Fic: He who increases knowledge, increases sorrow
Title: He who increases knowledge, increases sorrow
Author/Artist: megkips
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Helen (Mama Greece), Antonio, Gabriel, Romulus (Rome), Vittore (ancient Venice), Ati (Etruria), Mathos (Carthage)
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: Character death.
Summary: How Romulus Vargas became a hunter, and a few other important pieces of information.
6 March 1961
Have started my first training mission - werewolf tracking. Unsure how it feels to be working with Gabriel and Antonio (particularly with Antonio in cat form. I’ve nothing against cats, it’s just odd.) Mostly though, it’s nice to finally be getting outside of the Vatican. Not that Emilia-Romagnais very far away, but it’s a good place to start.
I can say I’m glad they think me competent enough to face a werewolf though. The risk should be fun.
--
8 March 1961
Three days on the trail - we’re a week away from a full moon, so we have a deadline. Gabriel insists that we track on foot. Truth be told, I’m almost certain it’s to implicitly advise me about the hardships that are a characteristic of most missions and to ensure I can endure it, but as he likes. Sleeping on the ground isn’t that much of an issue.
Tracking itself is tricky - it relies purely on noticing the smallest details - a paw print, some overturned dirt, some fur in the bushes, maybe a few broken branches at a height they shouldn’t be broken at. (Bless the size of an average werewolf.)
The thing seems to be on the run though - aware of who we are and that we’re following him, but more importantly, he has no pack. This is unusual for any werewolf, which suggests that he is
*either newly turned
*has been separated from his pack
*is trying to make a new pack
*more than one of the above
One concern I have noticed, and apparently was right to do so, is that we are growing nearer to civilization. The danger is obvious.
--
11 March 1961
Have lost wolf in a small town. Due to population, may still be able to determine if there is a new individual here.
If not, have sacrificed entire mission.
Am deeply displeased, although Gabriel says that this is quite usual for novice missions.
I am not very fond of the word novice.
--
15 March 1961
Managed - immaculately - to pick the trail up again. More to be written later.
--
20 March 1961
What had happened is as follows -
We lost our werewolf when he transformed into a human in a small town in the mountains. While it was, of course, hard to pick out who might be new and who was old, Antonio was granted just enough time to take on human form and talk to a middle-aged woman who owned a particular bar here. She informed us of a pale haired young man who was staying at a friend’s home (there is no hotel or inn here) - paying her handsomely in cash. The man in question was tall, with long blonde hair and strikingly blue eyes. Germanic, most likely.
Antonio thanked her and passed this information on to Gabriel and myself.
Finding the young man in question was surprisingly difficult though - he must have been aware of our presence, as it was only by happy accident that we noticed a man fitting the werewolf’s description leaving the eastern entrance of the village one afternoon over a late lunch. I noticed him first and was ready to chase after him, but was chided not by Gabriel but Antonio to wait. After all, “to leap after him immediately would scare him further, Helen. We need to lull him into a false sense of security.”
To that end, we waited until five o’clock to depart and started out along the dirt road from the village on foot. Antonio had just resumed his cat form and was quite content to pace besides us leisurely. When night fell, however, we began to work in earnest and picked the trail up immediately - the werewolf is closer to full form now and it is so much easier to follow him. He leaves an obvious trail - clumps of pale fur and badly broken tree branches that he seems to stumble over. I’ve begun to think that he’s quite new to being a werewolf, and to that end it explains the lack of a pack and the fact he seems to be very lost here in Italy.
The wolf did not discover that we were on his trail that night nor did he for three days later. We managed to keep ourselves at a safe enough distance and to chase him away from anything resembling civilization. Tonight though, well - it did not go quite so well. The winds did not favour us, and not only did the wolf catch our scent, he began to head in the opposite direction we wished for - the general area of civilization. We spent a good portion of the night chasing after him, until myself and Antonio had been run ragged and were to the point of collapse. Gabriel didn’t seem bothered much, but I pointed out he had a few centuries on myself and a larger body than a cat.
He agreed, with great reluctance.
As we set up sleeping bags for the night (one other thing I should mention is that we have been carrying hiking packs with us) I overheard Gabriel muttering about how things didn’t used to be like this.
“Like what-?”
“Hmm?” He looked at me, pausing in his putting down of the sleeping bag.
“Things didn’t used to be like this? Like what? Like good versus evil instead of order versus chaos?”
He looked taken aback. “I meant that a person could pick out a stranger in the village, but could you elaborate on order and chaos point?”
I nodded, sitting down on my sleeping bag. “I’ve traveled far and wide with my parents and siblings on hunts, since it has been a long family tradition, and when we were children, my mother told us all of the old myths of the Greeks. Proto-hunters, as she’d say. But with all of those stories, it was never a matter of right or wrong - the Greek gods didn’t carry any moral weight. Instead, it was about keeping the world from chaos - they represented order.”
“Ah, so you thought I was referring to one over the other,” Gabriel said, nodding thoughtfully.
“Exactly,” I replied. “And to be honest, perhaps the order over chaos notion is more accurate to us. We certainly don’t act in what most consider a morally correct manner.”
It was hard to read Gabriel’s expression in that moment, but it seemed to consider all of what I had said and then dismiss the notion in one fell swoop. “Perhaps,” he said finally. “But perhaps now is not the time for philosophy.”
He said nothing more to that, climbed into his sleeping bag, and if he was pretending to rest, I could not tell.
--
22 March 1961
We appear to have switched gears from tracking to damage control. I cannot say that I’m quite pleased with these sudden turn of events, but Gabriel insisted that it was better I learn to deal with lay control rather than to continue tracking our werewolf. I suspect that there is more to it than this simple fact, but questioning it seems a poor idea.
To begin - we began to pick up the wolf’s trail around three in the afternoon, when he was still in human form. He had been skulking at the base of the Apenine mountains for a while now and understandably so. This particular area has many caves - an ideal place for hiding during transformation and during the day. We never caught sight of him in the day, but when the night felt, the wolf was easy to spot. This is, of course, due to size, but also due to his particular colour fur - more blonde than brown or gray. Pale things stand out in pitch black, doubly so with the light of a full moon.
Of course, all of this obviousness did not make up for the creature’s speed and agility, which quickly left us in the dust. For all of my training, I cannot say I expected to be able to perform to this speed and to have this much agility. I certainly cost us time when I tripped over a particularly large fallen tree - as patient as my teammates were about the mater, it was clear they were annoyed that our target was getting further away.
I can say I am proud I was able to keep pace with them for several hours, but I cannot say I am proud of what happened next.
Unbeknownst to us, there was a family estate in the region - not a large building, mind, but a large amount of the wooded forest belonged to them and from time to time they went into the woods. Usually for truffles, as I understand it, but the two youngest sons were camping this evening. They, of course, were not aware of our presence and the werewolf, and we were not aware of them.
By accident and without intent, we chased the wolf right into the two boys’ camp site. Unsurprisingly, the werewolf figured this to be a trap and began to attack the two boys who were absolutely and utterly shellshocked by the creature’s appearance.
Gabriel, Antonio and myself arrived in time to see the second boy wrestling with the wolf in a fit of what I can only call Herculean strength and to our mutual surprise, winning. He had taken some of the fire from their campfire and managed to singe the wolf’s tail to catch him off guard, and was now trying to choke the creature the best he could. It seemed foolish to interfere, least the boy be bitten, but Antonio snuck into the area. I realize now he was checking on the status of the other boy, but at the time I was ready to go after the cat myself. It was only Gabriel’s reminder that his brother knew what he was doing that I stopped.
After what felt like a lifetime watching this boy and werewolf fight each other for their lives, the wolf broke away and dashed into the woods. Antonio and Gabriel made no move to follow him, and I myself was too busy staring at the carnage. The boy had run off in the opposite direction of the wolf, which gave us a few moments to examine what had happened.
The body had been mutilated - neck torn out at a forty three degree angle, deep scratches in the arms and a similar gash along the stomach from where the wolf was trying to pin him down. He was drenched in his own blood and his eyes were lifeless. For a long time, none of us said anything.
“Do we know if there are people here?” Gabriel asked, looking down at his brother.
“No, but their accents were local,” Antonio replied. His coat was spotted with blood. “I think we’re going to need to do damage control on this one.”
“Damage control?” I asked. It had been mentioned in passing during our courses, but no one had bothered to explain beyond the obvious meaning.
“I’m not happy about losing this wolf, but I think you’re right, Antonio,” Gabriel replied. “Perhaps we should hide for now, least we be connected and blamed for this death.”
And we did so. Antonio stayed precisely where he was to gather information while Gabriel and I began to walk back to the direction we had run from. It was smart to leave Antonio to be our eyes and ears, but I was unsure I liked the idea of doing damage control. It seemed more like we would be intruding on a family’s private grief with forced platitudes and explanations.
I do not know what happened between the boy’s departure and his entire family finding the body, but after sitting and speaking with him (Gabriel insisted I learn to take testimony and to be able to write it down from memory), I have a good idea.
The victim in question was named Remus Vargas (b. March 1945 - aprox. five foot seven, brown hair, hazel eyes) and the other young man was his twin, Romulus (b. 1945 - aprox five foot seven, brown hair, hazel eyes) . Their family owned the property they were camping on - their homestead being a quarter of a km away. Once the wolf had been scared off, he ran quickly back home to alert their family, still covered in blood and fur. His parents (Alessandra and Matteo Vargas) were asleep. His siblings however, were not. When Romulus walked into the house, the eldest, Vittore (b. October 1933 aprox. five foot five, black hair, blue eyes, currently employed by Ferrari in engineering) took notice, but it was Ati (b. June 1938, five foot, brown hair, grey eyes, library assistant) who questioned what was wrong. When they received no reply, they simply followed Romulus back to the woods to see what had happened.
Antonio informs me that at this point, it was Vittore who ran to fetch their parents while the younger siblings stayed there, unable to speak or move. That is to say nothing of the sound we heard upon the parents discovering what had happened. Even at the distance we were at, we could hear the initial cry of anguish as it echoed through the woods. I cannot say I ever wish to hear such a sound again.
An hour passed and Antonio finally approached us, suggesting we reach the family first before they contact local authorities. It turns out that where we were staying in the woods was a short walk to the Vargas home’s main gate and that is where we made ourselves known.
Gabriel knocked on the door in a particular pattern. I asked him later if there was a specific purpose or code, to which he shrugged and said it was a force of habit.
Matteo Vargas is the one who answered the door - a thin man with greying hair and eyeglasses - who upon seeing Gabriel forgot his grief and instead looked as if had seen a ghost. I didn’t hear what Gabriel said to him, but we were allowed into the house without any further questions.
The house itself was above average - as if the family had enough money last century to build up a respectable home - and well lived in. We were shown into a parlour, then asked to wait.
“Do they have a his-” I began, but Gabriel held a hand up. I fell silent.
“I’ll explain it to you when I do so to him,” I was told.
I sighed, then looked over at Antonio. “If you can go get me a wet towel I can try and get some of the blood off your fur.”
Antonio darted off, leaving myself and Gabriel sitting in a long, awkward silence. Every so often I could hear a stiffled sob or a soft mutter of Italian, but that was all. Eventually, Romulus walked into the room. He was, thankfully, no longer covered in blood, but his face was pale and expression unreadable. Antonio trailed after him, dragging a wet towel in his mouth. Deciding that this was more likely to be a matter where I should sit and watch, I scooped Antonio and his towel up and began to softy scrub at his fur while the boy was interrogated.
“You’re the kid who got rid of the wolf, right?”
Romulus stared back at the three of us, pushing damp bangs out of his eyes. “You’re not the police.”
“No,” Gabriel said, his tone even. “Not in the traditional sense, but we are a sort of law enforcement.” He paused. “We need you to tell us what just happened in the woods.”
For a moment, it looked as if Romulus was going to break down into tears. He didn’t though, and began to speak to us in a monotone. “We were just camping, you know? Did it all the time when we were younger and we wanted to do it again since we just turned sixteen. Couldn’t do it last week because of all the rain, but whatever. So we heard something in the woods and out of no where, this giant wolf comes at us and--” He stopped and looked for words. “Thing must’ve been rabid. Or something. Because it was a wolf, but it was so much bigger than wolves should be. Came barreling at us and attacked. We defended ourselves and--”
That time, he did sob. Gabriel let him do so while Antonio slinked out of my lap and began to wrap around Romulus legs, purring sympathetically. I turned to Gabriel, about to ask what to do next, but he ignored my look.
“Romulus, was it?”
“Wha-? Oh. Yes,” Romulus said, picking Antonio up carefully.
“We owe you and your family honesty,” Gabriel said, trying to keep his voice level. “That wasn’t an average wolf. That was a werewolf.”
Romulus didn’t even take time to process that information. He simply laughed. “A what now? Please, I know you’re trying to cheer me in any way, but--”
Gabriel looked unamused. “I’m very serious.”
“That’s stupid.”
“The truth is often-- well, not stupid, but strange.”
Romulus stared back at the both of us, then shook his head. “Look, no offense, but I really don’t wanna hear your explanation right now, okay?”
He stood up and left us at that. I suppose that hearing cold logic in the face of personal tragedy is rarely comforting, but it is hard to be sympathetic when there is work to be done.
Soon after Romulus left, Matteo Vargas walked in and asked to speak to Gabriel alone. I sat for ten minutes with Antonio, quite unsure what to do with myself.
“Right,” Gabriel said upon his return. “We’ve been permitted to stay in the guest home on property for the time being.”
Antonio has promised to lurk around the house and overhear the state of the family while we decide what to do next. I expect, though, that sleeping in a proper bed might be nice for once.
--
24 March 1961
It has been odd to linger in a stranger’s home while they are in a state of mourning. Gabriel had suggested we stay confined to the guest house until the funeral conclude, I have found it hard to isolate myself entirely from the proceedings. There is something cold to it, although I do not say so out loud. It is not exactly my place to have an opinion at the moments.
I did, however, take the time to learn why we paused to do damage control - our confinement gave Gabriel little room to avoid the question.
“Their family are friends of the Society,” he said simply and without pause. When he looked back at my face - a perfect glare, I suspect - he gave a soft laugh. “You’re a hard one. Much like your mother.”
“Keep talking.”
“The Vargas family is one of the oldest participating families in the Society,” Gabriel said. “They go back to the Crusades - some might even say earlier.”
I frowned. There was no one in headquarters with that surname at the moment, and I told Gabriel as much. He shrugged.
“Their ability to combat the supernatural waxes and wanes every few generations. I don’t pretend to understand the pattern or to wonder if there’s a greater reason for it and--”
“--and so we’re recruiting.”
He stayed quiet for a while and muttered something that was probably in Spanish and then headed out. Antonio, who had been watching the whole exchange, looked over at me and sighed.
“Part of it is instinct for both of us, you know?” he said, padding towards me. “Doesn’t mean it’s really okay, but it happens.”
I sank down onto the old sofa they had in guest house - probably from the 1800s, with the way it creaked under my weight. “He basically saw a shiny thing and decided he wanted it, didn’t he?”
Antonio leaped up beside me and laughed. “Helen, you don’t know the half of that man and shiny objects.”
I decided that this wasn’t a conversation I was interested in pursuing and instead excused myself to take a small walk. We weren’t allowed near the main house, of course, but nothing was said about walking in the woods.
I found the younger boy there - Romulus - sitting on a fallen log and staring out into the distance. He leapt at the sound of my footsteps (I was shocked he managed to hear them, truth be told).
“Who’s the-” he started, only to stop when he saw me. “You.”
“I’ve a name,” I said in response.
“Do you? You never said it - nor did the other guy, come to think of it.”
I rolled my eyes and was all set to leave, but Romulus lost the thin layer of confidence, his tone changing from flirtatious to sad in one fell swoop. “You’re welcome to come and sit. God knows I need to get out of that house.”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you to,” he replied, moving to make room for me on the log.
I sat besides him, not quite sure what to say or do. But well, a name wouldn’t hurt. “Helen, by the way.”
Romulus nodded slowly. “You speak Italian well, for a Greek.”
“How did you--”
“Accent,” he said simply, as if it explained everything. I frowned, then continued in our silence. There was little I could say to Romulus to offer something resembling comfort, and for his part, he looked as if it was the last thing he desired. He was lost in his own thoughts - whatever they were.
After a while, Romulus turned to me. “The other guy you’re with - what is he, exactly? I mean, to you?”
“This is training,” I said simply. It was true and required little elaboration.
“Training to do what? Hunt things?”
“Yes.”
“So then why’re you hanging around here?” he said. “You should be getting that murderous fluff ball.”
“Not my call,” I replied. “Gabriel decided that we needed to make sure things were okay here...”
Romulus stood up at that and frowned. “Then what’s the point of hunting if all you’re gonna do is stop and worry about the effects? If that thing really is a werewolf, it could be gnawing someone else to death right now, and you two are sitting on your asses here.”
“It’s complica-” I tried to explain, but Romulus had begun to storm off to the main house. I shook my head in exasperation - deciding to linger a bit more in the woods before returning to the guest house.
Upon my return, I shared the conversation with Gabriel, who departed to his private room along with Antonio immediately after. I can currently hear their discussion, although what they are saying is unknown to me - if I am to hazard a guess though, it’s about asking the Vargas boy to join our organization. I would be shocked if it was about something else.
---
25 March, 1961
They buried the boy’s body today - it was cool and sunny, which was perhaps for the best. As much as people say they wish for rain on the days of funerals, I find it a bit silly - it is atmospheric, but no one enjoys standing in the rain and mud.
None of us attended - too personal of an affair. All that’s left is for the family in question to pick up the pieces of their lives. I don’t envy them the task.
Gabriel plans on speaking with Romulus again this evening, hoping to explain the truth of what has happened. I doubt it will do anything.
---
28 March 1961
I was not aware that such simple offers as joining the Hunters could bring about the third World War in a family, but apparently this is a truth.
Last night, Gabriel and myself spoke with Romulus again, sitting down and fully explaining the existence of the entire supernatural world and what our society strives to do. This time he did not laugh or crack jokes or write us off as madmen. He listened - he listened carefully - and when we had finished speaking, he turned to Gabriel and said the following:
“You speak as if you’ve known my family’s role in this organization for generations.”
“I have.”
The response gave Romulus a very, very long pause, and then he looked more serious than ever before. “And how old are you, really?”
“Nearly five hundred.”
“Is that normal in this group?”
Gabriel shook his head. “Not at all.” There was a wistfulness in his voice that suggested he really wished it otherwise, and I don’t think anyone could blame him. “It is dangerous though. Something to consider.”
Romulus nodded. “Do I get time to think?”
“Of course.”
With that, Romulus excused himself again. Gabriel and I shrugged at each other - and I was starting to wonder why he was bothering to have me along, it wasn’t as if I was doing anything - when a loud burst of furious Italian came from the next room. It was, for Italians, a discussion with a reasonable volume, but for Gabriel and myself, it sounded nothing short of an argument.
“We should head out for the night,” I said, deciding that I really, really didn’t need to hear the discussion.
“Wise idea.”
It didn’t take long for us to excuse ourselves for the night, leaving the Vargas family to their discussion and Antonio to sit and overhear it.
-------
29 March 1961
According to Antonio, the discussion that began last night in the Vargas household went long into the night, resulting in very sore throats and lost voices. It seems that the youngest Vargas is leaning towards joining us in Rome, but everyone else has reservations. The mother doesn’t want her children leaving, the father has little trust in the society, and the two siblings are moreso concerned with their brother’s state of mind. Antonio thought this last one to be of most importance and asked that I write down what he overheard so that if there is ever a need for a psychological evaluation, it can be referenced. He caught them in the middle of discussion --
“He’s grieving,” Ati had been saying. “And running away from reality.”
“I’m not disagreeing there,’” Vittore replied. “I’m saying that’s all the more reason someone else has to go keep an eye on him.”
“What about mama and papa though?” Ati shook her head. “Him leaving is going to make everything worse.”
Vittore sighed and offered his younger sister a sideways glance. “You know that this isn’t the first time they’ve had to bury a child.”
“There’s a difference between a stillborn and someone who was si--” Ati stopped herself, then stared down at the ground. “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way it was supposed to.”
“It may not have, but don’t you ever say that again,” Vittore snapped. “I remember what a wreck mama was after she had to do that and how terrified she was when you were in her belly.”
His sister said nothing for a long time. Vittore shook his head. “I’ve...I can deal with our parents, okay? And I have a life and a job here. I figure you’ve got a little more leeway, right?”
“Still, I’m not sure that this is the best idea.”
“He’s going to do it regardless, right?” Vittore said. “The only thing we can do is make sure he doesn’t do something overly reckless. And he’s always been closer with you anyway.”
Ati laughed at that. “Only because you made me baby-sit the little nudists all the time.”
“I always replaced your ruined clothes!”
“When it suited your budget!”
They both laughed, then settled into silence. “You’ll tell mama and papa that’s our plan then?”
“Yeah. And you can make up whatever excuse you’d like to Romulus.”
“Sounds good.”
--
31 March 1961
Romulus approached us in the guest house today, asking for a word. We had been waiting for a very long time and were about to make travel arrangements to simply return to the Vatican, but from the boy’s tone, it seemed like he had made up his mind.
“I’ll join,” he said simply. “There isn’t much for me here anyway.”
Gabriel nodded. “Very well.”
“But,” Romulus continued. I sighed. There was always a but with the new recruits who came to the Society when they were older.
“But?” Gabriel repeated.
“This is kinda dumb, but my sister wants in too,” he said with a shrug. “She mostly does book stuff so I kinda figured it’d be useless, but--”
“I can inquire further.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” Romulus said. “You need a phone or--?”
“That would be useful, yes.”
“Main house. Mama and papa aren’t home,” Romulus informed him.
Gabriel and Antonio walked off very quickly together, which left Romulus and I alone. He turned and smiled at me, looking more cheerful than I had seen him before.
“So what’s all the training and stuff like?” he asked me.
“Grueling,” I replied. “With few comforts.”
Romulus laughed, apparently not bothered at all. I doubt he’ll survive basic training easily - getting up at 5 AM, working until 8 PM, sleeping on cold beds with thin pillows with even thinner sheets and having to deal with Vash drilling him every day. He seems too accustomed to his current life.
We spoke for a while longer with me elaborating on what to expect. He listened intently, although I occasionally noticed his eyes wandering down to glance at my chest. Probably won’t be the last time he does this.
When Gabriel returned from his phone call, Romulus and I were still speaking. On Gabriel’s cheek was a particularly large hand print, which I took to indicate that Romulus’ parents were home. Romulus laughed slightly, but was silenced with Gabriel’s glare.
“We leave on the third of April. Pack what you need.”
“Just me or--”
“Your sister as well. Antonio, can I have a word?”
Antonio leapt off of the armchair and followed after his brother. Romulus turned to me in confusion.
“Why does he always talk to the cat?”
“It is a very long story you’ll hear soon enough,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d go and start packing if I were you though.”
Romulus got the hint and left quickly - only for Gabriel to poke his head out of the next room.
“So what’d the mother say?” I asked.
Gabriel shook his head. “Father slapped me, actually. Neither one are pleased, but Mrs Vargas is too much in grief to scream at me properly.”
“To be fair, you are taking away two of their children when they’ve already had to bury one.”
“It’s very hard not to sympathize,” Gabriel said with a sigh. “But it’s not their decision to make.”
“I suppose not, but to ignore them completely--”
“They’ll come around,” Gabriel replied, perhaps too quickly. “It is important work we do.”
And I couldn’t argue with him there.
--
2 April
All things are packed and we await to leave in the morning. Antonio has reported back whatever he could from the house, which at this point is not much. Both Signore and Signora Vargas have made their peace with the fact their youngest two surviving children are coming with us and while they are not happy, they are now more graceful about it.
I thought to ask Gabriel about what the young woman - Ati - might be doing, as he had made it clear she was not involved in anything resembling field work. Apparently there is a potential for historian work, and if not that, she already works in a library. Romulus though is already clearly made for field work, and all that will take now is time and training.
This was not the field work I was expecting though and I cannot help but voice my disappointment on the matter. There was no capture or kill of a werewolf or even much of a supernatural encounter. Only a viewing of the after effects of it.
I think next time, I should like to go with someone else who isn’t Anjos.
--
3 April 1961
I sit in a train car now - Gabriel to my right with his head leaning against the window, fast asleep and snoring. Directly across from me is Romulus, who keeps fidgeting in his seat and playing with the scarf around his neck - useless, since we’re going to Rome, but his mother insisted. Across from Gabriel sits Ati, her eyes locked on the countryside as it speeds past our window. Antonio has found her lap to be the comfiest for now, and there he is napping in the rising sunlight.
The good-byes were said last night - I do not wish to recount the scene, as Gabriel and I simply watched from afar, but it was clearly tearful and hard on all. I suppose that this loss is no where as devastating as the death of a son, but to send not one but two children to the Society is still a risk. I think perhaps the eldest brother understands this most - the look he offered his siblings as they left spoke volumes of his concern.
Yet, it feels like we did little to control what happened - what comfort do parents gain from knowing what killed their child? Of course they cannot tell their family and we can strengthen their defenses, but it does not change what happened.
All the same though, I understand why Gabriel took the time to do this exercise - damage control is the ultimate loyalty test. It forces you to see the effects of the supernatural in the real world and the very real, painful damage it inflicts upon man. To manage any form of damage control, you must be able to appear kind and sympathetic while retaining your distance from the situation of the individual and remain calculating on what to do next. It is the hardest task one has in being a part of this society, and I do not imagine that at any age, it is an easy thing. I hope that one day it will at least be an easier thing.
----------------------------------------
Ati stares down at the last page of the photocopied documents for a moment, processing everything she has just read. There are pinpricks of tears in her eyes, but she does not let out a loud sob. Instead, she let them flow silently onto the last piece of paper in the file, then moves the packet so she can bury her face in her hands.
It is Mathos’ voice that broke the silence on her apartment balcony. “Ati?” He had been sitting across from her, reading a book and enjoying a quiet evening. Had. “What’s going on, what’s wrong?”
“--he died because the wolf was chased in the wrong direction,” she mutters, as if her answer explains everything. “Just because of being chased in the wrong direction.”
“Who died? What?” Mathos stares. He wants to snatch at the papers she had pushed away, but instead he get up from his seat, walks over and wrapping Ati in a hug.
That time, Ati does sob, burying her face in Mathos’ chest. He holds her there for a long while, his eyes glancing back to the paper every so often. It looks like something Helen wrote - he can recognize the handwriting easily enough - but he cannot tell how old the documents are.
Eventually, Ati straightens up from her crumbled form, but doesn’t break the embrace. “It’s---” she starts, then stops. “Did Romulus ever tell you we had another brother?”
“Aside from Vittore?”
“Mmmm,” she says, “Then that’s a no.” Ati pushes a lock of her hair back behind her ears, and this time does break out of their hug, only to reach for the glass of wine that she had poured herself earlier. She takes it and drains it all in one sip, then continues. “Romulus had a twin brother, older actually, name Remus. He was killed by a werewolf a few days after they both turned sixteen.”
Mathos stares, but nods as if to say go on.
“As far as we know, the wolf responsible for it was never caught. So, every couple of years, Romulus asks me to look into the werewolf files and see if anything’s changed. I do, but there’s never any results. This year, I finally worked up the courage to look at the logs from the original incident and--” Ati gestures at the abandoned group of papers, then shudders. “I wish I hadn’t.”
“May I?” Mathos asks, his hand slowly reaching for the photocopies.
“Only if you don’t tell Romulus and Vittore the contents,” she replies.
Mathos nods. “I can do that.”
Ati mutters what might be grazie, then stands up, declaring that she’s going to go to bed now. Mathos kisses her on both cheeks and promises to be in bed soon, but mostly because he knows Ati handles sorrow much like Romulus - at least a bottle of red wine, usually more.
He sits down with the papers once he’s certain that he can swear himself to secrecy and begins to read.
He stops at the description of the werewolf’s human form, then swears several times over. There is only one wolf that matches the description of pale hair and blue eyes, and it is one he and Romulus have run into time and again.
Ulbrecht had to be doing this on purpose. He’d seemed almost decent, for a werewolf, but....
Mathos swears again. The incident happened during a full moon - there was no way Ulbrecht could be doing it on purpose. He would have had no recollection of the incident.
He sits quietly on the balcony for another hour, skimming through Helen’s log and then digesting the information - and how best to hide his knowledge of it. With a heavy sigh, he concludes that there’s no proper way to do it, and so he heads back into Ati’s apartment, hoping that sleep will be the answer he seeks.
Ati is already in bed when he gets there, curled up in a nest of blankets. Mathos laughs quietly to himself, then lies down next to her. It’s no use fighting over blankets and so he grabs the comforter and wraps it around himself. They’ll find themselves wrapped around each other in the morning, with Ati hung over and hopefully forgetful of what her research yielded. It would be the merciful thing.
FIN
NOTES:
-All of the diary entries are from Helen (ancient Greece's) perspective.
-Emilia Romanga. The family estate is near the Apennine Mountains. Vittore is, presumably, visiting home on vacation from his work in Ferrara
- Visuals!
-Why siblings? There are three major ancient Italic cultures: Roman, Etruscan and Venetian.
-Gabriel is responsible for EVERYTHING
-Mathos represents ancient Carthage (albeit his name is Greek). He begrudgingly works alongside Romulus and has been dating his co-worker's sister for some time when this fic takes place
-Pidge, can we have an Old Guard tag?
Author/Artist: megkips
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Helen (Mama Greece), Antonio, Gabriel, Romulus (Rome), Vittore (ancient Venice), Ati (Etruria), Mathos (Carthage)
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: Character death.
Summary: How Romulus Vargas became a hunter, and a few other important pieces of information.
6 March 1961
Have started my first training mission - werewolf tracking. Unsure how it feels to be working with Gabriel and Antonio (particularly with Antonio in cat form. I’ve nothing against cats, it’s just odd.) Mostly though, it’s nice to finally be getting outside of the Vatican. Not that Emilia-Romagnais very far away, but it’s a good place to start.
I can say I’m glad they think me competent enough to face a werewolf though. The risk should be fun.
--
8 March 1961
Three days on the trail - we’re a week away from a full moon, so we have a deadline. Gabriel insists that we track on foot. Truth be told, I’m almost certain it’s to implicitly advise me about the hardships that are a characteristic of most missions and to ensure I can endure it, but as he likes. Sleeping on the ground isn’t that much of an issue.
Tracking itself is tricky - it relies purely on noticing the smallest details - a paw print, some overturned dirt, some fur in the bushes, maybe a few broken branches at a height they shouldn’t be broken at. (Bless the size of an average werewolf.)
The thing seems to be on the run though - aware of who we are and that we’re following him, but more importantly, he has no pack. This is unusual for any werewolf, which suggests that he is
*either newly turned
*has been separated from his pack
*is trying to make a new pack
*more than one of the above
One concern I have noticed, and apparently was right to do so, is that we are growing nearer to civilization. The danger is obvious.
--
11 March 1961
Have lost wolf in a small town. Due to population, may still be able to determine if there is a new individual here.
If not, have sacrificed entire mission.
Am deeply displeased, although Gabriel says that this is quite usual for novice missions.
I am not very fond of the word novice.
--
15 March 1961
Managed - immaculately - to pick the trail up again. More to be written later.
--
20 March 1961
What had happened is as follows -
We lost our werewolf when he transformed into a human in a small town in the mountains. While it was, of course, hard to pick out who might be new and who was old, Antonio was granted just enough time to take on human form and talk to a middle-aged woman who owned a particular bar here. She informed us of a pale haired young man who was staying at a friend’s home (there is no hotel or inn here) - paying her handsomely in cash. The man in question was tall, with long blonde hair and strikingly blue eyes. Germanic, most likely.
Antonio thanked her and passed this information on to Gabriel and myself.
Finding the young man in question was surprisingly difficult though - he must have been aware of our presence, as it was only by happy accident that we noticed a man fitting the werewolf’s description leaving the eastern entrance of the village one afternoon over a late lunch. I noticed him first and was ready to chase after him, but was chided not by Gabriel but Antonio to wait. After all, “to leap after him immediately would scare him further, Helen. We need to lull him into a false sense of security.”
To that end, we waited until five o’clock to depart and started out along the dirt road from the village on foot. Antonio had just resumed his cat form and was quite content to pace besides us leisurely. When night fell, however, we began to work in earnest and picked the trail up immediately - the werewolf is closer to full form now and it is so much easier to follow him. He leaves an obvious trail - clumps of pale fur and badly broken tree branches that he seems to stumble over. I’ve begun to think that he’s quite new to being a werewolf, and to that end it explains the lack of a pack and the fact he seems to be very lost here in Italy.
The wolf did not discover that we were on his trail that night nor did he for three days later. We managed to keep ourselves at a safe enough distance and to chase him away from anything resembling civilization. Tonight though, well - it did not go quite so well. The winds did not favour us, and not only did the wolf catch our scent, he began to head in the opposite direction we wished for - the general area of civilization. We spent a good portion of the night chasing after him, until myself and Antonio had been run ragged and were to the point of collapse. Gabriel didn’t seem bothered much, but I pointed out he had a few centuries on myself and a larger body than a cat.
He agreed, with great reluctance.
As we set up sleeping bags for the night (one other thing I should mention is that we have been carrying hiking packs with us) I overheard Gabriel muttering about how things didn’t used to be like this.
“Like what-?”
“Hmm?” He looked at me, pausing in his putting down of the sleeping bag.
“Things didn’t used to be like this? Like what? Like good versus evil instead of order versus chaos?”
He looked taken aback. “I meant that a person could pick out a stranger in the village, but could you elaborate on order and chaos point?”
I nodded, sitting down on my sleeping bag. “I’ve traveled far and wide with my parents and siblings on hunts, since it has been a long family tradition, and when we were children, my mother told us all of the old myths of the Greeks. Proto-hunters, as she’d say. But with all of those stories, it was never a matter of right or wrong - the Greek gods didn’t carry any moral weight. Instead, it was about keeping the world from chaos - they represented order.”
“Ah, so you thought I was referring to one over the other,” Gabriel said, nodding thoughtfully.
“Exactly,” I replied. “And to be honest, perhaps the order over chaos notion is more accurate to us. We certainly don’t act in what most consider a morally correct manner.”
It was hard to read Gabriel’s expression in that moment, but it seemed to consider all of what I had said and then dismiss the notion in one fell swoop. “Perhaps,” he said finally. “But perhaps now is not the time for philosophy.”
He said nothing more to that, climbed into his sleeping bag, and if he was pretending to rest, I could not tell.
--
22 March 1961
We appear to have switched gears from tracking to damage control. I cannot say that I’m quite pleased with these sudden turn of events, but Gabriel insisted that it was better I learn to deal with lay control rather than to continue tracking our werewolf. I suspect that there is more to it than this simple fact, but questioning it seems a poor idea.
To begin - we began to pick up the wolf’s trail around three in the afternoon, when he was still in human form. He had been skulking at the base of the Apenine mountains for a while now and understandably so. This particular area has many caves - an ideal place for hiding during transformation and during the day. We never caught sight of him in the day, but when the night felt, the wolf was easy to spot. This is, of course, due to size, but also due to his particular colour fur - more blonde than brown or gray. Pale things stand out in pitch black, doubly so with the light of a full moon.
Of course, all of this obviousness did not make up for the creature’s speed and agility, which quickly left us in the dust. For all of my training, I cannot say I expected to be able to perform to this speed and to have this much agility. I certainly cost us time when I tripped over a particularly large fallen tree - as patient as my teammates were about the mater, it was clear they were annoyed that our target was getting further away.
I can say I am proud I was able to keep pace with them for several hours, but I cannot say I am proud of what happened next.
Unbeknownst to us, there was a family estate in the region - not a large building, mind, but a large amount of the wooded forest belonged to them and from time to time they went into the woods. Usually for truffles, as I understand it, but the two youngest sons were camping this evening. They, of course, were not aware of our presence and the werewolf, and we were not aware of them.
By accident and without intent, we chased the wolf right into the two boys’ camp site. Unsurprisingly, the werewolf figured this to be a trap and began to attack the two boys who were absolutely and utterly shellshocked by the creature’s appearance.
Gabriel, Antonio and myself arrived in time to see the second boy wrestling with the wolf in a fit of what I can only call Herculean strength and to our mutual surprise, winning. He had taken some of the fire from their campfire and managed to singe the wolf’s tail to catch him off guard, and was now trying to choke the creature the best he could. It seemed foolish to interfere, least the boy be bitten, but Antonio snuck into the area. I realize now he was checking on the status of the other boy, but at the time I was ready to go after the cat myself. It was only Gabriel’s reminder that his brother knew what he was doing that I stopped.
After what felt like a lifetime watching this boy and werewolf fight each other for their lives, the wolf broke away and dashed into the woods. Antonio and Gabriel made no move to follow him, and I myself was too busy staring at the carnage. The boy had run off in the opposite direction of the wolf, which gave us a few moments to examine what had happened.
The body had been mutilated - neck torn out at a forty three degree angle, deep scratches in the arms and a similar gash along the stomach from where the wolf was trying to pin him down. He was drenched in his own blood and his eyes were lifeless. For a long time, none of us said anything.
“Do we know if there are people here?” Gabriel asked, looking down at his brother.
“No, but their accents were local,” Antonio replied. His coat was spotted with blood. “I think we’re going to need to do damage control on this one.”
“Damage control?” I asked. It had been mentioned in passing during our courses, but no one had bothered to explain beyond the obvious meaning.
“I’m not happy about losing this wolf, but I think you’re right, Antonio,” Gabriel replied. “Perhaps we should hide for now, least we be connected and blamed for this death.”
And we did so. Antonio stayed precisely where he was to gather information while Gabriel and I began to walk back to the direction we had run from. It was smart to leave Antonio to be our eyes and ears, but I was unsure I liked the idea of doing damage control. It seemed more like we would be intruding on a family’s private grief with forced platitudes and explanations.
I do not know what happened between the boy’s departure and his entire family finding the body, but after sitting and speaking with him (Gabriel insisted I learn to take testimony and to be able to write it down from memory), I have a good idea.
The victim in question was named Remus Vargas (b. March 1945 - aprox. five foot seven, brown hair, hazel eyes) and the other young man was his twin, Romulus (b. 1945 - aprox five foot seven, brown hair, hazel eyes) . Their family owned the property they were camping on - their homestead being a quarter of a km away. Once the wolf had been scared off, he ran quickly back home to alert their family, still covered in blood and fur. His parents (Alessandra and Matteo Vargas) were asleep. His siblings however, were not. When Romulus walked into the house, the eldest, Vittore (b. October 1933 aprox. five foot five, black hair, blue eyes, currently employed by Ferrari in engineering) took notice, but it was Ati (b. June 1938, five foot, brown hair, grey eyes, library assistant) who questioned what was wrong. When they received no reply, they simply followed Romulus back to the woods to see what had happened.
Antonio informs me that at this point, it was Vittore who ran to fetch their parents while the younger siblings stayed there, unable to speak or move. That is to say nothing of the sound we heard upon the parents discovering what had happened. Even at the distance we were at, we could hear the initial cry of anguish as it echoed through the woods. I cannot say I ever wish to hear such a sound again.
An hour passed and Antonio finally approached us, suggesting we reach the family first before they contact local authorities. It turns out that where we were staying in the woods was a short walk to the Vargas home’s main gate and that is where we made ourselves known.
Gabriel knocked on the door in a particular pattern. I asked him later if there was a specific purpose or code, to which he shrugged and said it was a force of habit.
Matteo Vargas is the one who answered the door - a thin man with greying hair and eyeglasses - who upon seeing Gabriel forgot his grief and instead looked as if had seen a ghost. I didn’t hear what Gabriel said to him, but we were allowed into the house without any further questions.
The house itself was above average - as if the family had enough money last century to build up a respectable home - and well lived in. We were shown into a parlour, then asked to wait.
“Do they have a his-” I began, but Gabriel held a hand up. I fell silent.
“I’ll explain it to you when I do so to him,” I was told.
I sighed, then looked over at Antonio. “If you can go get me a wet towel I can try and get some of the blood off your fur.”
Antonio darted off, leaving myself and Gabriel sitting in a long, awkward silence. Every so often I could hear a stiffled sob or a soft mutter of Italian, but that was all. Eventually, Romulus walked into the room. He was, thankfully, no longer covered in blood, but his face was pale and expression unreadable. Antonio trailed after him, dragging a wet towel in his mouth. Deciding that this was more likely to be a matter where I should sit and watch, I scooped Antonio and his towel up and began to softy scrub at his fur while the boy was interrogated.
“You’re the kid who got rid of the wolf, right?”
Romulus stared back at the three of us, pushing damp bangs out of his eyes. “You’re not the police.”
“No,” Gabriel said, his tone even. “Not in the traditional sense, but we are a sort of law enforcement.” He paused. “We need you to tell us what just happened in the woods.”
For a moment, it looked as if Romulus was going to break down into tears. He didn’t though, and began to speak to us in a monotone. “We were just camping, you know? Did it all the time when we were younger and we wanted to do it again since we just turned sixteen. Couldn’t do it last week because of all the rain, but whatever. So we heard something in the woods and out of no where, this giant wolf comes at us and--” He stopped and looked for words. “Thing must’ve been rabid. Or something. Because it was a wolf, but it was so much bigger than wolves should be. Came barreling at us and attacked. We defended ourselves and--”
That time, he did sob. Gabriel let him do so while Antonio slinked out of my lap and began to wrap around Romulus legs, purring sympathetically. I turned to Gabriel, about to ask what to do next, but he ignored my look.
“Romulus, was it?”
“Wha-? Oh. Yes,” Romulus said, picking Antonio up carefully.
“We owe you and your family honesty,” Gabriel said, trying to keep his voice level. “That wasn’t an average wolf. That was a werewolf.”
Romulus didn’t even take time to process that information. He simply laughed. “A what now? Please, I know you’re trying to cheer me in any way, but--”
Gabriel looked unamused. “I’m very serious.”
“That’s stupid.”
“The truth is often-- well, not stupid, but strange.”
Romulus stared back at the both of us, then shook his head. “Look, no offense, but I really don’t wanna hear your explanation right now, okay?”
He stood up and left us at that. I suppose that hearing cold logic in the face of personal tragedy is rarely comforting, but it is hard to be sympathetic when there is work to be done.
Soon after Romulus left, Matteo Vargas walked in and asked to speak to Gabriel alone. I sat for ten minutes with Antonio, quite unsure what to do with myself.
“Right,” Gabriel said upon his return. “We’ve been permitted to stay in the guest home on property for the time being.”
Antonio has promised to lurk around the house and overhear the state of the family while we decide what to do next. I expect, though, that sleeping in a proper bed might be nice for once.
--
24 March 1961
It has been odd to linger in a stranger’s home while they are in a state of mourning. Gabriel had suggested we stay confined to the guest house until the funeral conclude, I have found it hard to isolate myself entirely from the proceedings. There is something cold to it, although I do not say so out loud. It is not exactly my place to have an opinion at the moments.
I did, however, take the time to learn why we paused to do damage control - our confinement gave Gabriel little room to avoid the question.
“Their family are friends of the Society,” he said simply and without pause. When he looked back at my face - a perfect glare, I suspect - he gave a soft laugh. “You’re a hard one. Much like your mother.”
“Keep talking.”
“The Vargas family is one of the oldest participating families in the Society,” Gabriel said. “They go back to the Crusades - some might even say earlier.”
I frowned. There was no one in headquarters with that surname at the moment, and I told Gabriel as much. He shrugged.
“Their ability to combat the supernatural waxes and wanes every few generations. I don’t pretend to understand the pattern or to wonder if there’s a greater reason for it and--”
“--and so we’re recruiting.”
He stayed quiet for a while and muttered something that was probably in Spanish and then headed out. Antonio, who had been watching the whole exchange, looked over at me and sighed.
“Part of it is instinct for both of us, you know?” he said, padding towards me. “Doesn’t mean it’s really okay, but it happens.”
I sank down onto the old sofa they had in guest house - probably from the 1800s, with the way it creaked under my weight. “He basically saw a shiny thing and decided he wanted it, didn’t he?”
Antonio leaped up beside me and laughed. “Helen, you don’t know the half of that man and shiny objects.”
I decided that this wasn’t a conversation I was interested in pursuing and instead excused myself to take a small walk. We weren’t allowed near the main house, of course, but nothing was said about walking in the woods.
I found the younger boy there - Romulus - sitting on a fallen log and staring out into the distance. He leapt at the sound of my footsteps (I was shocked he managed to hear them, truth be told).
“Who’s the-” he started, only to stop when he saw me. “You.”
“I’ve a name,” I said in response.
“Do you? You never said it - nor did the other guy, come to think of it.”
I rolled my eyes and was all set to leave, but Romulus lost the thin layer of confidence, his tone changing from flirtatious to sad in one fell swoop. “You’re welcome to come and sit. God knows I need to get out of that house.”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you to,” he replied, moving to make room for me on the log.
I sat besides him, not quite sure what to say or do. But well, a name wouldn’t hurt. “Helen, by the way.”
Romulus nodded slowly. “You speak Italian well, for a Greek.”
“How did you--”
“Accent,” he said simply, as if it explained everything. I frowned, then continued in our silence. There was little I could say to Romulus to offer something resembling comfort, and for his part, he looked as if it was the last thing he desired. He was lost in his own thoughts - whatever they were.
After a while, Romulus turned to me. “The other guy you’re with - what is he, exactly? I mean, to you?”
“This is training,” I said simply. It was true and required little elaboration.
“Training to do what? Hunt things?”
“Yes.”
“So then why’re you hanging around here?” he said. “You should be getting that murderous fluff ball.”
“Not my call,” I replied. “Gabriel decided that we needed to make sure things were okay here...”
Romulus stood up at that and frowned. “Then what’s the point of hunting if all you’re gonna do is stop and worry about the effects? If that thing really is a werewolf, it could be gnawing someone else to death right now, and you two are sitting on your asses here.”
“It’s complica-” I tried to explain, but Romulus had begun to storm off to the main house. I shook my head in exasperation - deciding to linger a bit more in the woods before returning to the guest house.
Upon my return, I shared the conversation with Gabriel, who departed to his private room along with Antonio immediately after. I can currently hear their discussion, although what they are saying is unknown to me - if I am to hazard a guess though, it’s about asking the Vargas boy to join our organization. I would be shocked if it was about something else.
---
25 March, 1961
They buried the boy’s body today - it was cool and sunny, which was perhaps for the best. As much as people say they wish for rain on the days of funerals, I find it a bit silly - it is atmospheric, but no one enjoys standing in the rain and mud.
None of us attended - too personal of an affair. All that’s left is for the family in question to pick up the pieces of their lives. I don’t envy them the task.
Gabriel plans on speaking with Romulus again this evening, hoping to explain the truth of what has happened. I doubt it will do anything.
---
28 March 1961
I was not aware that such simple offers as joining the Hunters could bring about the third World War in a family, but apparently this is a truth.
Last night, Gabriel and myself spoke with Romulus again, sitting down and fully explaining the existence of the entire supernatural world and what our society strives to do. This time he did not laugh or crack jokes or write us off as madmen. He listened - he listened carefully - and when we had finished speaking, he turned to Gabriel and said the following:
“You speak as if you’ve known my family’s role in this organization for generations.”
“I have.”
The response gave Romulus a very, very long pause, and then he looked more serious than ever before. “And how old are you, really?”
“Nearly five hundred.”
“Is that normal in this group?”
Gabriel shook his head. “Not at all.” There was a wistfulness in his voice that suggested he really wished it otherwise, and I don’t think anyone could blame him. “It is dangerous though. Something to consider.”
Romulus nodded. “Do I get time to think?”
“Of course.”
With that, Romulus excused himself again. Gabriel and I shrugged at each other - and I was starting to wonder why he was bothering to have me along, it wasn’t as if I was doing anything - when a loud burst of furious Italian came from the next room. It was, for Italians, a discussion with a reasonable volume, but for Gabriel and myself, it sounded nothing short of an argument.
“We should head out for the night,” I said, deciding that I really, really didn’t need to hear the discussion.
“Wise idea.”
It didn’t take long for us to excuse ourselves for the night, leaving the Vargas family to their discussion and Antonio to sit and overhear it.
-------
29 March 1961
According to Antonio, the discussion that began last night in the Vargas household went long into the night, resulting in very sore throats and lost voices. It seems that the youngest Vargas is leaning towards joining us in Rome, but everyone else has reservations. The mother doesn’t want her children leaving, the father has little trust in the society, and the two siblings are moreso concerned with their brother’s state of mind. Antonio thought this last one to be of most importance and asked that I write down what he overheard so that if there is ever a need for a psychological evaluation, it can be referenced. He caught them in the middle of discussion --
“He’s grieving,” Ati had been saying. “And running away from reality.”
“I’m not disagreeing there,’” Vittore replied. “I’m saying that’s all the more reason someone else has to go keep an eye on him.”
“What about mama and papa though?” Ati shook her head. “Him leaving is going to make everything worse.”
Vittore sighed and offered his younger sister a sideways glance. “You know that this isn’t the first time they’ve had to bury a child.”
“There’s a difference between a stillborn and someone who was si--” Ati stopped herself, then stared down at the ground. “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way it was supposed to.”
“It may not have, but don’t you ever say that again,” Vittore snapped. “I remember what a wreck mama was after she had to do that and how terrified she was when you were in her belly.”
His sister said nothing for a long time. Vittore shook his head. “I’ve...I can deal with our parents, okay? And I have a life and a job here. I figure you’ve got a little more leeway, right?”
“Still, I’m not sure that this is the best idea.”
“He’s going to do it regardless, right?” Vittore said. “The only thing we can do is make sure he doesn’t do something overly reckless. And he’s always been closer with you anyway.”
Ati laughed at that. “Only because you made me baby-sit the little nudists all the time.”
“I always replaced your ruined clothes!”
“When it suited your budget!”
They both laughed, then settled into silence. “You’ll tell mama and papa that’s our plan then?”
“Yeah. And you can make up whatever excuse you’d like to Romulus.”
“Sounds good.”
--
31 March 1961
Romulus approached us in the guest house today, asking for a word. We had been waiting for a very long time and were about to make travel arrangements to simply return to the Vatican, but from the boy’s tone, it seemed like he had made up his mind.
“I’ll join,” he said simply. “There isn’t much for me here anyway.”
Gabriel nodded. “Very well.”
“But,” Romulus continued. I sighed. There was always a but with the new recruits who came to the Society when they were older.
“But?” Gabriel repeated.
“This is kinda dumb, but my sister wants in too,” he said with a shrug. “She mostly does book stuff so I kinda figured it’d be useless, but--”
“I can inquire further.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” Romulus said. “You need a phone or--?”
“That would be useful, yes.”
“Main house. Mama and papa aren’t home,” Romulus informed him.
Gabriel and Antonio walked off very quickly together, which left Romulus and I alone. He turned and smiled at me, looking more cheerful than I had seen him before.
“So what’s all the training and stuff like?” he asked me.
“Grueling,” I replied. “With few comforts.”
Romulus laughed, apparently not bothered at all. I doubt he’ll survive basic training easily - getting up at 5 AM, working until 8 PM, sleeping on cold beds with thin pillows with even thinner sheets and having to deal with Vash drilling him every day. He seems too accustomed to his current life.
We spoke for a while longer with me elaborating on what to expect. He listened intently, although I occasionally noticed his eyes wandering down to glance at my chest. Probably won’t be the last time he does this.
When Gabriel returned from his phone call, Romulus and I were still speaking. On Gabriel’s cheek was a particularly large hand print, which I took to indicate that Romulus’ parents were home. Romulus laughed slightly, but was silenced with Gabriel’s glare.
“We leave on the third of April. Pack what you need.”
“Just me or--”
“Your sister as well. Antonio, can I have a word?”
Antonio leapt off of the armchair and followed after his brother. Romulus turned to me in confusion.
“Why does he always talk to the cat?”
“It is a very long story you’ll hear soon enough,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d go and start packing if I were you though.”
Romulus got the hint and left quickly - only for Gabriel to poke his head out of the next room.
“So what’d the mother say?” I asked.
Gabriel shook his head. “Father slapped me, actually. Neither one are pleased, but Mrs Vargas is too much in grief to scream at me properly.”
“To be fair, you are taking away two of their children when they’ve already had to bury one.”
“It’s very hard not to sympathize,” Gabriel said with a sigh. “But it’s not their decision to make.”
“I suppose not, but to ignore them completely--”
“They’ll come around,” Gabriel replied, perhaps too quickly. “It is important work we do.”
And I couldn’t argue with him there.
--
2 April
All things are packed and we await to leave in the morning. Antonio has reported back whatever he could from the house, which at this point is not much. Both Signore and Signora Vargas have made their peace with the fact their youngest two surviving children are coming with us and while they are not happy, they are now more graceful about it.
I thought to ask Gabriel about what the young woman - Ati - might be doing, as he had made it clear she was not involved in anything resembling field work. Apparently there is a potential for historian work, and if not that, she already works in a library. Romulus though is already clearly made for field work, and all that will take now is time and training.
This was not the field work I was expecting though and I cannot help but voice my disappointment on the matter. There was no capture or kill of a werewolf or even much of a supernatural encounter. Only a viewing of the after effects of it.
I think next time, I should like to go with someone else who isn’t Anjos.
--
3 April 1961
I sit in a train car now - Gabriel to my right with his head leaning against the window, fast asleep and snoring. Directly across from me is Romulus, who keeps fidgeting in his seat and playing with the scarf around his neck - useless, since we’re going to Rome, but his mother insisted. Across from Gabriel sits Ati, her eyes locked on the countryside as it speeds past our window. Antonio has found her lap to be the comfiest for now, and there he is napping in the rising sunlight.
The good-byes were said last night - I do not wish to recount the scene, as Gabriel and I simply watched from afar, but it was clearly tearful and hard on all. I suppose that this loss is no where as devastating as the death of a son, but to send not one but two children to the Society is still a risk. I think perhaps the eldest brother understands this most - the look he offered his siblings as they left spoke volumes of his concern.
Yet, it feels like we did little to control what happened - what comfort do parents gain from knowing what killed their child? Of course they cannot tell their family and we can strengthen their defenses, but it does not change what happened.
All the same though, I understand why Gabriel took the time to do this exercise - damage control is the ultimate loyalty test. It forces you to see the effects of the supernatural in the real world and the very real, painful damage it inflicts upon man. To manage any form of damage control, you must be able to appear kind and sympathetic while retaining your distance from the situation of the individual and remain calculating on what to do next. It is the hardest task one has in being a part of this society, and I do not imagine that at any age, it is an easy thing. I hope that one day it will at least be an easier thing.
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Ati stares down at the last page of the photocopied documents for a moment, processing everything she has just read. There are pinpricks of tears in her eyes, but she does not let out a loud sob. Instead, she let them flow silently onto the last piece of paper in the file, then moves the packet so she can bury her face in her hands.
It is Mathos’ voice that broke the silence on her apartment balcony. “Ati?” He had been sitting across from her, reading a book and enjoying a quiet evening. Had. “What’s going on, what’s wrong?”
“--he died because the wolf was chased in the wrong direction,” she mutters, as if her answer explains everything. “Just because of being chased in the wrong direction.”
“Who died? What?” Mathos stares. He wants to snatch at the papers she had pushed away, but instead he get up from his seat, walks over and wrapping Ati in a hug.
That time, Ati does sob, burying her face in Mathos’ chest. He holds her there for a long while, his eyes glancing back to the paper every so often. It looks like something Helen wrote - he can recognize the handwriting easily enough - but he cannot tell how old the documents are.
Eventually, Ati straightens up from her crumbled form, but doesn’t break the embrace. “It’s---” she starts, then stops. “Did Romulus ever tell you we had another brother?”
“Aside from Vittore?”
“Mmmm,” she says, “Then that’s a no.” Ati pushes a lock of her hair back behind her ears, and this time does break out of their hug, only to reach for the glass of wine that she had poured herself earlier. She takes it and drains it all in one sip, then continues. “Romulus had a twin brother, older actually, name Remus. He was killed by a werewolf a few days after they both turned sixteen.”
Mathos stares, but nods as if to say go on.
“As far as we know, the wolf responsible for it was never caught. So, every couple of years, Romulus asks me to look into the werewolf files and see if anything’s changed. I do, but there’s never any results. This year, I finally worked up the courage to look at the logs from the original incident and--” Ati gestures at the abandoned group of papers, then shudders. “I wish I hadn’t.”
“May I?” Mathos asks, his hand slowly reaching for the photocopies.
“Only if you don’t tell Romulus and Vittore the contents,” she replies.
Mathos nods. “I can do that.”
Ati mutters what might be grazie, then stands up, declaring that she’s going to go to bed now. Mathos kisses her on both cheeks and promises to be in bed soon, but mostly because he knows Ati handles sorrow much like Romulus - at least a bottle of red wine, usually more.
He sits down with the papers once he’s certain that he can swear himself to secrecy and begins to read.
He stops at the description of the werewolf’s human form, then swears several times over. There is only one wolf that matches the description of pale hair and blue eyes, and it is one he and Romulus have run into time and again.
Ulbrecht had to be doing this on purpose. He’d seemed almost decent, for a werewolf, but....
Mathos swears again. The incident happened during a full moon - there was no way Ulbrecht could be doing it on purpose. He would have had no recollection of the incident.
He sits quietly on the balcony for another hour, skimming through Helen’s log and then digesting the information - and how best to hide his knowledge of it. With a heavy sigh, he concludes that there’s no proper way to do it, and so he heads back into Ati’s apartment, hoping that sleep will be the answer he seeks.
Ati is already in bed when he gets there, curled up in a nest of blankets. Mathos laughs quietly to himself, then lies down next to her. It’s no use fighting over blankets and so he grabs the comforter and wraps it around himself. They’ll find themselves wrapped around each other in the morning, with Ati hung over and hopefully forgetful of what her research yielded. It would be the merciful thing.
FIN
NOTES:
-All of the diary entries are from Helen (ancient Greece's) perspective.
-Emilia Romanga. The family estate is near the Apennine Mountains. Vittore is, presumably, visiting home on vacation from his work in Ferrara
- Visuals!
-Why siblings? There are three major ancient Italic cultures: Roman, Etruscan and Venetian.
-Gabriel is responsible for EVERYTHING
-Mathos represents ancient Carthage (albeit his name is Greek). He begrudgingly works alongside Romulus and has been dating his co-worker's sister for some time when this fic takes place
-Pidge, can we have an Old Guard tag?