocent lives will be lost, if he fails and falls here?

He must be the calm eye of the storm. One way or another, he will finish this. Retreat is not an option--only victory, or an honorable death in battle, giving his life struggling against this monstrosity just as his grandfather had.

The lock gives way as easily as though it's been waiting for this day as long as he has. Rook stalks down the hall, bow already drawn and silver-tipped arrows nocked, peering around the corner into the warmly lit living room. Whatever it is in the vampire's lap, it's not tall enough to obscure his chest. One or two arrows, buried straight into his heart, might just be enough--or at least, might be enough to weaken him, to ensure that he can finish the job even if his quarry tries to flee. He has a direct line of sight to his target--and though he seems alert, he hasn't pinpointed the danger yet. There's enough time to take such a carefully lined up shot. All he has to do is release his bow string. All he has to do is fire.

Just release the arrow, as easily as releasing the breath he's holding. This nightmarish creature's reign of blood and terror can finally be over. His grandfather can finally rest in peace. It's all in his hands.

So..... why is he hesitating? Why are his hands starting to shake, realizing that the thing the vampire is holding is a child? How had he gotten his hands on a human baby? Why had he spirited such an innocent soul away with him? Who was mourning the loss of their baby, if anyone had even survived the assault? Why doesn't he do his job, and save the child before it suffers the same dark and gruesome fate as so many before it?

Why..... why isn't the child crying?

[faebysitting]

There. The scent of silver burns his nostrils. A weapon prepared to hurt any fae being, whether descended from bloodsuckers, the Thorn Fairy herself, or something of a more draconic bloodline. That knowledge hits far before he can spot whomever had decided he would be a worthy prey to hunt, before he can catch a glimpse of the man who would seek to pierce his flesh with such a terribly cruel weapon. How could he call himself such a powerful beast, a hunter in his own right, if he was unable to pinpoint right where this man stood, aiming at him with a scary precision.

Had this sweet boy not been in his lap, Lilia is sure he'd barely have enough time to even think to dodge, or to use his magic to get away. As it was, he couldn't allow the danger to present itself so closely to his son.

One beat of a heart. Tucking the blanket they shared around the boy with a precision not unlike that used to press his pointed nails against the skin of one's face, to wrench their head to the side, to allow his teeth to sink into a soft spot of their neck. The precision of a monster. A second beat of a heart. The monstrosity stands, still holding that boy in his arms, but quickly turning to set him down upon the couch, with a gentleness that rivaled even the greatest of parents. A third beat of a heart. "Hold the blanket above your head, my little love." The simplest explanation he could provide to the boy - to his little love - in the time he had.

The Hunter's hesitation would be his fall.

Or, it would be, had Lilia still been willing to kill to protect his home, as a first choice. Make no mistake - he was prepared, able, if the need should arise. His preference, on the other hand...

The vampire vanishes from sight, only to appear again. Too close, those crimson eyes emotionless as they stare up at the Hunter. Without providing him the time to process the movement, Lilia's hand comes to grasp his neck, sharp nails digging in to sensitive skin, as he shoves the man against the nearest wall, with a strength that shouldn't be surprising for a monster of his standing, but perhaps of his height, of his build?

That cold gaze is firm upon the Hunter, even as Lilia gets a good look at his face. Even as his brows furrow, a momentary flicker of recognition, soon replaced by confusion. His mind runs a mile a minute, trying to decipher why this man looked so family, why his body language was so similar to something he knew, deep in his heart. It doesn't click. The memory has been lost for the moment, in the desire to do nothing more than to protect his son. His own life doesn't matter in this time. What did matter--

"If you're to attempt to kill me,"
That sharp voice, words spoken lowly such that he could avoid that small child overhearing, "Must you do it here? In front of him?"

The hand not pressing so harshly against his throat grasps the man's wrist, the one he used to grasp his bow so firmly, pressing it against the wall. The pose isn't one where he's prepared to strike. Quite the opposite: a defense, against any move that this Hunter may try to make.

"I'd thought Hunters had more tact than that. Enough to avoid killing a father in front of his child. You were so ready, though, were you not...? Ready to pierce my heart, to cover him with my blood. Have you no heart? Do you even know what that would do to a child his age?" The rage he spoke with stems only from the desire to protect that child, the one he claims as his own. His words are scolding, as if he himself were this Hunter's mentor, looking to offer words of advice. The anger fades some, with his next words, after a brief glance over his shoulder towards the boy who, despite his gentle command, was staring over with wide eyes, unsure of what he was witnessing.

The vampire takes in a sharp breath, before offering the Hunter a slight smile.
"If I let you go, you now know of my 'lair', our home. You won't stop, will you... I should kill you, of course, that's the natural solution," Sharp nails dig in harder, harsher, against his wrist and neck, still refusing to pierce his skin, to draw blood, for that may drive him to do something he'd regret, "But what sort of father would I be to allow such a terrible sight to grace his innocent eyes? No, no...."

"Hmm...." A thoughtful look crosses his face, "We could make this a game. We'd have to set some ground rules." How casual, for someone so ready to kill. At last, he falls quiet, waiting for the Hunter to say something for himself.