So it's almost Halloween again and I thought I'd get off to an early start this year, given that this fic will likely be a few chapters and may run into November/December. Ah, well, they're all dark-nighted wintery months so never mind!

Like last year's To New Mutiny, this is based loosely on Himaruya's 2010 Halloween designs - although I took something of a liberty with Alfred. Again. (And also Antonio and Lovino, who I don't believe had designs...?)

In other news, I was going to write something highbrow and subtly creepy this year... but then I wrote this instead. XD

The Waning

Part I

"Isn't he beautiful?"

Arthur Kirkland, who (being a vampire) was something of an expert on this sort of thing, said this fondly of the young man lying in the coffin, his white hands clasped across his chest.

"Look," Arthur went on pointedly, "I even went to the trouble of dressing him nicely for the occasion."

Francis eyed the powder-blue morning suit with distaste.

"Mon ami," he sighed, watching Arthur lean over the coffin to make a few last adjustments to the corpse, "how do I say this...?" He cleared his throat. "It reeks of desperation."

"Oh, bugger off," Arthur snapped, flipping him off. "I wanted him to be perfect. What, pray tell, is so wrong with that?"

Francis, floating a foot or so off the ground - an irritating habit of his - looked into the coffin. He seemed disgusted - which Arthur thought was rather rude given that all three of them were as dead as doornails.

"I cannot deny that he has a nice face," he said, "and that your picking and choosing is... impeccable, but... is this really your idea of perfection?"

Arthur looked at him pithily, his green eyes lemon-sharp.

"You know perfectly well that this is to serve a purpose." He waved his hand vaguely at the coffin. "Besides, what are a few scars here and there?"

"Aren't you worried about him... ah, falling apart?"

"That's a snide remark about my sewing skills, I expect?" Arthur scoffed. "Fret not-"

"Oh, I'm not fretting. You're the one who'll be bringing your husband back from your honeymoon in a box."

"He'll be fine," Arthur bit out. "Besides, there is to be no honeymoon. As I said, this all serves a purpose."

"I should hope so. You may be ugly, mon ami, but I'm certain that even you would have been able to find a suitorthat didn't require assembly somewhere."

"You'd think." Arthur grinned, his pointed teeth flashing white in the curl of it. "Unfortunately I do have rather a bad habit of devouring my lovers." He motioned to the corpse. "This is the only solution. He's already dead. He hasn't any blood. He's a man - or, well, several parts of several men." He gave a satisfied nod. "Nothing about him entices me whatsoever."

"That seems very unfair on him," Francis murmured. "And such a pretty face. Where did you get his head, I wonder?"

"Oh, that one I killed myself. I liked the look of him, far more than anything I saw poking around in the morgues." Arthur gave another wave of his hand. "The rest of him is bits and pieces of criminals and cadavers."

He looked at his gold pocket watch; then at Francis.

"It's almost midnight, you useless ghoul," he said coldly. "Are you going to marry us or what?"

Francis shook his head at the patchwork body lying blissfully oblivious in the coffin.

"I feel most sorry for you," he said with sympathy. "You haven't much to look forward to."

"Oh, stop that," Arthur sighed impatiently. "He'll awaken with bad omens about me and then I'll never get what I want!"

"There's no need to tiptoe around the issue with me," Francis said. "I know what you're up to. This is your bid to escape The Waning."

Arthur raised his chin in defiance.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked bitterly. "I am in my five hundredth year - old enough to be admitted to the Court of Bones, the only safe haven. It is not easy for we vampires - we are slaughtered in our hundreds during Hallowmas. We cannot hide as easily as ghosts like yourself; and the humans find us better sport besides." He gave a sour smile. "You don't get the crack and crunch and splatter with a ghost. They remain somewhat impervious to baseball bats and assault rifles. Vampires and werewolves and witches are far more fun."

"You have survived this long," Francis pointed out; though it was grim, quiet.

"Often at the expense of others." Arthur shook his head. "If there is an escape, it seems foolish not to take it."

Francis glanced pointedly toward the coffin.

"At his expense, you mean."

"So what?" Arthur gave an impatient snort. "I don't owe him anything. He's not even alive!"

"Not yet."

"Yes, well, as to that..." Arthur went into his pocket, pulling out two mismatched rings; pried, likely, from the stiffening fingers of his victims. "When you're quite finished wasting my time. I haven't eaten in three days."

Francis rolled his eyes.

"I'm certain I have some sort of moral dilemma regarding this," he muttered. "Well, then, mon cher... Are you ready to be married?"

"Quite ready." Arthur took a moment to fluff up his cravat and straighten his heavy velvet cloak; before reaching into the coffin and entwining his hand his that of his patchwork creation (and god only knew whose hand it really was, at that). "Go on, then; I haven't got all night!"

Francis gave a dry smile.

"A pleasure, Arthur, as always."

So by the peppermint moon, huge and round in the sky behind the inky blots of skeleton trees, Francis married Arthur to his madcap scheme and wished him all the very best with it; being as it was that Arthur was having some trouble jamming the ring onto the finger of his cadaver groom.

"It's probably swollen," Francis said helpfully. "Corpses tend to do that."

"I know that!" Arthur said crossly, twisting the ring back and forth over the knuckle. "Stop distracting me!"

"You could cut the finger off, put the ring on that way and then sew it back on."

"For Hell's sake, will you stop leaning through my bloody shoulder!"

"I am only trying to help."

"Well, I don't need your help," Arthur said crossly, managing with a final shove to get the ring over the knuckle and down. He breathed a sigh of relief, watching as the corpse began to stir. "...I only need his."

The young man in the coffin twitched once or twice; then his ribcage shook and he took a breath, gasping, rattling. Arthur smiled (almost fondly, Francis thought) as he leaned toward him, touching his face; and the revived corpse opened his eyes with a start. They were very blue, Francis noted, and fathomed that this had been the reason for Arthur's taking of his head, for he was quite the lover of brilliant jewels and things which held their colour.

"Good evening, Alfred," Arthur said pleasantly; the name, so he said, picked out with great care, although Francis didn't care to listen to the reason why. "...Forgive me, I don't know how proper it is to say "Welcome Back"."

Alfred was staring at him bewilderment. He looked terribly disorientated, which wasn't altogether surprising, and Francis found himself wondering if he could even understand what Arthur was saying. He recoiled, looking frightened, when Arthur tried to touch his cheek a second time.

"It's alright," Arthur assured him, perhaps a little too confidently; he held up his hand to show him his ring. "We're married. You're my husband."

"Arthur, you are most certainly going to scare him off, I fear."

"I don't see any point in beating around the bush." Arthur looked to Francis in irritation. "Do go away, won't you? You've served your purpose."

Francis gave a dry smile.

"As always, you are quick to dismiss me. Vampires are always so very selfish." He bowed. "Very well, you horrid creature, I shall leave you with your plaything - but I will return on Hallow's Eve and I shall want my payment."

"You have my word," Arthur said pithily. "I shall have a body for you."

"See that you do." Francis gave a nod and vanished with a sound like a hollow bell.

Glad to be rid of him, Arthur turned back to Alfred - who was tensed in horror as though he planned on bolting for it.

"Now then," Arthur said briskly, all business, "it won't do us much good to sit out here in the woods all night, my dear one." He took Alfred's hand and patted it. "Shall we go home?"

Alfred looked at him, wide-eyed, his mouth a little open.

"I do have a home, of course," Arthur went on, "and I think you'll be quite comfortable. You'll come, I expect?" He gave a little laugh. "Well, I suppose you haven't anywhere else to go - except for the graveyard."

Taking Alfred rather firmly by the elbow, he bodily lifted him to his feet, helping him to step out of the coffin; Alfred came without much complaint, although he eyed Arthur warily the entire time. He wasn't terribly steady on his feet, either, which Arthur found when all six foot of him stumbled awkwardly into his shoulder.

"There, now." Arthur righted him. "It's alright, it's not unexpected. Who knows how long those legs of yours have been dead for!"

Alfred still said nothing, merely stared at him a little blankly, and Arthur felt his patience begin to wear somewhat thin.

"Well," he said with a cough, "we ought to head home. I need to go out hunting and the gate remains open only until three o' clock. I'll get you settled first, of course." He took Alfred tightly by the hand, pulling him. "Come along."

Alfred stumbled along after him, quiet as they weaved through the trees with their long thin trunks and over the rustle of dead leaves; and the moon was bright and the light silver, the air woody and damp and with a bit of a bite.

"I know it's our wedding night," Arthur said, more to himself (for he was now past expecting an answer from Alfred), "but I haven't eaten for quite a few nights, you see, and I'll be cranky otherwise and that's not a very good way to start our married life, is it?"

Alfred stopped. Arthur jerked to a halt, still holding hands with him; and turned back in puzzlement. Alfred was looking fixedly at their hands - at the cool glint of their unmatching rings.

"What's the matter?" Arthur asked uneasily; and yes of course he'd heard the warning about creating golems and the like (whatever they were calling them these days - not that Alfred was really a golem, as it were, given that Arthur had painstakingly hand-stitched him together) because they so often turned on their creators but Arthur thought it had been going rather swimmingly until now.

Alfred looked up at him, meeting his gaze intently.

"Hey," he said, perfectly clearly, "what's your name?"

"My... my name?" Arthur sighed out his relief with it. "My name is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland." He came a little closer, taking up Alfred's hand. "You can be Alfred Kirkland if you'd like."

Alfred frowned.

"No, I... that's not... my name, I don't..."

"Do you like the name Alfred?" Arthur didn't care much either way, given that Alfred was stuck with it; the marriage vows had been spoken with it, bound up in it.

Alfred gave a shrug.

"It'll do, I guess." He looked about him; with every moment, it seemed, growing ever more aware of himself, as though his newborn senses were flooding his stitched-up body. "Where am I?"

"The Land of the Banished," Arthur said. "This is your home now."

"And where was I before?" Again, Alfred frowned. "I... I don't remember anything, I-"

"The Other World." Arthur said this quickly, bitterly. "It doesn't matter. Come." He gave Alfred a firm tug, leading him ever deeper into the night. "Let's go home."

Home for Arthur Kirkland was a nice house in the old Colonial style at the edge of town; it was washed cream and had pillars and a porch and a front door with pretty glass panels painted with roses. Within it was well-manicured, for Arthur often spent his days cleaning it, although he rarely used the kitchen but for making cups of tea, and both bedrooms were largely unfurnished. The room Arthur used had a bed but he had stripped it and turned both the frame and mattress onto their side against the wall, for - like many vampires - he was too deeply in the habit of sleeping in his coffin. It was English, Medieval, with a smell that he loved. The rest of the room was taken up by a collection of trinkets and books and clothes amassed over the centuries, many of them souveniers from the Other Side before it had been such-

For the worlds of the living and the dead hadn't always been separated and the night of The Waning unimaginable. Personally Arthur blamed the Victorians. They had been too pragmatic, too clever, to remain frightened of monsters.

"Well, here we are." Arthur showed Alfred into the living room, all very precise in its careful mismatchedness, a Georgian period armchair here, a Tudor writing desk there. "Make yourself at home. I trust you can entertain yourself for an hour or so."

He checked his watch; it was quarter past one. He said nothing more to Alfred, only gave a brisk nod and started out of the room again, by now thinking more of his belly than his bridal bed (not that there was much intention of that, it was true - there was only room for him in his coffin).

"Wait!" Alfred followed him, catching hold of his cloak. "Don't leave me by myself!"

"I won't be long," Arthur said irritably, trying to pull free. "An hour at most."

"Can I come too?"

"Certainly not!" Arthur yanked his cloak from Alfred's hands. "You'd get us both killed."

"But I-"

"Goodnight, Alfred." Arthur wasn't in the mood for discussing it any further; and frankly he just left Alfred standing in the hall, slamming the door in his face.

He was hungry and he needed to get through the gate, feed and get back before it closed. It wouldn't do to get stuck on the other side, not this close to Hallowmas. They would use him for target practice, undoubtedly.

So he was quick about it, and quiet, too; he found a pair of sleeping sisters through an open bedroom window, and took from each about a half pint without waking them. Killing was reckless and made both a mess and a noise and so it was avoided like the plague if it could be helped. Arthur could kill, of course, and he was good at it - but he was also good at being very quiet and gentle, with the smallest of punctures, and he was in and out in ten minutes with both girls barely stirring. Nowadays only stupid or desperately hungry vampires killed their victims - and Arthur prided himself on being neither.

Alfred was sitting on the sofa with a blanket cocooned around him when Arthur returned.

"I made up the bed," he said, holding up the blanket. "I found these upstairs."

"The bed?" Arthur frowned. "Where would you get an idea like that?"

"You... you said we were married." Alfred seemed perplexed.

"Hm." Arthur merely raised his eyebrows at him. "You're awfully knowledgeable for someone who's been alive for barely two hours." He paused; then added heartlessly, "...Not that alive is exactly the right word."

He wandered out of the room, starting for the staircase; again Alfred followed most persistently, the blanket trailing after him.

"Now listen here," Arthur said, growing annoyed, "I sleep in a coffin, alright? It's my coffin that I was buried in and it only has room for me-"

"You're the one who married me," Alfred pointed out. "It's not like I just turned up on your doorstep. You made me, I-"

"Precisely." Alfred paused at the doorframe, turning to Alfred. "And so we're going to do this my way."

"This isn't fair," Alfred complained reedily, clutching the blanket. "I wake up in the middle of the forest with a ring on my finger, a vampire saying that we're married and no memory of anything else! I haven't got much choice but to trust you, Arthur-"

"Oh, I don't know that I'd do that," Arthur sighed, turning away. He pushed down the handle to the bedroom door, letting it creak open. "Goodni-"

He stopped dead on the threshold. Alfred hadn't been joking about the bed, having pulled it away from the wall and set it upright in the middle of the room. It was thrown over with pillows and blankets, messy but inviting. Nonetheless, Arthur looked about for his coffin, locating it propped in the corner.

"Did I give you permission to rearrange my house?" he asked crossly of Alfred.

"Well, where was I supposed to sleep?"

"The sofa, the bloody floor, I don't know...!" Arthur threw off his cloak and stomped to the corner to retrieve his coffin, dragging it out. There wasn't much room for it now - and he found himself crunching it in alongside the heavy bedstead.

"What do you want with me?" Alfred asked, his voice suddenly rather hard. "What am I to you, Arthur?"

A way out.

Arthur didn't say this, of course, instead making quite the show of flouncing to the balding velvet fainting couch in the corner; this was set before the dressing table, aglitter with Arthur's collected menagerie. The mirror was draped over with a black lace shawl - he had no reflection, naturally, and didn't see the point in wasting time with it. He sank onto the couch, folding his legs up beneath himself, and started to undecorate, his ruby tie pin and silver cufflinks clattering amidst the hoarde of other treasures.

He said nothing.

"Hey," Alfred said; low, upset. "Are you going to answer me?"

"Well," Arthur sighed at him, "what would you like me to say? That I wanted a husband to share a home with? That I saw you in a dream once and made you in that image?" He snorted. "That I want to be happy?"

"...Don't you?"

"Oh, I do," Arthur said, sparing him a glance. "But not with you."

Alfred looked hurt.

"Why are you being like this?" he asked quietly. "You... you were nice before, when I first awoke, and now-"

"I'm afraid these are my true colours," Arthur interrupted coldly. "I've eaten, you see; it brings out the worst in us - but then my nature by design is unpleasant. I apologise that you saw that airy-fairy nonsense before. I shall try not to call you "my dear one" again."

"You won't." Alfred seized hold of the ring on his finger, twisting it savagely. "I'm not sticking around. I don't care if you made me, I'm not staying here another minute!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Arthur said, turning to him.

"Shut up! You're not my owner, you're not my husband, you're just a spoilt little vampire bratling and you can go to Hell!" Alfred managed to tug the ring off, throwing it at Arthur's head-

"Oh, dear, I did tell you," Arthur said calmly as the light went out of Alfred's blue eyes and his stitched-up body crumpled. He hit the carpet in a heap, utterly lifeless.

Arthur rather felt that he didn't have time for this. He bent to pick up the ring and rose gracefully, padding to Alfred's corpse; he knelt and sharply twisted the ring back onto the fourth finger. Alfred shuddered and gave a gasp, awakening to look up at Arthur with a rather disorientated look on his face.

"I'm not going to crow over you," Arthur said tersely, holding up his own ring. "Let me put it simply. I took vows onyour behalf: Until death do we part. You're a collection of corpses - you're already dead. I'm a vampire - I'm already dead. ...Do you see the issue?"

Alfred said nothing, merely glanced at his own hand, shackled by a silver band.

"There's no ending clause if we're both dead already," Arthur went on impatiently. "You are bound to me by those vows; they are what grant you sentience, if not life. If you remove that ring, you go back to being a rather fetching collection of body parts." He shrugged. "The choice is yours, of course."

Alfred was quiet, fidgeting with his ring. He looked miserable, his shoulders hunched.

"Well, do let me know if you want me to take you back to the graveyard," Arthur said crisply, patting Alfred's knee. He stood up and stepped past.

"You can still go to Hell," Alfred mumbled.

"Oh, goodness," Arthur said tiredly, "I'm already here. We both are."

He smiled acidly at him.

"Welcome."


That nonsense about the sun turning vampires to ash was just that: nonense. Nonetheless, Arthur was not a fan of the daylight, for it gave him a headache and made him exceedingly grouchy - and so he was most certainly unthrilled when Alfred rudely pried the lid off his coffin and he got a faceful of sunshine. He rolled over with a hiss deep in the back of his throat, burying his face in his blanket.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he wailed angrily from beneath it.

"Rise and shine!" Alfred said, so cheerfully that Arthur suspected it to be sarcastic. "Time to get up!"

"I'm a vampire," Arthur said witheringly, lifting the blanket just a little to glare up at him. "I'm nocturnal."

"Well, I'm not," Alfred said decidedly. "And I want breakfast - so get up!"

He took hold of the underside of Arthur's coffin and tipped it up; Arthur tumbled out onto the carpet in a flail of limbs and clinging blankets.

"For Hell's sake, don't just throw me around!" Arthur shrilled, righting himself; he was still clutching the blanket, covering himself in his thin pyjamas.

"Hey, it's your own damned fault," Alfred said, shrugging. "If you weren't such a little bitch and we'd ha d a proper wedding night, we'd have woken up all cuddled up together and I wouldn't have had to shake you out of your box like a stubborn match!"

"Vampires sleep in their coffins!" Arthur glared at him. "And I'm not sharing it or a bed with the likes of you!"

"You should have thought of that before you married me." Alfred prodded at him with his foot. "Now get up, I'm hungry!"

"Why do I have to make it for you?!"

"You don't - but there's no food in your cupboards. I already looked." Alfred pulled a face. "Just twenty boxes of tea and a bottle of blood in the fridge."

Arthur groaned, putting his blanket over his head. He had completely forgotten that Alfred wouldn't survive on a vampire's diet supplemented with cups of tea - althought admittedly he hadn't put much thought into what reanimated designer corpses ate at all.

"I guess you didn't think ahead this far, huh?" Alfred mused.

"Shut up!" Arthur crossly threw off the blanket and got up, stomping to his bookshelf. He reached to pull down the heavy volume bound in red leather, taking it to the dresser; and he curled up on the couch in his black silk pyjamas with the book on his lap, leafing through it for the particular spell he had followed.

Reanimated Bride or Groom

- As many body parts as one should desire (or find, as the case may be). The different parts of several different persons shall equip your created spouse with the particular skills each possessed in life; furthermore, the pathwork formation will prevent your new beau from regaining the memories of the previous life experienced by the head/brain.

- Sew together with a simple stitch using any thread you desire.

- To bring to life, recite the wedding vows by the stroke of midnight on the night of a full moon. Binding the already-deceased to the clause 'Until death do we part' will grant life of a type; the removal of the wedding ring will reverse the effects.

This Arthur already knew; he flipped over the page in search of further information, silly manual things such as what reanimated brides and grooms ate, but there was nothing.

Well... perhaps such things fell under the zombie sub-type?

"Do you eat brains?" Arthur asked carefully, looking up at Alfred over the book.

Alfred pulled a disgusted face.

"Eww, no!" He shook his head so vigorously that for a moment Arthur was terrified that he might rip the stitches holding it on. "And before you ask, no, I don't drink blood, either!"

"How do you know?"

"I... I-I don't know, I just do!" Alfred gave an exasperated wave of his hands. "Look, I just want something normal to eat, okay? How about toast or bacon or breakfast cereal or something?!"

Arthur looked blankly at him.

"Breakfast cereal?"

"Yeah! You know what that is, right? Little crunchy corn thingies covered in sugar?"

Arthur shuddered.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," he said delicately, "but it sounds revolting."

"How... how can you not know what breakfast cereal is?" Alfred seemed baffled. "Have you been living under a rock?"

"No, I've been living in this house," Arthur said coldly. "But the last time I was alive was 1452, when I quite assure you there was no such thing as a 'breakfast cereal'."

"Yeah, but you've been the living-dead ever since, right? Surely you've eaten!"

"Not terribly often. I mostly survive on blood and tea. I've more or less lost my appetite for other things."

"W-well!" Alfred folded his arms indignantly. "B-but last night, you said... that this is the Land of the Banished. A-and there was that other guy with you-"

"Francis, yes." Arthur nodded, closing the book and putting it aside. He could feel the sunlight warm on the back of his neck. How irritating. "If you mean to ask if there are others... yes, naturally there are. We have our own realm."

"Right. And you're not all vampires, right?"

"No, of course not. There are werewolves, witches, demons, gh-"

"That's what I mean! What do they eat, huh?"

"Oh." Arthur paused thoughtfully. "Well, yes, I suppose there are establishments - and the marketplace, how could I forget." He shook his head. "Vampires are about the least human - aside from the ghosts - and so I suppose I forget these things. I tend not to go out during the day."

"So, wait... you're saying that there are like... restaurants and stores and stuff?" Alfred pressed his hands together, his stitches gleaming. "Run by ghouls and werewolves and whatever - for ghouls and werewolves and whatever?"

"Ah, yes, I suppose that's-"

"Jeez, why didn't you say so!" Alfred seized Arthur's neatly-hung clothes from the night before and threw them across the room at him. "Get dressed, Dracula! I'm starving!"

And so, despite his protests - and to his immense chagrin - Arthur Kirkland, ruthless and pragmatic vampire since the late fifteenth century, found himself traipsing down the high street at half nine in the sodding morning, dressed entirely in black and with a mood to match. Alfred darted ahead, zigzagging across the street in excitement to look in every gleaming window.

The main town square of Midnight Marches was pretty and well-kept; traditional in its look and feel, with cobblestones and wooden-framed buildings, as most of its inhabitants were rather old and comfortable in their ways. The old clock tower, jealously wound with ivy, boomed out the hours with clockwork reliability; adjacent were the library and the town hall in faded redbrick, whilst the shops were all kinds of colours and wild archictures. Transport was an eccentric collection of vehicles, from horse-and-traps to Model T Fords and just about everything else in between.

"This is so weird!" Alfred exclaimed, his face pressed to the glass of the bakery to survey the rows of breads and cakes and pastries. "It's just like a normal town!"

"More or less," Arthur agreed absently, glancing opposite towards the crooked little shop with cauldrons stacked precariously either side of the door and a large cage of sleeping bats in the window. "...You can remember a normal town?"

"Sort of." Alfred frowned. "It's hard to describe, I remember what stuff is, you know... but I don't remember who I was."

"We," Arthur corrected. "You're seven people at least."

"But this guy would have the memories, right?" Alfred tapped himself on the head. "Huh, I guess he must have lived someplace like this."

Arthur shrugged in disinterest.

"Perhaps." He started away. "I thought you were hungry."

"I am!" Alfred scrambled after him.

"Then let's get out of this bleeding sun."

They ended up in a small, brightly-lit cafe that Arthur knew but didn't frequent much, being more of a night-dweller. It was called The Blood Olive and was run by werewolves; brothers Feliciano and Lovino Vargas, who were the chefs, waiter Antonio Carriedo and manager Ludwig Beilschidt, who seemed to try and run the place with an iron fist and not get very far with it.

They were about the only customers, aside from a small gathering of warlocks in the far corner. Arthur took only a cup of tea, the steam doing a little to blot out his pounding headache, while Alfred ordered just about everything on the menu and demolished it. Feliciano and Antonio skipped happily in and out of the kitchen, seeming to enjoy the challenge of it, whilst Lovino grumbled loudly in Spanish at the back.

"So what possessed the vampire to be married after all these years?" Antonio asked cheerfully, plonking himself down next to Arthur. "I thought your kind preferred your own company?"

"I get lonely sometimes," Arthur replied stiffly. He didn't look at him.

Antonio didn't look terribly convinced; but Feliciano was more forgiving, setting a plate of eggs florentine before Alfred (who attacked it like a wild animal).

"Even vampires are known to settle down, Toni," he said. "...Eventually." He beamed at Arthur. "Was it a big wedding?"

"No, just the three of us out in the woods." Arthur rolled his eyes. "I haven't the patience for such things."

"Three?"

"Francis performed the rites. That's about all ghosts are good for."

Feliciano nodded.

"I must talk to him about marrying Ludwig and I," he said wistfully.

"The day I persuade Lovino," Antonio said, "we will go over to the Other Realm and be married properly. I know he would not want to be married to me by a ghost."

"I don't want to be married to you at all, bastard!" Lovino called angrily from the kitchen.

"Enough shouting," Ludwig said gruffly, approaching the table. "You two, back in the kitchen. We have more customers."

Feliciano scampered away, Antonio trailing languidly after him. Arthur caught Ludwig's gaze briefly before going back to his tea, distractedly pouring himself another cup.

"You're not doing a whole lot to put me at ease," Alfred said cheerily, his mouth full. "Everyone seems to think it's really weird that you suddenly decided to get married - and I gotta say I agree. You don't seem the type!"

"I wasn't aware that there is a type," Arthur said icily.

"Well, you don't seem to be all that interested in me." Alfred gave a shrug. "I dunno, I guess I just don't feel like your 'I'm lonely' story holds up."

"That's entirely up to y-"

"That, and..." Alfred chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, why'd you make me? You really couldn't find anyone anywhere that wanted to marry you?! You've been around for like four hundred years, right? I mean, your personality needs work but you're not that bad-looking, I guess."

"Why thank you," Arthur ground out. "And it's five hundred, actually."

Alfred shrugged, loading up another forkful of eggs and hollandaise sauce.

"Just seems odd to me, is all."

When Alfred had at last finished eating The Blood Olive out of house and home, Arthur sent him outside and went to settle up with Ludwig.

"I expect you'll soon be leaving us," Ludwig observed shrewdly, taking the notes and counting out the change. "You're five hundred, aren't you?"

"I was in April, yes." Arthur smirked. "You're just like Francis. You always see right through me."

Ludwig looked across the cafe; through the window at Alfred, who was kicking a skull down the road with his hands in his pockets.

"Well," the werewolf said primly, "let us hope that he does not see right through you."

Arthur gave a snort.

"How could he? He doesn't even know about The Waning, never mind the All Souls Ball and the Court of Bones." He examined his nails. "Very much the method in my madness, I'm sure you'll see."

"You'll have to tell him about The Waning, at the very least," Ludwig said calmly, handing him his coins.

"I will. It wouldn't at all do for him to be killed, would it?" Arthur grinned. "...At least not before I can make use of it."


"Hey." Alfred leaned around the sitting room door. "Arthur."

"What?" Arthur asked absently; he was curled up in his armchair before the fire, engrossed in a book.

"I, uh... have a little problem."

"And what's that?"

"My hand fell off." Sidling into the room, Alfred held it out. "Can you... um, sew it back on for me?"

Arthur lowered his book.

"What on earth were you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to get the bedroom window open."

"Why?" Arthur went on witheringly; he went to get his sewing box from the cabinet. "Don't tell me you were trying to run away."

"Not run away. I was gonna come back." Alfred shrugged, coming to the rug before the fire and plonking himself down. "I just wanted to go out for a bit. I'm bored cooped up in here."

"There's a front door."

"I didn't want you to hear me. You seem like a nag."

Arthur simply rolled his eyes at this, kneeling on the rug with the little wooden box open at his side. He threaded up a needle and took the hand from Alfred, lining it up with his wrist.

"You've really got to be more careful," he scolded. "You're lucky it was the right hand and not the left. Remember what I told you about your ring-"

"I knew it. You're a nag."

"I mean it!" Arthur jabbed him with the needle, making him yelp. "You'd have been lying up there for hours."

"Why, were you going to stay down here all night?" Alfred seemed surprised.

"I told you, I'm nocturnal." Arthur scowled up at him as he stitched. "Well, I'd very much like to be. You've certainly gone out of your way to make it hard for me."

"Hey, I let you nap today, didn't I?!"

"Oh, most generous of you, I'm sure."

"Are you not going out hunting tonight?"

"No, I'm not hungry. I made sure to feed well last night." Arthur gave a little sigh. "Long gone are the days of luxury, feeding every night. I haven't even killed a victim in a very long time."

"Why's that?" Alfred seemed genuinely curious.

"Sense. It's dangerous to be a vampire in this day and age." Arthur paused. "Well, not just a vampire, admittedly. Anything that isn't human."

"Why?"

"Because of the All Saints Army. After the war ended in 1945, you know, they thought they'd turn their attention to... well, other evils, as it were." Arthur snorted. "It's funny, isn't it? I very much doubt, in the entire five hundred years I've been a vampire, that I've killed as many as any bomb dropped during the war."

"But you have killed."

"Of course."

Arthur met his gaze; Alfred was looking at him very intently, his expression hard to gauge.

"Did you kill any part of me?" he asked.

"No." Arthur went back to his sewing. "You're mostly medical cadavers, with a few executed criminals thrown in."

"Huh."

"Are you disappointed?"

"Not really. I just thought maybe you'd know who I was." Alfred frowned. "Or, at least, who some of me was."

"I'm afraid not." Arthur playing with his fingertips. "...Nice hands, though, don't you think? I chose them because I liked them."

"Heh." Alfred grinned. "So I am designed to your specifications."

"Something like that," Arthur said archly. "Although I'll thank you not to go getting ridiculous notions about the nature of our relationship."

"Well, at least I'm not a sex slave." Alfred paused, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "...I'm not a sex slave, right? You haven't made a pass at me yet-"

"You're not a sex slave, Alfred." Arthur said this with crispness, impatience, and added nothing further.

The fire cracked and spat. Alfred shifted.

"And, uh... are you ever gonna tell me why you created me?" he asked.

"All will be clear on Halloween," Arthur sighed, "otherwise known as the night of The Waning."

Alfred gave an impatient snort.

"Halloween's ages away," he complained. "And what's-"

"Actually, it's little more than a week from tonight," Arthur said, tying off the thread and cutting it with a quick snap of his pointed teeth.

He glanced up at Alfred slyly.

"...I trust you can wait until then."


Hope everyone likes it so far! Next chapter will be posted on Halloween!

ONE WEEK TO GO!