Blue and pink neon lights shone above them like a retro halo, painting the puddles that still clung to the street after an afternoon of nothing but rain. It was a gloomy atmosphere, matching the weird-ass feel of this weird karaoke party.
People passed by, some walking into the building, all of them ignoring them as they found the closest thing to privacy on an alley at the corner. Peter took his smokes out, glad to have something to do with himself as Roman begun rambling.
Peter followed every word, blowing a puff of smoke as furrowed brows joined in the chat. He couldn't hide the unease that came with watching Roman scavenge for the closest thing to having control.
You should stake me.
Peter was well aware that the words were not coming lightly, this was not some jackass promising he'd jump off a bridge just to get some attention. It's a real request of someone very much aware of how a situation can escalate.
Just like the situation had escalated with Christina. It had been right there, right under Peter's nose all that time. And he missed it, missed every scent and every signal. All those girls had died, she had murdered them all because she was as alone and lost as Roman is.
And that was on Peter's tab. Just like the pain of having left his friend behind, alone.
The end of his cigarette glowed as Peter took another drag. "I won't let you become that." Peter quietly agreed. His voice sounded hoarse for a moment, as if that cancer stick in his mouth had been there for fifty years.
He meant it. He owed it to Roman.
The question caught him by surprise, making Peter lift his head again. But he soon eased again into that calm silence. "We have a word for that," he finally conceded. He couldn't remember if he had ever explained it to Roman, even though he knew his friend had once asked about the 'g' tattoo over his ribs. "Gadje. I am that among my people, a gadjo. So was Nic." Nicolae, the grandfather that had been closer to a father figure. "Did I ever tell you what happened to Nic?"
Peter was calm, at least from what Roman could see and sense. The raspy quality to his voice bespoke how cigarettes affected him, perhaps in a way that would get worse as years went on. It wouldn't for Roman, though. He could smoke and drink and nothing would happen to him now. Technically, he was already dead. Still, it was the quietness and stillness of Peter that finally caused Roman to stand still. The proximity helped, being around a force like that. He stopped pacing and turned to study Peter.
At the question, Roman thought for a moment then gave a shake of his head. "Not in any detail, no. Just that he died, and that he was a lone wolf." A common phrase that he could say out in the open because it meant something different than the literal meaning to the public. Not that anyone was paying them any attention. In New York, people were used to crowds and minding their own business. Most people were either chatting with those they were walking with or talking on their phones if they were alone. They had no idea these two men were predators in a very different sense than what usually walked the streets.
"You also never really told me why you're an outcast among your people." He'd always wondered about that even if he hadn't outright asked. From the outside looking in, he didn't see any reason for it. Peter, his mother, Destiny, they were weird but a weird that seemed suited to their nomadic lifestyle. Yet Roman knew how deceiving outward appearances could be.
Peter felt like his back was against the wall in more than one way. But this had nothing to do with Roman - Well, he hadn't cornered Peter into it. He had offered it freely. Coming out here, talking. Five minutes of honesty in a night where everyone was pretending they were not drinking with monsters and there wasn't a fucking telepathic conversation going on.
"Nic was one," Peter explained. Ashes fell by his feet. "It started slowly, he would change during day time. Spend more and more time in his other skin." A vargulf. "Then the time came when he almost couldn't tell the difference." When he started forgetting their names. Who his grandson was. "Vince had to end it." His uncle Vince, who had lived in that trailer at the back of the Godfrey's property before Lynda and Peter arrived to town. "I had to cut his head off."
He had been a child back then. But the men had to take care of it. Specially Peter, having inherited the curse from Nic.
"Our family knew what we were. That's what made Nic and I gadje."
Roman absorbed the information. "Must've sucked." Having to cut off the dead man's head. What did one say in the face of childhood trauma except acknowledging that it sucked? Saying he wished Peter hadn't gone through that wouldn't change the fact that he did. It wouldn't undo the man he'd become. Both their childhoods had been brutal and violent in different ways. With the Godfreys it had been more insidious and manipulative, minus his father's suicide and the murder rumors that always swirled around the family. Death and the Godfreys became synonymous, perhaps ironically so given the upir heritage that ran through his veins. His brow furrowed though as he asked in confusion, "You're not a vargulf though, are you? Just have the potential to become one?" Or had Peter always been one? He'd thought his friend was a werewolf, but maybe he'd just called himself that as a cover.
Many things had sucked for Peter growing up. Knowing that one day his bones would break and his skin would be torn apart had sucked. When he was a little kid he had looked forward to it. After all, if Nic did it then so could he. Peter had dreamed of running together under the moonlight. Howling and hunting and spending the night up awake.
But the vargulf had taken Nic away first.
"Of course not," Peter huffed, eyes narrowed as he looked at Roman almost as if he had suddenly grown a second head. "I can't control it. Nobody is born a vargulf." But Roman wasn't wrong. The potential was there.
It was a choice, Lynda once said.
"But if I ever turn, you can return the favor and cut my head off."
Throwing the butt of his cigarette down at his feet, Peter stepped on it.
Roman held his hands up when he heard Peter huff. "Hey, my bad. I'm just confused then, I guess. Why are you an outcast if you're not a vargulf? Just because Nic was?" If every werewolf had the potential then it seemed very weird to him that they'd single out Peter for having the potential to become one. If it was all just because his family was disliked because of Nic, then that made more sense to Roman. After all, his family was hated because of what his mother and father had done with the company and all the lives they'd ruined through their greedy, harmful practices. Oh, Roman had certainly copped an attitude that carried the air of someone who should be hated, but it had been born out of already being disliked because of his last name. He'd simply fed into the narrative until he'd finally taken over the company. Now he was trying to turn it around into something that meant more than the past slights and sins.
"I tried to murder my mom, so if you needed me to, yeah. I could cut your head off." The words came out simply, a reality that Roman had realized about himself. Just what he was capable of doing, when he felt it was needed. "I dunno if I'd call it a favor. But I know you wouldn't want to be that, so if it came to it, I'd do what I could to stop you." Even odds on him being successful, but he could promise his friend that much. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that, though."
He took a cigarette himself, lit it and inhaled deeply. At the question about Lestat, Roman gave a small shrug. "I don't know. I guess I like that he doesn't seem to give a fuck what people think." That was something Roman could relate to, an attitude he'd adopted and worn like a shield for many years now. "I want to hear what he has to say about what I am. But I don't know yet if I can trust what he says. It's also weird as fuck to be sitting down with someone whose music you listen to and find out oh hey, they're also a bloodsucking fiend and maybe a monster cousin of yours or some shit." The flippant words used didn't hide the obvious way that Roman viewed himself these days. "What do you think about him? I'm guessing nothing good since he and Destiny don't get along."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2026-03-22 07:15 am (UTC)People passed by, some walking into the building, all of them ignoring them as they found the closest thing to privacy on an alley at the corner. Peter took his smokes out, glad to have something to do with himself as Roman begun rambling.
Peter followed every word, blowing a puff of smoke as furrowed brows joined in the chat. He couldn't hide the unease that came with watching Roman scavenge for the closest thing to having control.
You should stake me.
Peter was well aware that the words were not coming lightly, this was not some jackass promising he'd jump off a bridge just to get some attention. It's a real request of someone very much aware of how a situation can escalate.
Just like the situation had escalated with Christina. It had been right there, right under Peter's nose all that time. And he missed it, missed every scent and every signal. All those girls had died, she had murdered them all because she was as alone and lost as Roman is.
And that was on Peter's tab. Just like the pain of having left his friend behind, alone.
The end of his cigarette glowed as Peter took another drag. "I won't let you become that." Peter quietly agreed. His voice sounded hoarse for a moment, as if that cancer stick in his mouth had been there for fifty years.
He meant it. He owed it to Roman.
The question caught him by surprise, making Peter lift his head again. But he soon eased again into that calm silence. "We have a word for that," he finally conceded. He couldn't remember if he had ever explained it to Roman, even though he knew his friend had once asked about the 'g' tattoo over his ribs. "Gadje. I am that among my people, a gadjo. So was Nic." Nicolae, the grandfather that had been closer to a father figure. "Did I ever tell you what happened to Nic?"
no subject
Date: 2026-03-22 01:53 pm (UTC)At the question, Roman thought for a moment then gave a shake of his head. "Not in any detail, no. Just that he died, and that he was a lone wolf." A common phrase that he could say out in the open because it meant something different than the literal meaning to the public. Not that anyone was paying them any attention. In New York, people were used to crowds and minding their own business. Most people were either chatting with those they were walking with or talking on their phones if they were alone. They had no idea these two men were predators in a very different sense than what usually walked the streets.
"You also never really told me why you're an outcast among your people." He'd always wondered about that even if he hadn't outright asked. From the outside looking in, he didn't see any reason for it. Peter, his mother, Destiny, they were weird but a weird that seemed suited to their nomadic lifestyle. Yet Roman knew how deceiving outward appearances could be.
no subject
Date: 2026-03-22 02:27 pm (UTC)"Nic was one," Peter explained. Ashes fell by his feet. "It started slowly, he would change during day time. Spend more and more time in his other skin." A vargulf. "Then the time came when he almost couldn't tell the difference." When he started forgetting their names. Who his grandson was. "Vince had to end it." His uncle Vince, who had lived in that trailer at the back of the Godfrey's property before Lynda and Peter arrived to town. "I had to cut his head off."
He had been a child back then. But the men had to take care of it. Specially Peter, having inherited the curse from Nic.
"Our family knew what we were. That's what made Nic and I gadje."
no subject
Date: 2026-03-22 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-22 03:00 pm (UTC)Many things had sucked for Peter growing up. Knowing that one day his bones would break and his skin would be torn apart had sucked. When he was a little kid he had looked forward to it. After all, if Nic did it then so could he. Peter had dreamed of running together under the moonlight. Howling and hunting and spending the night up awake.
But the vargulf had taken Nic away first.
"Of course not," Peter huffed, eyes narrowed as he looked at Roman almost as if he had suddenly grown a second head. "I can't control it. Nobody is born a vargulf." But Roman wasn't wrong. The potential was there.
It was a choice, Lynda once said.
"But if I ever turn, you can return the favor and cut my head off."
Throwing the butt of his cigarette down at his feet, Peter stepped on it.
There was a silence.
"What do you think of this guy? The vampyr?"
no subject
Date: 2026-03-22 03:12 pm (UTC)"I tried to murder my mom, so if you needed me to, yeah. I could cut your head off." The words came out simply, a reality that Roman had realized about himself. Just what he was capable of doing, when he felt it was needed. "I dunno if I'd call it a favor. But I know you wouldn't want to be that, so if it came to it, I'd do what I could to stop you." Even odds on him being successful, but he could promise his friend that much. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that, though."
He took a cigarette himself, lit it and inhaled deeply. At the question about Lestat, Roman gave a small shrug. "I don't know. I guess I like that he doesn't seem to give a fuck what people think." That was something Roman could relate to, an attitude he'd adopted and worn like a shield for many years now. "I want to hear what he has to say about what I am. But I don't know yet if I can trust what he says. It's also weird as fuck to be sitting down with someone whose music you listen to and find out oh hey, they're also a bloodsucking fiend and maybe a monster cousin of yours or some shit." The flippant words used didn't hide the obvious way that Roman viewed himself these days. "What do you think about him? I'm guessing nothing good since he and Destiny don't get along."