𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | 𝐓𝐊 |

𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

far corner of the jeon estate

far corner of the jeon estate "how long? how long have they been dead?" yoongi's deep voice reverberated around through the wooden shed stiffening the investigators who didn't dare look at the firmly entrenched helmsman. his head of security, jackson, answered instead. "two to three weeks— but they were supposed to be on a business trip so nobody thought it was odd that they were missing, and our investigation concludes that whoever killed them wanted to keep it a secret for at least two weeks." there was a slight disquietude on the other side of the phone, as Jackson and somebody else; a small, shrewd exchange. Shuffle, noise. "—and there's no way to keep the bodies from rotting for this long without the aid of..." yoongi looked down towards the pathetic remains of his father, before the heady wine of realisation sponged over him. "dark magic. to conceal the smell and stop the bodies from rotting." for an instant, the young count felt nettled at the irony, the lightest shadow of a snub, with which his father's slaughterer had met his decisiveness, and at the way he had risen to their sickly satisfaction. but it was only an infinitesimal supposition in amongst hundreds of evidenced guesses. jackson stepped in beside him. "who would do such a thing? this certainly wasn't some simple revenge mission — because if it was, they then we would still be looking for your father and lieutenant." yoongi had called for jackson, in the hope that he could arrange a secure transportation, given the delicate situation they were in. with yoongi being the next available head of manor, he felt entitled to heed the precautions of his recently established prerogative. after all, with his undisclosed laurels and obscure antecedents; he had sunk quite pathetically to amongst the lowest ranking Jeon's in the tribune. the pale count-to-be fell the the daft-looking canapé, one elbow rested on the arm, and the other draped across his legs. between the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand, yoongi held one of his father's chesterfield cigarettes, as an artist holds a crayon, and though he smoked with veteran-esque composure, he tapped the cigarette occasionally onto the table's rim, prematurely. his mind was fixated on the enigma that was his adoptive brother. the schmaltz of diametric mornings; killed him. ok. what's next? dinner, you hungry? sitting on the settee after take-out: daft and dim, standing in the factory light, shoulder-to-shoulder while the sleeting rain skewered their view, and listening to Jungkook's favourite piece: bach's tocatta and fugue in D minor. "the father of all western music," he had said, "fugues— in particular— are a canon of counterpoint; similarly juxtaposing melodies contriving as one to create the sensation of an echo. the entire piece is filled with perfectly-executed counterpoints, and uses both long, elegant notes and fast, dappling inflections to create dips and hills of energy." impersonal standstill. "it had an air of dominion; dignity. and call me biased, or whatever, it is one of the best classical pieces ever created." the half-dusk fever dream dissipated, like motor oil in water. mottling away. Yoongi pestled the quarter-burned butt of his cigarette into the table, slid off, catlike, from the canapé. he brushed himself off, in the manner of a reserved authoritarian. "Jackson, ready the ride." Yoongi made his way to the family manor; western wing. he stepped into the vacant lounge, regarding the room when the team of inquisitors called for by the council reached the room, he invited them in, stepping out of the room letting the men gather necessary evidence. He doubted there would be much of that, anyway. Yoongi turned, to meet his secretary at the door, who looked a tad pale for his liking, "what's wrong, Elijah?" the youth cleared his throat, "sir, it seems there are some gentlemen from the council here to see you. specifically, you. they made it quite clear that what they have to say is important and they said it's about your brother's accident?" Yoongi felt a pang of violet/acid hum, electric, down his throat. he didn't know of any accident, why was he only hearing about this now? "accident? did they reveal the nature of the accident he had?" Elijah shook his head, timidly. "no, sir, they didn't expand on it, the only thing they said was this unfortunate event." he made a gesture to indicate the current situation"-and your brother's accident has something in common, it seems, that's why they're here, to share the knowledge of it with you, that's all they told me anyway." 36 hours ago the professor sat, un moving and entrenched by his office. his eyes were listless and a stoic mien haunted his face. brumal jangle. gallen churned the musk-orange alcohol, lifting the rim of the glass to his nose. he slowly inhaled it's bouquet; a pastime he enjoyed when he was younger. the nose of old houses, wickety-brown fences, overgrown ivy. he savored the taste of familiar tannins and metals, the acidity a bittersweet reminder of the laughter of children on their bicycles, of jangled aching and perpetual vastness. Gallen swallowed the wine and approved with a nod to himself. the wine, like him, a survivor in a far-flung place. "Claudius." Whatever spell the professor imagined himself to be under, was broken. severe click of heels: fine oxford shoes. "Namjoon." Gallen replied. he turned to face the head councilman. Namjoon had opened the door but stopped on the threshold. "you're not a vampire councilman, why wait by the door like that?" "I'm just a good guest. allow me to come in?" he asked, not particularly warmly. "Please" said Gallen stepping away from the door. Taehyung and Jungkook, Gallen thought quickly, please, hurry. The moment he was approached by the head councilman, the professor knew what the elder wanted: to know about the star-crossed lovers. the ancient soulmates and forbidden paramours. Namjoon, with his dark-rimmed glasses and punch-brown eyes, pinned his gaze on Gallen, silently forcing him take a step back. the movement to the werewolf's left caught the professor's eye, just as seokjin stepped to the side, nodding solemnly at the professor. "good evening professor, I hope you pardon the uncalled intrusion." "I knew this day would come," Gallen held out a pair of sauvignon glasses to the brothers, both of which warily accepted. "your stepmother, she was a scary woman, that one, no one sane would dare cross a castor of her caliber." he shook his head with a wry chuckle. Namjoon agitated the misted whiskey in his glass, listening to the thunking of the ice cubes, suspiring a bouquet that only alcohol that was locked for decades in a mahogany barrel, could achieve. "I must say, professor" Namjoon cleared his throat, "this here is truly, a fine single malt, thank you." Gallen nodded, somewhat proudly, tasting his own drink as he did so "it is, isn't it? you can't really go wrong with a century-old whiskey, now, can you, Mr. Kim? but, what's really intriguing is how this particular bottle of whiskey came to me." Gallen turned in his seat to face the male. "it's a gift really, from a dear old friend, whom I befriended back in 1923, London, who also happen to be one of your closest kin." Namjoon cast a stunned look towards the professor, trying to grasp the implication behind the statement "are you by any chance talking about my grandfather, professor? he's the only man that I know for a fact, has a good collection of distilled whiskey." The professor hummed, cryptically, before taking another sip of his beverage "I wish it was a gift from him, my dear boy, but it's from someone much less likely than you'd expect." he stared back at the two confused boys, "it was a gift from your brother, Taehyung." stunned silence. "—well, not Taehyung Taehyung, he was different then." "your brother and his lover have a long history of their own, a tragic one indeed; but a love story that defies all logic and common sense. Back in 1923, it was their last birth before this one, we ran into each other in london, and back then Kim Taehyung was Charles Vincent, a young aspiring professor of fine arts from Edinburgh, and Jeon Jungkook was Raoul Carbone a senior student majoring in the film and theatre with strong family ties to the French mafia." seokjin let out a delirious snicker "hang on, just hang on a damn minute, I'm sorry professor, is this some kind of a joke to you? was that one of your little funny bed-time stories you got going there? is our brother's life and safety funny to you? this really isn't the time for humor, my brother quite literally become a willing human sacrifice for that bastard vampire and I want to know why?" he straightened, solemnly. "I want to know why a powerful hybrid wolf like Taehyung can't stand the charms of a cheap vampire? is that too much to ask? so no beating around the bush with your fairy tales, tell us what's really going on with them." The professor sighed getting up and walking up to the oak desk by the window, where he took out a large brown envelope . He walked to where the men were "I knew it would come to this, I wasn't expecting you to take my word for it, that's why I thought to have proof, here take a look, they're all authentic, you can even get them tested to authenticate the time period, I don't mind, but I'll advise against prolonging the delay in talking to your brother and the vampire about their past because their lives are at stake as we speak." Seokjin reluctantly took the aged envelope out of the professor's hands and drew a small vintage photograph binder. He was about to come up with some snappy remark when his eyes fell on the first set of photographs. He felt the world stop spinning. "What the...? It... It can't be." stammered the head councilman who was halfway off his chair.