The Fledglings Meet

"You know... I've been places before, travelled a bit. I wonder, if there's somethin' about this town. Kinda drains ya, doesn' it. I don't think it's the people't all. Your wonderful. You don' deserve this!" Francis growls, and is gleaming again.
"You deserve people't tell ya yer sweet an' pretty, an you got'a good soul! Shouldn' have ta hide out here all alone in the goddamned forest!!"
He's standing, tugging at his hat, pacing as he shouts at the injustice.

Gladys feels far away from the situation—the tiny earthen hovel, the cold, the fire, Francis' shouting—and she leans back against the wall behind her, closing her eyes. "I don't have a soul, remember?" she supplies in a defeated tone. "I'm a monster, I always have been. Difference is now everyone knows it."

Francis turns on her like a snake striking. "Who the hell told you /that/?? No one knows fer sure," he hisses.
"All them that makes the rules'r fulla shit half th' time anyhow, an unfaithful ta boot!! You think you an' I wouldn't exist if God hadn't meant for us to? That Lucifer is somehow /that/ powerful?? And if we're so evil'n souless, wouldjya please explain why'm not on some evil murder'n spree?? How'I'm still followin God's Law?! HAH! Don't listen ta idiots who pretend they know what God thinks, Miss Gladys!"

Gladys tries to flatten herself against the wall further. "It's jus' what I've been told," she mumbles in self-defense, preparing for the violence that always followed yelling. And who was this Lucifer person? Another god?

"Well you been lied to, Miss! No one knows fer sure, an you got compassion an' kindness in ya, an that should be all that matters!"
He finally realizes that she's squeezed herself into a tiny, nonthreatening, defensive position. Francis deflates.
"It's not yer fault, an' you've done nothin' wrong," he says, returning to a quieter tone. "People like ta pretend they know what's goin on, cause they're scared of the unknown, and then they tell other people their useless ideas. Vampires? Must be monsters that God hates! But we don't /have/ ta be, Miss." He sits back down, next to Gladys.
"We're jus' /told/ that. /Everyone's/ told that, so everyone thinks it's true, and behaves accordin'ly."

Without moving, Gladys watches Francis approach, alert to his movements and proximity. When he continues to just sit there in a non-threatening way, she relaxes her guard a little. This man was confusing, and Gladys realizes that she had stopped enjoying his company. She didn't know what he was talking about half the time, and the other half she didn't agree with him. Francis didn't know it but she /had/ done many things wrong, though most of the time she didn't feel that her actions were bad.
So why was she suddenly feeling guilty? Was it because someone finally expected better of her, only to have her own bad behavior put in perspective? But then what option did she have? She wasn't about to live off animal blood, that's for sure.
“Then why do the humans have power against us? I don’t even worship their god and yet their words and symbols hurt.”

"Now... this is a less'a a sure thing, so like I said, don't jus' take this's gospel truth. I'm honestly not all sure, but... I got some suspicions..."
Francis presses on, ignoring his stomach and her thudding heart.
"Humans are weak, compared ta all the other creatures out there- not just vampires. Nearly everythin' on this earth's stronger, faster, n' more magical'n u-them. Them. Right? And yet they survive."
Francis regains the air of a storyteller, voice enticingly calm.
"They got somethin'. There's tons'a them, fer one. They outnumber everyone, don' they, even with their short lives." He peeks over at Gladys, knowing he'd scared her and wishing he hadn't.
"An' second, Miss, they got faith. A thousand of thousands of people, all believin' in somethin? Somethin' already powerful, like God? And even if it's not strong on it's own, like some'a them false religions, faith's it's own kinda magic, stronger than either'a us, stonger even than an ancient Sire."
He sighs.
"And'a course, there's more to it than that. And a'course, I can't prove anythin."

Gladys sighs and shifts a bit so she's not so curled and defensive looking, and listens to what he has to say. "That makes sense I guess," she concludes at the end of his dissertation.
Another moment goes by, and she hazards moving closer to him, enough so she can rest her head against his arm. “Can we just... can we just stay like this? An’ you tell me a nice story about yer travels? Or, or something other than such depressing talk...” The exhaustion in her voice was audible. She was so tired of fighting the loneliness and the boredom and the shame and the pointlessness that was her life. She wanted to be close to someone, even if they were a mostly-starved, crazy zealot.

She doesn't mock his theory, or roll her eyes, or anything. He /really/ wishes he hadn't yelled.
"Absolutely, Miss. There's nothin' I'd like more, honestly."
Gladys leans on him, and Francis realizes that that's not a complete lie. He wouldn't trade this for a full belly and a warm coffin.
"Hmmmm..." He leans his head on hers, and the entire world seems kinder, for a moment.
"Stories... stories...” Francis muses, wishing to oblige and put scaring her as far away from her mind as possible. “Did ya know, there'sa minor Fae noble livin' in this forest? She's all cloaked in shadows n' bird wings, speaks only in'a language of dreams, an' has'a unquenchable thirst fer gin'n blackberry puree. Excellent dancer, too, after’a few’a them drinks~"

"I'd like to see that," a hint of a smile starts to come back to Gladys' face and she closes her eyes. She was still tense and guarded though, wary that something might ruin this nice moment. "Do you get a lot of fae coming to your tavern? I'd like to visit sometime if, if you think my presence would be tolerated there."

"Yep~ Mostly fae, actually. Humans don't like the forest much, an' that’s usually where I open shop. Not that I blame em."
Francis can feel his own body follow her lead, relaxing marginally.
"As long as a fella don' try'n break’r steal n'ythin' or get too hungry fer'a fight, everyone's welcome ta the Bleedin' Heart. I'd love for ya ta come sometime. The fae always know how ta have'a good time, an' the people here'r no exception- why, their dancin'alone... Oh! DO you dance, Miss Gladys? We should dance, when ya come."

"The Bleeding heart, hmm?" Gladys' faint smile grows. That was a clever name, and a distinctive lack of humans would be welcome. After taking a moment to think about his offer she admitted, "You know, I've never really danced, d'you think the folks there would be willing to show me how?"

Francis grins, as wide as he had when he'd been tipsy and wrestling sylphs. "Well, if /I'm/ there," he nudges Gladys affectionately, "And a course, I /will/ be, then there's certainly gonna be somebody willin'~" Oh, he wonders if she's ever seen a record player before...
"It'll be marvelous, Miss Gladys. Exactly the sorta thing this cold ol' town needs, hot music 'n hotter dancin~ you'll love it!"

She didn't know what he meant by 'hot' music and dancing, but Gladys is taken in by his charming enthusiasm. She'd need to find something suitable to wear though... "Did you learn a lot of dances in your travels?"

"/Did/ I! Aw Miss Gladys, I didn' know what I was missin'! A whole lifetime, an' I never even took one little step ta music! But everywhere in the world, they're doin' some kind'a interestin' swingin' move, or somethin' heartbreakin'ly beautiful- It's kinda funny, I don' think I was really livin, till my master convinced me ta try dancing-!"
Francis stops and takes a breath, realizing his intensity might make the woman anxious again.

This was a different kind of intensity. Francis' enthusiasm was endearing and earnest, not angry and threatening, so Gladys remained relaxed, leaning up against him, leaning on her knees more for comfort than self defense now. "And?" she encourages him with a gin, "What was it like? Where did you go? What did you see?"

"The world's /amazin'/, Miss Gladys..." he whispers, trying to contain his excitement. "There's places where it never /ever/ gets cold, an places where it never gets dark- We had /such/ a hard time, but it was /wonderful/. My master had the devil'a a time keepin' me alive—hah!" Francis laughs fondly.
"There's places where the people'l welcome you with open arms, like you were family, even if you were actually strangers, even if you hardly spoke their language... Places where they aren't afraid. Places where they aren't too scared ta enjoy their lives... That's where dancin' comes from, Miss Gladys. Places where people aren't too afraid to live."

Gladys could believe it not getting cold, but never getting dark? People without fear? Were these even real places on earth? "Hah! Well no wonder I never danced!" she laughs with bitter delight, before the truth of her words can really register. Then she pauses and, realizing what she's said, tries to cover it up with flippancy, "S-so, um, do you have a buncha people at the tavern ta sing an' stuff ta make... music with?" She didn't know how people actually made the sounds she heard coming from town sometimes.

"Yea! I didn't believe it myself! Thought my master had arranged it beforehand as'a joke, or somethin' magic was goin' on-?" He hesitates with her, uncertain about her sudden awkwardness.
"Um. Yea! Many'a the fae love singin', an'... there's certainly somethin' ta be said about the human voice, but... the fae sing old songs. Got nature, an' their own magic, an... You'll have ta come ta the tavern, I really canna do it justice. An'acourse, I know my fair share'a songs too!" Francis says a bit proudly.
"Not jus' hymms and things, proper drinkin' songs, an'- an' Miss Gladys! I got /jazz records/...." he breathes the words, the awe in his voice outshining even Francis' religious fervor.

"Hmm, I'd like to learn those songs..." Gladys murmurs when he mentions the tunes he knows. oh but he's already off and talking about the next thing—"Jazz... records?" she blinks, repeating the words back, unsure of their foreign sounds in her mouth. She doesn't know what those words mean, separate or together. "What is a jazz? ... And what is a record?" Is she even saying that right?

"I can sing one- Oh. Oh /Miss Gladys/... Jazz is... ... God... It's..." Francis closes his eyes.
"It's... from America. Hearin' it it's like... fire, or... it's like..." He looks over to Glady's. She's newly turned, and young even for a human. He doesn't really feel right, telling her what it feels like.
"...It's good. An'.. a record's this amazin' thing that... it's... ok, so it holds music, somehow. I'm not really sure, but there'sa needle that... UGhhh... Miss, yer really just gonna have ta come listen fer yerself, it's like... like a miracle, really," he finishes, sounding sheepish.

Gladys wants to know where America is and she wants to know what Jazz really is like (she can tell Francis is holding back, not telling her something, though she couldn't guess what) and she is all but consumed with curiosity about the strange device called a record that made music in some unfathomable way. Her eyes glinted in the firelight as she turned to him, standing up on her knees, leaning close, "You /must/ let me see this wonderful device! And let me hear Jazz! As soon as the tavern appears again, I will come to dance and listen to—!"
Suddenly a bad thought struck her and she shrunk back a bit, "Ah, you'll let me in won’t you? In case some of the others there don't like me? I promise I'll behave, I will!"

Francis was feeling terribly stupid for his poor explanation when Gladys looks at him with wide, excited eyes. She looks terribly young and beautiful, more beautiful than anything he'd seen in this town, and he'll be able to tell Claud with joy and certainty that his sister isn't remotely bad.
Francis turns towards Gladys and hugs her as if they'd known each other for years rather than a single night.
"As /soon/ as it appears! You'll get th' royal treatment, darlin'! An' if anyone says anythin' about it, why, I'll show'm the door myself!"
He leans back and grins at her, and he looks young and healthy for a brief moment as happiness shines from his face.

The hug was completely unexpected, and Gladys freezes for a split second before relaxing again. It's over far too quickly however and she's left fussing with the hem of the cloak and smiling a little bit down at the fire. Sneaking a glance up at him she's again struck by how good looking he is and it made her fuss even more. "Th-thank you," she finally remembered to say.
She wanted more of that. More closeness, more contact with others. It was an ache not unlike the deep hunger of her curse, though far older.
The silence stretches and she feels compelled to at least explain herself a little, "I grew up in these woods, you know, and I think the fae remember how I could use iron to protect myself, and thwart their tricks against me. I think they resent me for that." She smiled nervously, hoping he wouldn’t hate her for the things she’s done in the past.

Francis flushes at Gladys' timid fussing. She's /painfully/ cute. If she were a human, she'd be exactly the kind of person his master would bring home.
"Oh? Oh... Huh... These woods'r kin'a dangerous. Yer some kinda survivor, ain'tcha," Francis grins. "But don't you fret. If anything, /they/ should be the one's shamed'a themselves, fer bein' nasty ta a wee little thing like yerself!"
Francis laughs softly and leans back against Gladys, sliding his arm around her shoulder in a thoughtlessly familiar move. His body freezes.
What can he do? Recoil? Apologize? Pretend nothing happened-?
"I-I honestly don' understand why we all can' get along, right? Seem's like'a buncha unnecessary bullshit, all this fightin'n killin’n cruelty. Hah... That's what we want for our bar, y'know? Fae and humans an' uh, non-humans. Drinkin' an' dancin' and singin' an'...".

With her hands gently gripping her knees, she just leans against him, fearing he would pull away again. It's ok, she tries to communicate with thought and body language, I don't mind.
"Well the forest is no place for a human, right? I been trespassing all my life jus' by livin here. I mean, you wouldn't want a bunch of humans to just move into /your/ home, right?" she shrugs, it made sense, though she still did resent the fae for having made her life so difficult, on top of the problems with her family.
"It's just funny though, I finally belong but I'm still so lonely." And dad's gone but I'm still not at peace, she thought to herself.

"Well... no.... but the forests'a big place. I think... I think it's more like... Livin' in'a place for a long while, then someone moves in, don't introduce themselves or bring'a pie or /anythin'/! But that ain' your fault, 's jus' how the whole thing's been set up."
He sighs against her.
"Belong ta what, Ma'am? Some group that includes that mean ol' master'a yers? Na. You jus' gotta meet new people! Why, lookit here~" He shifts to look at Gladys, offering a dopey smile. "We're havin' a fine night, aren't we? This here isn't too lonely, yea?"

Gladys smiles and tries not to laugh at the idea of going around, visiting with the fae as if they were friendly neighbors, as if they weren't highly dangerous magical beings who always seemed, more often than not, to want to trick you to your demise. That would never work. The fae operated on their own sets of rules and didn't cater to the traditions of humans. She would just have to see this tavern of his to believe that fae could behave themselves.
Francis looks at her, smiles in a most charming way, and she realized that he was right—she might never meet the expectations of the others at the villa, might never gain their approval or their companionship, whereas Francis had, eventually, been very nice to her. They could make this work. Of course it would take time to build their relationship and get more comfortable with each other, and of course they might never understand each other the way she and Claud understood one another, but it was better than nothing, right? ... Right? "Yeah..."
She tried to smile back, but she could feel the pain of loss twisting up inside of her and she looked away again, back to the fire. "I have a brother," she finally confessed, "But he's still human. I'm so afraid I'm going to lose him, and what's worse, that he won't even miss me as he lives out his natural life." Her face scrunches up more and she presses her hands over her eyes. "I couldn't see how to escape our horrible life except to become /this/, but now I'm just stuck again, and he won't come with me! I asked but I was told that unless he decided to change willingly he might not survive. I know he won't survive. But he's going to die in forty or fifty years anyway! If not sooner!" Hopelessness seized her and she seemed to shrink even further.

Francis looks at the fire too, avoiding Gladys' expression. Those siblings and their /smiles/.
He'd hoped that the heavy conversation might lull, that they could forget everything...
Who else could she speak to, in this town that hated her? She needed to talk to /someone/.
Francis sighs.
"You're not so bad, Miss. Don't believe the rumors. Look at yerself now. Yer rational, loving, lonely. Nothin' bad about that. Just gotta keep that in yer heart when things seem impossible."
Francis rubs her shoulder gently as she freezes.
"It's ok darlin. All'a this's temporary, ain'it. Not much's changed, cept we have a longer time ta plan fer, God willing. So what if he don't change? You two could still spend at least /one/ lifetime, happy tagether. That'sa gift right there, one many'd be grateful fer."

Gladys sighed. She didn't really want to argue matters of perspective with this stranger, and he was well-meaning enough. Uncurling a bit she lay a hand over his, to show her gratitude for his kind words. Or at least that she heard them. "I'd like to think we could. But I see him in the woods and in town with other people, other women even, it makes me so angry—!" Maybe she wasn't so rational after all.

His heart thuds when she lays her hand on his. Sometimes it would just... go still... It would go so quiet he'd forget it was there.
"...Have ya talked ta him?"

"Not really," she admitted in a tired, small voice. "He's afraid of me an' I get so excitable around him and that just makes him more afraid..." She runs her other hand through her messy hair, "Ugh I'm so stupid, I'm such a stupid head. Last time I tried ta talk to him he was with some woman and he /shot/ me! Three times!" Deep down she knew it was her fault but she wanted to feel at least a little vindication in her self pity.

“Aw, don’ say that, yer not-” Francis pauses. “.../Shot/ you?” He asks weakly. “That’s /horrible/! Are you alright?? Ah, of course you’re not!” He starts fussing over Gladys, as if she was wounded minutes ago. “Miss, I’m sorry, that’s jus’ cruel. No wonder you’re sad, after /that/ kinda welcome!” He looks away and rubs his eyes, overwhelmed.

Now that Gladys felt like she had Francis on her side, a pang of guilt ran through her at the thought of having misled this kind man. She still lets him fuss over her though. "I'm fine, it was just arrows, I healed right after I pulled 'em out. And the only reason he was able to shoot me was because /that woman/ distracted me." A growl escapes before she can get her emotions in check again. Then she sighed and leaned against Francis again, "I don't... I don't blame him, I haven't been the best sister to him, not for a long time."

She's fine. Thank God she wasn't hit by the arrows Francis had made. Why the /hell/ had he thought that was a good idea? But.. the boy had seemed gentle, if sad. He wouldn't have..
"How /could/ he?"
Francis closes his eyes. It's fine. He'd misjudged the brother. It wasn't anything to write home about.
"Well... can't put all th' blame on /you/, not if he'd go's far as ta /shoot/ ya," Francis replies with a soft growl of his own.

It was surprising to see how immediately this stranger had taken to her, and Gladys turned and smiled kindly at Francis. "You /really/ don't believe I'm an evil and unnatural creature, do you." Or maybe this was just his own deep denial talking.

"Hah.... Everyone says that.... Says we're bad. But we're havin' a nice conversation here, aren't we? And... Monsters... monsters aren't supposed ta feel sad or lonely or love. I think you feel those things, otherwise, what'd motivate you?? We got emotions, so..."
Francis hesitates.
"Evil things... I mean... it's about th' nature'a evil, ain't it? The way they talk about us, it's as if that's all we can do. Like everythin' we do will turn to ruin an' death. But it's not true. Thats not how I've ever lived, an' talkin' ta you tonight, I know you can choose too... If.. ya wanted.."

Gladys looks off to the side, her face tired and a little sad. Francis was being vague again, but she guessed she knew more or less what he was talking about. "I don't know if I can be as good as you." She wasn't even sure if she /wanted/ to be as good as him, but after nights of pondering the subject, she knew that killing as often as she had been wasn't a sustainable activity. Eventually there would simply be no people left.

"Good? Hah... I dunno if /I/ can be as good as me..." He smiles back at her, but there's a sour note to his joke.
"I mean, if I was /older/, it'd be easy. They can control themselves easy, if they care to. We don't have'ta kill ta eat, plain an simple. It's... God. I know it's not simple. I'm sorry. I keep sayin' so cause, cause... if I just keep sayin' it... God. Why am I even sayin' this ta you? I'm sorry, I know there ain't anythin' for it. I know I shouldn' be preachin' when I'm practically a corpse myself. I just...."
He just... he just nothing.
"Sorry. It's jus' been a while since I could talk ta anyone. Jus'... forget what I said. I donno anythin, do I."

Gladys looks up again with that same sad, tired smile. "It's ok," she replied softly, "It's nice to talk." With her cloak still pulled tight around her, she finally uncurled, letter her legs dangle closer to the fire, and she leaned against Francis. "I suppose I should at least /try/ animal's blood..." She tried not to let too much disgust at the idea sound in her voice. "If you wouldn't mind showing me how."

Francis stares at Gladys. His eyes glimmer, but the light dies suddenly.
"C'mon... that's not funny. Jus' cause I'm bein' all mopey don't mean you gotta make fun of me," he pouts. "/Especially/ cause I'm bein all mopey. I don't need that. That's jus-" he laughs, "a teeny bit evil." He rubs his cheek against her shoulder.

"Hm?" she leans her cheek against the top of his head, "What did I say?" Gladys was genuinely taken off guard. She was trying so hard to behave herself, and she'd offended him anyway.

"You- /you/, are gonna drink animal blood?" Francis laughs again, and it's clear he's not offended, but amused. "Not that I don't appreciate ya humorin' me, but- pffhaha... that was mean."
His voice is musical with laughter. He could practically kiss her, the joke has lightened his heart so much.

Gladys felt... hurt? But mostly she was just confused. "O-oh, I'm sorry," she apologized though she wasn’t sure why. "I mean, I don't want to, certainly..." she admitted, reluctant to expose her weakness, but feeling like she owed him some kind of explanation. There was something she was still missing here. She tried to act all smart and pretend like she knew what was what, but in the end she really was just as clueless and bad at interacting with others as her brother.

"Miss, yer follow up's too strong, you- you're serious."
Francis leans back, needing to see her better. Was she lying to him? She didn't seem like a liar at all.
"B-but... you jus' met me, an' I know I ain't /that/... convincing- I'm sorry, I din't mean ta insult ya, I was jus... I heard- I mean.."
She'd /killed/ people. And from one single conversation, she'd try sustaining from animals?
Francis' expression of bewilderment shifts into a wide, uncertain smile.
"I-it's really hard but it ain't impossible, and jus' /trying/... I'd- I'd be happy ta help you out- Jeeze, Miss but... c-could I give ya a hug? If ya don' mind??"

Gladys listened to Francis stammer on, holding very still, hands in her lap, still not entirely sure what he was talking about. "Well um—alright," she conceded, wide-eyed and bewildered. What exactly had she just agreed to do? Being told something is really hard before you even try it isn't exactly encouraging.

(cut to: Gladys puking her guts out and swearing off animal blood forever. Sorry Francis UmU )
(; v

Her expression is so shocked he can’t help but laugh again as he pulls this woman with a gentle soul and a lifetime of troubles that ought to have ruined it into his arms.
"It's ok if ya can't keep it down. It's ok if ya never try it again after. It's just... that ya even would /try/..."
He squeezes Gladys lightly.

Still clueless as to the nuances of this conversation, she leans into the hug a little and loosely grips his arm. Pressed against his chest like this she could hear his heart; it was a comforting sound. Francis didn't smell of hardly anything at all, and she wasn't particularly hungry, so there was no temptation to attack him. It was nice to just have this, and she let her eyes close. "I'm probably gonna puke it all back up," she predicted wryly, smiling a little.

"Yer probably gonna puke it all back up," Francis agrees, matching her smile. "But that's not the point, Miss Gladys."
/She/ smells of blood and the forest, and that strange inhuman scent their kind carried. There was a temptation, for many things, least of which is that he could /kiss/ her...
"The point is... yer kinda wonderful."

"Don't know how you figure that," she sighed, cautiously allowing herself to feel happy. "I still think you're bein' too nice ta me," she paused, then finally admitted in a small voice, "But I'm happy that'cha are." She wanted to tell Francis how hard it's been, how humiliating, but she guessed that he probably already knew.

"Ah well.. I don't think so. I think yer a sweet lady who's been through some shit. Why, I can hardly stand this town an' I only been here ... how long?? Hah.." Francis takes a deep breath against Gladys' neck and immediately releases her, trying to remain casual.
"I-I dunno. Jus' makes me all the more appreciative'a someone like yerself." He grins, knowing that he's laying it on thick. That’s less embarrassing than biting her.

Gladys tried not to squirm, but the physical closeness felt... nice. Really nice. Nice in ways that she'd never really experienced before, and didn't fully understand. Maybe Francis felt the same way too, since all too soon he let her go, trying to use his words to cover up the awkwardness they apparently both felt. She smiled and blushed a bit, fussing a bit with her hair, pushing it behind her ear. "Well, I grew up in the forest, but thank you all the same." More smiling, more blushing, what on earth was wrong with her?

"Ah, 'course ya did. But it's the people, I meant. Gotta have people, don' we. Everyone needs people, just's much as food, so's they can talk to an' relax with an.. love. Yea- Uh- Ahaha- I don' mean ta be forward or nothin' I just... I think yer nice," he finished, flushing very red.

Gladys almost felt like making a joke about people /being/ food, but she knew that would be in poor taste, so she just smiled to herself at her off color joke. She knew what he meant and she agreed with him. "I'm glad you think so, I—I think you're nice too. I've missed being with, with people." It was strange to refer to herself and other vampires as 'people,' but she didn't know of any other word to use. The bubbly feeling continued and finally she gave in and giggled, pressing her hands over face, "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me!"

Francis just keep grinning and when she giggles and apologizes he realizes he's been doing it much too long.
"A-are you jokin' with me again? How are ya this adorable?? Yer /killin/ me over here Miss Gladys," Francis laughs and reaches up to the girl's reddening cheek to brush it.
"Is this like a normal thing, or did ya decide ta be extra sweet tanight?"
Her hand is soft and her blush warm, enough that she might as well be alive.

"I told you, I don't know what's wrong with me," Gladys confessed again with a small smile. "Should I know? Do humans feel like this too? I've only been angry for as long as I can remember. I thought that's all there was." She let her eyes close again and she leaned close to that hand to bump affectionately against it with her cheek.
"But I should say, I've grown tired of pushing others away, I'm tired of being alone. So in a way, yes, I am on my best behavior, because I don't want to be lonely anymore."

"Hah... well.. I donno quite what yer feelin, so I can't rightly say..." Humans gave him that look, yes, but only when he was well fed. Did Gladys mean she... Francis' sunbeam grin is muted quickly though.
"Nope! There'sa lot more!" His heart races. A warm chill runs down his spine as he leans in and finally leaves a brief peck on Gladys' cheek.
He leans back with an impish smile and light in his blue eyes. "Weelll.... let's jus' call all this lonely stuff quits together, what do you say?"

The kiss, however chaste it was, catches her off guard, and she blushes and smiles, looking down at her lap, fingers fussing with the hem of her cloak again.
"I'd—I'd like that," she admitted with a shy smile, only briefly glancing up at him, uncertain if he meant more than he was saying.

If /only/ he was well fed... He'd sweep her off her feet, dance with her, kiss her, help her forget all the nastiness that had hurt her wonderful heart.
Gladys' shy smile is one of those devastating kind. Francis tilts his head. How could her master bear to be parted from her? She's precious!
He takes one of her fidgeting hands up in his own. "It doesn't have'ta be serious, or, well..." He kisses a delicate finger, one by one. "It's up ta you, darlin'."

Gladys' face is vacant of comprehension. Part of it was the kissing—that was very distracting, and delightfully so—part of it was she simply didn't know that he was flirting with her, or what he really meant. "What... doesn't have to be...?" she asks, blinking heavily, her heart racing. She was hyper-focused on him, bewildered by the dichotomy of his general desirability due to his kindness towards her, versus the haggard and impoverished quality of his appearance. What he must look like with a good meal in him!

Francis looks up from her hand, and her expression tells him plenty. He lowers her hand without releasing it, and strokes it gently,
"I'm sorry ta confuse ya, Miss. I am jus' happy ta have yer company, ya know?" He'd had the strings of certainty and direction, but they're slipping through his hands.
"I can get too affectionate, that's my problem! Haha... I strike a pretty good figure when I'm not....I mean... are you ok?"

Gladys nods, maybe a little too quickly, to reassure him, then she sinks back into uncertainty. "I'm sorry I just, I'm not, I'm not smart alright? People say things when they really mean something else, and I don't know how to tell when—when words mean what they mean, or if there's a hidden meaning that I can't understand," she frowns and tries not to look too pathetic in admitting her weakness. "I'm happy to have your company too!" she appends in haste, not wanting to offend him, and she clasps her free hand over his. "And I'm sorry if I misled you. I just... there's so much I don't know." Her skin prickled with the shame of her admission.

"Ah no Miss Gladys, please don't put this on yerself, I was bein' terrible vague!" He gives the hand kissing up as a lost cause for now and leans back in against her.
"You did no such thing like mislead me, you been a /more/ than perfect host!" Don't kiss her cheek again, don't kiss her cheek again-
"Anyways, I learned all that kissin' an feelin' nonsense /after/ I turned, you should seen me before- you woulda /laughhhed/! Could barely talk ta people when my heart did that flippity flop thing!" Francis sets his hand over his heart in a theatrical show of honesty.
"Why, Miss, yer'a champion, from where I was at!"

Gladys smiled and fidgeted a little, and after only a small moment of hesitation she reciprocated the gesture, leaning against him a bit as well. His ham-fisted though well-meaning encouragement was endearing. "Aren't we just the strange pair then," she mused. It was sad really, only discovering the fullness of life after they'd died.
"I don't suppose you could tell me of what you've learned? Or is that too personal to ask?" she ventures with a timid voice. When she had pried into personal matters earlier in the night he had grown angry, but she hoped he wouldn't do so now.

"Haha... ain't we?" Francis smiles but stiffens at the question... If he just keeps it vague...
"It'sa little personal, but it's worth talkin'about. Important. It's... well... Some people'll tell'ya it's just... /lust/." He spits the word out like poison.
"They love ta do that, dismiss real important connection stuff with /words/. As if they know /anyth-/"
Francis swallows hard and tries to relax back against Gladys.
"It's... there's somethin's you can do ta get closer ta people. Like... souls and emotions and all those things. Better'n talking."
He takes a deep breath. She is gorgeous and smells wonderful, and she is still the prettiest, kindest thing he's seen in months...

Gladys thought about all the times she and her brother had been able to communicate on a level of understanding deeper and more powerful than words, had felt a closeness that they shared with no one else—but she didn't think that that was what Francis was talking about. What he spoke of was something even more powerful, else why would it be feared? And he had mentioned the ever ambiguous "soul," so it must be something solemn. And it also sounded like something that any two people could share in, so, surprisingly, it seemed to be accessible to virtually anyone.
Something both common and powerful. Something that touched the soul (whatever that really was) and evoked deep emotions.
"I'm sorry, I'm still not sure I understand what you're talking about." How could anything so wonderful even exist? The world was, of course, more full of surprises than she had ever before expected, so why should it catch her off guard now? Still, she was jaded and skeptical.

Francis huffs, frustrated with himself. This was important, and if he could share it with her, it would help her see that the afterlife didn't have to be what everyone said, and maybe she could speak with her brother, and maybe Claud wouldn't hurt her, and... Then he'd have someone in this town...
"It's not easy ta understand, the way'm telling you...maybe..."
He looks at Gladys. Proud and kind and strong despite what life had inflicted on her. She is true to her namesake...
Princess..
It's selfish to even consider- but... What if she said yes?
"...Here now...may I kiss ya?" Francis asks softly.

Gladys shifts and fidgets, obviously indecisive. He had kissed her cheeks several times before during the course of the evening, but this request felt different, else why would he ask? "I suppose... alright," she finally agreed, not really sure what she was getting herself into. Everything up until now had been ok, sometimes even nice, and she was going to try drinking animal's blood, so what else was there that was more revolting than that? This man couldn't harm her.

Francis doesn't miss the hesitation.
"Here now, we're ok. If ya don' like it, jus' say the word. If ya do... well... hm~"
He won't scare her, won't move as these months of isolation are urging him to.
Gently, he brushes his palm against her cheek, marveling again at her warmth.
Slowly, he leans in, still wondering if she would pull away.
Francis' presses against Gladys' mouth, barely touching. His breath escapes through parted lips, softly inviting.
Despite his delicate intentions however, Francis makes the mistake of breathing in her scent. A quiet growl of animal pleasure rumbles through the vampire's chest, more feeling than sound.

"A-alright..." she whispered back, trying to smile a little to mask her unease. He was being careful and moving slow, so her alarm was controllable as he drew nearer and even nearer still. His breath tickled her face, and the kiss was so gentle that she giggled out of surprise and nerves.
And then he made that sound, and she pulled her face back sharply with a surprised gasp, eyes wide and wary. The sound wasn't quite predatory, but it spoke of an intense emotion that she did not understand in this quiet and tender context, and that uncertainty as much as anything else frightened her.

He matches her hesitation with a confident passion that the frail creature hadn't seemed to posses. "It's ok, it's ok darlin', I won't-" But he does, taking another drink of her scent before pressing insistent against her mouth.
There is no magic to soothe her mind, and no sound but their breath, and the cold, inhospitable night.

Gladys works her mouth against his, but that's all it feels like. Work. After a moment she pulls her face back, amazed at his strong grip. "I'm sorry, I don't... it's not..." she bites her lower lip a bit in embarrassment. She was too tense, too scared to enjoy any of this. Not to mention she hardly knew this man... "Is there something wrong with me?"

Gladys pulls back?! Francis feels as if he's been slapped, and recoils from her. A wave of anger hits him and he doesn't know what he's angry at, and then she's apologizing and it just makes him angrier.
He backs up further from her, eyes a demonic red, face serene.
"N-no, of course not, Miss. It'sa new thing, ain'it? And me not lookin' my best, and well, this ain' exactly'a palace'r nothin, no offense, no offense meant, it's just, na, you come'ta my place sometime, sometime, we'll... we'll dance'r somethin', won’t we..."
He stops his rambling as the rage wells up. Suddenly he stands, suddenly he starts to pace.
"No, no of course there ain' nothin' wrong with ya, my darlin' girl. This town, this fuckin'-" She didn't like yelling.
Suddenly, he sits, a few feet away from her.
Quietly, he repeats, "Yer'a peach, honestly. Perfectly fine."

He was angry with her? Bewilderment, then fear crept into her face as she watched him. The more he talked though, the less impressed she was with him. He wasn't exactly doing a great job of making himself clear, and half the time she couldn't follow the meaning of his words. But what she did understand, she wasn't sure she believed anymore. And it galled her that she still cared what this stranger thought of her! That she had somehow failed to meet his expectations, that he was disappointed in her!
Scrunching her shoulders up she crossed her arms under her cloak and looked away from him, embarrassment and anger burning her face. Finally she broke the silence with her quiet, pouting voice, still staring intently at nothing in the corner, "I don't even know you, how am I supposed to be comfortable with you, pu-putting your mouth and your hands on me?" She thinks back to when she was turned, how her body had felt so cold, how in pain she was, and so alone. This wasn't the same though, was it?
... Was it?

"That's exactly what I mean though! This is all wrong-!" He covers his face with his hands, tugging at his hair.
"Yer exactly right, I hardly know you and you me, an' lookit m'self, I don't even belong /indoors/, much less kissin' a beautiful lady like yerself!"
"This should be so /easy/! You shoud'n have ta have yer first time bein with some- some-" self pitying moron- his master's rebuking words fill his head and he stops himself again.
Francis finds himself sitting down once more. Unceremoniously, the flask appears and is poured down the vampire's throat.
"Look ma'am. Don' take this as a sign th-hic- tha' romance's... fer the birds. This righ' here?" He gestures to himself. "This'is bas'icly'a wreck, so don' you go washin' yer hands'a somet'in so nice's romancin' on my account. Um. Please."
He meets her eyes, looking tired and sick and inhuman and really entirely unappealing.
"What do'ya know'abou' sire'sn fledgelin's, Miss Gladyss?" Francis asks out of the blue.

Gladys had a number of her own questions to shoot back at this frustrating man, but he interrupted her with one of his own. She huffed, but then calmed down a bit as she really thought about it. What /did/ she know about sires and fledglings? Practically nothing. "... One makes the other." Her anger fades into quiet embarrassment and fatigue. "That's it."

"One makes th’ other... haha- HA!" Francis closes his eyes and sucks on the gold lip, thoughtlessly savoring the dwindling contents.
"Actually, that'sall there is ta it, ain't it? HAH! And what'r we without em?" He licks his wet lips.
"Look, maybe yer masster can' be bothered ta teach'ya what'sswhat, but you come lookin' ta me like I got all the answerss?? I can'even /feed/ m'self! I'll jus' throw'a bit'a useless gosp-" Francis flinches. The fire burns out of his eyes, leaving them suspiciously shiny.
He closes them and mouths a quick, silent verse that leaves him gasping.
"I'd like ta help ya, Miss.. really I would, but whatc'n'I do for ya, as'I'm now?

The smell of what he was drinking galled her, and she had half a mind to tell him off for drinking it in her little dirt hovel, but she held her tongue. Finally he quieted and she answered him with barely controlled enthusiasm, though it was fueled by frustration and annoyance.
"Plenty! You... you /know/ things, and as little as you feel that you know, it's more than what I got!" she gestured at him, exasperated. "There's at least three things that you've mentioned in the past five minutes that I haven't a clue about, so if you could stop—fff," she gestured again in frustration, "Stop puttin yerself down for half a heartbeat, you'd find that you really could teach me something!"

"I /know/ things, do'I?" Francis lowers his hands, breath ragged. "Fine. I know how't let m' masster fawn over me like'a pet," he admits with quiet venom. "Know how't sserve her, every whim, till she'ss happy, like it'sa only thing that matterss.. 'causse, it is... issn' it? Well, yea, causse when'yer with'er, doesn' matter what came before, what they did ta ya. An' anythin' you can do to please her, ta ssate her, ta let her know, you're in'it t'gether...." Francis voice almost pleads, his eyes will the woman to understand.
"An' then ya find tha' other people'll feel the ssame way'about you. Ssometimess. You bothhjus... letit go, for a minute. If yer lucky, if yer gentle, if ya love'm back, like she lovess- like... somethin'. Fuck..."
He wants to say something nasty, lash out at her rather than think about any of this, and he's not ever really mad at Gladys at all, even he knows that. But it would be easier...

Francis started out with biting words, albeit soft ones. But Gladys listened, begrudgingly, arms still crossed, body turned slightly away from the creature sitting on her dirt floor, but she listened. And as she listened, his words awoke in her a deep sadness, a yearning she tried to keep hidden deep down, even from herself. Especially from herself. As he continued she turned her head to look at him, and he was no longer angry, but desperate to be understood. Abruptly he broke off mid-sentence, and it felt like stepping off the last step before you were prepared for the floor. She was hanging on his every word, and it was silent for a moment as she processed what he had just said.
"Is that what it's like?" she finally whispered, voice brittle. She hugged herself, knees tucked up again, a pain in her chest, "Is that what sires and fledglings are supposed to be? Or were you just lucky?"

"How the hell should I know?" Francis hisses. He's disgusted to realize he's trembling.
His red eyes dart to the makeshift door, then back to Gladys, as if she were a hungry lion rather than a fragile looking woman. The night's nearly over, but Francis looks ready to bolt.
"I /told/ya I dunno an'thing, Goddamnit."
Of course he was lucky, he wants to scream, but instead silently buries his face in his hands.

It was weird, looking down at Francis sitting like that—in this moment he reminded her so much of her brother, and something like compassion welled up in her chest. It was the closest she'd come to feeling anything besides anger in the last few months.
At first she didn't know what was worse: never having loved or been loved like that, or having it but then losing it. But seeing Francis in such distress she decided that she had gotten the better end of the deal. Being unloved was lonely, but it was also a state of freedom. She had nothing so nothing could be taken away.
She stood, walked over to the curled up man and crouched next to him, put her arm over his shoulders in a half hug and nuzzled him with her cheek. "I'm sorry," she spoke softly. "But, hey, you could tell me what a peach is, yeah?" she tried an encouraging smile.

He'll chase her off, or flee, and never have to feel this way again, until his master comes back. Then everything will be fine, and a pleasant evening of conversation won't cut him like this had- "Hh-"
Francis freezes. /This/ is Gladys’ reaction to his nastiness? His throat tightens as he looks up at her. His lip trembles.
"Y-you. You're'a peach, beautiful an'ssoft and perfect an... /ssweet/," Francis replies with quiet fierceness. He leans his own cheek against her shoulder, wraps an arm around /her/, in a vaguely possessive gesture.
"Rare, delicate fruit tha' loveshwarmth and tas'es like..." Francis closes his eyes. "...like... ssummer, and creamyssweet words... even the flesh's like thessun is'self, so yellow it almos' glowss..."
And just like that Francis discovers that he's calm, and achingly adoring everything about Miss Gladys.
"Hah. So.. yea. /Tha/'sa peach."

Relieved that her gesture of kindness had been received and even reciprocated, Gladys relaxed a little. “It is a fruit?” she guessed with a small smile. “Where do they grow?” With regret she realized that she’d never have the chance to relish such a thing. Only the lifeblood of humans was alluring to her now. But she didn’t want to disrupt Francis’ newfound calm. Just keep him talking, keep him focused on better things. “Are they small like berries or large like apples?”

"Yeep... an'a pretty lady, if yer bein'ssilly," he murmurs apologetically, and it's clear he's not simply regretting his corniness.
"They grow in the far easst.. Peoplesssay they’re from Perssia, but... My masster sayssthere from the Orient... China? Ssomeday we're gonna go there an ssee th’ orchardss..." He sighs against Gladys, but there was more to the question, and no time to dwell on the future.
"About's big'sa apple, but th’ flesh’s tender, ‘n juicy... ssometime's you'll bite'm, an' the sweet juice's jus' run down yer chin fore' ya can do nothhin'..."
Francis licks his dry lips.

Gladys hums a smile at his gentle humor and tries to imagine this fruit the best she could. All the place names were lost on her of course, but still, she knows what an orchard is, and she pictures Francis and his shadowy master, walking among rows and rows of pruned trees in the moonlight. What were the blossoms like in the spring? Were they white and delicate pink like apple blossoms? Maybe they would take her with them, far away from this cold horrible place… Maybe she could bring Claud too…
Francis murmurs on, describing the flesh, the way it bled when you bit into it…? Gladys’ body tensed and her heart raced, suddenly yearning for the hunt. She had no frame of reference to compare his descriptions of the fruit with, except for when she had taken the lives of humans, her new, sharp teeth making quick of their soft, mortal flesh...
She shuddered, though with horror or desire even she wasn’t sure, and shut her eyes against the dull red glow she knew they must have been exhibiting.

He loves leaning against Gladys. He knows he shouldn't compare it to his master, that it's not fair to either woman, or even himself, but he can't help how he feels. He could sleep like this, safe as the night begins to warm and lift-?
The sunrise can't have-
Francis' sleepy eyes lock onto Glady's glowing orbs.
He's gone in an instant, a bright crackle of mist in his wake. Pain courses through his starved body as it lands heavily at the nearby doorway. He tries to scramble towards the door but he can't even lift himself up.

Gladys gasped in surprise, flinching against the sudden light and noise. When she looked next Francis was struggling towards the door, a look of panic on his face. “Wait!” she called out in equal alarm, “Please don’t go! I—” What had she done? He’d seen, right? Of course he had, how could he not have, her eyes glowing like embers in the dark. “I didn’t mean—I, I’m sorry, your story was so nice and I started thinking about—about other things…” She wanted to go to him, but she stayed frozen in place, still crouching by the fire like some ancient proto-man, afraid that even the slightest movement would cause him to panic and bolt again.
“I’m not upset with you, please don’t leave—it, it’ll be day soon and, and I was hoping,” she looked towards her sad, dugout sleeping area, little better than a rabbit’s nest, “I was hoping we could spend the day together…” she mumbled, realizing how foolish she’d been to even consider it.

Francis crawls on his belly, whimpering.
A fledgling in bloodlust. Back home, you learned the threat hierarchy as a child, along with your letters, and a newly turned with red eyes was just below an ancient sire, only in that at least it wouldn't take your immortal soul before it ripped you apart and sucked you dry.
What's worse, he /knew what it was like/-
She apologizes. Gladys' sane voice jolts him. She's too young to manage a voice lure, isn't she? But her words tug at him, at his heart, and Francis wants to return to her, even as his instincts scream. She was the only one in this town who could possibly understand him... She would drain the meager sustenance within him. He'd never be with her again...
Francis lays in the doorway, still as death. It grows warmer by the second. With a agonized groan, Francis slowly creaks into a sagging, shuddering kneel.
"H-how did you overcome th' bloodlusstsso easy?"

Gladys had a few answers to that question, some of them embarrassing, some of them not so obvious. Most of them she didn't want to tell him—she didn't want him to think even less of her than he already did, but it would be worse if he thought she was more than she really was. She sighed and rested her cheek on her knees, looking askance at Francis, crouching with her arms around her legs.
"While you were talking, I started thinking, I was tryin to imagine what peaches would be like, but I can't hardly remember the taste of food anymore, and, and I started thinking about hunting instead, alright?" It wasn't alright. She scrunched her eyes closed, "But I'm not that hungry, and there's... well, you don't smell like a human. You kinda smell like the forest, leaves and dirt, it's nice—but, there's no reason to attack you," she confessed, hoping he wouldn't be offended. "I'm more lonely than hungry, truly." She turned her face away, ashamed of her plethora of weaknesses.

He doesn't register as prey? And she's well fed... Francis laughs. Not nearly a year old even, and she has better control than him. Had their places been switched... even a gamey husk like himself would have been enough...
"Th-thank ya, Miss Gladyss. I wasn' quite- I din't understand." Francis pauses. With a glance at the door to certain death, then back to the woman who, in all honesty he really did like more than fear. Simple. He crawls back on all fours with slow concentration, until he's sitting back near her, panting.
"B-but, but- hhh.. a-are ya a-able ta ssstop like that- hhh- with humanss?" Francis asks, too weary to disguise how eager he is.

Gladys ducks her head a bit in embarrassment, or at least, she feels that she should, for Francis' sake. "No," she admits softly, "Or, well, I haven't tried to, honestly. Maybe I could. I don't know. It's not the same as just imagining it. Actually being on the hunt is so much more real." She runs a hand through her hair, sighing.
"But then again, I certainly kept myself from killing my father for my whole life," she smiles a bit at her joke, and then realizes how poor in taste this was, and looks properly mortified again. "I guess I should find out if I can stop myself from killing humans, I wouldn't want to accidentally kill my brother. He's the only human I would mourn."

"Ah."
Francis sounds disappointed with her reply, until she makes the quip. The man barks out a surprised laugh, and immediately feels ashamed. Not enough to stop laughing, however.
"Hhaaha- sssorry, sorry. What yer ssaiyin's real importan', I jus- khhhaha...OK! Ok. Yea... Probably... Don' kill yer brother, he doessn- probably doesn' desserve it, righ'? An' even iff'e doess! Well... Well, you don'wanna be the one'a does it, right?"

Gladys smiled while Francis laughed, relieved that he wasn’t offended or scared off. Maybe he knew what it was like... “No, no of course not. That would be...” she shuddered, “That would be the most terrible thing,” she whispered. “Even if we don’t agree, he tries so hard to do what’s right, he doesn’t deserve anything bad what might happen to him.” She didn’t want to bring up Claud again; Francis had seemingly already decided that he didn’t like the boy, and talking about him just made her sad.
She could sense the sun creeping above the horizon. It wouldn’t be so terrible here in her little hole, under the trees and behind her makeshift door, but the knowledge that the burning star was now visible made her anxious, and she wanted to get as far away from it as possible. “Can, can we move into the, the sleeping area?” she pointed towards a low tunnel that disappeared into the hillside, her hand trembling a little.

Francis can't help but smile as Gladys speaks of her brother with love, even with such a bleak subject.
"Hhah...Then fuck yer ssire'n his neglect. Yer still'a survivor, n'a princess, n'a peach," he says with yawning finality.
"Is- is thisssna th' sleepin' area here? Well ain' thatsswanky..." Can he get there, though. He's not sure... "Sssuree..ssureyou go on ahead, I'm gonna jus'catch m' breath'fre'a ssecon'."

Gladys pauses and wonders if he was going to run away as soon as she was inside the den, but there was nothing she could do to stop him, so she just mustered a smile and nodded. “Of course,” she murmured before disappearing into the tunnel.
She’d dug slightly upward into the hill so rain or snow melt wouldn’t fill the sleeping chamber. Within there was a bed of straw and sweetgrass overlaid with pilfered quilts, and even a blanket arching overhead to keep the dirt off, held up by thin, green branches that had been bent like the spring rods of a tent. Shaking with the sudden fatigue the sunrise always filled her with, she smoothed the quilts down and brushed off any stray dirt that might have come in with her, hoping Francis wouldn’t find her sleeping arrangements to be sub-par. It wasn’t a coffin but it was still nice. After a moment of fussing she finally curled up in her cloak at the far wall of the den, facing the tunnel mouth.

As soon as she's gone he regrets not asking her to help him. He's too hungry to function. The animal blood was splattered in the dirt outside, his flask is empty, and he's stuck here till nightfall. Literally.
Francis looks to the tunnel longingly. He takes a deep breath and tries crawling. His heavy, useless limbs twitch and ache and he merely sits against the wall, helpless.
He's sweating and shivering now, can feel the sun through the thin dirt walls. He's afraid it will cook him right here, he's so weak, but what can he do?
Birds begin to sing.
Time passes.
At last, a small chirp at Gladys' feet announces Francis, who collapsed in a tiny, batty heap next to the woman.

Gladys inhaled softly and pulled her feet in closer to her body. Was it night? She never woke up during the day... But the threat of the low winter sun still pricked her instincts, so what had—? She sat up in the darkness and sensed more than saw a small bat on the quilt. “Francis? Oh, you’re so small!” she whispered in sleepy delight, scooping him up. She lay back down in the center of the nest, body curled around him, stroking the fur on his head with one finger. “See, I can’t even turn into a bat, there’s lottsa stuff you know that you coul’ teach me, you jus’ gotta give yerself more credit...” Her words slurred as she drifted back to sleep, still smiling.

The bat wiggles when she calls his name, but remains quivering at her feet.
Hardly conscious himself, something large and terrifying comes of of the sky and the ground moves and he's flying? Fluttering weakly in her hands, fur puffed out, Francis chirps in panic. Once more in curiosity. One final time in recognition. As he's laid back down, he relaxes, and as Gladys pets him, he even offers her a tiny lick.
With the last of his strength, he crawls the slight distance between them, until Gladys' neck is wrapped in minuscule sleeping scarf.