Hello lovely reader. This is a Blade fic and pretty much AU. It's slash and about the somewhat cranky ship of Scud and Deacon Frost in later chapters. This chapter contains mild blood and gore, but you will know what I mean if you have seen any of the Blade movies. If this appeals to you in any way, please let me know. And now, have fun!
Also, thanks to Sailor Onyx Pluto for betareading this. :)
It isn't a dark and stormy night when his master gives a party for his so-called friends and familiars. Scud hangs around in one of the dimly lit corners of the crowded room together with the other pets. Some of them are chained to the wall. Luckily Scud's master isn't into that, even though he is a sadistic bastard. He'd rather save his fantasies for the bedroom – or what room they were currently in when hunger strikes and Scud gets bent over a table or a couch quicker than he can say "hemoglobin".
The room is full of vampires, most of them are non-pure bloods like his master. But there are some pure bloods too, quickly to be identified by their slightly disgusted expressions when a halfbreed or a familiar walks by. Scud is amused by this all too human behavior. Everything has to be tagged and put into a hierarchy – which ends with people like him, the human pets. They are toys with which their masters can satisfy their sexual needs and their Thirst.
Scud's master's name is Anton. Not the most charming name for a wild beast and surely not fitting in regards of his short-tempered, brutal nature.
Scud still remembers the day when he was cornered by a horde of vampires, every last one of them part of a gang of undead bastards who looked for human victims to sell them as voluntary pets on the black market. They say "voluntary" because no vampire, no matter how sadistic and cruel he or she might be, likes the thought of a pet that got picked off the street and maybe got "tried out" already.
They didn't try out Scud, but he had to watch when one of the other volunteers wasn't as lucky as him.
Anton bought him on the third day, tattooed his glyph right under his navel on the same night and almost drained him as soon as they got home. The only thing that saved Scud's lily white ass has been the taste of his blood.
"Disgusting!", Anton said and threw him down onto the hard wooden floor. "This will need some time."
Scud chews on his bottom lip. He craves for a cigarette, but his master said he would get one only if he behaved well the whole evening – and up until now, everything went fine.
That was until the wide doors to the crowded room swing open. Everyone falls silent and turns their head to see what kind of ignorant intruder dared to show up this late to one of Anton MacHorvath's parties. And then he steps into Scud's sight.
The air in the room seems to freeze. Scud can practically taste the tension which wafts through the room. As he turns his head and looks for his master, he sees some vampires even draw out their fangs. Long, sharp and deadly and he knows in whose throat they would like to bury them.
He tugs at another pet's arm – a young girl, not older than sixteen – even though they aren't allowed to talk to each other, but he can't resist. A vampire who is able to silence a whole community of other vampires, even some pure bloods, is worth the risk of being talked about and getting caught.
The girl shoots him a sheepish look before she slightly leans over to him and whispers:
"That's Deacon Frost. He's the owner of several clubs in town and actually a non-pure blood. My master hates him, just like everyone else."
Scud is about to ask why all the vampires despise this certain one when his master steps out of the group of quietly hissing and whispering guests. A few words are exchanged, some probably more sarcastic than the others, before Anton leads Deacon Frost away from the doors and further into the room, all the time a hand hovering over the other vampire's back like he didn't dare to actually touch him.
Scud can't help but be a little amazed by this. His master is usually a loud mouth who doesn't care over such things as personal space, inappropriate touching or other signs of respect, but this new guest seems to make him tense up a little and Scud makes sure to enjoy this sight to the last bit.
It is only when Anton and Deacon Frost vanish behind a thick crimson curtain which leads downstairs to the second living room and some small chambers for the pets that the first vampires start to rise their voices again.
Now it is even louder than before and Scud doesn't have to eavesdrop to know what the excited undead creatures are talking about.
They are talking about Deacon Frost. His name wafts through the air like angry ocean waves, again and again crushing against Scud's ears and sinking into his slightly dizzied brain. His master doesn't feed him before parties. He says the hungry feeling adds a sweet flavor to the human's blood. He would only get some shitty citrus fruit anyway.
Minutes pass which turn into hours and Scud constantly shifts his weight from one leg onto the other. His back hurts, his legs and arms are tired and the mood in the crowded room still hasn't settled yet.
Scud jumps when a large hands lands on his shoulder.
"Master Anton needs his pet."
It's one of his master's bodyguards. He must have sent him upstairs for the human, even though that's normally not the duty of them. The bodyguards, all broad shouldered and at least two heads taller than Scud, are usually positioned outside around the house. Anton MacHorvath is a vampire with influence – of course an assault is not an uncommon thing. Next to him and the maids, the bodyguards are the only human beings in his master's household. Every one of them has a glyph and will probably never need to read the newspapers for a new job advertisement again.
The muscleman grabs him by his neck and drags him through the group of vampires towards the stairs behind the curtain. Scud tries his best to keep pace and stumbles ungracefully past hissing and licking vampires. He hates it when this happens.
Of course he knows why exactly his master asked for the pet's presence. They call it gift exchange.
Anton and Deacon Frost sit in a dimly lit room together with some of muscleman's fellow companions and two of Deacon Frost's followers. One is a large man with filthy red hair and the other is a peroxide blonde chick with a mocking smile on her face. She hisses when Scud is pushed through the door and almost trips over.
His master takes no notice of him and so he bows his head and carefully steps past the silent vampire guest, trying not to look in the direction of the crazy blonde chick and glides down onto the carpet floor next to his master's legs.
Scud glances up to the vampire called Deacon Frost and investigates him carefully. His body looks young, not older than 28 maybe and his face is that of a businessman. There is no sign of any emotion or reaction to what his master says. Anton talks fast and in a foreign but familiar language which Scud can't and doesn't want to understand. It's the language of the vampires. Every last one of those bloodsucking sadists speaks it and they usually slip into it when they are discussing "mafia stuff", as Scud calls it. Every time Anton has one of these "meetings," some vampire will knock three days later on his door to bring him a small wooden casket with Anton's emblems carved into it. And every time the casket contains a new pair of freshly torn out vampire fangs, bloody and still bound to the roots.
"You must be hungry, Deacon."
The voice of his master shakes Scud awake from his daydreaming and every muscle in his body tenses up. He knows what happens next. It's like a sick imitation of human hospitality when people get invited to have a friendly dinner together.
Today's special menu is Scud.
Anton sits up on the couch he has placed his dead ass on and lets two cold fingers trail over Scud's bare throat.
"This one's particular tasty. He was only fed mandarins for the past two weeks. Please, help yourself."
Scud crawls over to the silent vampire and settles between his open legs. His heart picked up the pace and he knows that every damn suckhead in the room noticed this. The blonde chick and the red muscleman quietly hiss. Sharp, white glistening fangs are exposed, ready to bury themselves in Scud's soft pale flesh.
He glances up to Deacon through long lashes, hands folded in his lap.
But the vampire doesn't even look at him.
"Thank you, Anton, but I refuse", he says calmly, but Scud can still make out the disgust in his voice over the situation.
"Ah, right. I forgot. You don't approve of holding a human pet. Now, that's just too bad", Anton replies. He doesn't even try to hide his disdain.
"Taking the Thirst as an excuse is mortifying for our superior race. They're just cattle after all."
Deacon leans a little back on the other couch as to show Anton who has the upper hand in this tensed situation.
Even though Scud is afraid of the strange intruder, he'd like to give him a high five for that.
He doesn't care that his own race is getting insulted over and over again in this conversation, that's something he's been used to for a long time, but seeing his master so verbally slapped in the face is new and exciting.
An uncomfortable silence settles between the two vampires. Scud shifts nervously. Should he get up and leave Deacon Frost alone? Or should he stay, for his master hasn't said anything yet? He stills when Deacon Frost's gaze drops and lands on him. The "frost" in his name fits just perfectly, Scud realizes when those cold blue eyes settle on the small figure in front of him and seem to pierce right through him, leaving him shivering and breathless. There is no soul behind those eyes, just darkness and terror.
"What's the matter, pet?" Deacon asks, spitting the last word out like an insult. "Have you forgotten how to move on your own accord – or do you need your master's permission first?"
He leans forward, just a little, but the move is enough to make Scud's heart stop for a beat. A cruel smile spreads on the vampire's face and the tips of his fangs show for a second.
"Pet," Anton barks and Scud shakes awake from his paralyzed state.
Slowly, careful not to touch any part of Deacon Frost's cold body, he crawls back to his master. Scud can't remember ever being so happy to be called by the sadistic vampire bastard, but compared to Frost's icy cold hatred for humans he prefers the hotheaded nymphomaniac.
"I think we're done here", Anton says, not able to keep the small growl off his voice. "Your problem will be solved by tomorrow, just as we said. Shall I show you the door then?"
"No, it's fine."
With one fluid movement Deacon rises from the couch and turns toward the stairs, his two companions following him silently like shadows.
Just as the echo of their footsteps dies out, Anton grabs the nearest furniture – which happens to be the small table next to Scud. He yelps and ducks his head when the roaring vampire hurls it across the room like it weighs a feather. Scales of wood fly through the air and slide all over the floor as the table shatters on the wall.
The next thing he feels is the pair of strong cold hands which grab and hold him in an iron grip as his neck is brutally bend back, just before two razor-sharp fangs are rammed down and through the sensitive skin there. Scud screams when his blood splatters all over the carpet.
The last thought worming it's way through his dizzy brain is that maybe it would have been better for him if Deacon Frost liked pets.
And then the world around him turns black.