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The castle is cold.
Hot fires rage in the rooms that see the most use, but the heat is quickly absorbed by the chill stone of the walls, drinking it down like blood as the cold wind whispers through the cracks in the windows and make the curtains shiver and twist.
It is all incredibly melodramatic, thinks Havelock with resigned disdain.
The days go by, and the weather doesn't become any less dramatic - the day the sun shines bright and pale onto the brilliantly frosted landscape is a kind of change, but not exactly pleasant for a new vampire - and he can't help but feel it isn't quite real.
Ankh-Morpork is possibily the sewer of the Disc, but it is filled with life, and real problems and people. So is the bar, in it's own fantastical way.
His lessons are going well, but he is beginning to feel restless.
Hot fires rage in the rooms that see the most use, but the heat is quickly absorbed by the chill stone of the walls, drinking it down like blood as the cold wind whispers through the cracks in the windows and make the curtains shiver and twist.
It is all incredibly melodramatic, thinks Havelock with resigned disdain.
The days go by, and the weather doesn't become any less dramatic - the day the sun shines bright and pale onto the brilliantly frosted landscape is a kind of change, but not exactly pleasant for a new vampire - and he can't help but feel it isn't quite real.
Ankh-Morpork is possibily the sewer of the Disc, but it is filled with life, and real problems and people. So is the bar, in it's own fantastical way.
His lessons are going well, but he is beginning to feel restless.
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Date: 2010-03-12 10:51 pm (UTC)From:Havelock shudders at the command, but doesn't break away, teeth still locked on the woman's throat until a strong hand grips his hair, pulling him away and breaking the flow of hot blood. She staggers when he releases her abruptly, skin very pale under her modest peasant's dress, but expression dreamy and untroubled even as she slumps down against the wall. He shakes himself, trying half-heartedly to pull away from Margolotta's hand.
The bloodlust is fading faster than before now, but still only once he has stopped drinking - been forced to stop.
(The woman is not dying, he can tell. Though weak, she will recover- but it should not have gone that far.)
Havelock presses the back of his hand against his mouth, and nods once. Margolotta releases his hair and then smooths it down again, oddly gentle.
He shivers, even though his skin feels warm for once, alive and prickling with sensation.
"How do you do it?" he asks, hearing his voice come out rough and shaking.
"Practise," comes the silken answer. "Nothing comes immediately, my boy, you should know that. At least you are not trying to tear my head from my shoulders vhen I interrupt you any more, hmm?"
He rather wishes at times that he did. It would be stupid and counterproductive, but a way to channel the rush of heat and need - and yes, anger still.
It's taking too long.