There were only so many hours in the day. Even less in the night. It wasn’t easy for Ruben to keep these hours. Not like it used to be. With his poor back, he’d been advised by his doctors to retire. Not that he could really do such a thing, or even tell them what exactly his job entailed.
It was difficult to stomach this new life, not only because decades of freedom and ample finances had evaporated overnight, but he was forced to watch a hunter enjoy the rewards Ruben was owed. Youth. Eternal youth. Wasted.
Ruben placed two fresh glasses on a tea service, having just polished them to a shine. The effort of retrieving this evening’s supper for Donovan from the cellar left the old man far more winded than he’d like to admit. There was nothing else for it. He had to talk to his master this evening. He couldn’t do this anymore. Whether that meant he was to be retired as a meal or a loyal servant, Ruben hadn’t a clue. It wasn’t typical for men in his profession to grow old.
He filled the glasses; Donovan liked having a snack, before hunting, if they were even hunting tonight. Sadly, his master wasn't in the study, but Gabriel was. The vampire looked pale and weak, certainly not what he expected to see, it was almost pathetic, really. Slowly, he shuffled into the study, placing the tray on the table beside Gabriel.
The vampire sat alone in the wingback chair beside Donovan’s, his hand propped up under his chin while he leant against one of the armrests, as if he were on the verge of falling asleep. For a moment, it seemed as if he was going to do just that, when his eyes finally skimmed over Ruben, “did he tell you when he was coming back tonight?” Gabriel asked.
“I did not even know he was gone, I was hoping to speak with him, in fact. It is still early, are you not getting enough sleep?” He asked, offering him a glass.
“I’m sleeping fine,” Gabriel replied, taking the glass almost too eagerly. “Thanks.” Manners, alas, escaped him, as he downed the contents in shorter order than Ruben had even poured.
“What seems to be the trouble? It seems as though something is wrong.”
“I drink blood and sleep all day,” Gabriel replied flatly, “you do the math.”
Ruben was silent for a moment, “are you drinking enough?” he offered him Donovan’s glass.
“I get by,” Gabriel said, without really answering the question. He looked as if for a moment he would decline the offer of the second glass, but the moment passed and he took it, setting his own down on the table beside him. “Does it really matter? I know you’re playing nice, Ruben,” the ‘Collector’ title he’d earned had been dropped as of late, “you don’t have to pretend you give a shit when he’s not around.” His behavior right now was oddly reminiscent of his loud compatriot, Chuck. The main difference being Gabriel’s sudden apparent interest in eyeing Ruben’s neck.
Ruben huffed, “I do hope he returns soon and stop looking at me like that. I will not be your next meal.”
At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. “I--you’re--” Gabriel took a gulp of blood-wine, eyes darting away from Ruben towards the door before he lowered the glass, “I wasn’t looking at you. You’d probably taste like bad schnapps and Bengay. You use enough of that crap to smell you for miles.”
Before Ruben could say anything Donovan chose that moment to walk in, his eyes were immediately drawn to the glasses Gabriel had consumed, “hungry, Gabriel?”
“A little,” Gabriel admitted, visibly relaxing just enough for Ruben to be less concerned of his need for more turtleneck sweaters in his wardrobe. “It’s been over a month since I moved in, why do I always feel hungover?”
“You haven't been eating enough.” Donovan moved over to him, gently grasping his chin, “you're showing signs of starvation. Gabriel, you need to eat.”
“I am,” he indicated his glass, “see? Blood. Right here. Second serving.” It was a cyclical debate they seemed to have every evening.
Ruben very carefully edged away from the pair, giving them ample space while he awaited his chance to speak with Donovan about the matter of his job. His master had quickly become very touchy about Gabriel from the very beginning, and it would do Ruben no favours to interrupt them.
“You need to eat, Gabriel, must we go through this every night?” He picked up the empty glass, draining some of his blood into it, “drink.” He ordered, handing it over to him.
Gabriel scowled, placing the other glass, which by now was half empty, back down on the table. He took the one that was offered, but did not rush to drink it, choosing instead to glare back at Donovan. “Why do you care so much if I eat or not?”
“I have no desire to watch you degrade and go feral. Do you want the hunger to take you? To consume you until the only thought in your mind is food?”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“I won’t,” Gabriel replied moodily, bringing the glass to his lips and tossing it back in two or three large gulps, using the back of his hand to wipe away a stray drop of blood on his chin.
“I have seen it happen before. You cannot live on blood wine and mine alone, you must eat. You are already physically degrading, it's only a matter of time before your mind goes as well.” He took the half empty glass, finishing the liquid inside before refilling it, “drink.”
Gabriel didn’t say anything, merely followed Donovan’s instruction, somewhat pacified by the effects of the blood.
Ruben cleared his throat, calling attention to his presence there.
Donovan turned to face him, “yes, Ruben?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at the man in question.
“Master, it pains me to say these words,” he began, taking a deep breath, “but as of late, I feel I have been unable to perform the tasks which are expected of me to the degree of excellence I once prided myself on. That is why I think, perhaps, it is time you take on a newer—younger servant.”
Donovan looked thoughtful as he sat in silence. It put Ruben on edge. What was he going to say? What was he going to do?
“I believe you're right, Ruben, I appreciate your candor. I will make a trip to the market within the next few days. Go ahead and make the arrangements.” He looked at Gabriel, “I would prefer it if you would accompany but understand if you don't want to. If you stay, you will have to eat, I will not be here to make sure you get the sustenance you need.”
Ruben bowed his head respectfully, clasping his hands together behind his back and awaiting any further instruction, his heart hammering in his chest already at the thought of allowing someone to usurp his place. The place he’d been raised to hold from infancy, and failed so miserably at.
“What market?” Gabriel asked, lowering his glass, very nearly allowing the last few ruby drops inside to fall to the carpet, “where are you going?” He seemed to be legitimately distressed, his argumentative mood suddenly forgotten.
“There is a slave bazaar in Ohio, I will be going to acquire a new servant. It will likely be a few days before I return. I am very particular about my servants.”
“Wait, hold on,” Gabriel held up a hand, finally setting his glass down on the table to Ruben’s great relief. Even one spot on the persian rug beneath them was a crime against nature, “slave? The old man’s a slave? There’s a slave bazaar in Ohio? Why Ohio? Why not somewhere like Eastern Europe? Or Serbia?”
“Would you expect a slave bazaar in Ohio?” Donovan replied, “where did you think men like Ruben come from?” He looked at the man in question, “Ruben, tell him where you are from and what you were taught.”
Taken aback at the sudden attention, Ruben drew himself up to his full height, or as much as his aching back would allow, “I come from a very proud line of respectable servants. While my family generally favors the midwest, I received much of my education in England before reaching the age of employment. We were taught basic accounting, estate maintenance, cooking, self-defense, and many other skills to ensure that our employers are kept safe from the public eye and any dangers that should befall them.” It pained him to think how inadequate he had been in the last department, considering his master’s decades of forced convalescence, “we are born and we die to serve.” It was the creed burned into his heart and emblazoned on his shoulder in ret latin scrawl.
“We do not choose a random person off the street and have them become our servants. The bazaar has been in operation for many years. It hasn't always been in Ohio, of course, but it is better to be discreet and choosing a location no one would expect is the easiest way to do that.” Donovan explained.
“You never have problems with any of them trying to off you when your back is turned?” Gabriel asked, and Ruben was almost flattered he didn’t receive any accusatory glare in the process. They may not like each other, for good reason, but Ruben was no traitor.
“No, in the beginning there were a few cases, however that has long been bred out of the lines. Loyalty is well rewarded and failure is harshly punished.”
Gabriel was silent for a moment, settling back into his chair. “How long is it going to take?”
“Three days or so, it depends upon if I can find what I need.”
“Will I--” Gabriel licked his bottom lip nervously, “--will I be able to get by with just the bottled stuff while you’re gone?”
“You can't get by with it as it is, let alone while I'm gone. You will need to eat something.” Donovan said firmly but gently.
“Does it have to be human?” He asked, clinging to that last empty hope. Were Ruben a normal man without the knowledge of his master’s nature bred into him, he might very well have felt sorry for Gabriel.
“Yes. Animal blood does not digest well, nor does it provide the necessary nutrients for survival. While it can be consumed in a pinch as you get older it cannot be used when you are young.”
“I can’t kill another person. I can’t. Do you even know what you’re asking me to do? I already killed once, wasn’t that enough? I’m not--I’m not cut out for this. I’m not a murderer. I keep telling you that and you just can’t seem to get it. If that means you’ve got to do something like stake me as some sort of final punishment, then fine.”
Donovan looked offended and a little hurt, “Gabriel, I will never kill you, not unless you force my hand and I am unable to save you. It gets easier, I know with your background that it is difficult to face, however, I know you are perfectly capable. I didn't ask you to kill anyone, it is possible to eat without killing, although difficult. When I return we can work on it, however, for now, you must eat.”
It seemed as if now wasn’t the time for Ruben to linger, given how high emotions seemed to be running. He would never understand the bond between the pair, nor the seemingly endless patience his master seemed to have for Gabriel.
“Will you need me for anything else this evening?” The old man inquired, suddenly very tired. Always tired these days. Especially now that he could no longer collect morbid trinkets to distract himself. At Donovan’s wave of dismissal he left the room. Perhaps he could take up some sort of hobby. Like automatic writing. Ritual sacrifice. Or perhaps macrame.