Chapter Text
The slam of a door sounds through the house. A scream follows.
Laszlo looks up from his—or, Nandor’s, he supposes—English translation of Haft Peykar. He knows that scream. That’s his human.
He awaits another, but the house falls quiet again. Only the creaking and groans of broken wood continue.
Laszlo goes back to his book. It’s a bit bland, for his tastes. He wonders if it’s any more captivating in the original Persian.
The screaming starts up again. It’s continuous, this time.
Laszlo rolls his eyes. He tosses his book on top of the coffee table, and prepares himself to get in the middle of whatever sort of lovers spat Nandor and Guillermo have started now.
He’s sure that it involves Nandor’s farce of a wedding, somehow. Laszlo is always eager for a party, of course, but he can’t say that he’s enjoying the utterly wretched mood Guillermo has been in as of late.
With his waistcoat buttoned, looking as prim and proper as supernaturally possible, he assumes a presence that he hopes portrays his sentiments of, stop fighting and fuck already, you blithering, nonsensical idiots.
He’s sick of the two of them. This wedding business is all a sham on Nandor’s part, even more so than weddings are normally a sham, and were he a worse vampire, he would leave Guillermo and Nandor to their own devices. Especially Nandor, who is almost entirely to blame for all of this.
Guillermo is humoring him, of course. He often does. But Laszlo has also sussed out that Guillermo is going to attempt to use the wedding as an excuse to extricate himself from their residence; Laszlo had suspected as much since their human’s ill-fated return from England, but after meeting Guillermo’s little worm of a ‘boyfriend’, he’s been sure of it.
Nandor is dear to him, and Guillermo was his human first, technically. Laszlo is not one to keep his hands—or mouth—to himself, but the bond between master and familiar is something sacred, something not to be trifled with. He had been willing to keep his distance, bide his time.
He has eternity, after all.
Guillermo does not.
Laszlo is somewhat aware that he may have played a part in this predicament. However, until a few nights prior, he was also under the impression that he had made the right choice overall, sending Guillermo along with Nadja to England.
It had been less that he didn’t believe Nadja capable of protecting herself, and more that he remembered with stark clarity what a bleak, despondent, gray little island his birth country was. Nothing but smoke and the smell of piss and bodies of small children and prostitutes lining the city sidewalks. A terrible place for any mortal or immortal to have to brave alone, but especially his lady wife, who was made for sand and warm midsummers and blood dark ocean waves. He wasn’t able to accompany her, so he sent the next best thing in his stead.
He still doesn’t regret it, not really. He has his doubts now, even, that Nandor would have followed through on his promise to Guillermo, flighty and wishy-washy as he is, scornful and frightened of his own immortality.
Are there certain things Laszlo would have changed, could he go back and live his life as a human over again? Yes. But there is no going back. There is only the here, and now, and Guillermo, who grows older by the day.
Decades used to pass by in flashes of light for Laszlo. The gas lamps that turned to neon above bars and clubs, turned to screens and brightly colored plastic. The age of the new millennium that came for them in a flash and was slow to arrive all the same. Decades and years and months and days all blended together.
Now he counts the passage of time by the wrinkles that appear at the corner of Guillermo’s eyes. Laszlo has gone soft. He knows. Some nights it makes him want to walk outside as the sun is rising, to let the dawn take him before he loses any remaining shred of decency he may have left.
But he has no real desire or want of death. He isn’t Nandor. He has his wife and his human and his child and his best friend.
Sean is another matter entirely. Sweet Sean, boisterous and full of life. Laszlo can’t imagine taking such a thing from him.
Not now. Maybe one day.
When his mind wanders to Guillermo, as it often does, such a vision comes naturally. Laszlo, with his teeth pressed against the skin of Guillermo’s neck, fangs dipping just below the surface, warm blood pouring down his chin and the light of life leaving his little hunter’s eyes.
It’s damn near blasphemous. Nandor would kill him if he knew Laszlo had ever thought such a thing, and he would be right to.
But it isn’t as though Nandor is never a feature himself. Sometimes, the fantasy shifts; Guillermo on Laszlo’s lap, keeping him in place for Nandor, drinking from his wrist while Nandor takes his neck, pressed between them with nowhere to escape even if he wanted to. Theirs, for eternity. Forever and ever after. Trite but true, a cliche Laszlo would be grateful to embody.
The plan from the beginning had been to convince Guillermo to stay. Colin helped with that, immensely. Laszlo had thought, perhaps foolishly, that Guillermo had discarded any silly ideas of leaving, that he had realized where his place was, is, and always would be—with them.
Laszlo can deal with the boyfriend. The sight of him makes his stomach feel as though he’s just ingested mass quantities of human food, but…he makes Guillermo happy. Laszlo has no idea why that may be, but his Gizmo is a little bit of an idiot, as all humans are. It’s no surprise his taste in bed partners is lacking.
So, Laszlo will tolerate the boyfriend for as long as Guillermo keeps him around. What he will not tolerate is Guillermo, in some delusion of grandeur, doing something silly such as absconding away with him to elope.
Another wedding. Ugh.
No, it won’t come to that. He’ll sort this.
The screaming has quieted again. Laszlo continues down the hallway, intending to find Guillermo before he snaps and murders their overgrown lovesick fool of a vampire. Instead, he nearly collides with his darling wife, The Guide trailing along behind her.
He reaches out, lightning quick, and takes hold of her shoulders to steady her. The leather of her dress is chill against his flesh, the bite of winter seeping in through the holes in the walls and ceiling clinging to her like a kitten would to its mother.
Laszlo wonders if the fire has been stoked in Colin’s room yet tonight. He should see to that.
“Where are you off to in such a rush, my darling?” he asks her, as he reaches out to brush a stray curl out of her face.
Nadja places her hands on his waist, and pulls him flush against her. “New Jersey,” she says, “to see the Baron about the wedding, as a favor to our Guillermo. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he’s been throwing quite the tantrums lately.”
The Guide nods solemnly. “You should see the den,” she whispers. “So many feathers for such a little feller.”
“Well, to visit the Baron isn’t such a chore,” Laszlo says. He finds himself almost jealous, indeed. A bit charred though he may be, Laszlo has no doubt of the Baron’s supreme ability as a lover. A vampire like that makes due with what he has, to toe-curling, phenomenal results.
Nadja pouts. “I’m a business owner now, my love. I can’t just go gallivanting off to New Jersey for a night of raucous sex on a moment’s notice.” She lifts a hand to press a finger against the tip of his nose. “Mm, however, if you were to accompany us, perhaps we could call it a working vacation…”
Laszlo shakes his head apologetically. “I should attend to Gizmo. Ensure he doesn’t scream his voice box to shreds.”
“Ugh, yes, yes, alright.” Nadja pulls away from him and motions for the Guide to follow her. “You are lucky, you know, that I am quite more accepting of your human lover than you were of mine.”
Laszlo scowls at the mention of Gregor-Jeff-Jesk. “He was a charlatan who made you cry. This is different.”
The Guide’s eyes go wide as little saucers. She walks up to them and puts her hand on Laszlo’s chest. He takes a step back.
“A bit fucking familiar, thanks,” he snipes at her.
“You? And Guillermo?” she asks. “Really? Does Nandor know?”
“Why don’t you ask Nandor yourself,” Laszlo says, “see how that turns out for you.”
Even now, he’s able to imagine the fit Nandor would throw over Laszlo ‘conspiring to steal his familiar’, or some such nonsense.
Laszlo doesn’t want to steal him, after all. He just wants to share.
“Not before the wedding!” Nadja hisses. “Marwa is looking forward to it.”
Laszlo hums. “What a depressing existence for her.” In complete and total honesty, Marwa has lasted longer than Laszlo expected her to; he thought she would be long gone by now, either by Nandor’s will, or her own. “Would-be-human-lover, also.”
Nadja crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, you’re ‘working on it’. Well, try not to scare him off, will you? The night club still needs an accountant, and you know our luck with familiars, Laszlo. He won’t be easily replaceable. And, ugh, how Nandor will whine—”
“I know, my sweet darling, I know,” he assures her, “I’ll have all this sorted soon enough. I promise. Now, go on, off with you both for what I hope will be a delightful evening with the Baron.”
“You better,” she threatens, pointing at him accusingly as she brushes past him. The Guide follows, hanging onto her coattails, so to say, and waves to him.
Laszlo watches them go. He wonders if he should say something to her about overworking herself, and decides against it. She likely won’t listen to him, and it would only cause a disagreement. He’s learned to accept, to a degree, that there are certain experiences in life that he can’t protect her from.
The documentary personnel are slinking around, hoping for an interview, but Laszlo waves them off. He has no time for them right now.
“Laszlo!” One of the humans—he thinks this is Greg—calls out to him. “Hey, Laszlo, wait up!”
“Sorry, I’ve no time to chit chat. I must attend to Guillermo, and ascertain the state of his mental and physical wellbeing.”
Greg falls into step beside him. “Right, sure. But it’s been awhile since we’ve talked, and it feels a little like you’ve been hiding from us—”
Laszlo scoffs. “I’ve done nothing of the sort. I’m busy, that’s all. You have the footage to prove as much, don’t you?”
“Okay.” Greg exhales. “Yes, you’ve all been busy. You haven’t sat down with us since you were trying to get Colin enrolled in school, though.”
“Well, the wedding takes precedence, doesn’t it? You don’t want to speak with me. Go entertain yourselves with Nandor’s hourly breakdown instead.”
“We were actually hoping you might be able to tell us what’s been going on with you and Guillermo recently.”
“Regretfully, nothing,” Laszlo snaps. “There’s your answer. Extrapolate from that what you wish.”
“Fine, but can you at least meet up with us before the night is over? Just for one, short interview.”
“You humans are all so needy, do you know that?”
“Laszlo. The interview.”
Laszlo groans. “Yes! Fine! Now leave me be, will you? As I’ve said, I’ve rather more crucial issues to address—”
Greg rolls his eyes. “Sure, you go do that. Please don’t forget.”
“Don’t forget,” Laszlo mocks him, under his breath, as he shoos him away and continues on his journey. He’s hardly able to accomplish anything in this house without being distracted; it’s a miracle Colin hasn’t come bursting out of the woodwork to request something or other from him.
…Which is concerning, actually. He’ll have to check the basement after he ensures Guillermo is still alive.
Truly, it’s no wonder that Guillermo has yet to realize that they’re madly in love with one another. Laszlo hums thoughtfully, considering that some time spent alone, together, may be conducive to such a thing. Child rearing is, perhaps, not as romantic a concept as Laszlo assumed it to be. Of course, the closer proximity they have to one another seems to be doing wonders; Guillermo no longer wants to kill him—most of the time—which Laszlo considers a win. However, he had intended to be further along in this process by now.
Truthfully, he blames Nandor for this as well. It all ties into his reluctance to turn his familiar; surely, it would be easier to convey the extent of his feelings if Guillermo was already a vampire. And if they had just gotten over themselves and fucked already, Laszlo doubts that this ‘Freddie’ fellow would be a problem at all.
Ugh.
He casts those thoughts aside for now. Too many what-ifs and wondering will cause him to lose focus on his goal. Laszlo can’t allow that, not when the wedding is so close at hand.
The door to the den is closed. Laszlo waves it open with a hand, causing it to hit the somewhat stable wall with a not insignificant bang.
“Shh!” Nandor, who is standing beside one of the couches, hisses at him. “Guillermo is sleeping!”
Laszlo raises an eyebrow. “Have you checked to ensure he isn’t dead? Too much stress is bad for humans, you know. It can kill them.”
Nandor frowns. He looks down at the couch; Guillermo is sprawled across it, limbs hanging limp in every which way.
Laszlo makes his way over to them, wading through a veritable wealth of feathers; he supposes the Guide was correct. This is quite a lot of feathers for someone of Guillermo’s size.
“No, he’s fine,” Nandor insists, after a moment of staring Guillermo down. He pokes at the boy’s face, squishing the soft flesh of his cheek. “Guillermo? You haven’t died, have you? Guillermo. You must wake up. You cannot die until after you have fulfilled your duties as my best man.”
Guillermo groans. He turns in his sleep, towards the couch cushions and free from Nandor’s incessant prodding.
“Stop that,” Laszlo chastises him, and bats his hand away. “If he is alive, you’ll wake him, which would be disastrous and utterly cruel of you. Can’t you see you’ve been running the boy ragged?”
“Planning a wedding is hard work,” Nandor informs him, primly. “Neither of us have been sleeping. Not that you’ve cared to notice.”
“No, Nandor, believe me, I’m well aware of your current insanity.” Carefully, Laszlo places two of his fingers against the soft, hollow area of Guillermo’s neck.
Nandor huffs and crosses his arms. “Well, perhaps he would have time to sleep more if you weren’t having him care for little baby Colin at all hours of the night—what are you doing to his neck?”
“I saw it on Grey’s Anatomy,” Laszlo explains. “Human doctors will oftentimes use this practice to ascertain whether or not their patients are still alive.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Is he? Alive?”
“Oh.” Guillermo’s heart is an even beat, thrumming against his fingertips. Laszlo feels dizzy, suddenly. Ravenous. He forces himself to pull his hand away and clears his throat. “Yes, I do believe so. Alive and well, save for the turmoil you’ve been forcing him to endure.”
Nandor glares at him. It’s hateful, yes, but there’s also a hint of hurt deep in his gaze, and Laszlo can’t help but feel a slight sense of remorse. Yes, he’s been putting them all through hell on this silly little self-realization journey of his, but it’s natural for a vampire of his age to go through a crisis of some sort, and—
“You needn’t be so jealous that I asked Guillermo to be my best man instead of you, Laszlo. It’s unbecoming.”
And there’s that remorse, gone and dead. He regrets not being crueler. Nandor clearly deserves his ire. “You must be joking.”
“Oh, I’m afraid not.” Nandor waves a hand at him dismissively. “Maybe you can help Colin throw the flowers out of his little basket. How does that sound?” he asks, as he begins turning Guillermo’s body on the couch.
Laszlo, benevolently, ignores that slight against his person. “What are you doing?”
“I am going to put Guillermo to bed,” Nandor says. “Couches are bad to sleep on for humans, and he will be very cranky if he wakes up tomorrow with a crick in his neck and a sore back.”
“No, no, I came here to put Guillermo to bed,” Laszlo insists. “So let me take him.”
Nandor stares down at him. “Well, maybe you did, but I arrived first, and he is my familiar, so…”
Laszlo grits his teeth. “I would have arrived first had I not been waylaid on my way here by every other being who resides in this house.”
“Be that as it may—”
A loud groan sounds from below them. “Can you two stop bickering? Please?”
“Oh, Guillermo, you are alive,” Nandor says.
“I told you already that he was!”
“Excuse me for not trusting your shoddy human science, Laszlo—”
Guillermo sits up and takes his glasses off. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, then puts them back on. “Okay. You two have fun with whatever this is. I’m going to bed. If you need me, uh…don’t. Figure it out yourselves for one night.”
Nandor pouts. “I am supposed to carry you to bed.”
“No, I am,” Laszlo argues.
Guillermo blinks up at both of them owlishly, his big brown eyes almost comical in their scale. “I have got to stop taking NyQuil just to get to sleep,” he mutters to himself, “these dreams are getting out of hand.”
“Guillermo,” Nandor whines.
“No, nope,” Guillermo says, shaking his head as he gets up from the couch. He stumbles, slightly, and both Laszlo and Nandor reach out to steady him. He pushes their hands away. “I’m taking myself to sleep. To bed. I’m too tired for delirium…induced…masturbatory fantasies.”
“What?” Laszlo asks, sure he must have heard him incorrectly.
“Nandor, don’t, um, forget to talk to Marwa about the flower arrangements. You need to pick a color scheme soon, or I won’t even be able to get you a rush order in time. Goodnight,” Guillermo says. He finishes his statement with a yawn, and walks promptly over the threshold.
Nandor watches him go. Then, he turns to Laszlo, his eyes alight with indignation. “Did you teach him what masturbation is?”
“What the fuck? Nandor, he’s an adult human. I didn’t have to teach him, he already knew.”
“Guillermo is a virgin,” Nandor argues, as he swipes the clipboard Guillermo left behind off of the coffee table.
“He is not,” Laszlo snaps, “if he was, I would be able to tell.”
Nandor sniffs haughtily. “I think I would know whether or not my own familiar is a virgin, Laszlo.”
Laszlo throws his hands up, beyond exasperated. “You are fucking impossible, do you know that? Are you self-aware? No, no, clearly not, fucking hell.” He shakes his head and turns his back on Nandor, leaving him standing in the ruined den among the feathers and tattered fabric. The door slams behind him, and he can still hear Nandor, calling his name and yelling some utter nonsense about Guillermo’s supposed innocence.
Clearly, that could have gone better. He knows Guillermo is not dead, at least, which is helpful. But he’s in a far worse mood than he was before, any thoughts he had of a quiet evening gone and dashed. He can’t be expected to sit and read with this level of bloodlust running through his veins. It isn’t even the right sort of bloodlust, not for any type of fun. The rage he feels is composed purely of the desire to rip Nandor’s heart from his chest.
He intends to take an early rest, damn the interview and damn Nandor, when a little ball of energy comes running at his person at full speed.
“Lazzo!” Colin yells, as he wraps his arms around him. “What’s up? Where have you been? Will you play the piano for me?”
Laszlo silently counts back from ten. He sighs and places a hand atop Colin’s head. “Making a valiant attempt to not murder Nandor. Where have you been, boy?”
“Coming up with ideas for YouTube videos with the Nadja doll,” Colin explains, “but I’m tired now. Being an influencer is hard work.”
“A what?” Laszlo shakes his head. “No, never mind. I will play the piano for you if you promise to go to sleep after. Not only to bed, to sleep.”
Colin frowns, considering. “Okay. Can you do some songs from Grease, though?”
“Oh, fucking hell—”
“Come on, Lazzo, please! You promised you would learn ‘Beauty School Dropout’!”
Laszlo groans. “Yes, fine, but only this once.”
“Yay! Thanks, Lazzo.” Colin tightens his arms around him, and Laszlo feels his chest do a weird sort of constricting motion. He steadily ignores it.
“Do not mention it. Truly.” He holds his hand out for Colin to take. “Come on, then, let’s get this over with.”
“Okay,” Colin says, and takes his hand. “But don’t you have to do your interview first? I heard them asking you about it out in the hallway.”
“Fuck,” Laszlo murmurs, because he had, genuinely, forgotten about that during his brief, and admittedly somewhat uncouth moment of rage. “Yes, alright, come on, we’ll do the interview. I’ll use you as a buffer and they won’t hold me hostage for nearly as long.”
“Okay,” Colin says, again, sounding slightly uncertain about this turn of events.
Laszlo finds the camera crew milling about in the foyer. Greg looks up at him; pleasantly surprised, at first, until he catches sight of Colin. His tired stare turns unimpressed.
“I know what you’re trying to do, Laszlo,” he says, dryly. “And it won’t work. According to Guillermo, Colin is off limits for interviews.”
Laszlo sneers at him. “And why was I not consulted regarding this decision?”
Greg shrugs. “He got to us first. I happen to agree with him, honestly. Interviewing Colin would be kind of iffy from an ethical standpoint.” He looks Laszlo up and down. “Guillermo also scares me more than you do, so…”
“I can’t do interviews?” Colin asks.
“See! Look what you’ve done!” Laszlo gestures in Colin’s general direction. “You’ve made the boy sad. That’s a moral dilemma in and of itself, isn’t it?”
“Okay, um,” Greg sighs, and scrubs a hand over his face. “How about we just reschedule this for tomorrow? That’s what you’re aiming for, right?”
“No,” Laszlo lies. “I simply—”
“We’ll catch up with you later,” Greg says, with finality.
“I will eat you one day,” Laszlo hisses, and points at him in a manner that he knows is perfectly threatening.
“Goodnight, Laszlo, Colin.”
Laszlo exhales. He makes himself turn around. He likes Greg, and it is generally frowned upon to maim the documentary personnel, he reminds himself.
“Memo isn’t scary,” Colin says. He has a stormy little frown on his face as they ascend the stairs together.
“Not to us,” Laszlo agrees. “He’s…skilled at what he does, and the documentarians have experienced that first hand. They’re also humans, who tend to be dumb and easily frightened. That’s all.”
“Oh.” Colin seems to accept that answer, because his expression smooths out, and his demeanor returns to that of one that is relatively pleasant. “Okay.” He tugs at Laszlo’s hand. “So, Grease—”
“Ugh, yes, fine. Come along, boy.”