Sangria (BWWM) (On Hiatus)

Chapter 9- Cool Uncle

Vincent leaned on the stone balcony of their guest bedroom, staring out at the splendid mountains that surrounded them as the sun cast its final bits of light and shadows for the day. The sky was just turning the dark blue of nighttime. The scene was so serene, the castle so quiet, as if all hell didn't break loose just minutes prior. He took a long drag of his cigarette before smushing the butt against the rail and outing it.

He didn't always smoke...it was a habit that he'd given up almost completely in the 80's. But if he was extremely stressed, he would smoke a cigarette to take the edge off. Right then was the first time in five years he'd smoked one. And he wanted to make sure that he was finished with it so the air would clear before Gabrielle made it back to their room. Finally, he released the breath he was holding, exhaling the last fumes of the cancer stick.

All the excitement had also made him extremely thirsty. He would need to feed soon. But he would wait until he was a bit calmer so that he wasn't too rough with Gabrielle. Though she was vampire now and could physically withstand being roughed up a bit, mentally she was still transitioning.

Where even was Gabrielle? He hadn't stuck around long enough to find out. He couldn't say that he didn't mind that she was MIA at that precise moment. He didn't feel like talking much about the evening's events, and he knew that she would try to get him to speak about them. He'd much rather just sit outside and brood.

Now he had a serious decision to make... head to the airport and fly straight back to New York, or move into a hotel and continue their vacation like nothing ever happened? The last thing Vincent wanted to do was ruin Gabrielle's time in his home country... well, he didn't want to ruin it any more than it was already. She did just witness his father strangle him virtually to death, after all.

Speaking of the devil himself... His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Celeste's voice calling out to Dracul. From his balcony, he saw his father walking out into one of the castle's gardens with Celeste hot on his heels. "Dracul, be reasonable! You should be grateful that your son has returned after all these years. He's happy and healthy. Isn't that what we've wanted all along?" She received no response. "You've been such an asshole these past couple days. What is wrong with you?" He never broke his stride. In fact, he'd increased his speed, seemingly desperate to get further ahead of his wife. It seemed that he wasn't willing to deal with her nagging that followed close behind. "Dracul! I'm speaking to you! Dracul!"

When he'd failed to answer, Celeste paused, stomping her feet in frustration. With an aggravated huff, she turned around and headed back to the castle.

Vincent sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. Great. His presence was now fucking with his parents' relationship. What else would he ruin?

Just like the old days, eh?

Once again, Vincent heaved a sigh. Looking out into the garden, he noticed his father now seated at a wrought iron table, tapping his fingers gently on the furniture. There was an unoccupied chair across from him.

He rolled his eyes.

He climbed onto the rail, like he would when he was a youngling, and hopped off. He landed just at the edge of the garden, his knees screaming at him for his actions. It would seem living a sedentary lifestyle would take its toll on him, even as an all-powerful supernatural. Before he knew it, he slowly headed Dracul's direction.

He'd gotten halfway there when he paused. "What are you doing?" he chastised himself before turning on his heel and heading back in the opposite direction. He would never be on good terms with Dracul again. Because of his past, he would always fall short.

Dracul scoffed lowly to himself, surprised the boy would even consider coming within five feet of him again. Either Vincentius was incredibly stupid, or he had a serious death wish. Pausing this arrhythmic tapping on the table, he noticed there was now a melted, scorched hole there. He let out a grunt, looking at his path behind him. Surely enough, there were scorched feet marks where he'd stepped and some of the surrounding plants had been singed.