Work Text:
A vampire band is nothing revolutionary. Abolish has seen innumerable during his time at the organisation: formed in the wilds - from desolate midwestern towns to crawling along the under belly of major metropoleis - and conceived of after a Friday night karaoke bar crawl. And every time, they rarely end well; vampiric covens are fickle enough, but a band is whole other animal… that eats all the other animals and then itself.
Scott however, blissful unaware of the turmoil's inherent to a vampire band, seems to think he is being quite the revolutionary provocateur by starting a vampire band in New York City. Abolish isn't sure how it started, details are still a little murky on that front, but somehow Scott became quickly enraptured by the idea of for once playing music himself - as opposed to having the "poors" play it for him - and music as the melodious vessel for the purest expression of the supposedly tortured existence of a vampire. Abolish is ninety percent sure Scott listened to Welcome to the Black Parade and had a quasi-becoming a century in the making.
Regardless of the how, he was playing shows - in small thousand seater venues that you had to know someone to know someone to know about - but he was playing none the less. And the crowds adore him.
Maybe it really is the music - sensual and salacious and heavy yet precise, full of distortion that let's the notes sing like nothing else, guitars harmonising and ripping through the air leading drums that follow the needs of the song and their own simultaneously: or maybe it was the vampiric charm that syrups the mind cascading off like great waves pulling people into the inescapable churning whirlpool of his personality… Abolish won't know until he attends a show.
So he does.
Saint Luanne's is a small underground venue perfectly situated between the waterfront and the bustle of the cities heart. From his research Abolish understands it has a history, although not much was of interest for his current task. Security is lax, it would be easy enough to slip in. But he buys a ticket. A bouncer a good two heads taller than him wraps a red paper wristband around him and gestures in with very little words.
The sweat stains of a dozen should have died in art school bands riddled with cheap liquor and sweet regretful chemical heaviness cling to the air as if stained on the fabric of the space. It is at once an affront to vampiric senses and deeply satisfying: the fetid stenches of short lived mortality burning bright and fast like supernovas. The smell is probably quite appealing to some, mortal and undead who long for the sulphuric incendiary euphoria found in the jumping sweaty crowd, but Abolish is not among them.
He situates himself off from the centre. It would be too obvious if he was standing to the side, it is where Scott's eyes will wonder and he does not have enough chains, fishnets, nor a low cut top to blend in. Amongst the crowd, he would be an outlier with his casual tactile fair if not for his dual tone hair and eyes along with the cross earrings to which a charming throuple compliment him on as they move to the front, desperate to get as close to the stage as possible.
He idles. A girl too drunk spills some beer on his jacket: he sighs and shuffles away. The person he is now standing next to is huffing the fumes from a little tincture bottle shared with his boyfriend who start grinding up on each other, hands roaming across and under clothes, and tongues doing things you would usually see at the aftershow. Abolish shuffles again.
By his fourth shuffle, the lights are low and Abolish can see the dark shapes taking the stage.
A haunting melody fills the dark, piano keys twisted for perfection as the fizzle of a guitar weaves in more and more notes as it continues before the stage erupts in light with arrival of the drums and the guitars swallow up the piano in a distorted electric storm. Abolish is now ninety-five percent sure Scott listened to Welcome to the Black Parade when the divine inspiration to start a vampire band [which has never been done before] struck.
And there, centre stage as he has been for his over millennia long existence, is Scott. With his shirt off. Leather jacket, ripped jeans, and he's wearing red boots with a murderous heel with eyes shadow and lips so crimson and rich Abolish sniffs the air to make sure it's not really blood. It's makeup. He looks good, happy even, as he twirls onto the melody with theatrical flourish and starts bouncing with the notes singing about drowning love - upon hearing it Abolish realises all too quickly he is singing about the barbaric turning of Pyro.
🎼🎼🎼
Oh, you'll take what you're given
When you're drowning (drowning)
Drain all the blood, the moonlight show
This dark gift, this grace given
Things you should've known
Let's see how far down,
how far you'll go! Go! Go!
🎼🎼🎼
The crowd loves it. There is a infectious quality of the saturated air as they are bobbing and rocking out as if Scott were the metronome leading their hearts to beat in time with his song. Abolish stands there corpse still at the melodious memory of the long dead filling the air. This horrible tightness chips at his ribs as Abolish glares at the stage. It's probably the first time Scott has thought of Pyro in decades, and this is what he does with it…
The song barely has time to breathe before the next one follows it with the the harsh cut of the lead guitarist shifting multiple keys in a way that should offend but please and infatuates the crowd. They sing along loudly, as if they know the words. Maybe they do, maybe Scott and his entourage have figured out streaming.
🎼🎼🎼
And here I go again
I'll write to let you know
I fear I might break,
That I fear I might break you
///
Sad to see you go
Glad to see you back
So they can bury us
Side by side
Roommate, eternal, mine.
🎼🎼🎼
Abolish sees the theme. First Pyro, then Shelby… a musical reminiscent of Oakhurst and the days he longs for. Abolish sighs with his whole chest. Dancing with the devils of yesteryears is a cause for concern when it comes to Scott. Maybe he had been stupid to give him the chance: vampires will always try to ice skate up hill, all will end up staked by a icicle when they fall back.
Scott's ode to Apo is… it's a touch out of place: a vibrant blend of new wave, cheerleader and power pop that seems at odds with the more pop-punk and alt rock predecessors. Scott dedicates the song to the "girl failures in the crowd and in the world tonight, thank you for your service ladies!"The crowd is chanting along in record time regardless of the abrupt discordant shift in the bands sound, stomping their feet and throwing the cheer back to the band, enraptured in the catchy beat and mirroring the backers in a blend of military dress and cheerleader outfits who jog on stage to model the cheer for the audience.
Abolish taps his foot along. It is unfortunatley catchy.
As they continue their set, ramping up the heat in the room with Daddy's Boy, Bark Up That Tree, and Invite Me In Why Don'tcha (dontchaknow dontchaknow) which become increasingly playful, sex fuelled, and provocative. The music becomes heady and heavy, leaning more into the rock sound, backed by the choir and moaning cries of the crowd, Abolish flicks his eyes across Scott's band.
They are both vampires. Abolish can sense it plainly.
Floating about the stage, playing guitar and coming up to the mic to harmonise with Scott on occasion, is a young woman with wild tangerine hair cut with rivers of ashen silver rolling past her shoulders, flowing like frothy sunsets filling a container. Her pale stomach pokes out from her slightly cropped top, and between the hem and the belt and straps of her shorts and fishnets, a small gold bat shaped belly button piercing. Her fingers savagae the neck of the guitar with the kind of unholy brutality you can only get from decades of tearing into the throats of mortals - but even before Abolish notices that, her pressence sticks like a splinter in his airway. The air around her is soaked coppery with death.
Her eyes flutter through the crowd but linger on Abolish for longer than most, a glimmer of knowing caught in the stage light as she squeezes the neck of her guitar tighter. Never one to show fear, Abolish looks back impassively - as far as threats go, it's pretty solid, he believes her, but that does not make it a eventual reality. She smiles at him - only him and no one else, although the couple next to him seem to think so and almost faint - and it is as much a courtesy and genuine greeting of warmth to their little show as it is a threat. Another one. Abolish cannot help but respect the hostile protectiveness that is inviting him to challenge her. It's clear she hasn't had a good fight in quite some time: neither has Abolish, although he is not as keen as her.
The other vampire, the drummer, lacks that intense lingering aroma of metallic death swirling around like nebula clouds, and smells like home. If Abolish was to guess where home was from the scent - separated from the pungent aromas of the venue and the drummer's exertion - it would be the state of Arizona. Sun-baked earth, dusty sage, and the sharp resinous aroma of desert vegetation: the distinctive petrichor of the Grand Canyon State. Abolish can smell the lingering mortality clinging to him - a freshly turned fledgling, but he doesn't smell like the ginger haired vampire's fledgling but he does have a eerily familiar smell, something to come back to later… in fact lingering beneath her own vampiric scent, Abolish detects a hint of the same smell: they share a maker - and supposes he's a small town vamp with big city dreams.
As Scott finishes the penultimate chorus of Invite Me In Why Don'tcha (dontchaknow dontchaknow), the vampire drummer jumps in and dominates the bridge with quite the percussive punch. Abolishes watches intently as the thick arms constructs quite the complex and satisfying bridge with his kit - and in doing so he also absorbs the way the fabric of his top stretches and pulls up over his barrel-chested body framing his soft gut covered in a thick happy trail between the high hat and snare. It seems more than a few fans notice - Abolish can hear the roaring rush southwards like a stampede about to flatten Mufasa surrounding him, smell the carnal want in the air so thick he chokes, and see a few drooling glassy eyed from his peripheral.
The final note of the song sounds with rapturous applause.
Through the cheers and whistles, a steady electric melody reverberates through the space as the Vampire Gem strums, one, two, three, four // one, two, three, four- and the Vampire Impulse taps the hi-hat and bass drum. The crowd are wide eyed with anticipation, as if led in precession by the lulling tune, clearly building to something.
Then Scott shed his jacket.
It falls to the ground with over dramatic flare before he wraps a hand around the mic in the most devastatingly sensual manner. Pale chest catching the stage lights like the skin of a killer under the sun, the blood pressure in the room rises so quickly and the panties drop so low that Abolish gets a migraine.
"Darlings, have you ever tried to change?" Scott asks the crowd, taking the mic off the stand, looping the wire with his other hand, playing with the length in this effortlessly suave way that emulates a leash being coiled and pulled.
"One minute you're the glamorous amorous hostess with the mostess taking care of everyone, helping them make the most of their lives, and the next you're a monster:" Scott exaggerates the word within an inch of it's life as he lackadaisically walks across the stage, someone shouts something about cancel culture that Scott ignores but offers a performative roll of his wrist, "So, you think about it, everyone is telling you to, and a short-lived manic fling you can't help but regret every day for the rest of your life has you so high on their supply, later, you genuinely consider changing yourself for others."
There is a flicker of a crack in Scott's faultless armour for a second that Abolish narrows his eyes on as they follow him prancing about the stage - not that he misses the vampire buried in the dark depths of Oakhurst, but more a nauseating ignominy at past actions fresh on his tongue. His lips click like he's just eaten human food, trying to wash the foul taste of sickly bland chalk out of his mouth. Abolish narrows his eyes on the vampire, picking at each micro-movement like kinaesthetic vulture with such thoroughness that he doesn't realise Scott is staring at him through midnight sea of fishnets until his eyes flick up to decipher the knot of tension in his jaw. For the briefest moment, there is this haunting sensitivity behind his eyes that hits Abolish like a physical blow. He doesn't know what Scott sees when he looks at him, but his gait shifts out of the proper ridgity of his Oakhurst posture, and for the briefest of moments it feels as if the world has raptured and they are all that remains.
"Because everyone looks at you like a monster for just being yourself… and that never used to bother you but…" his face falters under the weight of an introspection impossibly foreign to the Scott Goldsmith of the past haunting the stage with every song a fond obituary and every beat the pulse of a heart still beating somewhere. Abolish glares, a clear warning and Scott takes it in stride, only falter for a moment but his next step reaffirms his certainty.
Quickly he regains his confidence, the suave imperviousness he is used to returning like a veil "- And they keep telling you that you need to change, and you even like some of them, even if they say you're toxic and need to be put down… I Know a few of you know what that's like," A guitar rift beating like a heart under cuts scaffolds Scott's words, accompanies him as if they were arm in arm as he addresses his audience. The audience cheer, the feeling of camaraderie so thick in the air Abolish is half convinced they are going to jump into a improtu production of Les Misérables. Good play.
The beat has been steadily climbing octaves, make it's presence more known as Scott speaks and his band plays but now it feels like it has the entirety of the venue in a chokehold. Abolish shifts his weight side to side as Scott's voice uncharacteristically rises - not shouting but it's lost it's gentile edge and Abolish feels his blood pressure rise in tandem. There's going to be so much paper work if he needs to -
"Well I'm tired of wearing lamb skin, tired of changing myself for others absurd sensibilities and morals, and I'm tired of acting like being a 'monster'- being myself makes me a monster, makes me a bad person," pointed words fly like arrows into the crowd and find their marks in the hearts of the concert goers who cheer and shout for the band until it feels like Abolish is the only silent soul in the building.
"In the spirit of reflection, we have a special guest tonight…" His eyes settle back on Abolish again and the hunter returns in kind - nonchalant and apocalyptic, a very clear warning that he is dancing along the line. Scott knows, he must know, he is dancing along the lines established by the agreement, that his brazen admissions and the way he floats across the stage invite consequences. "And I would like to dedicate this next song to the handsome no-life having, married to his job, stalking me probably-the-close-thing-he-has-to-a-functional-relationship, exhausting watcher and living corpse in the crowd tonight, this ones for you and you alone."
Abolish doesn't stir. Staring at Scott down with cold blasé steel, he remains subtly vigilant even as Scott's words wash over him and the crowd around him traces the frontman's eyes to him, conjuring a little storm of mummering whispers. He's not surprised by the playfully harsh words - that's always been his greatest weapon, his words and his charm - and he sighs as the next song picks up.
No matter what he's about to sing, or what the band if about to scream into space, or the eyes flicking between him and the stage: Abolish steadies his breathing. It's just words. But there's a mischievous knowing glint in Scott's crimson eyes that delights something exasperated and tired in the centre-mass of his chest.
Punk-infused rock tears through the space, chords ripping through the space, and the crowd flows easily into the spirit conjured forth.
🎼🎼🎼
Woah ho, the night is mine
Oh dear, it’s the graveyard shift this time,
Every time
Always watching,
always pepping
careful dear they'll think your creeping
At beck and call if I've been bad
Ready to serve
Pull on my leash, Leashed on my pull
Take what you please, Please what you take
Put me out of misery, if it
Pleases~
🎼🎼🎼
All the bodies around him jostle, hands reaching out when Scott steps to the very precipice of the stage, and despite it all it feels as if it is just them. Scott is singing for him, to him - taunting and teasing. Scott reaches out a hand - a elegant and poised claw painted with glittery sanguine and rings older than everyone in the room - in invitation. He can tell Scott somehow wants to reach out and take his chin, to work his charm as if he were Pyro or Av- but he knows better. Knows that is the fastest way to get a knife tip or gun barrel pressing to the soft hollow of his jaw.
But he can taste the current of superiority from here, the swirling notes of haughty venom, and for a moment his trigger finger iches. The instruments on stage breathe deep as they launch into the chorus, Scott seductively sliding onto his back and holding a hand out to Abolish still, hips raised as he belts his shrivelled undead heart out-
🎼🎼🎼
Be my butler,
Bring me the tea
Be my butler,
Get on your knees
Be my butler,
Severe me please [moans]
🎼🎼🎼
The song rises to an orgasmic high as Scott spins himself back to his feet, gliding across the stage with an alluring gait that enraptures the crowd. Abolish tracks him, pulse only a beat quicker. But even that felt unacceptable. He's been party to Scott's hollow flirtations and charms for centuries but now, suddenely, he finds himself affected. Enough to become aware of the lump against his sternum that isn't a weighted knife under his turtleneck.
There's a softness in his eyes, even as he's moaning for Abolish to serve him, submit to him: a quiet dangerously unsure desperation that is so hauntingly human… so mortal, it startles Abolish. It looks out of place on him. Like they are someone else's eyes bleeding through his skull. Is this a glimmer of the mortal long since dead? Entombed in the vampires body, calcified and dust covered, there is something bleeding through like a stab wound under bridal white as the song soaks the air with sex and carnal want.
The ache of such a thought doesn't show, his face inert bar the imperceptible lift of his brow as the song crescendo's into a truly heavy bridge. As Scott harmonises and leads the crowd through to the final chorus, Abolish finds himself longing. Not for Scott, at least- Regretful might be the right word. A pang of frosty guilt that he didn't reach out.
Like a flicker of a flame, the Scott he thinks he glimpses in the stage light calling out to him is gone. Abolish is suddenly aware of a humming current, thinking at first it is feedback from the speakers but no, it is from within, like how the air feels before a storm rolls in.
The next song starts.
Ode to Oak is a punk-popish number subtly not so subtly mourning the past through the burning of the Oakhurst palisades; Howl My Good Heart Away Darling is a favourite amongst the crowd who provide the backing howls for a song dedicated to Pearl and Cleo; To the John Doe & Lovers is heavy ballad that starts dominated by the drums with Gem and Impulse providing a storming marching undercurrent that starts out grimly mocking of the Doctor and his plight and hated of Scott, and then Gem shatters it with a guitar solo that enraptures all, crashing through the crowd like a physical being until it seems to get so loud it dies, and then there is a simple strum of a chord, slowly picking back up, while Scott expresses something dangerously close to admiration for Legundo, gratitude for his resilience and a message to take a part of that for yourself. He can hit a belt. Vampires don't need to breath, but regardless, the series of consecutive belts he performs as the song withers to silence genuinely impresses Abolish.
Scott starts the last song with sweat dripping down his pale chest and something like finality behind his eyes. Abolish has seen that look before in the gleaming reflective eyes of vampires just before he puts them down: this is the first time the look conjures anything but quiet disdain and impassive oblivion. It is lost to the others in the room. They mourn the end of the concert, they indulge in the last high of the musical buffet that has been the performance, and they applaud the instruments of the rugged symponthy speaking to their souls. The last song is dedicated to Owen, and his great love none of them had ever met but who they had all suffered for: a powerful mournful rock number.
🎼🎼🎼
Let me take the pain away
Surrender and burn the embers
So you can live the same as me
Come to me through
Surrender
And burn till
we are ashy memories
🎼🎼🎼
The applause and whistles, the cheers and sobs for the band fill the space until it feels like they choke the air out of the space. Polite and steady, Abolish applauds the band, genuinely impressed by the production and talent on display. He really hopes Scott doesn't give him a reason to make this their last show.
The light returns, dim as it is, once the band is off the stage and the instruments and kit are left behind like ghosts of the performance, the last notes still reverberating through the concrete and steel corpse of the place.
It's easy to slip back-stage amongst the rolling wash of people, Abolish doesn't even have to distract security. Then again, Vampires are often their own security. As he stalks the winding halls of the back stage, regrets sticky on his boots and the distant whines of groupies, Abolish finds the concert settling into his jaw like rot. He does not think of Oakhurst fondly, the only good memory of that place he has is leaving it. Yet the way Scott sings about it, himself through it, and the people he met in that savage garden, Abolish finds the memory of Oakhurst kaleidoscopic. He would ask how anyone could enjoy that… the he remembers what Scott really is beneath the thin masquerade of a reformed vampire.
"Do you have a back stage pass?" A woman's voice, friendly and sparkling, calls from behind him and Abolish halts in place. He recognises it quickly: it had been backing Scott on the stage moments ago.
It's been quite some time since he's been distracted by his thoughts - trust Scott to always make life harder. Abolish's hand settles over one of the tiny dancer blade tucked away at his hip, and he sighs long.
"In a manner of speaking, yes," looking over his shoulder he is greeted by twin crimson eyes: an athletic woman with her claws locked around the neck of her guitar and ginger curls blooming and wild, and a taller bulky man with a round face and warm smile that belays his dark nature carrying a box. Abolish shifts, turning half way to face them.
"Well friend, I don't see a badge, do you Gem?"
"Nope, not a badge in sight, shame, it looked cute on that pretty thing Scott brought back with him for drinks," Gem hums leaning against the wall with a relaxed confidence, the casualness masking a sharpness about her eyes analysing him, "would probably look cute on you too if you too if he had decided he wanted you."
Abolish shoulders tense at the mention of Scott bringing someone back for drinks - you didn't have to be Van Helsing to know what that was vampire code for - and the metal of the dagger in his pocket suddenly warms. Had he missed something? Had he missed some dark twisting in Scott from being stretched too thin? No he wouldn't miss it. Not this. And yet there is this feeling, the tingling at the end of his fingers and hollow fullness of his ribs, that a storm is approaching.
A light flickers above him, casting the monochromatic intruder in dull orange like the setting of a sickly sun.
"Where's Scott." A question more like a statement.
"Oh he's around I guess, maybe not I'm not sure he's been so flighty lately-" A quiet realisation strikes Gem as Impulse casually brushes off the assertive tone of Abolish's voice.
"No way… you're the butler."
Impulse's head flicks over to Gem, then back to Abolish, and back to Gem.
"Wait, him?"
"Yeah, the one Scott always talks about, the one he was humping the air about… oh he saw you in the crowd," a glimmer of mirth flashing her fangs to the half turned hunter. The dingy hallway stills, the lingering bass of another gig rattling through the concrete. There's a tension there, how could there not be with Abolish's detached focused, but there is something almost like a welcoming.
He doesn't settle, nor does he settle on how the fact Scott talks about him so ardently or venomously makes him feel, nor the implications of the performance and how they are making him feel: he simply narrows his eyes at the vampire and moves his free hand into the inner lining of his coat. The metaphorical gun is thrown onto the table and Gem squeezes the neck of her guitar tighter.
"Scott. Where is he."
He knows he could take the younger vampire, but Gem, he might struggle with if the way her centre of gravity tightening, the brutal hold of the guitar, and sharp pinpoints of her eyes focusing on him indicate - she has a bounty of experience to draw from it seems.
But Abolish doesn't get his answer. Gem sighs and points a claw down the corridor.
"Dressing room, straight ahead, you'll see it. Just bring him back in one piece."
Abolish doesn't stay to overhear the discussion between the vampires, nor question them further about their sire, questions for another time when he does not have such a pressing matter. He scribbles in a small notebook to report this to the organisation and do a follow up.
He walks brisk and determined down the corridor, and after a corner he finds Scott's dressing room marked by a simple black sign. Part of him expects more, it's minimalism seeming starkly out of place near Scott.
Regardless, one hand takes the door handle and the other reaches into his jacket and flicks the leather latch off the pistol holstered there. His jaw works in minute motions, eyes focusing on the pale hand clutching the door knob and not the foreign tightness about his chest. Nor the idea that he is potentially conflicted and worried about having to put Scott down. He breathes his worries out like a smoker exhales poison, sets his face in that determined calm focus, and turns the handle.
Scott is on his knees, giggling.
He does not expect that.
The first thing he notices is how sloppily his shirt has been done. Why? He isn't sure. Loose red silky and bellowing open to show off Scott's chest, the rest is haphazardly buttoned bar the one in the middle. Abolish finds himself wondering if Scott was expecting guests, a guest he needa to put a shirt on - oh he has a guest, seemingly catatonic in his lap if not for the consistent giggling and hands up reached pawing at something he can't see. From what he knows, this type of guest doesn't seem like the type to warrant a shirt. The guest… his eyes flicker back down.
There is a surge of relief when he double takes and confirms that the mortal twink in his lap is alive, if strung out of his mind, but he's seen about seven young lads on another planet since he entered the venue. He's pallid, but he's chest is gently rising and falling. Sweaty hair stinking with the crowd and a party matted in his blonde curls plastered to his forehead and jaw, Abolish scans up his body and up past the fishnets and tattered shorts and genuiely distressed tank to the red dribbling into the neck line and the two puncture wounds against the flesh. Fixing on the oozing punctures and a stampede of a murmur pulses through his heart - they were messier than he remembers seeing on Apo or Drift, messier than he ever seen from Scott's usually dignified feeding.
Attention returning to Scott, blood glosses his lips and drips in thin crimson rivlets to his chin stained with smears of sanguine. His eyes linger on Scott's lips for quite some time - sharp, defined, and refined, glossy with blood and saliva - and a feeling like something sublime comes over him. It's terrifying: terrifying because not only has someone been harmed but also because of what now lingers in screaming silent implication of such an act, and it is beautiful: the effervescent and ethereal giggle that floats through the air, the way his lips crease delicately into the soft of his cheeks, and his pupils dilating to dark orbs contained with a crimson-copper ring. He could be the subject of a grand portrait - Abolish assumes he already has on numerous occasions and makes a mental note to check the Organisation's archives so as to distract himself from the way his heart beats like a mag sliding in and a racking slide.
"Scott." Like a missed note amongst the rabble and cheers, Abolish voice is lost beneath the thumping drum of his heart and Scott's: whose heart he can hear manically paced - rushing to crescendo and then slowing to a crawl.
He huffs gruffly. His voice doesn't sound like himself - not how he's used to at least - there's a smokey candor that is new.
The elder vampire careens his neck up from the poor sap passed out half in his lap, ashen silver swaying and billowing in an effortless cover-girl way. Somehow, even in this dingy lighting, the grimy walls, and worn furniture that looks lifted from Goldsmith's Oakhurst basement, Scott still manages to look as radiant as the rising sun.
Blood glosses his lips and drips in thin crimson rivlets to his chin stained with smears of sanguine like he's mocking him with how messy he has eaten. Abolish sighs with his whole chest and only then does it seem Scott actually notices him.
The vampires eyes squint, staining for clarity, wobbling in place before recognition stakes him and he throws his arms up in excitement.
"Abolish! Whatcha doing here dude? You should have let me know you were - I could have given you a pass or something or… woah have your - you always been so shiny?" Abolish has never heard Scott call anyone dude.
Abolish quirks a brow. He looks down at his tactile turtleneck, combat boot and trousers, and the fur lined parka he is not boiling in despite the stuff underground venue, and is confused for a moment. He is decidedly not shiny - that was the aim of the nondescript ensemble. Shiny would attract the attention of a spotter's lens or catch light and -
Oh, it is quite possible Scott is intoxicated on blood saturated with a synthetic psychoactive stimulant and hallucinogen.
"Scott…" His voice, stern and cold, is equal parts worry and warning in a way reserved for everyone but Scott - there has been nothing soft in how he addresses the vampire - as he points clinically at the pallid feverish twink weakly mumbling about unicorns.
Looking up at him with stained glass eyes - eyes that the light of heaven refuse to refract through - Scott follows the line of Abolish's finger to centre mass.
It takes him a moment, longer than it really should, but when realisation flickers through him he giggles manically. The sound is harsh on his senses, like a bow torturously drawn over ill-tuned strings, and makes the hold on one of his knives so tight the grain of the handle is imprinting on pale flesh.
He leans forward over the anaemic twink and tosses him out of his lap with a burst of laughter like the sound is twisted in a vocal chord. Abolish flinches when the young man hits the ground, thankfully cushioned by Scott's jacket, but the fragrant disregard for human life has him seeing shadows. Scott leans back pushing his hands up his body and through his hair in one fluid motion and for a moment he remains like that, a maliciously euphoria still caught wet and bloody in his fangs that he wants Abolish to see, flaunting his vampiric nature with pride even now, even with Abolish potentially about to stake him under the murky overhead.
His hands drop down his face and land flat on the ground, a light uncoordinated sway about him as he shifts into a half crawl, looking up at the vampire hunting dhampir through ashen hair falling over his eyes.
"I thought we agreed. No humans."
"But they offered… and it would be rude to say no to such a devoted fan," Scott purrs, coquettish, the stern tone of Abolish voice seeming to please him - if the way his shoulders roll and his breath shudders out is any indication. His eyes never leave Abolish, no matter how much his head sways like a broken doll, and the uncanny fixation has him on the back foot, a beat rising above his pulse faster and faster.
"Besides," Scott's words float though the air as if playfully curling into a belt loop, "I'm not hurting them - not really anyways - surely you've seen them react…" And to his disdain, Abolish remembers plenty of looks. The latest strung out next them, the colour slowly bleeding back into them, chest rising and falling like a flock of songbirds rattling about, still shaking in that exquisitely debauched way when hormones and endorphins and dopamine flood the blood and have everything feeling like sparkling kindling in your chest. He's cleaned up plenty of messes with these sorts strung out, some of them Scott's more discreet feedings he suspects, and always felt a vague pang of disdain but now… looking at the young man with streaky eye make up and torn fishnets, that disdain is bordering dangerously close to want. The want to empty an entire clip into vampires like Scott. Yes.
Scott inches closer and pulls him back to the moment. Something about the way Scott is looking at him is making his tactile turtleneck suddenly uncomfortably tight. Abolish's face betrays none of this. Scott bristles under his icy stare, a laughing echoing from the back of his throat.
"Oh dear, have I been a bad vampire handsome?" Scott coos, accent thick and voice dripping with flirtation as messily as the blood smeared across his chin, "if only there was a dashing mannequin of a man who could make me regret my evil ways."
Suddenly Abolish feels like he too has taken something with how his pulse palpates and the world seems to tilt on it's axis. He's been the victim of Scott's rampant flirting before numerous times, but this time feels… well it feels like someone has stuck a knife through his ribs and punctured something.
Scott bats his lashes, seemingly oblivious to the effect he's had on Abolish as he continues to stand there like a mannequin, and crawls towards Abolish.
In a blink, or what feels like it, Scott is on his knees in front of him and Abolish cannot move his legs. It's as if all his muscles have cramped and knotted but there is not acrid sting or knotting ache, but something is holding his body hostage. It's not Scott - well it's not a vampiric charm or magic, he knows what those feel like.
"Too strung up for your own good you know… you need to get some action mister, the two centuries year old virgin over here." Scott mumbles, words slurring slightly before his face is slumping against Abolish's thigh, laughing obscenely to himself as he looks up at the stone-faced hunter, batting his lashes as if they would curry favour.
Scott's hand brush the soles of his boots too playfully not to be at least a little menacing to Abolish. That's the sort of flourish Scott reserves for his meals. But he doesn't bear his fangs or sink his claws into Abolish's leg and slice his Achilles tendon.
No. Worse.
He reaches up his trouser leg and after some clumsy motions like a stray kitten is clinging to his ankle, a buckle clatters as it hits the floor. Abolish doesn't even need to look down, feeling the gentle pressure of the strap around his ankle slink away, to know his lower left ankle knife has fallen to the ground.
He flinches on reflex but Scott's grip, with all it's deceptive vampiric strength even inebriated, stops him from getting far. He thinks about reaching for another knife, but doesn't. He just flatly glares at the elder vampire and sighs.
"Scott what are you-"
Flicking his head back, that infernal smile still on his face as his hair settles in a artfully messy way - like the type of messy hair style that looks unintentional but is very much intentionally slaved over for hours, of course Scott just can effortlessly summon that dishevelled beauty - the elder vampire wobbles, batting his dark hazy eyes up at Abolish before sinking further onto his thigh.
"Hells you're so warm…" he purrs, nuzzling closer and closer to the inside of his thigh.
"Scott." Abolish's voice firms up as he calls his name again.
"Like you haven't thought about it after all these years of watching," Scott huffs with a effervescent giggle, picking up the buckle of the of brown-black leather holster between two claws and twirling it away, "I just don't want a back-up back-up knife to stab me when clawing your back as you rail me like you'r-"
"So that's what you think is happening?"
"Yep."
If Scott playing with buckles and straps is what it takes for him to keep his fangs off more groupies… fine. He will not be sleeping with him. No matter how many charms he tries to thread around his neck and pull on like garrotte wire.
Abolish sighs.
"Fine."
Scott giggles, fangs still somehow pristine and bright despite the unfaltering overhead lighting. "Now do what you're good at puppy, standing there all dark and brooding and handsome," his chin digs into his thigh as he talks, never breaking eye contact while another buckle clutters against the floor. The faint presence of the small hunting knife just a bit higher thank his ankle knife - the ankle knife throws people off from looking higher - fades and Abolish feels weirdly naked with out the metal pressing against his skin. "And I'll do what I'm good at," Scott winks at Abolish - although he winks both eyes at the same time: Abolish knows Scott enough to know he meant to blink.
Abolish exhales, exhausted. This week has been horribly long and if this is what the job is for the next hour or so, he can deal with it and Scott's hands and the eyes like glittering abysses that won't leave him.
The vampire's hands roam with a sort of chartered precision, like they have explored Abolish' body before - they have not, but the way Scott moves about him is unsettlingly familiar. For a moment he thinks Scott might have been touching him when he was asleep, but with the amount of protections in his residence and the lack of sleep he gets, there is negative chance of that happening. But Scott moves like he knows his body, finding the tiny flip knife on the inner lining of his trouser leg with buzzing triumph. He produces the tiny blade and places a wobbly kiss on the titanium handle before placing in on the floor with the other two.
Abolish raises a brow in confusion but does not say anything. Evidently, Scott sees something he likes because he giggles and sinks his attention back to Abolish's legs.
The act continues for… quite some time. Scott's hands brush against his body and one by one liberate a bevy of holster of knives and small arms from the hunter with a methodical tenderness that borders on reverence. Abolish finds himself falling increasingly victim to the tender working of straps and buckles against his skin - Scott paying so much more attention to the holsters more than stealing a grab or caress, although those do occasionally happen which Abolish gets the feeling is incidental, which surprises the seasoned hunter - and the ritual of their removal christen with a kiss from blood tinted lips, leaving the faintest impression on the sterile tactile handles.
His legs are starting to feel weirdly light without the dozen or so folded blades and small handguns, and between that feeling, the cool chill of Scott's breath against his crotch, and the haunting lingering of his hands that graze him in barely coherent attempts at removing the holsters, Abolish is struck by the frightening intimacy of the act.
The tenderness of the motions and the fact he's not just tearing through his clothes, the attention he's managing despite seeing a kaleidoscope of rainbows no doubt, the bizarre endearingness of his fumbles as he picks and pulls at the straps and buckles before they fall into his hand and are desecrated with a kiss, is a strangely intense experience that has Abolish's heart fluttering. His face remains static, but his chest feels as if it is occupied by a swarm of bats.
Scott works to his knee where a gun is holstered stealthily and looks almost confused where there isn't a falling of metal against the concrete.
Before Abolish can even voice that there is a second buckle high on the inside of his waistband, Scott's hands are there slowly, clumsily working the latch. Abolish wants to help him in that moment, he struggles with it on the best of days, let alone exhausted after a gig and high on drug blood, but Scott manages himself and something tells him he would resent the help. He is right of course.
The subtle intimacy of Scott knowing where he hides all his secret knives and weapons is… well it is surprising. The delicacy with which he tries to handle them, the fact he seems to know him so well, if Scott was not Scott, Abolish would be flattered - some part of him is.
"How do you even - gosh you're so silly Abolish," Scott giggles, this vivacious sound that fizzles on his teeth and makes his teeth tingle, scooping up the heavy leather holster concealing a Smith & Wesson M&P Shield, flicking the latch and pulling it free.
It's strange seeing Scott holding a gun. No only because of the tangible power he's holding, not only because he predates the very notion of them, but because he they seem so impersonal for someone who takes great pleasure in the personal touches of inflicting agonies and death. And then he lifts it to his mouth and presses his lips to the topside of the barrel.
"Scott be careful-" there's the faintest inflection of worry in his voice, cold and stern but worry nevertheless.
Scott blush like the gun's barrel has fizzling sparks warm on his lips, slowly seeping into the rest of him, his eyes still so dark and hazy Abolish cannot be sure of what Scott is seeing but whatever it is seems to please him.
"Relax… the safety is on, probably…" Abolish leans to the side slightly to make sure that, yes, the safety is on, Scott does not - Abolish can tell it's something he's heard in movies. "Awww, are you worried about my good hooonter?"
"It's kind of my job to be, more so the people around you," Abolish replies bluntly, rolling a hand to gesture to the young man babbling to himself and sleeping off a vampiric hangover.
"What about you, who worries about you?" A frightening sincerity haunts his words that whistles through the air like a bullet. It sounds out of place from his lips when it's not tinted by charming taunts or glib sardonicism. Abolish steadies himself and lifts his responsibilities like a shield as Scott leans close, hands reaching around his hips to remove four push daggers from his belt, each one getting a kiss.
"I can take care of myself Scott. You and you're recent habit of drinking human blood on the other hand, raises some concerns." The way Scott rolls his eyes so hard they look like they are about to fly free and his increasing disdain for the reminder that his actions have consequences is so childish and frustrating that Abolish can't help but be simultaneously annoyed and adored by it.
A exhale against his barely exposed stomach makes the hunter shiver and Scott's fingers work with increasing frustration at the little knife holders on his belt and on the inside lining of his jacket which holds… a lot of knives. There's a tense chord in the air once Scott, through his addled state, realises that Abolish is looking down on him: both physically and metaphorically.
"Oh relax, no ones getting hurt who doesn't want to be-"
The sharp swoosh of metal through flesh cuts Scott's word off, his face going blank and body jolting briefly. Within a second, Abolish knows what's happened, but Scott pulls his hand back around to confirm it: the kerambit hidden in the false lining pierces Scott's palm all the way to the handle and blood gushes in thick ribbons onto the murky concrete.
Scott starts laughing. Scott starts laughing like it's the funniest thing in the world.
“I can’t believe they made a movie about you, always ice skating up hill daywalker,” Scott giggles manically as blood gushes down from his hand. It’s Blade (1998), that's what Scott is referencing. Abolish is quite a big fan of Blade (1998) and he is almost surprised that Scott has seen Blade (1998) although Abolish did not bring his titanium-core, acid-etched tactical sword with a built-in anti-theft trap. Nor his black leather trench coat. Nor his stake gun. He is a really big fan of Blade (1998). What damphir wouldn't be? And somehow Scott just knows that about him, or knows him well enough to know he would be, and for perhaps the first time Abolish finds himself thinking that Scott is perhaps, endearing - when he's not being a massive bastard of a vamp.
But as Scott falls backwards, first onto the heels of his boots before toppling back, blood gushing messily about, Abolish realises truly for the first time all night how powerless Scott is in this moment.
His coordination and strength had been there, but he realises that, much like everything with him, is a show, a performance. The projection of strength started fading and the cracks started showing and now watching him a bundle of giggles bleeding all over himself, he realises that Scott is completely helpless to the ways of the world in this moment.
He's powerless and he could take advantage of that…
Abolish recoils at the thought creeping from the dark corner of his mind. There's a distasteful sense lingering about his thoughts after it passes through that just might be guilt. He feels horribly vulnerable without his knives.
Scott is also vulnerable… and he could take advantage of that moment and make him feel a single iota of the sheer terror and powerlessness that Pyro felt in Oakhurst… He could be just like him, take what he wants and leave Scott to figure it out and recoil from the terror… It's a dark thought. It's one he's not proud of. But it's also one he would never act on.
Scott's done this to himself and clearly wants him in some form, and Abolish has never been in the business of giving Scott what he wants.
Of course that's what Scott loves and fears about him, but that's neither here nor there.
He needs a day off after this.
"Alright that's enough." Abolish states and starts kneeling to pick up his knives but stops when Scott rises to his feet alarmingly fast, all but floating up.
"What, no, we're not done-" Panic flutters through his voice harshly.
"We are, this is going to be such a mess to clean up and I know you won't do it." The shock of offence on Scott's face is exhausting.
"That is not true!" Scott balks and pulls the kerambit free from his hand with little care, tearing more flesh and gushing blood. A brief rush of panic focuses his eyes to black pinpricks and then they blow back to the dilated abysses Abolish has been looking at. Quickly he rushes to lap at his own hand, gulping down mouthfuls of his own blood.
But he can't swallow fast enough and he only succeeds in getting the blood down his chest and his open shirt and leather trousers and his hair and face and the poor twink barely there who squirms away and passes out at the garish bloody sight. The panic on his face is evident when he returns to glare wide eye at the cold front that is Abolish's face, that seemingly cuts his feet out from under him and he drops to his knees into the blood puddle seeping out from him.
His eyes fall ashamed to the bloody puddle and suddenly everything Abolish knows about Scott peels away as he slumps forwards, his body limp and shaking, ashen hair streaked with blood hanging over his face, and he starts leaning down to the puddle with his mouth open.
Abolish rushes to his knee, wincing some, and catches his face before he can lap at the spilt blood. He cups his face with both hands and holds him gently, far too focused on Scott to worry about the beating of his heart or the feeling of his pallid subtle skin in his hands that feels finer than any silk.
"Scott, hey, not that." Worry colours his comfort and he tries not to make it sound performative but he feels like he only gets so far.
"What am I…" He rattles in his hold, voice so quiet it would be swallowed up by the ambiance to human ears. Realisation seem to strike him one after the other and with each one Abolish watches the usually confident vampire shrink further and further. In the blood reflection, a echo of Scott the fledgling vampire makes itself known: confusion and isolation and a desperate need coloured in sanguine. At least, that's how Abolish reads this moment, this crash of vulnerability. A return to a origin so deep and buried it would naturally be murky when it resurfaces.
"Please don't…" he doesn't finish that sentence, but he does cling to his forearms, bloody claws closing desperately around him like he's worried Abolish will disappear into smoke.
Honestly, he tries to think of what to say, but the Organisation does not cover situations like this.
"Alright, I'll stay and clean up, but you go lay down on the couch and then I'll make sure you get home before the sun comes up." Abolish gently speaks, firm but comforting in his monotone as if giving order to chaos, lifting Scott's head further away from the bloody puddle until he's level with his chin.
"At least you won't leave like... cause you promissseeeeeed" Scott slurs against his palm, nuzzling close, retreating behind affections once again, trying to lure Abolish into something more.
Getting Scott to the sofa against the back room is a long and arduous process of trying not to slip and half-support half-carry the vampire, but he manages because he always manages. That is his Job. Scott's words stay with him, not just the whispering mumbles against his palm, but the song: it is annoyingly catchy. The longing for connections fraught and broke, the longing for connections in a changing world, the longing of a centuries old vampire who has watched time turn to dust… must be a cruel thing, even if he smiles about how he could have everything he wants. Perhaps he can't disparage Scott's fragrant display and his half-way decently produced musical longing for the past. He should, he really should, but...
Landing like a drunk bat into a window, Scott flops onto the sofa and lounges across it with his whole body strewn about the arm rests and cushions. While the vampire gets comfortable, Abolish disarms his coat of all the remaining knives and firearms, creating a frightening plentiful pile on a small box to the side of the sofa.
"Yeah, I suppose I did."
Before he starts cleaning, he lays his coat over Scott, who whines at all the sight of all the holsters he never got to unholster. Leaning over him, Abolish looks down at the bleary eyed vampire, hazy and fraught and dishevelled and-
he kisses him.
Why? Abolish isn't sure. But he does.
He presses his lips to Scott's and it is somehow everything he thought it would be and nothing like it. His lips are soft and lush, but Scott doesn't kiss back until Abolish is pulling back and he's trying to chase his lips. Blood coats his lips but it's Scott's - mature and fruity like a good vintage wine with a full bodied flavour - and there's the faintest fizzle of the drugs settling in his system.
There's a burst of heightened senses and then the world collapses to a nucleus between their lips, the distant roar of blood soars to a crash and the hammering beat like a monster's footsteps consumes him and he realises quickly that it is Scott's heart, and his own, beating in kind and in-time for the briefest moment.
Abolish pulls back. Instantly he is struck with regret and a thousand self torturous questions but more than it all he feels a horrible rush - not that he did it, but that he gave in to Scott's charms for the first time.
Scott opens his mouth to say something, but Abolish turns away to focus on the borderline crime scene in the dressing room, kicking himself for giving Scott what he wants at the end of it all more than he is the inability to call a clean up crew because they would no doubt bring Scott in and probably wouldn't let him out. It would be so much easier…
And as Scott drifts off humming the chorus of the 'Be My Butler', Abolish lets his focus drift in kind to the long night still ahead of him and finding a mop and bucket.