Fireflies in Moonlight [boyxboy]

Chapter VII

~Friday 2nd January 1693~           -Rammone-

Rammone sat quietly, watching from the sidelines, bright eyes glowing through the darkness. The fledglings were barbaric, tearing away at their meals, clawing at flesh to better hold onto their prey. The screaming had long since stopped, drowned out by the feast taking place before him. Seven humans between eleven fledglings, a fair fight. Typically, fledglings would be fed more, a higher volume to satiate their thirst in the first few months of their life. Typically, fledglings would be visited by their sire, taught by the very being who turned them. Typically, fledglings weren't treated like caged animals.

But those weren't typical fledglings and that wasn't a typical scenario. Those before Rammone, chained to the walls around them, confined behind iron bars coated in plumeria, those weren't his people. They were pawns. Cannon fodder. Bait. Likely, they would never meet their sire, never know the ways of their creed, never even make it a year. They would be thrown out into the world as Atonia saw fit, lost and disoriented, maddened by thirst. They would cross territory lines, slaughter wolves, cause havoc.

It had been months now since Atonia had begun her new agenda, months of humans brought to the palace, turned, and abandoned. Rammone had no intention of caring so much for them. Perhaps he didn't. Perhaps he mistook care for resentment. Perhaps the company, the distraction, that was enough to have him returning daily. It gave him something to do, something other than moping through his home or laying with Katalina. Perhaps that was all Rammone really cared for.

Noting new movement, Rammone set his gaze on the closest of the fledglings. A male, young and petite yet crouching in a way that spoke of more, of a confidence he was trying to conceal. Rammone watched, waited, feeling some instinct urging him to do so. Seconds ticked over into minutes, and Rammone considered looking away. But, right as he began to turn his head, the male lurched forward, surging toward the closest meal, shouldering an older female out of his way.

"I'll have you know..." The echo of Rammone's voice had every one of those eleven fledglings frozen, carmine eyes flickering over to meet vibrant vermillion through the shadows. Rammone leant forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, visage seeping out into a halo of torchlight. Despite so many looking toward him, Rammone's gaze fell solidly on that one male, displeased and unwavering.

"In my home, women feed first," Rammone watched the male process his words, watched him consider disobeying. There were bars of solid iron between them and, despite Rammone holding the key to those cells before him, he had to use caution. Touching the plumeria would burn through his skin, sear away at the muscle beneath, only to be soothed by time alone. But the fledgling didn't know that. He had no clue of what Rammone was even capable of. Only that they were on two separate sides of that cage, and that should have been enough.

"Do you understand?" If the harsh bite of Rammone's word wasn't enough, the glint of his mouthpiece worked just as well. The male backed off slowly, returning to where he had been before, waiting for his moment. Rammone held his position for a second, merely to prove his intention, before he settled back once more. And, as if there had been no interruption, the fledglings continued with their feasting.

Rammone pondered how long he would stay there, how many more days he would spend with those fledglings. It was torment for himself, a torture that those vampires were unaware of. They never made any attempt to communicate with him, mostly settling at the far wall from where he would sit himself in the shadows outside of their cell. Rammone caught them watching more often than not, desire of ruby gemstone following his every movement.

There was imitation too. Imitation in the way he sat, the way his shoulders settled, the way he held his head. Most of all, those fledglings imitated Rammone's speech. When guards appeared to inform him of his mother's whereabouts or of Katalina asking for him, there were always one or two fledglings scrutinising his mouth. Rammone understood why. Speech patterns were altered with inch-long fangs growing through one's mouth - lisps were more common than one might believe, and more irritating than could be explained.