[Fanfic] Monster Mash 2
Title: Monster Mash 2
Characters: Francis, Arthur, Alfred, Gilbert (non-nation AU)
Rating: 18
Warnings: BLOOD and GORE I cannot stress this enough. Also sexual innuendo (damn it Francis)
Summary: Originally inspired by this. (Link to pic for those who don't have Pixiv here.) Due to popular demand, what was a oneshot has now spawned a fic.
Something was poking him. Something was poking him on the back of the head and it was too early in the morning for this, he couldn't have had more than four hours sleep. He pulled the covers over his head and grumbled something that probably wasn't English or French or any language at all. But the poking was persistent, and was finally followed by something hard and flat hitting him on the head.
"Ow!" Francis yelped, sitting up and rubbing his sore scalp. Arthur loomed over him, eyes having returned to their natural green colour but kept their glow-in-the-dark properties. "What do you want, I'm trying to sleep."
"I've figured out your problem." the vampire said simply, waving the heavy looking book he'd woken Francis up with. "That soul vanished, correct? And you are now tethered in place, correct?"
The semi-ghost rubbed his eyes. "Oui, you told me that already."
"Let me check your pulse." he held out his hand for Francis' wrist. Wearily, he gave it to him. Arthur's large eyebrows came together in a heavier frown than he usually wore. "I thought so."
"Diagnosis?" Francis asked, half-jokingly.
"Dead upon arrival." Arthur announced, letting go of his wrist. "That body's not alive. At least, not the way bodies are meant to be. The house is heated enough for it to be nearly unnoticeable, but you are producing no body temperature of your own."
Francis stared at him. "Quoi?" It was too early for this kind of thing. He didn't understand.
"Your organs function due to your presence of mind and willpower to have such bodily... needs." Arthur's lip twitched up into a sneer, as he always did when he thought of Francis' motivation to still have a body. "You have a pulse and such. But it's not your body, and some part of the composition is rejecting you, but not enough to push you out. If we took you to a doctor, they would say you had a very strange case of hypothermia, your core temperature is so low. But there's the problem, see. You're not alive, but you're not rotting or aging. You're frozen in time. In this state, you can't die."
"Pardonnez-moi?" Blue eyes, that weren't his but apparently now were, opened wide. "Do you mean this is permanent?"
"No." the shorter blonde said, to Francis' relief. "We just can't kill you. Like I said, the body is rejecting you, but not enough to push you out. Yet. It's a matter of time before you eventually are forced to leave that body." he shrugged, then gave a yawn, showing off sharp teeth. "How long that time is, I don't know. Could be ten, could be a hundred years. Apparently giving the soul some kind of shock is meant to help, but if you weren't shocked by what you saw Alfred do in the basement last night, I doubt that's a viable option."
Francis let out a rush of air and put his head in his hands. "Merde."
"Quite." said Arthur, primly. "Well, the sun will be up proper in half an hour, so I'm going to get ready for bed. It's seven, so you could probably stand to get up." He turned on his heel and made of the door. "Oh, and watch your step when you go out, Alfred's got a little... paranoid."
The concept of a chainsaw wielding teenage murderer was not appealing to Francis in the least. A paranoid chainsaw wielding teenage murderer was hardly an improvement on this. And while Arthur had the agility to dodge most things coming his way, Francis' current and apparently permanent body was in no such shape.
He stuck his head out of the door, and went cross-eyed.
Pulling back, it seemed that someone had hung dream catchers all along the hallway, nailed them to the ceiling roughly. There were also an assortment of symbols from various religions, a Star of David, a Islamic moon and star, a Christian cross, and a big "ohm" sticker on the wall as well. A line of salt trailed along the floor. Well, the last one would have kept him out of most places usually, but in a human body he wasn't so affected, and simply stepped over it instead. Francis wondered over Arthur's opinion of the religious symbols, but he recalled seeing the other blonde holding a cross before, so there went that idea.
Did Alfred do all this in the night? Francis hadn't heard a thing.
Shrugging, he made his way down to breakfast. The stairs were similarly covered in salt, and France was beginning to wonder where Alfred had even got this stuff from. He picked his way down, through the dining room to the kitchen, where the first rays of morning light were beginning to shine through the windows.
Alfred paused with his spoon full of cereal half way to his mouth.
"AA-"
Francis quickly slammed a hand over his mouth. "Shh! You'll wake Arthur!"
The younger blonde now seemed too shocked and terrified to move, wide blue eyes staring up at Francis like he expected him to suck out his soul right there and then, or something of that manner. Slowly, he moved his hand off the American's mouth, which hung open and gasped in air like a fish. It was quite an amusing sight.
"That's better." the elder blonde sighed, walking to the breadbox and picking out the sliced bread for some toast.
"Y-you're solid." stammered Alfred, cereal still hovering in the air. "But you're a ghost."
"I have a body." Francis explained patiently, though he didn't know how long he could hold that up for. He didn't add that he'd stolen it and accidentally got stuck, as that would probably only make Alfred freak out again.
"... your skin's cold." Alfred added thoughtfully. "Are you a zombie then?"
Francis wrinkled his nose in distaste at the very thought, and turned to give the teen a look. "Please, do I look like I'm a rotting, brainless corpse?"
"No, guess not. But zombies are cool." he seemed almost put out by this. "Man, all this supernatural stuff is confusing." He finally remembered to eat his cereal, then pulled a face. "Ick, soggy now."
Francis' toast popped out of the toaster and onto his plate, and he wandered over to the breakfast table to take the seat opposite Alfred. "Don't be a baby about it, it's only cereal."
"Blegh. I hate it when it's soggy." the boy pouted, seeming younger than he actually was.
Francis bit into his buttered toast and decided immediately it could do with some jam. "Back in my day we ate what we were given and were happy for it."
"Pfft. Yes mom." Alfred rolled his eyes. "How old are you anyway?"
"That's an extremely rude and blunt question but I'll answer it anyway." Ah yes, it tasted much better with jam. He should probably talk to Arthur about getting proper bread, not the cheap rubbish. "I hit 522 a few months ago. I was 28 when I died. I think."
Alfred was too busy staring to notice the uncertainty at the end of Francis' sentence. "Woooahhh... you're ancient! You're older than Arthur."
"By about fifty years or so, yes." A smirk curled at his lips unbidden, but oh it was nice to hold that over the vampire's head. If nothing else, he had seniority. "So how old are you, Alfred?"
"Well geez, I'm only 19." the teen said, chewing on his cereal sulkily. "Turn 20 next year. Oh but hey, you know the best thing about being in England?" He grinned, fistpumping. "Legal to drink, oh yeah! I love Europe's drinking laws!"
"And legal for sex at 16." the older blonde added, avoiding the fact that the legality of his drinking was probably the least of Alfred's law-abiding worries.
Blue eyes blinked at him, and Francis realised for the first time that Alfred wasn't wearing his glasses. It made him look a lot younger. "Really? Didn't know that one. Well, no big deal. It's not like I have. I guess I'm not that interested."
Francis' eyebrows shot up. "Not interested? A healthy young man your age?"
Alfred shrugged one shoulder, trying to look nonchalant even though a blush was creeping across his cheeks. "I mean I know all about it, I can joke and all, but looking at naked girls on the internet and stuff just doesn't do anything." He gestured helplessly, getting flustered. Oh how precious.
"Not boys either?" Francis pressed, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on the table.
"Nah, nothing."
A cat-like smirk curved at Francis' mouth. "Maybe you just haven't found the right way of enjoying it?" he suggested. "It's different for everyone. Maybe normal, vanilla stuff isn't your thing."
Alfred frowned at him. "Vanilla? I don't get it, why are we talking about ice cream?"
Well would you look at that. He hadn't even made the connection. The state that Francis witnessed him in last night was certainly anything but innocent and pure, but the young boy hadn't figured out what he was looking for was right in front of him.
Francis filed this information to one side in his mind for later.
"Never mind, it's too complicated to go into over breakfast." the Frenchman waved it off, standing and finishing off the last crust of his toast before washing his plate in the sink. "Say, do you want to go out with me today? I think we need to go shopping to get Arthur some proper food. From the smell of it that milk you're drinking is going out of date."
Alfred looked at his cereal bowl, taking in a long sniff. "S'not that bad. Doesn't have lumps in it."
-------
It turned out that Alfred was a very helpful shopping assistant. The boy could carry eight shopping bags of food in one hand, pushing a cart full of more with his other hand. He was incredibly strong, so much so that Francis began to wonder if he was as mortal as he said he was, or if he was otherwise cursed. It also turned out that the American needed some more clothes, since he kept going through his old ones as they got stained with blood and gore and occasionally ripped when he didn't pay attention to the angle at which he swung his chainsaw. Francis was beginning to wonder how he hadn't chopped his own leg off yet.
"Alright, let's take the groceries back to the car first and then we can stop for lunch before getting some clothes for you." he said aloud, looking up at the gray sky. Not that that was much of an indication of if it would rain; it was October in England and that meant a semi-permanent overcast until May, but he didn't want to get caught in the rain.
"Uhh, my hands are full, can you fish my keys out of my back pocket?" Alfred twisted, trying to look at his own back to indicate where the keys were. "Left one, er, my left, I mean."
From anyone else, that kind of line would be a come on. Rolling his eyes, Francis took the keys from the pocket (but not without copping a feel. Firm, round, nice) and pressed the button that made the lights flash and car beep. Genius little invention. He popped the back of the car open, and watched Alfred swing the plastic bags inside. Francis placed the bread in with a little more care.
"Dude, what is it with you and bread." Alfred asked suddenly, giving him an odd look. "You're holding that thing like your first born."
"I used to be a baker. I know a lot about bread." Francis replied, shifting his hold on the loaf regardless. "And other kinds of baking of course, but bread is one of my favourites."
"Oh awesome, can you show me how to make some?" the teen asked, excitable puppy status returning once more. "Or even better, how to make cakes and stuff? Can you make homemade hamburgers?" he stressed, leaning forwards, clearly without the concept of personal space.
"I'm capable, yes." said Francis, taking a step back. "But do you mean to say you don't know how to cook?"
"Uh, yeah, I'm a teenager. I order take out." Alfred shrugged, closing the door of the back of the car and taking the keys from Francis to lock it. "Okay, let's go get this clothes shopping thing over with. Need some new jeans anyway."
-------
Shopping for clothes with Alfred was considerably less enjoyable than food shopping. For one thing, while Alfred took a massive interest in food, he wasn't so concerned about his appearance. When Francis offered him a shirt or a jacket or some jeans, the teen would only shrug and say "yeah" or "mm" or "whatever". After three more shops, Francis was about ready to snap.
"Look, at least try these on, alright? Then we can go home." he said irritably. The taller blonde held up his hands defensively and took the clothes from him.
"Alright, alright, geez. Chill." grumbling, he ducked into one of the changing stalls. Francis sighed and leaned against the wall. It was nearly three now; they'd been out all day. He wanted to be back before Arthur woke up at sundown so he could have a cooked meal ready. The curtain behind him rattled at it was pulled aside, and Alfred's slightly grumpy voice asked "How about it?"
The jeans fitted well, shaping nicely around his legs and flaring out at the bottom around his Doc Martens, and when he turned around- damn, nice ass. Francis wasn't usually so bluntly vulgar in his thoughts, but all that running after people must have made Alfred's lower body muscles killer. His shirt was a little bit oversized, but the way it hung slightly off one shoulder (as designed) and exposed his clavicle was simply delicious. The long sleeves were baggy, but when he moved his arms Francis could see up them to rows of densely packed muscle. He shrugged on a leather jacket - brown, not black, that was tacky - and gave himself a look in the mirror.
"It's good." Francis said, nodding in approval. "It's very good. We're getting you a few more of those shirts. And some spare jeans." His appraisal made Alfred blush, looking down at himself as though he could try to see what Francis found so interesting.
"Well, okay, if you say so."
"I do say so. Come on, let's get these to the checkout."
The lady scanning the items was plain enough, but friendly. It seemed she'd newly started the job, as she fumbled her way through the keys on the till with a slightly nervous laugh. Francis assured her she didn't have to rush, to take her time. Alfred said nothing. While she tried to fix a mistake she'd made, Francis glanced over at the taller teen.
He was smiling.
If Francis hadn't just spent the whole day with the boy, he probably would have assumed he was just happy to get new clothes. But when Alfred smiled, he tended to smile with his whole body, hands gesturing and straight white teeth showing and eyes crinkling. But this smile was different, subtly off. His eyes were open and trained on the till girl as she became more flustered over the price tag. They tracked her every movement like a cat watching a mouse with it's tail caught in a trap. Not pouncing. Not yet.
"Alfred." he murmured, catching the boy's attention but not his eye. "Her?"
The teen made a wordless humming noise, smile twitching wider. Finally all the clothes were packed into a bag.
"That'll be £79.45, sorry for the wait." the girl apologised, flushed in the face. "Is there anything else?"
"Yeah, can I have your number?" asked Alfred cheekily, winking at her. She seemed surprised, but giggled, putting her hands to her mouth.
"I'm not- not really supposed to with customers." she said from behind her fingers, biting her lip timidly. "Um..."
"Go on, there's no-one in here but me and him, and he's not gonna tell on ya, are ya Francis?" Alfred grinned over at him.
"Why would I?" Francis replied, shrugging and smiling to himself. "Just write it down on the receipt."
Blushing heavily and checking behind her for her superiors, she hastily scribbled down her cell phone number. "Um, what's your name?" she asked, boldly for someone who seemed so naturally timid. "I'm Becky."
The blonde teen mimed tipping a hat. "Alfred, and it's been a pleasure. When do you finish work?"
"We close at five."
"Awesome, how about I pick you up and we go out." he grinned, raising his eyebrows, all western cowboy on the ranch. "It's a Friday night and I know a couple of clubs that you can dance till you drop in." Francis thought his choice of words was a bit obvious, but maybe that was only because he knew what he knew. The girl, Becky, seemed absolutely besotted with him already.
"O-okay, I'll see you then!" she called after them as they exited the shop.
They walked a little way back towards the car park before Francis spoke. "Is that how you do it every time?"
"Nah, every time is different. Makes it fun!" Alfred laughed. He seemed jittery with excitement, walking with a spring in his step. "Oh man this is going to be great, I can't wait. This'll be the third in a row, can you believe it! I wonder if Arthur will let me have her all to myself..."
"I doubt it, somehow." the Frenchman said dryly. Arthur was a greedy man, probably was before his vampirism as well.
"Yeah, well, I can dream, can't I?" chuckled the teen, spinning around with arms out like a child. "Ahh~! Life is good!" he cried to the sky, the sunset behind the clouds providing no red glow, just a simple darkening of the sky. "Okay I'll drop you off home and then come back, alright? Sorry Francis, but you'd kind of be a third wheel."
"I prefer the term 'wing man', but d'accord, we'll go home. Then I can make dinner for when you get back as well." The Frenchman said, getting into the car and putting the clothes bags on the back seat. "You can even wear your new clothes for this."
"Oh sweet, yeah, that's right." Alfred chuckled, starting up the car and reversing out of the parking space. "And wouldn't that be sweet for her to see me wearing? Her last act was to sell me them, and the last thing she'll see is me wearing them! It's almost romantic."
Francis gave the American boy a long look. "You pick up victims the same way other people pick up dates." He mused. Alfred shrugged one shoulder.
"I said before I'm not interested like that. It's different." he insisted, but didn't specify how it was different. Probably, Francis suspected, because he didn't know. Probably because it wasn't. "It's more like a game than a date thing. My most favourite game in the whole world. You ever been to Vegas?" The last question seemed to come out of the blue. Francis nodded slowly. "Then you've seen the folks there, playing game after game because it gives them that thrill like they're really alive, on the edges of their seats with hearts pounding!" He swerved sharply towards the side of the road, and then back on again, laughing as they barely brushed a tree. "Haha, see! Blood's pumpin' now, ain't it!"
Francis' heartbeat was indeed pummeling the inside of his ribcage. He knew he wasn't going to die, but he certainly didn't want to be an immortal with a broken spine.
"It's kind of a bonus for the game if I can pick up someone who's never had that kind of thrill." Alfred added, obeying the traffic laws now. "Save them from their dull life. I mean, if you're not having fun you might as well be dead, right?" He paused. "No offense."
"None taken."
"So yeah, I guess in a way I'm doing them a favor. Heroics and all. Risking my tail for their happiness." he laughed, a free sound, uninhibited. "But I'll admit I do it mostly for my own enjoyment. Call me selfish, but it's just too much fun!"
Francis could call Alfred a lot of things besides selfish.
------
The kitchen was like a holy ground after that ride in the car back with Alfred. For one thing the floor stayed still and didn't threaten to throw him into trees when he got bored. An excitable Alfred was just as dangerous as a bored Alfred. He set to work chopping up the vegetables for dinner even if he had a hunch that Alfred wouldn't eat them unless they were deep fried. Why did everyone he meet have absolutely no taste?
"Where's Alfred?" asked Arthur, appearing in the doorway with his usual bed-head hair. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stretched, black silk pajama shirt riding up to show off yet more pale skin.
"Found another target, probably having a lot of fun right now." he explained, sweeping the tomatoes to one side and starting on the potatoes.
"He'd better bring some back for me." the vampire muttered snootily. "I give him free room and board and that's meant to be his payment."
"I'm sure he will, mon cher, don't you worry." Francis assured absently, checking on the steaks he had in the pan. "You still like yours rare, oui?"
"Have I changed in any other way over the past 500 years?" he snarked back, sitting down on one of the seats at the breakfast table. "Should I stir the sauce for you?"
"Merci!" chirped Francis, smiling over at him. Arthur got up and started gently using the wooden spoon to stir the stock gravy. They continued on in oddly companionable silence for a while, before Arthur spoke up again.
"Didn't disturb you too much, did he?" The question was spoken like a snide remark, but still failed to come off as unconcerned as the shorter vampire tried to pretend he was. "Alfred can be a little off. Unusual. He has a talent for making people feel very comfortable around him and then surprising them out of the blue with how completely off his rocker he is." Green eyes flicked up to look at him. "I know you're slightly saner than a few others I could mention of our little network of oddities."
"Oddities. What a nice word for a bunch of freaks like us." Francis chuckled quietly. "I'll admit he was a little disconcerting when he tried to demonstrate how life was meant to be about fun by nearly ramming us into a tree..."
"The little bastard." Arthur growled. "That's my sodding car!"
"He's got good control over it, though." the lull in conversation came again, and it was Francis' turn to break it. "I think when I realised he'd brought the chainsaw with him the whole time, that was when I started to get a little... worried. It was sitting underneath his seat the whole time. He didn't need to go into the house to get it." He snorted. "I'm an undead nymphomaniac and even then, he disturbs me."
"Nymphomaniac? They have a special word for whore these days?" Arthur smirked. Francis brandished the spatula at him, prepared to show him just what a whore could do with such an implement.
"Honey, I'm hoooome!" came Alfred's cry as the front door slammed. Something heavy thumped to the ground in the hallway a few seconds before a blonde head stuck around the corner. "What's cookin' good lookin'?"
"Steak, potatoes and salad." Francis said, checking the state of Arthur's cut before deciding it was cooked but rare enough and moving it onto a waiting plate. "How do you like yours?"
Alfred looked like Christmas had come early. "Ohh, ooh, I've not had steak for ages! Arthur can't cook for taffy. Well-done, please!"
"Then yours will take a little longer. Go make our guest comfortable downstairs while I finish up."
"You're the chef!" cheered the teen, disappearing back around the corner and picking something up, thumping off down the stairs. Arthur was staring after him, lips pursed. His eyes were dimly red, but fading back to their usual colour.
"Non, non, non, you're not eating from her now, you'll spoil your dinner." Francis lectured, tipping his own steak onto a plate. "Dish up the potatoes and salad, and add your blood vial thing to the gravy after you pour it on your plate, not before. Not everyone here likes the taste of blood."
It was somewhat immature of Arthur to mime Francis' talking with his hand while pulling such an irritated face. Maybe hanging out with Alfred for too long had rubbed off on his 500 year old friend.
"By the way," Francis added, finally putting Alfred's steak on a plate and passing it to Arthur to put the vegetables on. "How long has Alfred been here now?"
Arthur seemed to do the maths in his head. "Nearly six months now. That boy must be blessed or cursed; nobody's noticed the rise in missing persons since he came here."
"Maybe because it's the same as when you were hunting on your own?" the Frenchman suggested, picking up his own plate and Alfred's as they moved through into the dining room. The table was big enough to seat 30 people, but he placed the plates around the corner on the end so conversation was possible.
"Can't be right. I only get starved enough to hunt every three days." he explained, folding his arms and leaning his head out of the door to the hallway to call. "Alfred! Dinner!" He ducked back in. "If you do the math, I'm getting fed every other day instead of once every three or maybe four days."
Alfred skipped into the room, beaming widely. "Which one's mine, which one's mine?"
"Far left, I'm on the right, Arthur you're at the head of the table." Francis pointed them out, setting down the knifes and forks for them. Alfred pounced on his food with the vigor of a starving man. Arthur and Francis were a little more refined as they sat down, Arthur pouring his little blood vial all over his food so he'd be able to get it down. Francis knew for a fact it wasn't that he didn't like the taste of food, but more that his body wouldn't accept anything solid until it had tasted blood.
"So, what's she like?" Arthur asked, finishing a mouthful before he spoke. As though he was still a proper gentleman.
"Mmph, B-negative, ain't that cool? Hard to find, those." mumbled Alfred around more food than one should probably be able to fit in one's mouth without choking. He swallowed loudly. "Brown hair, blue eyes, clear and healthy skin."
"And clearly not the brightest bulb in the box." Francis chuckled. "How did you find out her blood type?"
"Asked her?" Alfred said like it was obvious. "Lots of people are into that kind of thing these days. It's meant to determine your compatibility and some crazy shit like that."
"What's your blood type then?" Arthur asked in a distant sort of way. The American grinned at him.
"Hey hey, was that a come on?" He laughed when Arthur spluttered incoherently. "O positive. Ain't I special?" He gestured with his fork that the shorter man. "How 'bout you, Arthur? What's your blood type?"
"V." Arthur answered primly, a light blush across his face.
Blue eyes blinked. "What?"
"V. Vampire. We have blood that has very different properties to human's, and thus, our own blood type." he explained, setting down his knife and fork. "The main difference being that if a human were to drink even a single drop of my blood, they would become a vampire. Furthermore, as a vampire sired by me, they would be under my command and control."
"For the first hundred years." Francis added. The look he received would wither flowers.
"Cool." was Alfred's only response, bouncing up and down in his seat with an empty plate. He looked at Arthur in askance, until the vampire sighed.
"Oh alright, go get changed into something you didn't just buy today though."
Alfred let out a whoop and dashed from the table with inhuman speed, which reminded Francis of something he wanted to ask Arthur.
"Are you sure he's human? He's stronger and faster than any mortal I've ever met in my life." A light frown appeared. He couldn't figure it out; it wasn't as though Alfred was an overly muscled boy, he seemed quite lean at first glance. "Picks up that chainsaw like it's nothing, runs fast as an athlete but doesn't seem to train, what's different?"
Arthur hummed to himself. "I can't detect any curses nor blessings on him, and his physiology is 100% human. He appears to be what you would call 'a freak of nature'." He stood from the table. "But that's neither here nor there. I'm getting changed out of my bed clothes before we get started. You can take the plates to the kitchen."
When had Francis become the house maid? "See you in a minute."
It didn't take long to wash up the plates and cooking appliances (the invention of the dish washer was a glorious moment in time) and so, with nothing to do, Francis wandered down to the basement, assuming the other two would already be there. It surprised him when he happened upon the room with neither of his companions there. But Alfred seemed to have taken the order to make their guest "comfortable" at literally as possible. She was knocked out but unrestrained, resting on a mound of pillows and a slightly old looking mattress. It was difficult to tell in the dim light, but she didn't seem to be injured, and as Francis stepped off the last stair, her eyes fluttered open.
"Bonsoir." he greeted. She groaned, shifting on the pillow pile. "If I remember right, your name is Becky, is it not?"
"Who're..." she mumbled, and Francis began to suspect that Alfred had drugged her. How crude.
"You only met me this afternoon, mon cher." Francis chuckled, stepping forward across the room. Alfred was right, she did have very clear skin. For someone so average, she kept herself in good condition. "And I trust you got to know mon ami, Alfred."
Her face pinched into a frown, trying to remember. "Fra..." she started, but trailed off when she began to sit up too fast.
"Francis, oui, well done." He crouched in front of her, pushing her hair out of her face. Well, if one wasn't so picky as he was, she would be a wonderful catch. The door at the top of the basement opened, and heavy foot falls landed on the stairs. Francis sighed. "Well, mon petite, this is most unfortunate. I should have loved to get to know you better, but our time, or I should say your time, has run short." He stood, and turned to watch Arthur coming down the stairs, closely followed by Alfred, who was wearing some already bloodstained clothes and a grin so wide it nearly split his face in half.
"Hey now, Francis, hands off." he gestured, swinging the chainsaw round and round. "That ain't yours."
"I was under the impression that we shared and shared alike in this house?" Francis said, but stepped away from the girl regardless.
"You're not soiling my meal, Frog." Arthur snipped at him. Francis mockingly put his hands up in surrender.
"Alright, alright, I'll move out of your way." he chuckled, stepping aside, until he felt something grab his foot. Looking down, it seemed that the girl, Becky, was the culprit. "Cheri, you'll have to let me go."
"What's going on?" she asked, voice trembling as her eyes went wider, staring from him, to Alfred's attire and chainsaw, and back at him. "Where am I? Who are you people?"
"Well you know me." chirped Alfred, cheerful as ever. "This grumpy old bat here is Arthur, and that over there is Francis who you've also met." He beamed. "And yeah, we're gonna kill ya."
Arthur whacked the boy upside the head, eliciting a pained whine from him. "Do you have to be so blunt about everything?"
"Hey, it's just the truth." Alfred pouted. Becky was making tiny terrified noises, trying to get her legs under her. Suddenly, she bolted, running past Francis and making for the stairs, but as she dodged past Alfred, he grabbed her long brown hair, causing her to shriek and slip, falling backwards until the was only held up by Alfred's grip on her auburn locks. "Woah, speedy." Alfred was much taller than she was, and when he lifted his arm up, she dangled an inch off the floor by her hair, screaming and twisting and kicking her legs. "Where do you think you're going?"
"P-please," she sobbed, tears running down her face. "please let me go, I won't tell anyone, please!" Alfred dropped her, making her stumble and fall to the ground with a cry. Stepping over and straddling her, the American teen ignored her scratching at his legs and crying, trying to push him off her. "Help!" she screeched, and Francis stuck his fingers in his ears from the sheer pitch of it. "Help, someone! Anyone!"
"Oh do get on with it, Alfred." Arthur snapped, chewing on his bottom lip with anticipation. "I'm hungry."
"Liar, you ate yesterday." the younger blonde laughed, starting the motor on the chainsaw with a flourish. Becky's thrashing became even more frantic, but Alfred didn't even twitch, unmovable. He turned the chainsaw so the point faced down towards her chest, gave a whoop of glee, and plunged downwards into her chest.
The mess was amazing. Alfred threw back his head and laughed, spray coating him head to toe in red, flecks of white bone flying off to stick to him as well. He twisted the chainsaw, trying to make the hole bigger, while the girl's hands pawed weakly at his thighs and mouth worked silently, air gone and blood bubbling up instead. Alfred got off her, stood over her still and dragged the chainsaw down from her chest to her stomach, and the spray of blood and chunks of organ suddenly doubled as he hit several main arteries. The girl's eyes rolled back into her head; either she'd fainted or she'd died, it didn't matter, because Alfred's next target was her head anyway. Francis had lived(?) through enough wars to know exactly what a decimated cranium looked like, so it was at this point he averted his eyes, but not his ears. Oddly, he'd always associated this kind of sound with what happened when you smashed a watermelon open.
The chainsaw ran out of steam about the same time as Alfred did, sitting on the floor besides the mutilated corpse in a pool of blood that wasn't his, panting and giggling breathlessly.
"Oh man," he uttered. "that was awesome."
Francis looked over at Arthur, who was twitching slightly on the spot, mouth half open and face oddly flushed. Much more calmly than yesterday, he walked over, picked up a severed arm, and calmly started biting at it, drawing blood in the same casual manner any other person would eat chicken off the bone. "Mmm." he hummed contentedly, relaxing. "B-negative. Always a little sweet, but not unpleasant."
"What're you, a wine taster?" laughed Alfred, licking his finger and grimacing. "Ick. It's salty, not sweet."
"Your tastes are so unrefined you can't tell the difference between pork and beef, never mind the subtle differences in blood type." How Arthur could maintain his stuck up attitude while snacking on a severed limb was sometimes a bit beyond Francis. "Anyway, set up the legs so they'll drip into the B-negative pot in the corner, the rest we can clean up later-"
Before he could finish, the ground trembled.
"Woah- what the?!" shouted Alfred, looking around. "Earthquake!"
"We don't have those in England!" Arthur yelled back. Then, in the middle of the room, a hole opened up, fire licking out around the edges, the heat wave from it intense and making Francis' eyes water as he staggered back. A hand reached out of the hellish portal, rising up, showing a hooded person wielding a silver trident. A black, hairless tail whipped around his legs as he rose from the abyss, the floor finally closing up from underneath him as he dropped to the ground.
"Everybody remain calm, awesome has arrived!" announced a voice that Francis knew very well. "100 people murdered in one room by one guy, and I'm here for an awesome inspection into the gritty details, courtesy of Hell and the Dark Lord himself! Hold off the autographs until later!"
"Gilbert?" Francis gaped. The man looked over at him, pushing his hood back a little to reveal white hair and red eyes and a shocked expression.
"Francis? That you?" the demon's mouth hung open in surprise. "The fuck are you doing here?"
"Oh wonderful." grumbled Arthur, still holding on to the severed arm and chewing the bone idly. "It's you again."
"Heeeeeey~! Artie!" Gilbert chirped happily. "Still got that vampire thing going for you, awesome."
"Go to hell."
"I would, but I got a job to do." he swung his trident round and pointed it at Alfred, who was watching with wide eyes. "You! Mister crazy murderer, you and I gotta talk."
"Me?" Alfred pointed to himself, looking innocent despite still being slick with blood.
Gilbert grinned widely, showing off pointed teeth. "Did I stutter? Yeah, you. How would you like to join the legions of hell? We got a great dental plan."
Chapter 3
Characters: Francis, Arthur, Alfred, Gilbert (non-nation AU)
Rating: 18
Warnings: BLOOD and GORE I cannot stress this enough. Also sexual innuendo (damn it Francis)
Summary: Originally inspired by this. (Link to pic for those who don't have Pixiv here.) Due to popular demand, what was a oneshot has now spawned a fic.
Something was poking him. Something was poking him on the back of the head and it was too early in the morning for this, he couldn't have had more than four hours sleep. He pulled the covers over his head and grumbled something that probably wasn't English or French or any language at all. But the poking was persistent, and was finally followed by something hard and flat hitting him on the head.
"Ow!" Francis yelped, sitting up and rubbing his sore scalp. Arthur loomed over him, eyes having returned to their natural green colour but kept their glow-in-the-dark properties. "What do you want, I'm trying to sleep."
"I've figured out your problem." the vampire said simply, waving the heavy looking book he'd woken Francis up with. "That soul vanished, correct? And you are now tethered in place, correct?"
The semi-ghost rubbed his eyes. "Oui, you told me that already."
"Let me check your pulse." he held out his hand for Francis' wrist. Wearily, he gave it to him. Arthur's large eyebrows came together in a heavier frown than he usually wore. "I thought so."
"Diagnosis?" Francis asked, half-jokingly.
"Dead upon arrival." Arthur announced, letting go of his wrist. "That body's not alive. At least, not the way bodies are meant to be. The house is heated enough for it to be nearly unnoticeable, but you are producing no body temperature of your own."
Francis stared at him. "Quoi?" It was too early for this kind of thing. He didn't understand.
"Your organs function due to your presence of mind and willpower to have such bodily... needs." Arthur's lip twitched up into a sneer, as he always did when he thought of Francis' motivation to still have a body. "You have a pulse and such. But it's not your body, and some part of the composition is rejecting you, but not enough to push you out. If we took you to a doctor, they would say you had a very strange case of hypothermia, your core temperature is so low. But there's the problem, see. You're not alive, but you're not rotting or aging. You're frozen in time. In this state, you can't die."
"Pardonnez-moi?" Blue eyes, that weren't his but apparently now were, opened wide. "Do you mean this is permanent?"
"No." the shorter blonde said, to Francis' relief. "We just can't kill you. Like I said, the body is rejecting you, but not enough to push you out. Yet. It's a matter of time before you eventually are forced to leave that body." he shrugged, then gave a yawn, showing off sharp teeth. "How long that time is, I don't know. Could be ten, could be a hundred years. Apparently giving the soul some kind of shock is meant to help, but if you weren't shocked by what you saw Alfred do in the basement last night, I doubt that's a viable option."
Francis let out a rush of air and put his head in his hands. "Merde."
"Quite." said Arthur, primly. "Well, the sun will be up proper in half an hour, so I'm going to get ready for bed. It's seven, so you could probably stand to get up." He turned on his heel and made of the door. "Oh, and watch your step when you go out, Alfred's got a little... paranoid."
The concept of a chainsaw wielding teenage murderer was not appealing to Francis in the least. A paranoid chainsaw wielding teenage murderer was hardly an improvement on this. And while Arthur had the agility to dodge most things coming his way, Francis' current and apparently permanent body was in no such shape.
He stuck his head out of the door, and went cross-eyed.
Pulling back, it seemed that someone had hung dream catchers all along the hallway, nailed them to the ceiling roughly. There were also an assortment of symbols from various religions, a Star of David, a Islamic moon and star, a Christian cross, and a big "ohm" sticker on the wall as well. A line of salt trailed along the floor. Well, the last one would have kept him out of most places usually, but in a human body he wasn't so affected, and simply stepped over it instead. Francis wondered over Arthur's opinion of the religious symbols, but he recalled seeing the other blonde holding a cross before, so there went that idea.
Did Alfred do all this in the night? Francis hadn't heard a thing.
Shrugging, he made his way down to breakfast. The stairs were similarly covered in salt, and France was beginning to wonder where Alfred had even got this stuff from. He picked his way down, through the dining room to the kitchen, where the first rays of morning light were beginning to shine through the windows.
Alfred paused with his spoon full of cereal half way to his mouth.
"AA-"
Francis quickly slammed a hand over his mouth. "Shh! You'll wake Arthur!"
The younger blonde now seemed too shocked and terrified to move, wide blue eyes staring up at Francis like he expected him to suck out his soul right there and then, or something of that manner. Slowly, he moved his hand off the American's mouth, which hung open and gasped in air like a fish. It was quite an amusing sight.
"That's better." the elder blonde sighed, walking to the breadbox and picking out the sliced bread for some toast.
"Y-you're solid." stammered Alfred, cereal still hovering in the air. "But you're a ghost."
"I have a body." Francis explained patiently, though he didn't know how long he could hold that up for. He didn't add that he'd stolen it and accidentally got stuck, as that would probably only make Alfred freak out again.
"... your skin's cold." Alfred added thoughtfully. "Are you a zombie then?"
Francis wrinkled his nose in distaste at the very thought, and turned to give the teen a look. "Please, do I look like I'm a rotting, brainless corpse?"
"No, guess not. But zombies are cool." he seemed almost put out by this. "Man, all this supernatural stuff is confusing." He finally remembered to eat his cereal, then pulled a face. "Ick, soggy now."
Francis' toast popped out of the toaster and onto his plate, and he wandered over to the breakfast table to take the seat opposite Alfred. "Don't be a baby about it, it's only cereal."
"Blegh. I hate it when it's soggy." the boy pouted, seeming younger than he actually was.
Francis bit into his buttered toast and decided immediately it could do with some jam. "Back in my day we ate what we were given and were happy for it."
"Pfft. Yes mom." Alfred rolled his eyes. "How old are you anyway?"
"That's an extremely rude and blunt question but I'll answer it anyway." Ah yes, it tasted much better with jam. He should probably talk to Arthur about getting proper bread, not the cheap rubbish. "I hit 522 a few months ago. I was 28 when I died. I think."
Alfred was too busy staring to notice the uncertainty at the end of Francis' sentence. "Woooahhh... you're ancient! You're older than Arthur."
"By about fifty years or so, yes." A smirk curled at his lips unbidden, but oh it was nice to hold that over the vampire's head. If nothing else, he had seniority. "So how old are you, Alfred?"
"Well geez, I'm only 19." the teen said, chewing on his cereal sulkily. "Turn 20 next year. Oh but hey, you know the best thing about being in England?" He grinned, fistpumping. "Legal to drink, oh yeah! I love Europe's drinking laws!"
"And legal for sex at 16." the older blonde added, avoiding the fact that the legality of his drinking was probably the least of Alfred's law-abiding worries.
Blue eyes blinked at him, and Francis realised for the first time that Alfred wasn't wearing his glasses. It made him look a lot younger. "Really? Didn't know that one. Well, no big deal. It's not like I have. I guess I'm not that interested."
Francis' eyebrows shot up. "Not interested? A healthy young man your age?"
Alfred shrugged one shoulder, trying to look nonchalant even though a blush was creeping across his cheeks. "I mean I know all about it, I can joke and all, but looking at naked girls on the internet and stuff just doesn't do anything." He gestured helplessly, getting flustered. Oh how precious.
"Not boys either?" Francis pressed, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on the table.
"Nah, nothing."
A cat-like smirk curved at Francis' mouth. "Maybe you just haven't found the right way of enjoying it?" he suggested. "It's different for everyone. Maybe normal, vanilla stuff isn't your thing."
Alfred frowned at him. "Vanilla? I don't get it, why are we talking about ice cream?"
Well would you look at that. He hadn't even made the connection. The state that Francis witnessed him in last night was certainly anything but innocent and pure, but the young boy hadn't figured out what he was looking for was right in front of him.
Francis filed this information to one side in his mind for later.
"Never mind, it's too complicated to go into over breakfast." the Frenchman waved it off, standing and finishing off the last crust of his toast before washing his plate in the sink. "Say, do you want to go out with me today? I think we need to go shopping to get Arthur some proper food. From the smell of it that milk you're drinking is going out of date."
Alfred looked at his cereal bowl, taking in a long sniff. "S'not that bad. Doesn't have lumps in it."
-------
It turned out that Alfred was a very helpful shopping assistant. The boy could carry eight shopping bags of food in one hand, pushing a cart full of more with his other hand. He was incredibly strong, so much so that Francis began to wonder if he was as mortal as he said he was, or if he was otherwise cursed. It also turned out that the American needed some more clothes, since he kept going through his old ones as they got stained with blood and gore and occasionally ripped when he didn't pay attention to the angle at which he swung his chainsaw. Francis was beginning to wonder how he hadn't chopped his own leg off yet.
"Alright, let's take the groceries back to the car first and then we can stop for lunch before getting some clothes for you." he said aloud, looking up at the gray sky. Not that that was much of an indication of if it would rain; it was October in England and that meant a semi-permanent overcast until May, but he didn't want to get caught in the rain.
"Uhh, my hands are full, can you fish my keys out of my back pocket?" Alfred twisted, trying to look at his own back to indicate where the keys were. "Left one, er, my left, I mean."
From anyone else, that kind of line would be a come on. Rolling his eyes, Francis took the keys from the pocket (but not without copping a feel. Firm, round, nice) and pressed the button that made the lights flash and car beep. Genius little invention. He popped the back of the car open, and watched Alfred swing the plastic bags inside. Francis placed the bread in with a little more care.
"Dude, what is it with you and bread." Alfred asked suddenly, giving him an odd look. "You're holding that thing like your first born."
"I used to be a baker. I know a lot about bread." Francis replied, shifting his hold on the loaf regardless. "And other kinds of baking of course, but bread is one of my favourites."
"Oh awesome, can you show me how to make some?" the teen asked, excitable puppy status returning once more. "Or even better, how to make cakes and stuff? Can you make homemade hamburgers?" he stressed, leaning forwards, clearly without the concept of personal space.
"I'm capable, yes." said Francis, taking a step back. "But do you mean to say you don't know how to cook?"
"Uh, yeah, I'm a teenager. I order take out." Alfred shrugged, closing the door of the back of the car and taking the keys from Francis to lock it. "Okay, let's go get this clothes shopping thing over with. Need some new jeans anyway."
-------
Shopping for clothes with Alfred was considerably less enjoyable than food shopping. For one thing, while Alfred took a massive interest in food, he wasn't so concerned about his appearance. When Francis offered him a shirt or a jacket or some jeans, the teen would only shrug and say "yeah" or "mm" or "whatever". After three more shops, Francis was about ready to snap.
"Look, at least try these on, alright? Then we can go home." he said irritably. The taller blonde held up his hands defensively and took the clothes from him.
"Alright, alright, geez. Chill." grumbling, he ducked into one of the changing stalls. Francis sighed and leaned against the wall. It was nearly three now; they'd been out all day. He wanted to be back before Arthur woke up at sundown so he could have a cooked meal ready. The curtain behind him rattled at it was pulled aside, and Alfred's slightly grumpy voice asked "How about it?"
The jeans fitted well, shaping nicely around his legs and flaring out at the bottom around his Doc Martens, and when he turned around- damn, nice ass. Francis wasn't usually so bluntly vulgar in his thoughts, but all that running after people must have made Alfred's lower body muscles killer. His shirt was a little bit oversized, but the way it hung slightly off one shoulder (as designed) and exposed his clavicle was simply delicious. The long sleeves were baggy, but when he moved his arms Francis could see up them to rows of densely packed muscle. He shrugged on a leather jacket - brown, not black, that was tacky - and gave himself a look in the mirror.
"It's good." Francis said, nodding in approval. "It's very good. We're getting you a few more of those shirts. And some spare jeans." His appraisal made Alfred blush, looking down at himself as though he could try to see what Francis found so interesting.
"Well, okay, if you say so."
"I do say so. Come on, let's get these to the checkout."
The lady scanning the items was plain enough, but friendly. It seemed she'd newly started the job, as she fumbled her way through the keys on the till with a slightly nervous laugh. Francis assured her she didn't have to rush, to take her time. Alfred said nothing. While she tried to fix a mistake she'd made, Francis glanced over at the taller teen.
He was smiling.
If Francis hadn't just spent the whole day with the boy, he probably would have assumed he was just happy to get new clothes. But when Alfred smiled, he tended to smile with his whole body, hands gesturing and straight white teeth showing and eyes crinkling. But this smile was different, subtly off. His eyes were open and trained on the till girl as she became more flustered over the price tag. They tracked her every movement like a cat watching a mouse with it's tail caught in a trap. Not pouncing. Not yet.
"Alfred." he murmured, catching the boy's attention but not his eye. "Her?"
The teen made a wordless humming noise, smile twitching wider. Finally all the clothes were packed into a bag.
"That'll be £79.45, sorry for the wait." the girl apologised, flushed in the face. "Is there anything else?"
"Yeah, can I have your number?" asked Alfred cheekily, winking at her. She seemed surprised, but giggled, putting her hands to her mouth.
"I'm not- not really supposed to with customers." she said from behind her fingers, biting her lip timidly. "Um..."
"Go on, there's no-one in here but me and him, and he's not gonna tell on ya, are ya Francis?" Alfred grinned over at him.
"Why would I?" Francis replied, shrugging and smiling to himself. "Just write it down on the receipt."
Blushing heavily and checking behind her for her superiors, she hastily scribbled down her cell phone number. "Um, what's your name?" she asked, boldly for someone who seemed so naturally timid. "I'm Becky."
The blonde teen mimed tipping a hat. "Alfred, and it's been a pleasure. When do you finish work?"
"We close at five."
"Awesome, how about I pick you up and we go out." he grinned, raising his eyebrows, all western cowboy on the ranch. "It's a Friday night and I know a couple of clubs that you can dance till you drop in." Francis thought his choice of words was a bit obvious, but maybe that was only because he knew what he knew. The girl, Becky, seemed absolutely besotted with him already.
"O-okay, I'll see you then!" she called after them as they exited the shop.
They walked a little way back towards the car park before Francis spoke. "Is that how you do it every time?"
"Nah, every time is different. Makes it fun!" Alfred laughed. He seemed jittery with excitement, walking with a spring in his step. "Oh man this is going to be great, I can't wait. This'll be the third in a row, can you believe it! I wonder if Arthur will let me have her all to myself..."
"I doubt it, somehow." the Frenchman said dryly. Arthur was a greedy man, probably was before his vampirism as well.
"Yeah, well, I can dream, can't I?" chuckled the teen, spinning around with arms out like a child. "Ahh~! Life is good!" he cried to the sky, the sunset behind the clouds providing no red glow, just a simple darkening of the sky. "Okay I'll drop you off home and then come back, alright? Sorry Francis, but you'd kind of be a third wheel."
"I prefer the term 'wing man', but d'accord, we'll go home. Then I can make dinner for when you get back as well." The Frenchman said, getting into the car and putting the clothes bags on the back seat. "You can even wear your new clothes for this."
"Oh sweet, yeah, that's right." Alfred chuckled, starting up the car and reversing out of the parking space. "And wouldn't that be sweet for her to see me wearing? Her last act was to sell me them, and the last thing she'll see is me wearing them! It's almost romantic."
Francis gave the American boy a long look. "You pick up victims the same way other people pick up dates." He mused. Alfred shrugged one shoulder.
"I said before I'm not interested like that. It's different." he insisted, but didn't specify how it was different. Probably, Francis suspected, because he didn't know. Probably because it wasn't. "It's more like a game than a date thing. My most favourite game in the whole world. You ever been to Vegas?" The last question seemed to come out of the blue. Francis nodded slowly. "Then you've seen the folks there, playing game after game because it gives them that thrill like they're really alive, on the edges of their seats with hearts pounding!" He swerved sharply towards the side of the road, and then back on again, laughing as they barely brushed a tree. "Haha, see! Blood's pumpin' now, ain't it!"
Francis' heartbeat was indeed pummeling the inside of his ribcage. He knew he wasn't going to die, but he certainly didn't want to be an immortal with a broken spine.
"It's kind of a bonus for the game if I can pick up someone who's never had that kind of thrill." Alfred added, obeying the traffic laws now. "Save them from their dull life. I mean, if you're not having fun you might as well be dead, right?" He paused. "No offense."
"None taken."
"So yeah, I guess in a way I'm doing them a favor. Heroics and all. Risking my tail for their happiness." he laughed, a free sound, uninhibited. "But I'll admit I do it mostly for my own enjoyment. Call me selfish, but it's just too much fun!"
Francis could call Alfred a lot of things besides selfish.
------
The kitchen was like a holy ground after that ride in the car back with Alfred. For one thing the floor stayed still and didn't threaten to throw him into trees when he got bored. An excitable Alfred was just as dangerous as a bored Alfred. He set to work chopping up the vegetables for dinner even if he had a hunch that Alfred wouldn't eat them unless they were deep fried. Why did everyone he meet have absolutely no taste?
"Where's Alfred?" asked Arthur, appearing in the doorway with his usual bed-head hair. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stretched, black silk pajama shirt riding up to show off yet more pale skin.
"Found another target, probably having a lot of fun right now." he explained, sweeping the tomatoes to one side and starting on the potatoes.
"He'd better bring some back for me." the vampire muttered snootily. "I give him free room and board and that's meant to be his payment."
"I'm sure he will, mon cher, don't you worry." Francis assured absently, checking on the steaks he had in the pan. "You still like yours rare, oui?"
"Have I changed in any other way over the past 500 years?" he snarked back, sitting down on one of the seats at the breakfast table. "Should I stir the sauce for you?"
"Merci!" chirped Francis, smiling over at him. Arthur got up and started gently using the wooden spoon to stir the stock gravy. They continued on in oddly companionable silence for a while, before Arthur spoke up again.
"Didn't disturb you too much, did he?" The question was spoken like a snide remark, but still failed to come off as unconcerned as the shorter vampire tried to pretend he was. "Alfred can be a little off. Unusual. He has a talent for making people feel very comfortable around him and then surprising them out of the blue with how completely off his rocker he is." Green eyes flicked up to look at him. "I know you're slightly saner than a few others I could mention of our little network of oddities."
"Oddities. What a nice word for a bunch of freaks like us." Francis chuckled quietly. "I'll admit he was a little disconcerting when he tried to demonstrate how life was meant to be about fun by nearly ramming us into a tree..."
"The little bastard." Arthur growled. "That's my sodding car!"
"He's got good control over it, though." the lull in conversation came again, and it was Francis' turn to break it. "I think when I realised he'd brought the chainsaw with him the whole time, that was when I started to get a little... worried. It was sitting underneath his seat the whole time. He didn't need to go into the house to get it." He snorted. "I'm an undead nymphomaniac and even then, he disturbs me."
"Nymphomaniac? They have a special word for whore these days?" Arthur smirked. Francis brandished the spatula at him, prepared to show him just what a whore could do with such an implement.
"Honey, I'm hoooome!" came Alfred's cry as the front door slammed. Something heavy thumped to the ground in the hallway a few seconds before a blonde head stuck around the corner. "What's cookin' good lookin'?"
"Steak, potatoes and salad." Francis said, checking the state of Arthur's cut before deciding it was cooked but rare enough and moving it onto a waiting plate. "How do you like yours?"
Alfred looked like Christmas had come early. "Ohh, ooh, I've not had steak for ages! Arthur can't cook for taffy. Well-done, please!"
"Then yours will take a little longer. Go make our guest comfortable downstairs while I finish up."
"You're the chef!" cheered the teen, disappearing back around the corner and picking something up, thumping off down the stairs. Arthur was staring after him, lips pursed. His eyes were dimly red, but fading back to their usual colour.
"Non, non, non, you're not eating from her now, you'll spoil your dinner." Francis lectured, tipping his own steak onto a plate. "Dish up the potatoes and salad, and add your blood vial thing to the gravy after you pour it on your plate, not before. Not everyone here likes the taste of blood."
It was somewhat immature of Arthur to mime Francis' talking with his hand while pulling such an irritated face. Maybe hanging out with Alfred for too long had rubbed off on his 500 year old friend.
"By the way," Francis added, finally putting Alfred's steak on a plate and passing it to Arthur to put the vegetables on. "How long has Alfred been here now?"
Arthur seemed to do the maths in his head. "Nearly six months now. That boy must be blessed or cursed; nobody's noticed the rise in missing persons since he came here."
"Maybe because it's the same as when you were hunting on your own?" the Frenchman suggested, picking up his own plate and Alfred's as they moved through into the dining room. The table was big enough to seat 30 people, but he placed the plates around the corner on the end so conversation was possible.
"Can't be right. I only get starved enough to hunt every three days." he explained, folding his arms and leaning his head out of the door to the hallway to call. "Alfred! Dinner!" He ducked back in. "If you do the math, I'm getting fed every other day instead of once every three or maybe four days."
Alfred skipped into the room, beaming widely. "Which one's mine, which one's mine?"
"Far left, I'm on the right, Arthur you're at the head of the table." Francis pointed them out, setting down the knifes and forks for them. Alfred pounced on his food with the vigor of a starving man. Arthur and Francis were a little more refined as they sat down, Arthur pouring his little blood vial all over his food so he'd be able to get it down. Francis knew for a fact it wasn't that he didn't like the taste of food, but more that his body wouldn't accept anything solid until it had tasted blood.
"So, what's she like?" Arthur asked, finishing a mouthful before he spoke. As though he was still a proper gentleman.
"Mmph, B-negative, ain't that cool? Hard to find, those." mumbled Alfred around more food than one should probably be able to fit in one's mouth without choking. He swallowed loudly. "Brown hair, blue eyes, clear and healthy skin."
"And clearly not the brightest bulb in the box." Francis chuckled. "How did you find out her blood type?"
"Asked her?" Alfred said like it was obvious. "Lots of people are into that kind of thing these days. It's meant to determine your compatibility and some crazy shit like that."
"What's your blood type then?" Arthur asked in a distant sort of way. The American grinned at him.
"Hey hey, was that a come on?" He laughed when Arthur spluttered incoherently. "O positive. Ain't I special?" He gestured with his fork that the shorter man. "How 'bout you, Arthur? What's your blood type?"
"V." Arthur answered primly, a light blush across his face.
Blue eyes blinked. "What?"
"V. Vampire. We have blood that has very different properties to human's, and thus, our own blood type." he explained, setting down his knife and fork. "The main difference being that if a human were to drink even a single drop of my blood, they would become a vampire. Furthermore, as a vampire sired by me, they would be under my command and control."
"For the first hundred years." Francis added. The look he received would wither flowers.
"Cool." was Alfred's only response, bouncing up and down in his seat with an empty plate. He looked at Arthur in askance, until the vampire sighed.
"Oh alright, go get changed into something you didn't just buy today though."
Alfred let out a whoop and dashed from the table with inhuman speed, which reminded Francis of something he wanted to ask Arthur.
"Are you sure he's human? He's stronger and faster than any mortal I've ever met in my life." A light frown appeared. He couldn't figure it out; it wasn't as though Alfred was an overly muscled boy, he seemed quite lean at first glance. "Picks up that chainsaw like it's nothing, runs fast as an athlete but doesn't seem to train, what's different?"
Arthur hummed to himself. "I can't detect any curses nor blessings on him, and his physiology is 100% human. He appears to be what you would call 'a freak of nature'." He stood from the table. "But that's neither here nor there. I'm getting changed out of my bed clothes before we get started. You can take the plates to the kitchen."
When had Francis become the house maid? "See you in a minute."
It didn't take long to wash up the plates and cooking appliances (the invention of the dish washer was a glorious moment in time) and so, with nothing to do, Francis wandered down to the basement, assuming the other two would already be there. It surprised him when he happened upon the room with neither of his companions there. But Alfred seemed to have taken the order to make their guest "comfortable" at literally as possible. She was knocked out but unrestrained, resting on a mound of pillows and a slightly old looking mattress. It was difficult to tell in the dim light, but she didn't seem to be injured, and as Francis stepped off the last stair, her eyes fluttered open.
"Bonsoir." he greeted. She groaned, shifting on the pillow pile. "If I remember right, your name is Becky, is it not?"
"Who're..." she mumbled, and Francis began to suspect that Alfred had drugged her. How crude.
"You only met me this afternoon, mon cher." Francis chuckled, stepping forward across the room. Alfred was right, she did have very clear skin. For someone so average, she kept herself in good condition. "And I trust you got to know mon ami, Alfred."
Her face pinched into a frown, trying to remember. "Fra..." she started, but trailed off when she began to sit up too fast.
"Francis, oui, well done." He crouched in front of her, pushing her hair out of her face. Well, if one wasn't so picky as he was, she would be a wonderful catch. The door at the top of the basement opened, and heavy foot falls landed on the stairs. Francis sighed. "Well, mon petite, this is most unfortunate. I should have loved to get to know you better, but our time, or I should say your time, has run short." He stood, and turned to watch Arthur coming down the stairs, closely followed by Alfred, who was wearing some already bloodstained clothes and a grin so wide it nearly split his face in half.
"Hey now, Francis, hands off." he gestured, swinging the chainsaw round and round. "That ain't yours."
"I was under the impression that we shared and shared alike in this house?" Francis said, but stepped away from the girl regardless.
"You're not soiling my meal, Frog." Arthur snipped at him. Francis mockingly put his hands up in surrender.
"Alright, alright, I'll move out of your way." he chuckled, stepping aside, until he felt something grab his foot. Looking down, it seemed that the girl, Becky, was the culprit. "Cheri, you'll have to let me go."
"What's going on?" she asked, voice trembling as her eyes went wider, staring from him, to Alfred's attire and chainsaw, and back at him. "Where am I? Who are you people?"
"Well you know me." chirped Alfred, cheerful as ever. "This grumpy old bat here is Arthur, and that over there is Francis who you've also met." He beamed. "And yeah, we're gonna kill ya."
Arthur whacked the boy upside the head, eliciting a pained whine from him. "Do you have to be so blunt about everything?"
"Hey, it's just the truth." Alfred pouted. Becky was making tiny terrified noises, trying to get her legs under her. Suddenly, she bolted, running past Francis and making for the stairs, but as she dodged past Alfred, he grabbed her long brown hair, causing her to shriek and slip, falling backwards until the was only held up by Alfred's grip on her auburn locks. "Woah, speedy." Alfred was much taller than she was, and when he lifted his arm up, she dangled an inch off the floor by her hair, screaming and twisting and kicking her legs. "Where do you think you're going?"
"P-please," she sobbed, tears running down her face. "please let me go, I won't tell anyone, please!" Alfred dropped her, making her stumble and fall to the ground with a cry. Stepping over and straddling her, the American teen ignored her scratching at his legs and crying, trying to push him off her. "Help!" she screeched, and Francis stuck his fingers in his ears from the sheer pitch of it. "Help, someone! Anyone!"
"Oh do get on with it, Alfred." Arthur snapped, chewing on his bottom lip with anticipation. "I'm hungry."
"Liar, you ate yesterday." the younger blonde laughed, starting the motor on the chainsaw with a flourish. Becky's thrashing became even more frantic, but Alfred didn't even twitch, unmovable. He turned the chainsaw so the point faced down towards her chest, gave a whoop of glee, and plunged downwards into her chest.
The mess was amazing. Alfred threw back his head and laughed, spray coating him head to toe in red, flecks of white bone flying off to stick to him as well. He twisted the chainsaw, trying to make the hole bigger, while the girl's hands pawed weakly at his thighs and mouth worked silently, air gone and blood bubbling up instead. Alfred got off her, stood over her still and dragged the chainsaw down from her chest to her stomach, and the spray of blood and chunks of organ suddenly doubled as he hit several main arteries. The girl's eyes rolled back into her head; either she'd fainted or she'd died, it didn't matter, because Alfred's next target was her head anyway. Francis had lived(?) through enough wars to know exactly what a decimated cranium looked like, so it was at this point he averted his eyes, but not his ears. Oddly, he'd always associated this kind of sound with what happened when you smashed a watermelon open.
The chainsaw ran out of steam about the same time as Alfred did, sitting on the floor besides the mutilated corpse in a pool of blood that wasn't his, panting and giggling breathlessly.
"Oh man," he uttered. "that was awesome."
Francis looked over at Arthur, who was twitching slightly on the spot, mouth half open and face oddly flushed. Much more calmly than yesterday, he walked over, picked up a severed arm, and calmly started biting at it, drawing blood in the same casual manner any other person would eat chicken off the bone. "Mmm." he hummed contentedly, relaxing. "B-negative. Always a little sweet, but not unpleasant."
"What're you, a wine taster?" laughed Alfred, licking his finger and grimacing. "Ick. It's salty, not sweet."
"Your tastes are so unrefined you can't tell the difference between pork and beef, never mind the subtle differences in blood type." How Arthur could maintain his stuck up attitude while snacking on a severed limb was sometimes a bit beyond Francis. "Anyway, set up the legs so they'll drip into the B-negative pot in the corner, the rest we can clean up later-"
Before he could finish, the ground trembled.
"Woah- what the?!" shouted Alfred, looking around. "Earthquake!"
"We don't have those in England!" Arthur yelled back. Then, in the middle of the room, a hole opened up, fire licking out around the edges, the heat wave from it intense and making Francis' eyes water as he staggered back. A hand reached out of the hellish portal, rising up, showing a hooded person wielding a silver trident. A black, hairless tail whipped around his legs as he rose from the abyss, the floor finally closing up from underneath him as he dropped to the ground.
"Everybody remain calm, awesome has arrived!" announced a voice that Francis knew very well. "100 people murdered in one room by one guy, and I'm here for an awesome inspection into the gritty details, courtesy of Hell and the Dark Lord himself! Hold off the autographs until later!"
"Gilbert?" Francis gaped. The man looked over at him, pushing his hood back a little to reveal white hair and red eyes and a shocked expression.
"Francis? That you?" the demon's mouth hung open in surprise. "The fuck are you doing here?"
"Oh wonderful." grumbled Arthur, still holding on to the severed arm and chewing the bone idly. "It's you again."
"Heeeeeey~! Artie!" Gilbert chirped happily. "Still got that vampire thing going for you, awesome."
"Go to hell."
"I would, but I got a job to do." he swung his trident round and pointed it at Alfred, who was watching with wide eyes. "You! Mister crazy murderer, you and I gotta talk."
"Me?" Alfred pointed to himself, looking innocent despite still being slick with blood.
Gilbert grinned widely, showing off pointed teeth. "Did I stutter? Yeah, you. How would you like to join the legions of hell? We got a great dental plan."
Chapter 3