Offering

Cain managed to sleep nearly an entire day and night before a soft rap came at his door. He struggled his way back to consciousness, internally groaning at being disturbed so soon after his return. His whole body still ached from the tainted blood and subsequent treatment, and the bit of blood he'd helped himself to in the kitchen was barely enough to take the edge off. He knew that for vampires, sleep didn't actually aid in recovery, but it never ceased to irritate him when he woke up feeling just as awful as he had when going to sleep.

Slowly dragging himself to the door, he yanked it open. "What is it?" he demanded, not bothering to hide the irritation he felt.

The thrall at the door was one of the lower-ranking ones. Somewhere along the line, the thralls had figured out that Cain didn't like abusing the lower thralls, unlike most of the vampires who dwelled in the castle. It had become commonplace to see the weakest and the least-valuable thralls come to him whenever he was summoned or his presence was needed for some miserable function or meeting or other pointless reason. Many vampires saw this as a slight to Cain, and allowed this to color their perception of his abilities and rank. Cain had no interest in vampire politics beyond whether or not they could get him killed, so it didn't bother him that the lower-rank thralls were the ones who ran errands for him. But it did get annoying, the fact that other vampires would sometimes take his low-ranked thralls as invitation to try and topple him from his position as the clan enforcer.

This night's thrall was a thin wisp of a young man, appearing human, but with the faint scent of demon somewhere in his ancestry. Probably a demon's great-grandchild. It would improve the flavor of his blood and probably grant him a bit of an advantage in some form of combat, or possibly an improved stamina or healing. Clearly, it wasn't enough to allow him to rise the ranks of thralls. The poor boy was also maybe fifteen years old if a day, and shaking like a leaf. "Sir Ei-Einhardt," he stuttered, tongue stumbling over itself in his hurry to try and speak. He reached up to shove a strand of pale white-blonde hair away from his face, tucking it back into the messy knot gathered at the back of his head.

Once again, Cain wondered where the honorific was coming from. "Just call me Cain," he said.

"Oh, right, Sir Cain," the boy corrected himself.

Cain didn't have the heart to try again, so he let it go for the moment. "What is it?" he asked again, forcing his tone to soften even though he still felt like growling his irritation.

"There's - er - well - a message for you," the boy mumbled, finally managing to get the words out.

Cain pitied the poor boy his next encounter with a vampire. Cain was generally considered to be the most patient of the lot, and even he was findingh is patience being tried by the fumbling words. "A message from whom?" he asked.

"Oh!" the boy looked surprised. "Um. I don't know…?" he sounded disappointed in himself, and cringed, knowing that the answer would bring displeasure. "I, ah, I probably should - No, you're right, sir, I should have asked," he immediately chastised himself.

Cain hadn't said anything, merely raised an eyebrow. Was he that easy to read? "Who is holding the message?" he asked.

"Oh! Um," the boy's face flushed as he realized he'd completely failed in his courier task. "I don't know his name…"

"Describe him," Cain suggested, flexing his fingers to stop himself from curling them into irritated claws.

"Oh! Right," the boy sputtered, and then frowned. "Um. Tall…?"

Cain shut his eye briefly and took a few deep, cleansing breaths, even though he knew he didn't need to breathe anymore. He reopened his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Oh! He has long hair," the boy beamed, clearly quite proud of himself for remembering. As if over half of the men in the castle didn't grow their hair to at least shoulder-length. What a young fool he was. How had he ended up in the castle, and which thrall would notice how utterly stupid the boy was, and take him under their wing?

"Long hair. Tall. In the kitchen," Cain repeated flatly.

"Yes…" the boy said, a look of understanding dawning over his face. His eyes went wide. "Oh, oh no, oh sir," he shut his eyes, a look of terror replacing the realization of how badly he was carrying out his duty. "Oh no," he said again, softer, more frightened.

Cain paid the panic no mind, though a small, instinctive part of him drew away at the display. Fear often added a bit of a sour taint to blood that he personally didn't appreciate. "What's your name?" he asked, because he was going to be having a word with some of the thralls he knew better. This poor kid was going to get mauled on his next assignment if he wasn't better trained.

The boy swallowed once, reaching up and wrapping one hand around the side of his throat, like he thought he needed to guard it from attack. As if Cain was at all interested in that! Even if he might have been at some point, he certainly wasn't interested in drinking the blood of a nervous wreck! Besides, Cain didn't like the way that drinking blood directly from a thrall influenced their behavior. It took a long time to stop the thralls fawning over him once he drank directly from their veins, so he'd long since given that up. He knew most vampires appreciated the attention, but Cain found it annoying and vapid. He knew it made him weak, in some ways, because other vampires had a much firmer grip on the thralls of the castle, using their eyes and their fangs to enforce their position in the hierarchy. Cain had no interest in that sort of thing, even if it left his position vulnerable. He only ever drank the blood of a victim he intended to kill. He didn't like dealing with the consequences of a thrall who lusted after the vampire's bite.

"My name is Liam," the boy said through trembling lips. "If it pleases you, I…" he slowly drew his hand away from his neck, clutching both hands together, clenching his fingers so tightly that the knuckles turned white. Then, in a stilted, shuddering manner, he tilted his head to one side, presenting a pale column of throat as apology for his poor performance.

Cain wasn't sure how many times the thrall had been bitten before - it was fairly easy to conceal bite scarring with a bit of vampire saliva - but he clearly hadn't reached the stage where he craved the bite, yet. Liam was obviously afraid of Cain, but he knew that this was how a thrall was meant to show contrition.

"It does not please me," Cain said, not cruelly, but still firmly. This was one behavior he would not tolerate and refused to encourage among the thralls.

The boy flinched bodily, and ducked his head, immediately concealing the expanse of bared throat. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't trouble yourself over it," Cain said. "Thank you for the message, Liam. I'll find my way to the kitchen shortly." And somehow find a tall, long-haired man with a message for him. He certainly hoped that it wouldn't take him all night to figure out who it was. Better yet, perhaps the messenger would approach him, first.

"Yes, sir," Liam said, head still bowed.

Cain waited for several agonizing seconds. He'd have to add that to the boy's lack of training - sensing when it was time to make oneself scarce was a crucial part of preserving one's life as a thrall, and this boy had absolutely not learned that skill. "You can leave, now," he said, trying not to sound as annoyed as he felt. It wasn't the boy's fault that his training as a thrall was woefully inadequate. What was Morgan doing, to let someone so utterly useless take on tasks that had him interfacing with the ranked vampires of the castle? It was ludicrous!

"Oh! Of course, sorry, sir," Liam said, and then turned and scurried away.

Cain watched him go for several seconds, ensuring the boy found his way to the thrall's corridors. Once he'd disappeared from view, Cain finally closed the door to his room and sighed. So much for having a few days to himself.

It didn't take long for Cain to find his way down to the kitchens. Once there, he helped himself to a mug of blood, and began taking careful sips. It was a heady substance and needed to be consumed with measured caution, not only due to its magical effects on injured vampires. It also didn't do to develop a habit of gulping down blood, since one never knew where the next meal might be coming from. In the event that Cain had to feed from a thrall directly, taking too much too quickly could cause serious health complications. And Cain had no interest in hurting the thralls he fed from.

Glancing around the kitchen, Cain waited for anyone to flag him down with a message. Unfortunately, it was nearing midnight, so the second meal of the night was being prepared for the thralls who kept nocturnal schedules to match the waking hours of the resident vampires. This meant that there was a fair amount of chaos taking place. Since Cain had no real desire to take his message any sooner than necessary, he chose instead to sink back into one of the tucked-away corners of the kitchen, and continue sipping at his mug of blood, watching the dinner service unfold.

There were a decent number of cooks, churning out food for the almost seventy thralls littered throughout the castle grounds during the night shift. There were fewer thralls who took the day shift, since most vampires slept during that time, and their services were less likely to be required as a result.

After several minutes of watching the kitchen work, a human stepped into the corner beside him. He was tall, broad of shoulder, with long chestnut-brown hair that fell in a perfectly straight curtain nearly to his waist. He gazed out at the other thralls, a mild look of interest on his face. He started to speak, then. "I have a message for you."

"Johann," Cain said, and wondered why he hadn't guessed the identity of the thrall. Well, if the boy had bothered to say something like 'flawlessly pretty' or 'leggy and impeccably dressed', he would have had an easier time guessing who had the message.

Johann spared a quick glance in the direction of Cain's mug, his warm brown eyes glinting with amusement. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," Cain murmured back. He took another sip, and pointedly raised an eyebrow in Johann's direction. "So? What's the word?"

"I thought you should know," Johann said, "some of the thralls in the accounts division overheard Crowe and Fowler talking about you."

"They always talk about me," Cain pointed out, taking another sip of blood to hide his irritation. This again? How many times was Crowe going to attempt to undermine him before he gave up and let Cain be?

"Apparently, it was a bit more serious this time," Johann said. "They were talking about lacing your cup."

Cain glanced down at his mug, then looked over to Johann. "But I always serve myself blood," he said.

"I know that," Johann said, "and you know that. And the thralls know that, too. But it's worth noting that they've moved from mere complaints to actively plotting, now."

They tended to do that every three-to-four years. Cain wasn't surprised. It had been about three years since the last attempt on his life, after all. This seemed to fit the usual progression. "I appreciate the warning," he said.

Johann glanced over at Cain. "There's an easy way to avoid poisoning, you know," he said, lifting a hand to push his hair back over his ear, tilting his head just-so to allow the hair to fall away.

No matter how many times Cain turned him down, Johann wouldn't take the hint. He was one of the first thralls Cain had fed on, back when he hadn't known what he knew now about the way repeated feedings made thralls long to be consumed. Johann still asked for his fangs, every chance he got. Over time, it had become easier for Cain to refuse, especially since Johann's blood wasn't anything special. But Cain was only a vampire, and it was the second bared throat of the day.

Grimacing, he turned back to his mug, pointedly averting his eyes. "No, Johann," he said firmly. "There isn't."

Johann huffed, and fluffed his hair one more time for good measure, the scent of his hair oil wafting in the air. "Just so you know, my offer stands," he said.

"I'm aware," Cain said drily. "Thank you for the warning."

"Be careful," Johann said, laying a hand on Cain's shoulder. "Please."

"I will," Cain said, shrugging off the contact. He took another sip of his blood. "Go eat," he told Johann.

With a sigh, the man stalked across the kitchen, grabbing a bread roll and shoving it aggressively into his mouth before shooting an irritated look at Cain and then leaving through one of the thralls' side passages.

Cain took another sip of blood. So. Crowe was making moves again, was he?