the sire/sired meme

[mememaker]

Your characters are now vampires, one is the sire and one is the sired. Play out the relationship that results from this!

- Post your characters, name | series | preferences in the subject.
- Go to RNG for their role. Note it somewhere or roll for each individual response.
- Others respond after going to RNG and getting a prompt.

RELATIONSHIP
1. Sire.
2. Sired.



SCENES

I.
1. teacher/mentor | you have to teach your newly created vampire the ropes.
2. resented | the vampire you created resents you for what you made them. can you work it out?
3. tracked down | you're being tracked down and hunted and the only thing that matters is keeping the vampire you created safe and vice versa.
4. injured | one of you has been injured and is in need of some blood.
5. before | you're giving your potential child an option to become like you... or maybe you
6. wildcard | missed something? want to combine options? go ahead.

II.
1. first time | you're confessing your love for your creator or the vampire you helped create.
2. prey | you have to show the other the art of hunting and preying on humans for food, how to seduce them.
3. sharing | maybe one of you is reluctant to drink from humans, but it works just as well from your lover or maybe you just got carried away in the throes of passion.
4. gift | a gift of food to feed on or a literal gift, you like to spoil the other.
5. dedication | you need the other to know how important they really are to you.
6. wildcard | missed something? want to combine options? go ahead.

III.
1. torture | they disobeyed you and it's time to pay.
2. no spelled y-e-s | they don't want to be like you, but you'll make them into a vampire anyway.
3. mine | the other is yours, only yours, and you will claim them.
4. trapped | you're trapped in physical danger or about to be set out to burn. can you get out of it? or can you only save one?
5. fight | verbal or physical, you are at each other's throats.
6. wildcard | missed something? want to combine options? go ahead.

Comments

[remotelyhollow]

Like calls to like.

[ But there's an absence of warmth there, and the pangs of an upcoming migraine warn that he's by far and long exhausted his very limited patience.

The sudden snap of his fingers ruptures the silence, and he proceeds to break Erik's glamour without the smallest by-your-leave - an act of effort, subtle violence and discourtesy, no doubt, but the increasingly waning interest in his voice should serve as enough caution to his child that Eric's humour has taken an unfortunate turn for the ingracious worst. ]

Good evening -

[ The bewildered girl stares like a damnable cow. He frowns subtly, caught somewhere between the two supernatural urges of either scouting the girl's mind for the necessary information, or squinting so his heightened vision might make the better of the ID card peering through her half open purse. ]

- Marianne, thank you for joining us. Your application is stellar, your presentation sterling, and our manager can't get enough of you. If you only you were of age to enjoy the carefully spiked drink I have every certainty he'd love to share with you, no doubt your acting and musical career would rise to unprecedented heights within the hour. As things are, you will unfortunately have to escort yourself to your residence and wait for his call.

[ A hiss, showing perhaps just a little bit of teeth. ]

Move.

[ The girl frets; collects her things; leaves, finally, and Eric rewards her departure with a sigh. Thank every god, especially those in which he has no inclination to believe, that mortals could be driven to enough terror to cooperate easily.

As for the source of this unfortunate gift... ]

It would be in your best interest to follow her.

[xdaddy]

[ A terrible disappointment, that is, and there is a flare of anger, a familiar temper at the rejection of a gift gone unappreciated, the sharpness of gray-green eyes at his maker's anger -- dark and terrible and barely restrained by social niceties.

She flees like a frightened rabbit, and Erik contemplates the possibility of a bolder, braver one the next time around. He pulls away sharply, out of cool irritation in the face of his maker's annoyance. Perhaps if he had been someone else, someone more sensible about things, he would have sought to make amends, to make more of an effort to dampen the vicious temper that has long been coming.

But they are too much alike, and Erik is far too prideful to follow at her heels like a petty serving boy; he is of Eric's bloodline, after all, for better or worse. And what he does is pour himself a glass of scotch -- not that it does anything much for him anymore, unfortunately -- at the private minibar, setting it beside him.

Always a tricky thing, dealing with his master when he's in a dangerous mood like this, and he spares a few moments to consider his words. ]

I had to go.

[remotelyhollow]

[ His eyes trail after Erik for a moment, calculating. Erik, Erik, Erik - always too poorly socialized, always like a brooding, angry animal that's barely been broken into hiding his fangs.

Erik, who is now treating him as if he's a petulant, scorned and irrational lover to be soothed by platitudes. Eric's hand goes up in a wave of dismissal. ]

I don't ask after your motives. I respect the birthright I gave you to absolute, unmonitored freedom. What I question is that you find what is between us susceptible to base bribery.

[ He rises, travelling the distance to join his child at the bar, to scout through his bottles with an owner's more knowing hand. One bottle in particular calls his eye, and he prepares the classical apéritif. ]

An appeasement? Unless you're nostalgically inclined towards a feudal romanticism you frankly wouldn't understand, you don't appease me with crude meat. You appease me with stocks, land and maybe one of those coats.

[ If he had brought a prime human before Godric to beg forgiveness for a misdeed, Eric would have been slaughtered. If he had brought insulted to his sire in that way, Eric would have slaughtered himself.

He holds out the prepared glass Erik's way: well aged Irish Malt, a finer vintage for a telling palette. Alcohols might do nothing for them anymore, but the aftertaste lingers, and whatever their upsets, his child will always be privy to the best that his house has to offer. ]

...or you have the sense to understand your sire doesn't need to be appeased like a common thug.

[xdaddy]

[ The chastisement cuts deep, and is humbling. Erik is a child of the modern age, unsusceptible to the romanticism of feudal customs and a product of the horrors that had been visited upon him. Too rough, too wild, too angry and too fierce -- Erik bears scars that have barely begun to scab over, his rage fueling his stubbornness and willfulness. But Eric had shown him kindness, and Eric had taught him to bear a debt of gratitude.

This is another lesson taught to him now, the subtle art of appeasement, of pleasing his maker no matter his nature. He's silent at the scolding, and knows enough sense to not bare his fangs at what is taught to him. He had so rarely had the occasion -- or the inclination -- to seek to please another (Shaw didn't count, Shaw with his false pretensions, his callous pursuit of results, Shaw with his singleminded desire to forge him into a weapon no matter the cost), and the experience of it is as alien to him as a vampire looking to go for a suntanning experience. He's untrained, inexperienced in such things, and while they both know that Erik would willingly lay down his life for his sire's, to defend him and to eliminate the threats that would stand in Eric's way no matter the cost, Erik had never been exposed to the need for the less... violent side of things. He had always loved too fiercely, too violently, unschooled in the unspoken rules of seeking forgiveness, the subtleties of gaining favor. But he's beginning to learn; even if it does not come naturally to a person like him.

He watches the way Eric prepares the drink, his movements fluid and efficient, with an inherent grace to him despite everything, and Erik takes it in silence. He appreciates the gesture, the kindness dispensed despite his clumsy, clearly offensive efforts and he takes a sip, tasting the flavor that spreads on his tongue and lingers. Different from the thick, intoxicating experience of blood. It is Eric's kindness that schools him and keeps him in check, the mercy he recognizes and not the cruelty; he had been far too used to the latter growing up, immune to the effects of it, the experience of pain and agony already second nature to him. ]

My apologies.

[ He finally offers, low and quiet -- and it takes far too much out of him to say it, a bitterness on his tongue that doesn't translate to his sincerity of his tone, to the sober acknowledgement that he had truly insulted his sire -- and that had it been anyone else, surely that gesture would have earned him a swift and sure slaughter. A final death for their kind, bonded or not.

He drains the glass, feeling the exquisite aftereffects of the fine drink, eyes lidding at the experience. How humiliating, how humbling, that Eric would give him the best in his house even after such a debacle. ]

I would take whatever punishment you choose to give me.

[ A debt repaid in blood, and in violence -- wouldn't that be something? ]

[remotelyhollow]

[ Another sigh, if this time not without a hint of growing calm amusement. Erik could be very - childish. And like children, he showed an inescapable penchant for dramatic gesture. ]

If I wanted punishment for you, I would have hunted you down and delivered it.

[ But he wouldn't. And he doesn't. And this whiskey, he decides with a taste from a similar glass, is very, very appropriate for the private celebration of the return of the tall, dark, handsome, and very much prodigal son.

He tips his glass Erik's way in a silent toast. ]

Case came from Louisiana. The product came from the old continent. Seems we're traders in the modern world. How do you like it?

[ And if the slightly patronizing smile is to suggest that he's perfectly aware Erik is biding his time until the true reason of his visit reveals itself - then so be it. ]

[xdaddy]

[ Quite naturally, of course -- dramatic gestures are practically a part of his very nature; but it didn't mean he meant them any less. Of course, it also meant that Erik's temper tantrums were no less tempestuous, especially when coupled with his talents for the manipulation of all sorts o metals, a gift that had defined him since his mother had been gunned down before his eyes in the camps.

Erik returns the gesture, contemplating the taste left behind in his mouth. Grand, opulent, but not overwhelmingly so; a fittingly understated blend for a man like Eric Northman. It reminds him of a time long ago, forgotten and buried in his deepest memories, and there is a flicker of awareness, of recognition in the knowing look of his sire's gaze.

He knows why he's returned -- perhaps not the contents of it; that Erik knew Eric likely possessed a contact or two who were probably aware of where Shaw would be -- that Erik would go on another hunt that could cost him everything, but for the unyielding thirst of his vengeance, he could not afford to sit this out; not when the trail is starting to get warm again.

He licks his lips, briefly, enjoying the dissipating taste before setting his glass down neatly. ] The finest I've tasted.

[ His fingers trace thoughtfully over the rim of the glass, his gaze drawn to it for a moment or two. Despite the fact that creatures like them have all the time in the damn world, Erik sees no point in wasting it; not too much of it, anyway. He had come to make amends, and to make a request. ]

...He's resurfaced. [ Klaus Schmidt, Sebastian Shaw, a bastard psychopath by any other name is still a dead man when Erik finally manages to get his hands on him. ] There's someone you know who might lead me to him.

[ He smooths out a weathered, battered photo, folded and tucked too many times into pockets -- another vampire who had been human when this was taken, and a distant acquaintance Erik never knew the name of. ]

[remotelyhollow]

[ And now, for a show of Polish efficiency that can easily rival, if not defeat the German one. He does not relieve Erik of the picture - something tells him touch would be unwelcome, and he knows enough of the avid thirst of vengeance to realize how quickly shallow gestures can be interpreted as offence.

Yes, he has an inkling of where to start, if not the immediate solution that Erik had no doubt wanted for his quandary. Another sip of his whiskey. ]

The best you could have tasted would have been in Glasgow, 1793. I have a strong suspicion opiates were involved, but I'm afraid I spent the better part of that century in too high a rejection of anything unacademic to truly appreciate it. Never get caught up in a French revolution.

[ Abandoning the glass on his desk and no doubt causing some injury to the far too finicky wood, he sets to fish through an inner pockets. His cell phone shows in a remarkable time for what was arguably the most irritating modern convenience, and another picture, with a listed number underneath, is summarily revealed on the lifted iPhone screen. Not Erik's target, but something close to a reliable contact. ]

If you're given more than the expected cheek, remind him the IRS would still gratefully benefit from an audience with his California headquarters.

[ After all, if a man cannot escape death and taxes, it stands fitting that their kind could at least be given trouble by the latter. ]

[xdaddy]

I never thought you were one for indulging the whims of the French. [ The mental image of his sire caught up in a revolution -- even if it was the French and all their myriad pretensions -- makes him snort. Eric has always belonged in a war far fiercer, far wilder. The great ones belonging to the ancient world that involved a copious amount of medieval brutality, valor and honor. The age of the vikings, the grand lords of the seas -- now mostly lost, perhaps.

Sometimes he wonders if Eric mourns his lost legacy, or he had simply shed it like Erik had learned to, so recently. Turn his back on his gods the way Erik had done his -- to know the cold, hard truth that there are just some things that didn't exist, and this is one of them. But he digresses, and he thinks of Eric now, misplaced amongst the French, missing out on the finest there could have ever been. But it could probably be found again, and it would probably take the better half of a century, if one were truly that inclined; but Erik's interest lay more in setting ghosts to rest -- for the time being.

With the indulgence of his sire, he truly had the freedom, and the power now to do so. A monster, through and through -- a weapon the likes which Shaw would not have seen, and he memorizes the number and the face with a grim determination. He would remember, and he would turn up at the unfortunate bastard's doorstep before long. Having a natural affinity for electronics and modern devices of the like, Erik regards the image with no small amount of dry amusement. ]

A vampire afraid of the IRS. Something new to learn every day.

[ A sad fact of unlife, that Erik could no longer demand information through good old-fashioned creative torture methods. Theirs is a well-oiled machine of a world now, and he tucks the photograph away neatly, next to the coin in his pocket. An old souvenir, the ever-present reminder of the oath he intended to keep, the vengeance that powered him still. But right now, more than vengeance --

-- he plucks Eric's glass from his desk and holds it back out for him. No use wasting such a fine drink, especially when Erik had already imposed on his hospitality. A brief pause, then. ] I'll visit Glasgow on my way back. See if they're hiding a bottle of it somewhere.

[remotelyhollow]

[ The glass, back in his hand, is heavy, blunt, awkwardly conspicuous. He knows the heat of the drink will sting like ash, if only because he's lost every available personal resource to enjoy it: he is, after all, very casually sending his child to what might just as well be a painful death. Erik's path is a troubled man's to follow, each step a sorrow - very nice. Very thespian. But troubled men make good graves and the hard subjects of mourning. Eric's given the man the means to enter the lion's den; and the good Mr. Shaw has both the time and the inclination to work his jaws and snap his pursuer's head off.

For a moment, he ponders smashing the glass against the floor altogether.

But Erik's casual display of newly found learning salvages his humour: proper bribery, this time? He laughs. ]

You're learning.

[ He downs the alcohol gracelessly - the master's prerogative to waste what he gives, after all - then sets the glass aside, freed hands taking Erik's collar captive, fumbling to straighten the lapels. Might as well make the boy - presentable, if he's sending him to his grave.

His tone dances light across each word, eyes betraying the occasional thread of tension. ]

Whatever you're planning, see to it that if it has a foreseeable definitive conclusion I'm unlikely to enjoy - call first. I'll appreciate the courtesy.

[ But sentimentality, like every other dish for which he was a glutton ample centuries before, is best served in cold privacy. ]

Now get out. Planes, unlike the car ride I can procure you, don't wait.