Interview With a Vampire (Aure)

[Lord Hartford]

It was night and the wind was cracking over the bleak walls of the estate. The overgrown trees whipped and stirred, their boughs creaking and groaning as the forces of the elements passed them by. From the noble, black metal gates, it was possible to see that, just over the crest of a gentle hill, perhaps half a mile away, sat a house. There were a few lights burning in the windows, far enough apart and high enough in the air to give the impression that the building was big and imposing. From the scant light cast by the moon, it was possible to just about make out the dark outline of the building, squatting on the horizon amongst a huddle of evergreen trees.

In the hall of the building a servant, one of a few who were still willing to work in this place, was wiping a thick wedge of dust from the top of a slightly faded painting. The elderly old crone could remember when the painting which hung here had been of Lady Hartford, the current Lord's mother. She had, in her youth, been a remarkably good looking woman, and people had often commented on the beauty of the painting. Over time her looks had been destroyed by worry inflicted upon her by her troublesome son and now he had usurped her paintings position. He looked out from the replacement with fierce eyes, a look of passionate dedication fixed onto his firm features. There was something sinister about his pose, about the way he stood, which frightened the servant a little. Perhaps the skull depicted on the desk behind him was the reason she found the picture disturbing. Or perhaps it was the look of malice which polluted everything about him. Perhaps it was the fact that his essence seemed wicked.

Upstairs sat the master himself. Lord Hartford was deep in contemplation, hunched over a book like a vulture. As he read, he spoke over the words, vocalising them in perfect Latin, letting them roll of his tongue like the flowing of the River Stenner, which ran near his house. His desk was littered with papers, rolls and scrolls tumbled across the wood, illuminated by the flickering candles which were placed all around the room. In the hearth behind him a fire crackled and spat viscously, sending a pool of light spreading out across the floor. It revealed the faint outline of a circle, drawn in chalk, with words ascribed along the edges in some mysterious language.

He had brought up a chair earlier, and sat it on the other side of the desk. It was leather and wood, creased and stained with age and with the crest of his family embossed in its back. The crown and sword, so typical of English heraldry, beaten there were of no particular interest to Hartford. He found the history of his family to be quite boring. The history he was going to make was far, far more interesting.

[Aurelius Bianchi]

Was this a social call or one of business? Aurelius really wasn't sure any more. It had been so long since he'd openly made either. He nearly laughed at the thought of what Epifanio might have done in his shoes. Truth be told, he supposed Epifanio would never have put himself in this position. He sighed in faint annoyance with himself. Ah, well. He supposed he was strong enough to deal with whatever came upon him. He was not the oldest of vampires, but he certainly wasn't the youngest, either. He was strong enough to protect and fend for himself and for those who had come to him for aid. He might have been a selfish being, but he had a soft heart for those boys who reminded him of himself as a child. They became his children in turn, giving him the family that he had never before had.

Darkness was heavy tonight, for which the vampire was grateful as he made his way to the sent carriage. His heavy, embroidered cloak fanned out behind him, the howling of the wind sending it flying behind him like silk upon water. His hair was loose, and it too would have caught the wind were it not for the gloved hand that held his hood in place. He wasn't about to risk having his hair ruined tonight. Not when he intended to be a study. He had dressed himself in his finest. From his shirt to his shoes, not a detail was out of place. He wanted to impress, and it was exactly what he would do. After all, he wanted this man to be willing to comply with his wishes, even if it meant giving away more information than what was generally acceptable. If things did not go as he planned? Well, the man was mortal. If entrancing him failed, there were always other options. Aurelius had learned that truth over a life too long spent alone.

The carriage moved swiftly, and the entire way, his children flanked it in the shadows. They rushed along in the darkness, never allowing themselves to be seen. But he knew they were there. How could he not? He could sense them. Feel them. Hear them. They were his, and it was his right and power to do so. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself, a sort of smirking expression, as he listened to the music of the wheels. He was tempted to call for his meal while they rode, to see how frantically mortals might chase the carriage to meet their inevitable fate, but he thought better of it. No, it would be amusing to meet this Lord Hartford fellow when he was hungry still.

He arrived. It was strange how nervous the humans were around him, though he was sure they knew nothing of his identity. His children circled the home, and his cloak and gloves were taken by a man at the door, who then led him upwards. The stairs were met easily, and shortly, the vampire found himself being introduced like a proper gentleman. He paused near the door, allowing for his keen gaze to take in his surroundings. "My lord," he prompted faintly. "What an...interesting arrangement. I am your humble servant." He gave a bow then, though there seemed to be amusement to it. His accent was marked, and he made no effort to hide it.

[Lord Hartford]

“Ah, Mr Bianchi. Take a seat.”

He gestured with a thin, pale hand to the chair set out on the other side of the desk, and greeted his visitor with a warm smile. The tone of his voice was similar to that of a doctor meeting a patient; obviously polite, but marked with the arrogance of knowing a considerable deal more than the person on the other side of the room. After a few moments the aristocrat leant forward and offered the same hand, this time to be shook in the customary sign of greeting.

“It's a pleasure to meet you at last. I trust that your journey was comfortable, but it is a rather peculiar night, is it not? I, certainly, would not wish to travel in such inhospitable weather, and I can only apologise for making you come out in it.”

The small-talk, he thought, was now over. He had fulfilled the socially demanded rituals of making petty chatter about the weather, and asking how comfortable the journey had been, and now he was desperate to get down to business. Without further ado he stood and turned to the book case which stood behind his chair. It was as tall and as wide as the wall which it filled, so that the whole thing was covered in a carpet of dusty, leather bindings. After a few moments, he pulled down the note book which he had selected previously for this exercise, and placed it on the table. He dipped a quill pen into a small pot of ink as he took his seat again, and opened the book with another welcoming smile.

“I intend, Mr Bianchi, to begin with your beginning. I would like you to tell me your history. Leave nothing out, and I shall write everything down. You can be assured that the entire events of tonight shall remain anonymous, and you must not fear any form of retribution.”

His thirst for knowledge meant that he showed no qualms about asking the vampire to open up and tell him everything. Hartford felt quite sure that he would miss certain details out, and the thought irked him a little. He wanted all the information he could get.

He wanted to know everything.

[Aurelius Bianchi]

Aurelius gave a polite nod of his head, and sat himself with all the ease and grace of one like himself. His entire life had been spent practicing perfection of movement, and he seemed to have achieved it quite well. There was not a single movement he had not practiced and calculated in its execution.

Upon sitting, his back straightened regally, and he held out his cane, chin tilted upward with a sort of superior smirk touching the corner of his lips. Two fat cats preening and puffing out their chests before one another. He accepted the offered hand in greeting, giving it a faint, disinterested shake. Humble servant, indeed. He watched the human closely, interested due to the blood in his veins, and gave a short, curt nod of his head. Conversation of this manner was not what he had come for, and even in privacy, it was necessary. Mortals and immortals alike could not function without it.

"Such a night lends favor to the hunt," he informed. "My children will enjoy it." They would feed him, too, when they returned home, as he would not be going out himself tonight. "As for the journey, it was pleasant enough, thank you. I do not make a habit of using carriages, however. They tend to draw more attention than one would ever need or desire."

He watched Lord Hartford silently then, arching a delicate brow as he readied his things. His own posture remained regal and poised, as if in the presence of some great being, or as if he were a great being himself. One might never tell, from looking upon him, that he was born of lowly stock, a bastard child, who had once known the deepest reaches of poverty. That was a long, long time ago, and he saw little importance in remembering such things. His full lips set, and his blue eyes seemed oddly brilliant in the dim candlelight.

"I suppose by my history, you wish to know of my short years as a mortal. I suppose that they, too, are of a particular interest. Should you feel inclined to know more of a certain subject, please, do not hesitate to ask...

"My mother was a bastard child of a cardinal. Cardinal Benigno Ricci. My father's parents were never of any significance to my knowledge, as they had died long before my birth. Mama met my father when she was about sixteen, and he got her with child shortly after. She gave birth to me, and died during the act." As he spoke, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a short, white stick and a tiny packet of matches. "You don't mind if I smoke, do you?" Without waiting for an answer, he lit up his papelate and took a long drag. "My father was an alcoholic. When I was about...mmmm...four years old, he taught me how to steal, and I did so to provide us with money, food...Whatever. Babbo worked for a wealthy man, but every bit of money went toward his drink. The man's name was Epifanio Mancini. He was a great painter, and Babbo said he was one of the wealthiest men in all of Italia. I often played on his lands, but I never realized what he was.

"Babbo died when I was ten years. I spent the next four years living on the streets. One day, when I was feeling particularly bold, I entered a cathedral, hoping to steal a goblet to sell for food money. I was, however, caught, and was going to be punished, but the priest who caught me took me to the cardinal." He laughed. "As irony would have it, the man turned out to be my grandfather, and he recognized Mama in me. He sent me to the home of a man and a woman to be educated. Alessandro and Sophia Gallo. The man, as it turned out, had no intention of treating me as his child, and made a religious practice of bedding me. One night, his wife caught him raping me, and he accused me of seducing and beguiling him. Naturally, she trusted the word of her husband over the ungrateful urchin, and cast me out. A man by the name of Giovanni Bruno took me in...He owned a bordello, and my hair earned quite a lot of coin from his clients. However, it also caught the attention of one Signori Mancini, who purchased me from Giovanni.

"Signori Mancini was...my maker. He taught me everything. Art, music, literature, languages. He reared me from being little more than a beggar to this." He motioned to himself then, giving a soft laugh and once more taking a drag from his papelate. "My Epifanio...My friend, my lover, and my father. He made me his eternally when I was seventeen. We spent five years in absolute bliss together. He painted me, wrote plays and music for me, and I performed them as he wished. I was...His Golden One. His angel. He and his friends, who each had beloved children of their own, showed me what it meant to live forever, to have everything one might ever desire.

One night, however, when I was...Mmm...Twenty-two, we were feeding upon a prostitute together. We had gone into the city to see a performance, and stopped on the way home." He paused for a moment, finishing the papelate and frowning slightly. "We were attacked. I watched as my 'Fanio was butchered. But the men spared me. Spared the grandson of Cardinal Ricci. I was banished from Sienna, only five years into eternity, and forced to hide myself away."

A flicker of anger crossed his features now, and he stood, restless.

"That was many, many years ago. I have since then piled upon the wealth of my maker, heir to his possessions. I perform my music openly. Perhaps you would like to see it at work. I...find prey to be much more...tasteful when it comes willingly to me."