Of Gods and Monsters

Two Minutes To Midnight

"Nothing else wounds so deeply and irreparably. Nothing else robs us of hope so much as being unloved by one we love."

- Christopher Carrion

Months and months of solitude passed by in Budapest. Elek couldn't convince Ambrus to leave, no matter what he did. He could talk until he was blue in the face and Ambrus wouldn't budge. Elek couldn't quite figure out exactly why he was so opposed. Perhaps it was unfamiliarity. Maybe he was scared some great tragedy would befall him if they simply left? Elek wanted to leave completely, talking of going overseas, to America. Ambrus shuddered at the mere thought of it.

Elek had reached his wits end fighting against him and had relented for the time being. Instead, he'd found a new repose in books. Of course, he'd read before in his mortal life. But, never quite like this. Never of his own choosing or volition. Ambrus was convinced it was due to this new hobby that Elek had these extreme ideas. On several occasions he'd seen Elek reading American authors like Herman Melville, clutching quietly in thought to Moby-Dick, sprawled out awkwardly on their couch. Ambrus didn't understand it. He didn't understand the useless time Elek spent reading fictional fancies, stories which held no truths, simply distractions. Or essays from men who imposed themselves as smarter than you, who lamented on the crisis of living. Ah, but those were Elek's favorite. The ones about the crisis of living. He'd go on for hours and hours about different things he'd acquired, new bits of knowledge about the human psyche.

It all amounted to nothing. A mundane, dreary existence. Elek, unsatisfied with his surroundings. And Ambrus, unhappy with the lack of attention he was receiving. Elek would no longer accompany him when he went to parties anymore for the hunt. He'd hole up instead, with a book of some sort, and read until the morning had returned. Ambrus had to remind him to drink. To think, a vampír would need to be reminded of something like that? Might as well remind him to breathe, while he was at it. But all the same, Ambrus grew annoyed with the lack of attention until it finally came to an ugly head.

Finally, after several months of this behavior, Ambrus cracked. He slammed his hand against the table. Once again he'd been talking, trying to make idle chat, and Elek had simply not heard him. He went through the motions of understanding, getting "oh yes" or "I see", but he could tell he was elsewhere. It was offending and childish. He plucked the book from between Elek's hands and gripped it tightly in his own, looking at the cover as Elek made a noise of protest once he'd realized what had happened.

"Give it back, Ambrus. I was almost done."

Ambrus felt his eyebrow twitch in irritation.

"It's rude to ignore someone when they're talking, Elek. You weren't fooling anyone. I'm not giving it back until we finish our conversation."

Elek's mouth became a hard line and a look of crossness appeared upon his face.

"Ambrus, you can't tell me what to do. I'm not a dog. I don't respond to commands."

With that, he simply plucked the book back in a gesture so quick, the human eye would've scarcely seen it. Ambrus felt his anger rise.

"All you ever do is read those blasted books. You won't come out with me, you won't look at me, you won't touch me—"

Elek's face gave way to uncomfortable dismay. Ambrus realized he might've said something wrong. During all of their---relations, for lack of a better word—neither had spoken on the significance of them. They were always rushed and heated matters, never time for speaking on emotions. Elek opened his mouth, and then slammed it shut again. Ambrus could read the fleeting emotions of panic mar themselves across his otherwise perfect face.

"—Ambrus, I don't know what to—"

Realizing his error, Ambrus got up quickly, leaving Elek no time to retort. (Though he suspected he wasn't going to. What was there to say? "Sorry I don't love you" or "This was more than I expected, sorry"? Ambrus resented this entire situation. How had he found himself here?) Feeling utterly rejected, though he did his best to hide it, he knew he needed to retreat.

"—It's fine. Fine. Read then. I'm going out."

He left Elek no room for arguments as he left.

--

Ambrus found himself standing in front of the Magyar Theatre. Since they had burned it nearly to the ground it had been restored, more or less. It looked on the whole, the same as it did before, just without the undead residence. Pulling his pipe out of his pocket and lighting it, he sat down on the steps in front of the building, he took a long drag. The sad thing about drugs when you were undead was how muted they were. He couldn't enjoy them like he had when he was a mortal. He guessed, everything was dulled, in that respect. He pondered silently how he would approach the topic if he were presented it, if Elek wanted to question him further on their exchange. He wasn't stupid. He knew Elek was becoming restless, wanting to explore things and places, probably without him.

The thought brought that old familiar sinking feeling in his gut. Alone. He'd be alone again, truly, this time. He touched the wall he was leaning against of the theatre, remembering the first time he'd met Victor and his gang. He almost missed the viciousness, the absolute brutality of them killing those women on the stage. It had been exciting, exhilaratingly hilarious to watch the mortals clap at their own demise. He felt the loss a second time and wondered if Elek had been worth it? Oh, but he had been. Ambrus would be lying if he said otherwise. He'd snuff out the entire world, he'd merely have to ask.

There was something about him that kept Ambrus hostage, something he couldn't shake. It wasn't simply because he was his fledging, no. He'd felt it the moment he met him as a mortal man, peering like a lecher through his window, and later in the masquerade. There was something so deliciously different, so world-bending about his mind. It wasn't just his mind, though. It was the way he was. The way he would have half of his body on the couch and the other half draped over the side while reading. The unruly nature of his hair, always (no matter the prodding), falling into a curled mess in his face. His piercing eyes, eyes you could never quite read, eye's that held so much emotion in them without giving it away. Ah yes, he could watch him forever.

But he knew forever was ending. Elek would leave him soon. For how long? He knew not. Perhaps it would be forever. He puffed again and felt the opium begin its attempt at lulling his brain into a calm and meditative state. Sitting there in the brisk night air, eyes closed while the buzzing in his head increased, he felt an equally cold and firm hand grab his shoulder. His eyes flicked open immediately in reaction. What they held, was nothing at all that he had anticipated.

"Victor..?!"