Laundry

By the time Cain awoke, day had passed him by and the night was drawing near (though it had yet to fall again). It wasn't quite the long rest he had hoped for, and that knowledge was soured further by the realization that the blood had done almost nothing for him while he slept. He could still feel a heaviness in his stomach where the blood had rested - or was it still resting there, refusing to be taken in by his undead body's mechanism of animation? He didn't know, and in some ways that was more terrifying than if he'd simply vomited the blood back up the way he did human food. To have blood be hovering between useless and useful was more distressing, because it left Cain feeling like a helpless newly-turned vampire all over again. He didn't want to accidentally go feral because he wasn't drinking enough blood, but he also didn't want to glut himself on blood. And what if the blood grew less effective over time? What if he started to crave his own blood?

Agitated, Cain tried to push the worry from his mind. His first order of business was getting another mug of blood. The first one had done almost nothing for him and he still felt utterly spent and miserable after his journey back. He'd been able to return fairly quickly, mostly because he no longer needed to be tracking the movements of a target. That meant he could bypass towns as much as possible, and start moving as soon as daylight disappeared. It also meant he slept on the cold hard ground and risked exposure for the two days he spent in the wild.

But he'd returned quickly, because he'd wanted to recover in his own room, in his own bed. And now he was beginning to fear that he would never recover. That this enforcement mission had somehow fundamentally altered him, and he would forever be a broken vampire.

But he couldn't allow his fear to paralyze him, either. So, with a sigh, Cain tugged on his last clean shirt (he really needed to visit the laundry) and headed back out into the thralls' corridors. His mug of blood was every bit as repulsive as the last, and sat heavy in his stomach like a stone. It ached a little bit, this time, like his stomach was deciding whether or not to reject it. He kept waiting for it to crawl back up his throat, but fortunately, it never did. He did notice a distinct lack of utility, though, because he still felt tired, and hungry, and battered. The seared parts of his skin where Thomas' purified blood has spattered and burned him were still a splotchy red color, when the first mug, much less a second mug, should have been enough to immediately clear that up.

Instead, he endured the lingering pain of the burns, and resignedly made his way to the laundry room. Hopefully Grace would be there, and if not Grace, then surely Ellen would have his clothes ready and waiting.

When he stepped into the laundry, he was distantly aware of a stare coming from one of the more distant corners. He paid it no mind - thralls often stared, especially if they didn't know Cain very well. It was a combination of nerves and curiosity, typically. Cain knew they didn't mean anything by it, not usually. After all, stares of malice felt more… pointed.

…on second thought, maybe it was a stare of malice. Though not exactly like the sorts of cold-blooded stares he got from high-ranked thralls hoping to win favor from their vampire masters by wishing ill on Cain, nor was it like the bloodthirsty scowls he earned from his fellow vampires. It was more of a mulish, brooding sort of malice. Which was not altogether pleasant, but it was unique.

"Ellen," Cain said, moving across the laundry to where the tall, heavyset woman was lifting a basket that he suspected even he might struggle to carry, "Do you have any clothes for me?"

"Ah, Einhardt," Ellen said, turning to him with a wry smile, "Good to see you back in one piece."

Ellen was something of an institution among the thralls. She had been in the fortress for years, and was a reliable guiding force among the thralls. She had a personality that might get a younger thrall in trouble, but she'd earned it through her long years of service.

"It's good to be back in one piece," Cain retorted. "You wouldn't happen to have any shirts for me?"

"I have a whole pile of them, actually," Ellen said, dropping the basket and moving across the room to where several baskets were sitting out. The area was next to the drying racks, so it kept the clothes relatively dry even when they sat there for a few days. Any other area of the laundry and it might risk a bit of mildew, considering how long Cain tended to leave his clothes lying there.

When Cain accepted the basket of his clothes, though, he paused. He remembered handing some of these to Grace, and two of them had been shirts he'd seen tucked under the arm of a half-demon girl from a small shack in the woods far from here. He hadn't expected Grace to be able to get ahold of the young woman so quickly, and yet, here was the proof of it. He glanced at Ellen with a bit of surprise. "When did you get these?"

"Oh, they came in three days ago," Ellen answered. "Grace delivered them after her morning market run."

But Cain hadn't been here at that time - he'd barely finished off Thomas by then. So the demon girl couldn't have gotten any of his scent-laden clothes for her brother. He wondered if the girl was still waiting in the town, or if she had given up and gone back to the old woman and her werewolf brother. "Well, I'm grateful to have them back," Cain said.

"If you have any clothes you need washed," Ellen said, "I'll take them now."

If the demon girl was waiting for the clothes, it was probably better that he didn't wash them right away. "I'll bring them later," he said, and pulled the pile of shirts and other assorted clothes out of the basket. "Thank you."

"Happy to help," Ellen replied, then made a soft clucking sound as she glanced over Cain's shoulder at something. "Oh, the poor boy, he's fallen asleep at the bucket again," she sighed.

Cain blinked. That was not the sort of comment one normally heard in the laundry. He turned, following her gaze, and saw a figure slumped over near one of the wash stations. Three other thralls were staring down at the slumped thrall, their expressions showing various states of unamused disdain. "You have thralls falling asleep on the job?" he asked, surprised that Ellen would tolerate such a thing.

"Normally I wouldn't stand for it," Ellen said, understanding Cain's unspoken meaning. "But the poor thing's having a rough go of it - he's a new transfer, somehow he caught a sort of wasting disease. I swear he eats less than a songbird at meals, and he's constantly falling asleep - he does his best, he really does, but he works until he collapses." She made a bit of a face, adding, "Today he's collapsing more than he's working, though."

Cain grimaced. Thralls that couldn't contribute didn't typically last long in the fortress. Ellen was one of the few thralls willing to stand up for the weak ones - and she had enough authority to make sure no one moved against her or whatever thrall she'd taken under her wing. That was likely why Morgan had transferred the thrall to her care. It was one of the few places a thrall was likely to last with something as condemning as a wasting distease. "Do you need someone to take him back to his quarters?" Cain volunteered. Not that he was usually the sort to interfere in these situations, but if the boy was one of Ellen's new favorites, it was always good to earn a few points with the laundress. She had connections all over the fortress, and she knew exactly how to use them, too. It was always good to be owed a favor by Ellen, no matter how small.

"Would you? I don't know exactly where he's staying, but I'm sure Grace could tell you, she's the one who brought him from Morgan to get him oriented here. Why don't you try taking him to her, first?"

That actually worked out extraordinarily in Cain's favor, as he was hoping to find Grace anyway. "I'll do that," he agreed, and headed over to where the slumped figure lay, one arm dangling inside the tub of water, his head resting precariously on the lip of it. He was lucky he hadn't fallen in headfirst. Cain glanced at the other three thralls, who were staring at him with a mixture of awe and nervousness, "May I?"

The other three immediately gestured for Cain to do whatever he wanted, resulting in a flock of fluttering of open-palm swooshing motions.

"Taking him now won't change things much. He's only been here three days and he hasn't managed to work a single shift from start to finish," one said.

"He probably won't taste good," one of the others said, sounding worried. "He's real sick."

The third just stared at Cain with wide eyes.

Cain ignored all three of them, and reached down to touch the young man, but something made him stop. He couldn't say what, exactly, just that he felt uneasy being so close to the poor thrall. For a moment, he considered pushing through the sensation, but his ability to recover from injury or misfortune was at an all-time low. He didn't want to stumble into a mess of his own making again. So, he paused, and waited. Surprisingly, it worked, and the unsettling feeling abated. He curled one arm around the thrall, pausing again when the pressure built up a second time, sort of like the sickening feeling he got when he ate human food, but deeper. More like there was something deep in the core of him resisting something about the thrall.

This is no normal sickness, Cain thought absently. While human illnesses could make the blood taste off, he'd never encountered a disease that was off-putting even before the bite. Not even the thrice-blessed blood had felt so deeply uncomfortable to be near, until it had been too late.

As before, though, after a few seconds of patience, Cain was able to scoop the young man into his arms and lift him away from the washtub. It wasn't until he had the young man cradled firmly in his arms that he caught sight of his face. Fortunately, Cain had practice schooling his expression, because it was the face of someone he never expected to see again…

The werewolf boy from the witch's cottage. But what was he doing here? Why was he so far from home? And what was this strange sickness that had tried to push Cain away before gradually letting him come closer? It was all utterly baffling, and a lesser vampire certainly would have let the confusion show on his face. Cain kept his own expression neutral, shifting the werewolf boy in his arms a bit so that the pup's head rested against his chest instead of dangling backwards at an uncomfortable angle. "I'll take him to Grace, then," Cain said, and headed out. It wasn't until he'd nearly reached her room that he remembered the shirts he'd come for were still in the laundry.

Ah, well. Perhaps Grace would have an explanation for him regarding the frail wolf-man he was carrying in his arms. The young fellow was lightweight, like he hadn't been eating well. He was soft-looking, though there were bones protruding in a way that seemed he'd lost a fair amount of weight recently. His hair seemed dry and brittle, even after working in a steamy room, and his expression was one of resigned exhaustion, even in sleep.

Despite himself, Cain felt a bit of sympathy for the boy - he had clearly suffered from whatever had done this - was that the mate-sickness Grace had told him about? He hadn't expected it to be something so serious. He'd honestly thought that the borrowed shirts were a sort of werewolf self-pleasuring tactic or some such - he'd been mildly amused and a little bit surprised that Grace, being so proper, would ask for such a thing, but Cain had seen and done far worse than bringing himself to release while inhaling the scent of another man from some spare clothes. Who was he to judge a werewolf for his mysterious needs?

This, though, seemed completely different from what he'd expected. The pup seemed like he'd been having almost as hellish a time as Cain had, these past few weeks. He wondered what could have brought him here, but also found that he rather feared the answer.

Reaching Grace's door, he managed to reach out with one hand to give a gentle rap at it. There was no answer, and for a moment Cain feared he would be forced to take the werewolf back to his own quarters - a terrible idea, of course, for a number of reasons, not the least of which included the fact that the last time he'd seen the pup, the wolf had tried to kill him. Or at least maim him.

Then the door eased open a crack, barely wide enough for Grace to peer up at Cain, blinking in surprise. "Mister Einhardt?" she said, sounding like she'd been on her way to sleep. "I don't usually see you until the sun is fully down. Is something the matter?"

Cain supposed he normally saw Grace in the early hours of the morning, not the late hours of evening. He was surprised she recognized his sleeping pattern so well - perhaps he was becoming too predictable. That could be an issue, especially with Crowe and Fletcher brewing up trouble for him. "I was just at the laundry to retrieve my shirts," he explained, "And I found this fellow there. Ellen said you knew where to take him."

Grace's eyes widened almost comically as she threw open the door. "Damien!" she exclaimed.

The name sounded vaguely familiar, hearing it. Cain glanced down at the wolf in his arms. "You would know better than I," he said drily. He wasn't going to ask her how she'd gotten permission to bring the pup - Damien, she'd called him? - to the castle. Mostly because he didn't want to know that she hadn't gotten permission, which he suspected to be the case. Had Morgan known? Had Ellen? They probably knew. But both of them likely considered the young man relatively harmless. Cain supposed that he certainly didn't appear to be a threat like this. But that would surely change… Cain tried to remember when the full moon was coming, but had no firm answer. He would need to consult a calendar. Hopefully it would not be too soon.

"Why do you have him?" Grace asked, before apparently realizing it was a bit presumptive to phrase her question like that, and revised her question to be more diplomatic. "I mean, you're carrying him? Is he alright?"

Cain looked down again. "I am carrying him," he answered the non-question. "I don't know if he's well or not, Ellen just wanted him carried to a room and couldn't spare anyone to come find you, so I volunteered."

Grace made a soft sort of sound, between a sigh and a groan. "I should have checked on him," she chided herself. "I was so busy today it slipped my mind."

"So you've been looking out for him, then?" Cain asked, glancing between her and the werewolf in his arms.

"Dez- his sister asked me to," Grace said.

Cain was grudgingly impressed - he was fairly certain the girl had worked extremely hard to find loopholes in her enthrallment to be able to let a strange, unenthralled werewolf into their fortress. Thralls typically were warned against allowing enemies and dangers into the fortress, so perhaps her loophole had been the fact that this boy barely seemed capable of standing on his own, much less posing a threat to the vampires here. But that didn't mean the boy was free from danger himself. "His sister wanted him here?" Cain asked. "Among vampires?" With me? He didn't add, though he felt it was quite obvious. The boy hated him, and he couldn't think of a reason compelling enough to convince the young man that he should go to live with the cold-blooded killer who had wiped out his family without hesitation.

Cain hadn't had a choice in the matter, of course. But that would hardly make a difference to the victim of his actions. He didn't expect it to, either.

"He needed to be here," Grace answered.

Cain couldn't for the life of him imagine why; this place wasn't even safe for thralls and lesser vampires, much less an unguarded werewolf. He was going to get himself killed, or worse, enthralled. "I must confess a failure to imagine a reason why it should be the case that a werewolf would have need of this place, but I doubt he would be here otherwise, so I'll accept your word on the matter. Where should I take him?"

Grace's eyes widened. "Oh! You can take him to his room," she said, pulling the door open to let herself out. "Follow me."

Since all the thralls' rooms had a level of presumed welcome, Cain didn't think he would need to worry when he reached the werewolf's room. The prickling discomfort he felt on his skin at the doorway, though, said otherwise. "This is as far as I go," he said apologetically.

Grace looked surprised. "You can't come in?"

"I'm not invited," Cain explained.

"I'm inviting you," Grace tried.

"Not your room, not your invitation to extend," Cain explained. "Can you get him to the bed?"

"Lean him on my shoulder, I'll do my best," Grace said, moving back across the room to where Cain stood with an armload of werewolf.

Carefully, Cain unloaded the young man, grudgingly impressed by how Grace managed to hold his weight - or perhaps it was simply a testament to how light the wolf was, that the girl was able to drag him across the room so easily. When Grace shuffled him onto the bed, his loose-fitting tunic slipped a bit lower on him, revealing a cord that seemed to be tied around his neck. Grace made a move to remove it, then stopped. She slowly turned around, a look of confusion plain on her face.

"Mister Einhardt," she said, quietly concerned. "Did you feel anything… unusual… while you were holding Damien?"

Cain felt his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he slowly answered, "Not particularly," he said. "Why do you ask?"

Grace sighed, plucking at the cord, eventually withdrawing a little pouch attached to it - the cord and pouch had apparently been resting underneath the werewolf's tunic. "I guess Damien wasn't lying," she said. "Or maybe it's just not as powerful as he thought…"

Cain frowned. "Grace, I would like an explanation," he said, an edge to his voice he hadn't intended to be there.

Grace stiffened, sensing the agitation in his tone. "It's an amulet," she said quickly. "A ward against vampires."

Cain felt one of his eyes twitching. He had to assume that Morgan and Ellen hadn't known about it - no self-respecting thrall would be wearing anything that might repel a vampire. "And it's not dangerous to vampires," Cain said, because if there had been a chance of that Grace wouldn't have been able to resist the urge to tell someone immediately, or else deal with it herself.

"I don't think so," Grace said, but her contrite look was gradually returning to one of confusion. "But I thought it would be more… effective. You were carrying him this whole time and it didn't do anything."

Cain remembered, then, the odd resistance he'd felt when he'd tried to pick the boy up from the wash basin. "I think it did try to stop me, at first," he said. "But with a bit of patience, I prevailed."

Grace grimaced. "That's unfortunate," she said. "You're hardly the only patient vampire in the castle."

That was true, but there weren't all that many patient vampires. Their kind tended to rely on methods other than the 'wait-and-see' tactic. Cain was a bit unique on that front, and it was a method that had been taught to him through pain and the harsh punishment of failure. As an enforcer, a large part of his effectiveness was due to the fact that he was more patient and cautious than most vampires. "I suppose not," Cain said, because there were still a few patient vampires. Particularly the elder vampires, who had managed to escape an early destruction due to their excess of caution. "Do you know how it works?"

Grace shook her head. "I don't, exactly. Just that it's not dangerous."

Cain supposed that the feeling he'd gotten from the amulet hadn't been dangerous, either. It had simply been off-putting and uncomfortable. The sensation had not been entirely dissimilar to how he felt when he wasn't invited to a space and he attempted to cross the threshold. To trespass was a violation that the magic that animated his body would not allow. Perhaps this amulet, too, functioned under the magic of invitation, and simply revoked the invitation to the boy's body. For vampires accustomed to feeding on willing thralls, a lack of invitation would be jarring and uncomfortable, and would likely be effective in deterring the vast majority. Most vampires knew better than to challenge the magic of an invitation, and if the boy's protective charm capitalized on that, he supposed it technically wouldn't be dangerous to a vampire, unless the vampire insisted on pushing past the lack of invitation. But that would be stupid, because any vampire could recognize the feeling of a revoked invitation and immediately act on it. He didn't even know for sure that the magic was true invitation, or simply an imitation of the same feeling that would cause vampires to back away out of an instinctual need to avoid that feeling. He wondered if that was why he'd been able to come closer to the boy after waiting out the discomfort.

"I suppose that's good enough," Cain said, and then added, "thank you for informing me. I don't think anyone else needs to know about it. You can entrust me to share the information with any other parties I deem necessary."

Grace seemed to relax a bit at his words. Likely, the weight of keeping this secret had been uncomfortable for her to bear. He was glad that his words could alleviate some of that, even if he was still somewhat annoyed that she had taken such liberties with the security of the castle. Then again, castle security was not his purview - Crowe was in charge of that, and if Crowe didn't know about it, Cain felt no real need to inform him. Besides, the boy was unlikely to be a danger to anyone, particularly in his current state.

"Do you need anything else?" Cain asked, watching as Grace tucked the amulet back under the werewolf's shirt.

"No, thank you, Mister Einhart," Grace answered quickly.

"Not at all," Cain brushed aside the compliment. "I'll leave you to it," he added, then turned and walked away from the room, taking a mental note of its location should he be asked to carry the boy back to his room another time. Now he just needed to return to the laundry and retrieve his clean clothes, and retreat to his room to consider this new information and what it meant for his wardrobe. At least if the boy needed his shirts he needn't wait so long to get them back, this time…