November 12th, 1892 — Black Lake; Hogsmeade Side

Being as young as he still was, Dimitri still maintained a lot of his habits that he'd had as a human. He still carried his wand despite it now being just a useless stick for him and he mostly kept his routines. The upside of immortality was that he now had all the time in the world to learn things, to read, all the academic things he had loved to do in life. Some of his vampiric kin tended to scoff at him for having most of his personal space taken over by books and various tools of academia. Most did not see the point of him continuing to cling to the aspects of being human he had loved.

One of his current pursuits was learning mermish. Thus far, he was failing in coaxing any of them to come up to the surface to test what he knew so far. Looking up from the surface of the lake (that lacked his reflection because, you know, vampire), he saw it was one of the older vampires that he as at least somewhat familiar with. "I feel like you always run into me when I am by the lake," he said to the older vampire jokingly when he saw it was only Ishmael. He scooped his books and quill back into his bag as he smiled tentatively up at the other as he stood back up.

Elias Grimstone / Ishmael

  

---

You couldn’t take a new vampire anywhere. Ishmael had known this, and he didn’t regret it, but still – there had been a whole lot of babysitting Monty in places far from humankind in the last fortnight, and presumably a great deal more effort to come.

This little outing had felt like the first chance he’d had to stretch his legs, and he’d come down from the caverns and started wandering without caring where he went, pleased enough for the peace and quiet outside in the dusk. Well, the solitude didn’t last, exactly – Ishmael squinted – because there was a familiar figure just over there, but compared to Monty, even Lancaster was mature, a practical model of self-discipline. Ishmael snorted lightly to himself, and meandered over, sure that the other vampire would hear his approach sooner or later.

“Just making sure you’re not wasting your time trying to drown yourself,” Ishmael joked in answer. Obviously vampires did not die: but if anyone could cling to a lingering sense of human guilt or self-loathing about the caverns, he fancied Dimitri was as likely as anyone.

He quirked an eyebrow to ask without asking what Dimitri was doing, though.

---

  

---

"My books would get all wet if I did that," Dimitri said, his tone and expressions both making it rather impossible to discern if he was serious or also speaking in jest. If anyone was said to value books more than his life - or unlife, as it were - it would probably be Dimitri.

He smiled at the quirked eyebrow, correctly reading the unasked question there for once. "I am currently learning Mermish and trying to test out what I've learned thus far. But Mers don't like us very much." Us being vampires in general.

  

---

Ishmael huffed a laugh at that comment about books, whether it was joking or not. He didn’t mind books, himself – he’d lived long enough to read more than he’d ever expected to, and cultured himself enough through titles and odd chapters here and there – but if the choice came down to it he always trusted experience to theory.

But whatever kept Dimitri entertained, he supposed... although he had to hold back another, more questioning laugh at the full explanation. “How very accomplished of you, Lancaster,” Ishmael said, with mock-awe, as if Dimitri was a young lady practising her French. Ishmael, naturally, had never bothered with Mermish – he fancied he would rather learn every human language on earth first. “So no luck finding a conversation partner in the lake?” The picture of it was too amusing, a vampire bent over the banks calling out to the merfolk.

And he didn’t know why they were such cold fish about vampires, either. In Ishmael’s opinion, the merfolk were more monstrous than them.

---

  

---

The fact he was being mocked flew right over the younger vampires head and he simply beamed at what he thought was praise. His smell fell somewhat as the other asked about his lack in finding a conversation partner.

"No, their grudges against our kind run deeper than the lake they live in, I suppose."

  

---

He snorted at that clever wordplay, although it had to be said he was glad he wasn’t forced to spend his days underwater. No wonder the merfolk had such a narrow worldview.

Still, it made Ishmael feel petty, the whole business about the mer choosing beast over being just to spite their kind. (Maybe Ishmael was particularly irked by it because he had made it his whole business, generally, being liked.)

“I don’t understand why everyone has it out for our kind,” Ishmael said idly, pushing a pebble into the water’s edge with his foot. “At least we were human once.” He didn’t talk this way with everyone – he didn’t care what he’d become – but he was interested in Lancaster’s perspective here. The other vampire, as evidenced here, still sounded very human in attitude.

(Was that what made everyone uncomfortable, that people could eventually become this?)

---

  

---

Dimitri nodded in agreement. As it was, he still had moments of forgetting he was no longer human. How long did that last, he had to wonder. "I suppose they're just afraid of what's different." There were those that railed against anything that was not so obviously 'same' as themselves. He imagined that was much the same reason some humans might resent vampires and werewolves. "Werewolves get the same flak but at least they can hide among the masses." After all, a werewolf changed for 3 nights while vampires were what they were every moment.

  

“Don’t tell me you’d rather be a werewolf than a vampire,” Ishmael scoffed, a touch incredulous even at the possibility. Hiding amongst the masses; was that what Lancaster would have preferred to do? Become a howling yelping thing every full moon so he could mix with humans the same way he always had? (That, Ishmael thought, would be pathetic.)

---

  

---

Dimitri nodded in agreement. As it was, he still had moments of forgetting he was no longer human. How long did that last, he had to wonder. "So you prefer this endless eternity of night, of constant yearning for blood, to having to deal with yourself three days out of the month?" Dimitri countered instead of answering outright. Because yes, he would rather be a werewolf than this life he had. He'd had privilege's, he had been rich, his life had been full of promise - only for it all to be taken away by a vampire who had found him to be a tasty morsel.

And now, he had very little of what he had been accustomed to in life. And he no longer even had Clarence's love and warmth to take the edge off his time. Ishmael had made his lover one of their kind but Dimitri had chosen to sacrifice his own happiness so that Clarence could move on from him. The usually upbeat, optimistic and idealistic to the point of stupidity young vampire could not help the way his mood shifted to being rather moody.

  

---

“All the best parties happen at night,” Ishmael pointed out, in a joking tone – but beneath it, Dimitri’s talk did grate on him.

“I know werewolves,” he continued, a little gall rising in him at all this bloody wallowing. “They always feel like shit and they live in fear and they can’t control any of it... and what? We can do anything, still. We can do anything forever. For the price of drinking a little blood... What can’t you do?”

(Ishmael might have taken Lancaster’s assessment of their kind a little personally.)

---

  

---

"And werewolves can perform magic, in their human forms, which they get to live as most days of the month. Which we cannot," Dimitri countered. He could recognize why Ishmael might be upset. But Dimitri had never wanted this life for himself, did any of them ever? And Dimitri was still young, both humanly and vampirically speaking.

  

---

Ishmael regretted ever wandering into Dimitri’s little pity party. Boo hoo, so he didn’t have magic – he was no better than a muggle. That, Ishmael thought, was his own fault: the product of an easy childhood, a picturesque upbringing. He didn’t know exactly how Lancaster had lived, but he’d probably never had to do anything for himself. He’d never had to thieve or labour or traipse halfway across the world for the sake of a war.

“So,” Ishmael drawled, “tell me, Dimitri. What would you be doing now, if you were still living your ordinary human life?” This wasn’t the way to lift the younger vampire’s spirits, but Ishmael didn’t much care if it made Lancaster feel worse. He didn’t have any sympathy here. What exactly did Dimitri miss?

---

  

---

"Cookies. Food. The daylight," Dimitri said though he saved the one most important to him for last. "Being able to put my lips against the person I love without wanting to drain him dry or hear his blood pumping when I do not want to. " He had been afraid of what he might end up doing to Clarence so he had let him go. If he wasn't a vampire, that would never have been something he had to do.

  

---

Ishmael just offered a jeering laugh at the first remarks about food, because that was a petty problem. Ishmael had seen the worst streets of London, and people starving – and he suspected any of those humans would have exchanged poverty and starvation for vampirism in a heartbeat. Some people had never suffered. Dimitri was just soft.

The other issue gave him slightly more pause – it was a difficulty Ishmael had long endured, and until recently, had mostly learned to live with – but he didn’t have much stomach for whining, generally, so he wasn’t going to commiserate now. “You poor soul,” he taunted. “And have you been accidentally biting him from time or time, or does he not want you coming anywhere near his neck nowadays?”

---

  

---

"I think for the sake of our friendship, it is best you leave me be for now," Dimitri said, anger in his tone which was a rarity for him. He had let his lover go for Clarences own sake. The other obviously knew nothing about true love. He would not have Clarence disparaged.

  

---

Dimitri had come alive at that, his flare of anger somewhat disconcerting to Ishmael. (True, their skin was cold, but Ishmael had been alone long enough; his skin was thicker than Lancaster’s, obviously, when it came to a little irreverence.)

So he did spring to his feet, more roughly than usual, but he shot the other vampire a look that still held an echo of mockery in it – because this conversation had made him near-irritated, too. Here Lancaster was, ruining everyone’s moods as well as his own. An excellent use of time. Ugh.

“We’re friends, are we?” Ishmael tutted, shaking his head in derision. “What could you do to me, anyway?” What would Lancaster dare to do?

---

  

---