Leo is not new to being a vampire of the Red Court. He's not a noble or anything, but he's been around for a very long time. He's reached the ripe old age of 600, outliving his noble father and the vast majority of his bloodthirsty sisters, almost entirely by being a filthy coward. He has no pretensions to the blood of milk-pale virgins; he's perfectly fine getting his dinner for the week under a bridge. He occasionally keeps slaves, but only rarely. Most of the time, he occupies himself with reading, and painting, and delicious, delicious blood. On occasion he indulges in a good alleyway lurking.
This is one of those occasions. Chicago's alleyways are not particularly well maintained, but they're better than the slums of Toledo in 1632. Leo likes them. They're meditative, and often contain convenient homeless populations.
A short, confused man with a cat perched on his shoulder stumbles out of a brick wall that looks for a split second like it is made of black rock and has a crack in it just wide enough to admit him. He spins around to stare at the wall. He prods it with his finger.
"I didn't think I was that lost..." he says woefully. His cat meows. He sighs.
The cat is a grey tuxedo tabby with bright gold eyes. The man's age is indeterminate; at first glance his height makes him look like a child, at second glance the set of his face makes him look considerably older, and at third glance it's hard to imagine anyone this radiantly, offensively healthy being much more than twenty, especially not in any century where people dressed like that. If there has ever been a century where people dressed like that. He looks like he belongs in a Disney movie.
Well, isn't that a thing.
"Hello. So, what in the everliving fuck are you?"
"Better question, where in the everliving fuck am I?" exclaims the Disney prince, looking around in confusion and alarm.
"The great city of Chicago. If you're lost in the Never and you open a Way to nowhere in particular, it seems like there's about a ten percent chance you'll land here; it's a major crossroads. I thought you were some kind of faerie for the pretty and the portal, but you're not acting like one. Again, what are you?"
He considers this question in fairness, and then says, "A prince. And very confused. You?"
"A prince! How charming." Leo sketches a highly ironical bow. "Now, I think a royal dwarf would've come up in the gossip rags a few decades back, and I think the royals aren't inbreeding enough to churn those out anymore anyway, so... are you the prince of some odd species of tiny pretty men who live in caves in the Nevernever and, I don't know, hunt unicorns or something?"
His cat meows definitively.
"Oh? Well all right then," he says, shrugging. "Anyway, where was I? Right. I am the prince of Raxwell. It's a perfectly ordinary human kingdom, more or less. And I have no idea what you mean when you say 'the Nevernever'."
"Humans don't have kingdoms anymore, friend, so I'd say you're very, very lost. If you don't know what the Nevernever is, I'd say that's a point towards even more lost. And if you have to specify that the cursing faerie was wicked, that'd be your third strike. So. Welcome to Earth, princeling."
"Thank you. I'm afraid I don't know your name." The cat meows. "Or your species," he adds.
"I'm Leo," says Leo. "And don't I look human to you?"
"I didn't look human to you at first," the prince points out. "And yet I am."
"Oh, alright. I happen to be a vampire. We're very nice, as a race, once you get to know us. Your name?"
"Milo," he says with a charming smile. "What is a vampire, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Oh, you are lovely. We're... hm. We drink blood, and we're strong and fast and all that. And of course, we're very pretty."
"I will grant that you're very pretty," Milo says agreeably. His cat rubs her cheek against the side of his head; he grins and ducks slightly in a halfhearted attempt to evade her. "Um. The blood of what, specifically?"
"Oh, we can drink from just about any large mammal. Cows. Pigs." He smiles good-naturedly. "Humans. When the mood strikes."
"That sounds... mildly ominous," says Milo.
"Oh, mildly enough. I don't go down Main Street opening throats left and right, you know. It'd be awfully conspicuous, for one thing."
"So what do you do, then?"
It may be noted at this point that the alleyway has no exits.
"Um," he says, recovering. "Seems like a poor deal for the vagrants. And/or beautiful young lads."
"Well, it's a very pleasant process for them. Vampire saliva is like bottled happiness. Really, it'd be crueler to let them live in a world without a regular supply of it. Are you talking to your cat? Actually, is your cat talking to you? That's adorable."
The cat meows.
"Her name is Catherine."
She meows again, somewhat more at length.
"And I'm not repeating that."
"Aw, a kitten is swearing at me. My day just got a hell of a lot cuter."
"I'm glad you're entertained," says Milo.
"Well, they don't usually talk. So it is entertaining, yes."
"Don't they? People can't usually understand them, but I don't think that's the same thing."
"No, cats don't talk. I thought that was some kind of shapeshifter or a pygmy malk or something, are you telling me that's just- a cat? That talks?"
"All cats talk," says Milo. "You can understand them if you're a dragon, or the cat's own personal witch, or in my case just very determined. Do cats not talk in this world?"
"Cats don't anything in this world! They're dumb animals that eat mice and piss on your furniture and run about like idiots! There are things that look like cats that talk and do any variety of things, but as I said, those are uncommon and besides which they aren't actually cats."
"...I think that might be more unsettling than your ambiguously murderous eating habits," says Milo. Cath jumps from his shoulder into his arms, and he pets her soothingly.
"Eh. There's too many weird things around to get really freaked out by them. Still. Talking cats..." He shakes his head.
"Non-talking cats. How would you feel if you stepped into a world where vampires weren't people?"
"Sounds interesting, honestly. There's certainly kinds of humans that aren't people, though I don't believe they're naturally occurring."
"...What, really?"
"Yep. Called thralls, or 'Renfields' if you're puckish. They're humans who've been psychically mauled by some vampire- different kind of vampire, Black Court- until there's nothing left in them but rage. They're about as intelligent as the average dog, far as anyone can tell. Nasty stuff."
"I don't think I like this world very much," says Milo. "No offense. You personally have been perfectly nice and helpful."
"Oh, thanks. It's not a nice place for mortals, no. Unless you're a wizard or something, that's a nice gig. Or was, 'til the war started and my people started murdering the shit out of them all. Less nice nowadays, I think. High mortality rate."
Cath declares herself sufficiently soothed and climbs back up to perch on his other shoulder.
"I'm not a fan of war. I like not being dead. Antagonizing wizards... not a great policy for that."
"Most people like not being dead, I find!"
This elicits a withering look. "Oh, don't get on me about my eating habits. What are you, a one-man Society for the Ethical Treatment of Filthy Vagrants?"
"That one actually wasn't a dig at your eating habits. But now that you've gone and brought it up, is eating people really necessary?"
"They've got all the essential vitamins and minerals a growing vampire needs. Plus, they're fucking delicious. Why wouldn't I?"
"Well, the reason that springs to my mind is 'because they're people, of course', but I sense that you don't find that persuasive. Why not?"
"Because it's irrelevant?"
"Oh? In what way? I assume you wouldn't find it irrelevant in the reverse, if someone came along who habitually ate vampires."
At least, he usually does. He thinks he does. He feels weird about the question. This is usually easier.
"That sounds... lonely," Milo says thoughtfully. "If it extends as far as you're implying. Not caring about anyone but yourself? Really?"
"I- care about people. But only when they matter. I care about my mother. I cared about... a few of my sisters. I... I cared about a human, once, but it didn't last. They don't live very long even without my interfering, you know."
"That's a separate problem," says Milo. "But still, it sounds like you'd find it difficult to make friends. I don't know, maybe that doesn't bother you. I've been told I'm an unusually friendly person." His cat meows affirmatively.
Friends are what? Why would he want them? Why does he want them, when he's thought of the idea maybe a dozen times in his six hundred years and dismissed it every time? What's different?
"Are you... doing something to me? I feel- I feel strange." Leo breathes heavily, staring at the stained concrete. Something churns inside him. He has a vague memory, from his two decades of humanity, of being on a ship and feeling nauseous. It's wrong. "You're... you're doing something to my head."
"I am honestly not doing anything except talk to you," says Milo. "I'm now very alarmed that I might have done something by accident, but I didn't mean to. Are you all right?"
"You- you're- doing something. I feel- wrong. I'm not supposed to feel- I'm not supposed to want to feel this way. I'm not supposed to be able to feel this way, I don't have a soul, there's- I feel like I'm-" He lets out a wordless snarl of frustration and falls to the ground. His fist crashes down on the concrete, crushing a dent into it. "What did you do?"
"I don't know!" yelps Milo. "I didn't think I was doing anything except having a friendly argument about the wider implications of your eating habits! I've been told I can be a pain to argue with but most people don't actually fall over and start punching the ground!"
"I'm- sorry! FUCK, why did I just say that, I haven't apologized to a human in four hundred goddamned years! It's like you're forcing a fucking soul into me!"
"I don't think I even know what that means!"
"It's- a soul, is, this energy in- humans, and other mortalish things, that makes them- changeable, not defined by what they are, makes them feel bad about doing what's best. I don't have one, which is very fucking convenient because it means I can eat people like I need to without feeling- guilty about it like some fucking mortal!"
"Well - I'm sorry! Not completely sorry. Moderately sorry!" says Milo.
"I'm so glad! That's wonderful, that is, you're moderately sorry, great, excellent, fucking-" The lingua franca fails him. He goes off on a profoundly obscene rant in Spanish.
Milo has no response to the obscene Spanish ranting except to stand there and look concerned.
Leo has limited stores of rage. After a while he's just- tired, and miserable, and staring at his dusty hands.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"
"I don't know," says Milo. "I feel responsible for you now and want to help you if I can, but I'm stranded in a strange and frankly horrifying world and still mostly don't know what's going on, so my avenues of help are pretty limited."
"You... what are you going to do? What's your plan?"
"Well, 'survive in this strange and horrifying world' is goal number one. Other goals include 'eventually go home' and, since you've mentioned it, perhaps 'solve human mortality'."
His eyes fill with tears, for the first time since 1562. He's- unsure. How do mortals do this? Feel like this, all the time, nothing telling them what to do?
"Can I come with you?"
His cat meows.
"...Eh?" he says. She repeats herself. "...Cath wants to know if you would like cat snuggles," he translates.
"...I wouldn't mind human snuggles. If they're on offer," he allows.
"I will definitely hug you," says Milo. He will even let Leo insult his cat, just this once. She didn't seem offended.
Leo holds out his arms hopefully. (He doesn't wanna get up. He just grew a soul and had a ragefit, both of those things are tiring.)
Milo hugs him.
Hug.
Leo might cry on Milo a bit. Souls suck.
Leo can cry on Milo. It's allowed. Milo will continue to hug him.
Which reminds him. "How am I going to feed? I can drink from cows and all, but I need some human blood with it too, it's not just a physical thing. And I can't feed without addicting some poor bastard, which, you know, I'd rather not do."
"Um. That is a problem," Milo admits. "But I'm sure it's a problem that can be solved with a little creativity - do you have to actually bite people to get their blood out of them?"
"No, but I doubt I can walk up to someone and say 'hello, might I borrow a cup of your blood?' Seems a bit of an investment."
"You do have one existing human friend," says Milo, still hugging him.
Okay, that would be more crying. Leo's not sure he can control it anymore, so he pushes off Milo and hangs his head over the bare ground and just sobs.
"Um. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you..."
"I- fuck," Leo sobs, "I don't- you're, I'm f-, I'm, happy. I'm just. I can't- there's too much, too many feelings."
Milo keeps petting him. It seems the thing to do.
Leo appreciates petting, but continues sobbing.
Eventually he finds it within himself to say "Fuck souls. This is awful."
Should he halfheartedly apologize again? Milo decides to just pet Leo some more instead.
Eventually Leo makes an effort to wipe himself off. The effort is a miserable failure. He sighs and, forgetting his audience, reaches up and rips off his face.
...Milo is slightly alarmed!
Then it remembers that Milo is present, and looks mortified. "Oh, shit, sorry, I just- sorry, the- Jesus, okay. So... human form. It's an illusion made out of... stuff. There was no way I was going to get that clean, so... got rid of the stuff. I'll make it back again. Sorry. Fuck."
"I'm kind of startled," Milo admits. "But it's fine."
He hesitates. "Startled? Not, like- horrified? Repulsed, appalled..."
"Startled," Milo confirms. "Adjusting rapidly. Not at all horrified. My best friend is a cat, Leo, I am used to people who aren't human and don't look it. I just haven't previously known anyone who could casually tear their own face off. Does it hurt...?"
(Slowly, the edges of his face are creeping inward.)
"Like - cutting your hair, maybe," he suggests as a comparison. "By extension, does that mean it doesn't hurt if you injure your - outward-facing parts - in general? That must be nice..."
"Mm, it's... different when I'm doing it. Usually it still hurts, at least enough to tell me what I'm supposed to be reacting to. And if something hits hard enough to rip it off, that still hurts like hell. But usually it's dulled. Then again, I wouldn't feel that much pain if you hit me straight on either. We're durable, we vampires."
"I am the opposite of durable," says Milo. "Fairy curse. Fragile bones. But I also have a fairy blessing for perfect health, so I bounce back just fine. It's not the most convenient combination as far as pain, though."
"That sucks," Leo winces. "I mean, it's good you've got the recovery, but- ugh. I could half-turn you, if you like? Or just turn you, but that'd get rid of your soul, and you seem attached to that. Either way, you'd get a lot sturdier. And strong and fast and all. It's really nice."
"I am thoroughly attached to my soul and would not willingly part with it," Milo agrees. "'Half-turn'?"
"It's- I've never done it, but apparently if you start turning someone and they don't kill anybody drinking from them they can just stay that way forever. You'd only get a fraction of the power set, but that's still pretty good. Might be enough to make up for the unpleasant fairy curse."
"I think... not," says Milo. "Although I'll keep it in mind, and thank you for the offer. I'd be afraid the fairy curse would screw it up in some unforeseen horrible way, if nothing else. At least I'm used to my current set of fragilities."
Leo looks a bit unhappy at continued fragility, but doesn't press the point.
"So... tell me about this world, I guess," Milo says after a moment. "Humans don't have kingdoms? What do they have instead?"
"Countries. Occasionally the countries have kings, but the kings generally don't do all that much, because some bright spark realized that trusting a bloodline to consistently churn out good leaders doesn't actually work. For humans, at least."
"Well... maybe not perfectly consistently, but it seems to work all right where I'm from," he says. "Who governs countries if not their nonfunctional monarchs, though?"
"Various parliaments and congresses and a handful of dictators, though many of the latter are actually vampires. I'm not quite sure how bloodline rulership could work for humans without some odd magic thing, and considering you're a prince I'm inclined to take your recommendation of the system with a grain of salt."
"Well, I'd ask Cath to back me up, but you can't understand her and don't seem to like her much, so that's out. I suppose it doesn't matter much until I find a way to get back home, anyhow. Why are a lot of dictators vampires? Do they find it particularly fulfilling, or something?"
"Less fulfilling, more convenient to have a population under your heel that you can devour. Plus, the Red King likes expanding his empire. And he's the kind of guy who gets what he wants."
Cath meows. Milo ignores her.
"Please don't try to assassinate the Red King. I like you not being flagrantly dead."
"...Who said anything about assassinating anyone?" he says indignantly. "I wouldn't! Well, not without a very good reason and not if I wasn't really, really sure I could pull it off. I just don't think I approve of people taking over countries in order to eat their subjects. But I have entirely different and probably much less dangerous absurdly difficult goals to focus on right now."
He pauses. "Please take my advice on whom you can and can't handle, by the way. I have this image in my head of you ringing Mab's doorbell and trying to funnel a soul into her." He shudders at the thought.
"I don't even know who that is. I don't even know if this soul business is actually something I did, or whether I can ever do it again if so! I'm not going to go around trying to - soul people, on purpose, until I understand at least a little more about what the fuck is going on!"
"Well, you don't seem to mind the results, and if you learned to control it it'd certainly suit your goals, so I felt like being proactive! And Mab is the queen of the Winter fae, an inimitably unpleasant woman by all accounts. Not a good idea to fuck with her."
Cath meows dubiously.
"Hush, you."
"Seriously, don't fuck with Mab. You being human and fragile and all, she could quite literally kill you with a stray thought. If she spoke to you in the wrong tone of voice, she'd turn your bones into dust. I'd rather keep you in one piece."
Cath answers with a series of meows.
"I haven't done anything like it before, I don't know what you're talking about."
Meow meow.
"There is a big difference between 'person who can kill you with a thought' and 'carpet that can turn you into a rabbit'!"
"...That sounds adorable. Also horrifying, but I think that's baggage from this universe. The transformation wasn't horrifyingly painful and insanifying or anything, I suppose?"
"No, and I know from horrifyingly painful," snorts Milo. "Didn't hurt at all. One second I'm a little boy, the next I'm a tiny rabbit with incredible amounts of fluff. I spent about a week eating an undesirable amount of vegetables before I could go out under a new moon and get the transformation reversed."
"I stand by my declaration of adorable, then. Adorable. Man, I wish that were possible here, there's some folks I'd like to see as adorable bunny rabbits. Without horrible pain and madness, I mean."
"Have I mentioned recently that your world is a little bit horrifying?"
"Ha. That is not news, my friend. It's alright long as you're not a human, though. Or as long as you have someone who can be aggressively nonhuman at various things that want to eat you, which is a niche I am happy to fill."
"And I appreciate it, believe me."
Leo has a sudden disastrous urge to kiss him. It passes, and he stands. "We should probably get inside before the sun comes up," he sighs. "I'd hate to die the day I got my shiny new soul."
"...That's a concern? I mean - yes, absolutely, lead the way," says Milo.
"Oh, don't worry, the sun isn't made of razorblades or anything, it's a vampire thing. This world is only so horrible."
"Okay, good to know. But I definitely don't want you to die. I only just met you. So let's go - wherever you go when the sun comes up, I guess."
Leo leads Milo back to his lodging of the week. "Home, sweet warehouse. Sorry for the unprincely conditions, I'm not exactly used to guests."
"It's fine. It has a roof; that's sufficient for our purposes, I think."
"A roof and a conspicuous lack of windows. What are our purposes, exactly? Beyond survival. You mentioned absurdly unlikely plans of some kind."
Cath makes a noise.
"Me? Reckless? Well I never."
"It would not be all that happened. Your blood would be turned to ice, you'd be shredded into a million little royal bits, if it really took all that much to kill you she might take your soul and do some unpleasantnesses to it instead. If Mab wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Not dying sounds like the best of your plans so far, let's go with that one."
Cath meows.
"I appreciate your concern, but for once in my life I think my degree of ambition is perfectly appropriate to the situation," says Milo.
He's crying a bit again. Fucking souls.
"I mean to listen to you! Honestly I do!"
"I'm just, I'm sorry, I just- I don't know how to protect you enough to, to make the little flashing light in my head stop saying 'WHY ARE YOU LETTING HIM WALK OFF THIS CLIFF', I don't know what I can- say, or do, or- I don't know. I'm, I'm sorry."
Cath meows, somewhat at length. Milo listens to her, then translates, "She says that although I'm frequently a reckless idiot, I am actually very smart and will probably do just fine if I get a chance to sit down and learn what makes this place tick. Thank you, Catherine."
"Thanks," says Leo. "I- that's good. Thanks." He extends a hand to the filthy creature in a show of peace.
Cath pads daintily up to Leo and bumps her head against his fingertips. She is very soft and fluffy and not filthy at all.
Leo quietly pets the soft and fluffy abomination. She's very fluffy.
The soft fluffy abomination purrs. Milo decides that the 'I approve' translation probably doesn't need to be made explicit.