Chapter Text
"Goldsmith."
Blinking unnecessarily, the aforementioned man tilts his head toward the person addressing him. The other is an older gentleman, well-dressed with a rather... annoying expression on his face: arrogance. Not that he is one to call the kettle black. Dressed in a finely-tailored outfit, he doesn't bristle at the clear quality difference between their clothes. He denies being jealous yet wouldn't be opposed to being vain for once. For old times sake at the very least.
"Goldsmith." The other repeats, an edge in his voice that claws at the base of his neck.
It certainly does the trick, forcing him to keep his full attention on the man in front of him. While he may be getting up there in years, this man wasn't one to be trifled with. He's been a witness, unfortunate or not, to many a incidents with this man coming out on top unscathed.
"Lord Thornvale—" The title is like ash on his tongue. "—To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?"
The man's irritations fades behind a perfectly sculpted mask of pleasantry. One that, had he been any less observant, could've fooled him. If not for the burning edge in his eyes and intention to stake him if he stepped out of line—not as if that would work. Truly, though, it was odd to see the man out in this district, what with him mainly operating out of Blackwyn: a months ride from Mirfield. Especially one of his status.
Thankfully, it would seem he would be getting his answer promptly. "Your... expertise is being requested for a particular assignment."
When the Lord doesn't continue, he cuts in. "What type of assignment?"
The look in the manor Lord's eyes does little to settle the thrumming, weak thing in the base of his stomach. Centuries prior, had he known where he would end up, he might have found a way to end his miserable existence earlier. Maybe then, he wouldn't be feeling something as weak as fear. Then, he wouldn't have to lower himself to a humane level—into the role of a weapon, a mere tool to be used and thrown away when no longer useful, only to remember it was there in the first place—and freely kill those who wronged him.
"The Sloanes expect you to be on your best performance—" He starts, instead of explaining his job. It rips a pit through his gut, tearing and slicing indiscriminately. "—and you will be working with one of mine."
Now that was interesting. He ignored the knowledge of his... handlers expecting him to perform well. Focusing on them gave them a power they loved lording over him. Him, an elder vampire chained under their command, told when to sit and fetch. However, rarely did he get a partner in any of his assignments. He's long past the supervisory stage. So why did he have a partner this time? He doubted it was another vampire—they always connected the signs he didn't see a reason to hide. But the surprising part was it being one of Thornvale's agents. Continuing his faux pleasantry, Lord Thornvale continues, "I urge you to be ready come morning." He doesn't need to say what would happen should he dally.
Abolish Veylocke in one word is... dull. He carries himself in an assured manner, definitely looking the part in his freshly pressed suit were it not for the expression on his face. Annoyance clings to him like a second skin so persistently that he has trouble keeping his amusement in check. To say the other man didn't like their assignment would be an understatement. Not that he likes it very much either. The only plus to this would be the newly acquired outfit sitting snugly on his body.
It feels like he was finally home in his own skin, silk gently carressing him while simultaneously protecting his skin from the sun better than the rags the Sloanes dare give him. He was actually able to pick his own clothes this time, Lord Thornvale graciously gifting him finely tailored pieces that almost reminded him of his old tailor. Yet, nothing would be as good as that man, not when he made sure to slaughter his whole generation including his students. It even came with a lovely parasol that matched his outfits. One he distinctly knew clawed at Lord Thornvale's patience, making it all the more entertaining. He will enjoy it while it lasts.
They depart from the horse-drawn carriage swiftly, encumbered by two handheld suitcases. Abolish's annoyance is clearer here, seeing as he was the one lugging the old things along. He didn't feel an ounce of sympathy for the man—hard to when he was a member of the group trapping him in servitude. He was still particularly incensed at the role he was meant to play. Not that he could truly complain about it when he was allowed to wear clothes similar to what he was used to. The last time he had the ability to do so was fifty or so years prior when he had to infiltrate a ball aimed at his refined palate. That might've been the most fun he had in the past two centuries. He can still taste that handsome man's blood on his tongue. It was worth the time spent in isolation.
Who can blame him, though? He was meant to blend in, dispatch the vampire gorging a little too much and leave. He would've had to kill that poor man anyways, what with him being trapped between two vampires. AND it was easier to put the woman to ease when he shared a drink with her—loathe as he was to do it. He didn't like sharing. Especially when he was, and still is, surviving off of garlic, holy water fed blood that aches as it goes down.
He stops Abolish from opening his mouth, hearing him intake a particularly loud breath that could only signify speech, plastering a disgustingly pathetic sympathetic and worried expression on his face. "Are you—" He fakes a convincing cough, breathing a little labored. "—Are you sure you don't need help?"
The man looks astonished for a few moments—a few moments too long—before snapping into his role clumsily. "No, Lord Goldsmith," He says firmly, almost in a scolding manner that would've earned the end of his life satisfyingly had he still been in power. "I don't know why you insisted on making this journey. Your health—"
He cuts in, puffing his cheeks in a manner unbefitting his station. A pout, and a deep one too. "I told you to call me Scott, Abolish," he sounds perfectly childish, naïve, and startles comically when a deer wanders onto the path.
Abolish sighs deeply, as if this conversation has been repeated too many times for his liking. His gaze, though, is locked on the deer, grip tight on the suitcases. Almost as if he was truly startled from the harmless animal. It stares for a second or so longer, before trotting off the path. The human with him almost seems unnerved, which makes relative sense. Animals are usually repulsed by vampires. Yet, he's truly an exception with his current diet. They can't sense the predator when it's weakened by holy water and garlic—with scripture keeping him contained.
"It's inappropriate for my station, my Lord." Abolish says almost nervously, gaze averting to the tree line.
Scott coughs a few more times, daintily dabbing a handkerchief at the corner of his mouth before swiftly tucking it into his breast pocket. He adjusts his hold on the parasol, opening his mouth to speak, only to squeak when someone comes stumbling out of the underbrush onto the path. Keeping his act perfectly together, he edges behind Abolish, staring with a wary air at the man draped in a white coat.
The man is relatively tall, with a buzzcut and a noticeable scar cutting across his face. Green eyes lock with nervous red before flicking to focus on Abolish. His grave, intimidating expression—had he been a weak-willed human as he was playing—softens into something resembling amicability. He even appears somewhat apologetic, straightening his coat in a manner that bellies his nerves. They knew people were frequenting this place recently, but anticipating encountering someone so quick wasn't in their plan. Had Scott not been a vampire, he wouldn't have known to slip into his act so quickly.
"Ah—hello." The mans says awkwardly, moving from adjusting his coat to doing so with the singular eye-glass secured to his face. "I apologize if I startled either of you."
Drawing his hands close to his chest, he inches closer to his "valet." He rapidly glances between the stranger and the one he feels comfort in. How sickeningly sweet. Scott allows his breathing to grow a little strained, what one would expect from someone as ill as him when their heartrate is too high. He even inches closer to Abolish to sell the act, just to make his wariness clearer.
Before Abolish could talk, not as if he would before his Lord, unless given the go ahead. He knew his etiquette and it amused him greatly. "Are you—" He clears his throat, knowing his voice sounds almost painfully hoarse, "—a Doctor?"
He doesn't really need to try to feign fear with the man's appearance—the white coat reminding him greatly of isolation and punishments—no matter how much he would deny that fact. Scott takes great satisfaction in the way the man appears anguished at his clear terror at the man's presence. To add to the act, his gloved fingers tremble as his free hand clutches his valet's sleeve. Pleasure curls in his gut the way Abolish tenses under his touch. Looks like he struck a painful chord for the white-robed man.
The man nods and he wishes he could kill him then and there, maybe drain him of his unpolluted blood before Abolish can stop him, but he stops himself expertly. He was a professional, even if he didn't want to be. Even if he wanted to be released from his shackles and make those who wronged him pay. "Yes... I am. I'm Dr. Legundo.. It's a pleasure to meet you...?"
Scott minutely startles, almost as if he realized it was common curtesy to introduce himself. "Ah— well— it's nice to meet you Doctor—" He says as if he isn't trembling minutely, "I'm Scott Goldsmith, Lord of this land." He adds a disarming smile after that, which looks terribly wobbly on his face.
Without touching on the man's brief flash of disgust, he gestures to the man he is currently clinging to. "Thi—" He coughs a few times, tucking closer to the man.
Abolish picks up the introduction, gaze sharp as the man's disgust dissipates into some semblance of worry. How contrasting. "I'm his valet, Abolish. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Rudely, he pushes past any continued conversation, cutting the Doctor off. "Now, if you could excuse us, I'd rather get this excursion over and done with."
They begin walking, Scott stumbling behind briefly before adjusting his posture to appear properly put together. Something he is actively failing with the slight shuffling he was doing and the wheezy breaths escaping his mouth. Passing the put-off man, Scott stays as far as he can from the man out of a sense of restraint he hates exhibiting. Before they can fully leave the man, he scrambles to catch up with them, following a few paces behind.
"Wait— if you don't mind me asking—" Abolish snaps a harsh stare at the man, picking up on the obvious for the character his Lord was playing. It doesn't dissuade the coat-wearing man. "Are you alright sir?" He stiffens, hiding further underneath his parasol. "I can help you if yo—"
"Lord Goldsmith needs no help from your ilk—" Wow, that's certainly selling it. "—We would appreciate it if you stop bothering us on this matter."
"I apologize, but—"
And on it went. The man was pretty persistent. During their walk, he tried to convince Scott that all he wanted to do was a brief check-up. Something that they couldn't allow him to do both as he wouldn't find a warm, living human to operate on and due to their act clearly delineating him as a threat and not one meant to heal. You'd think he'd get the message or at least back off if it was clear someone had unresolved trauma with medical professionals. Just thinking of the man touching him sent shivers down his spine.
They eventually left the woods, finding themselves in an area clear of harsh vegetation. Scott couldn't recognize any of this, which sent an odd shock of grief through his system. Something he quickly berates himself for. There was no reason to get so emotional over a town that didn't care for him and a coven that died after he got sealed. He didn't care that the land he cultivated and cared for looked unfamiliar and foreign. He didn't.
In the distance, at the end of the path, he could clearly see dilapidated, rotting wooden walls housing equally run-down buildings. Not that he should be able to. So, he cuts off the Doctor's next attempt at trying to convince him to get a check-up by asking: "Abolish, is that it?"
The man briefly pauses, continuing his assured, purposefully slowed, stride to take in the sight of the town. He hums, kindly addressing him unlike the way he was coolly dismissing the Doctor. Clearly, the man was getting on his nerves. If only he wasn't feeling some sense of misplaced guilt for existing.
"It appears so, my Lord."
Conversation cuts there as they approach the gates. It's a great reprieve from the Doctor being a general nuisance and bothering them. It's also an opportunity for the humans to examine the area. Particularly the clear lack of inhabitants and general shabby state of things. At least, the initial absence of humans. As their noise reached him, he couldn't help but wrinkle his nose. How were so many people gathering in this one place when they had a job to do. This is highly inconvenient and better not take long or he'll end up gutting someone.
