Perfect Match

[Trillian]

Mick observed the mailbox and the path that would take him from it to the front door of the house. Fancy. He headed up the path, dressed in a leather jacket over a white tee, blue jeans and short biker boots on his feet. In his left hand he held his black motorcycle helmet by the jaw guard.

He stood on the porch, also fancy, and knocked on the front door without preamble.

[Ehcorn]

William had been waiting for him.

A glance at his wristwatch—golden faced with blackened hands and rare enough it'd cost half as much as the house he stood in—triggered raised eyebrows. Intriguing. The mortal wasn't late. Could it be a sign they'd listened to the entirety of his complaint this time?

He tugged on the sleeve of his charcoal grey suit jacket, returning it to its proper place over the face of his watch. Then, with as little preamble as the human had exercised, he opened the door and stepped back so he could examine the man meant to replace his most recently deceased assistant. He raised his chin and a slight though appreciative smile lifted his mouth briefly.

They had listened.

The Consort had sent him someone who'd show up when they were expected and didn't require a bag over their head to spare him looking at their face.

"Come in," William said, taking another step back and pulling the door with him to allow him entry. When the threshold had been crossed, William closed the door again and turned to Mick. He glanced at the helmet in his hand but said nothing of it. There were more important things to discuss. "What did they tell you about the job?"

[Trillian]

Mick didn't know what he expected but William wasn't it. He stared at the silver-haired man standing imperiously before him, giving him a quick once over, taking in his straight spine, his fitted grey suit, his perfectly shined shoes and his pale visage. He looked like a hard-ass. Mick made eye contact and revised his impression. He looked like an intense hard-ass.

Mick stepped in when invited to, looking for furniture with a flat surface to place his helmet. A side table, wall table, even a chair seat would do. Momentarily with nothing around him, he slid his gaze to Mr Fancy-Pants when he asked about Mick's knowledge.

"You need someone who keeps their mouth shut," he said, making eye contact with him again even though there was something unsettling about his fierce gaze. "I can do anything if it pays well, you know?"

[Ehcorn]

"Hm," said William. Beyond the acknowledgment that Mick had spoken, he remained silent. He held the human’s gaze, expecting that he’d flinch or look away like most others did when pinned by his stare, but when neither happened, interest sparked in William’s eyes.

Had they sent him a cat instead of a mouse this time, too?

He sent a gossamer strand of his awareness into the human’s mind, needing no more than that to wind past Mick’s immediate thoughts and deeper, into his grey matter. Outwardly, William remained unmoving, appearing more mannequin than man, but inwardly, he went through Mick’s memories like he might’ve moved through a library. He zipped from shelf to shelf, choosing books based on their spines, skimmed their table of contents, and if nothing was of interest, he’d return the book to its spot. The final step was important. He never made a mess of a human’s mind by accident.

It didn’t take him long to find what he’d wanted—a dozen of Mick's heartbeats had pushed blood through his body; ten, perhaps fifteen, seconds had passed.

A coffee shop. Leading questions. Untouched food. Luminous aquamarine. Unnatural pallor. He got his. I want mine.

William continued flipping through the pages, coming to understand that Mick had not only recognized the value of his relationship with his wealthy brother, he’d exploited it.

No, this one was not a mouse.

He shelved the book and extracted himself from Mick’s distant memories, but stopped short of leaving his mind entirely and cast a net to capture all his surface thoughts before he spoke next.

"Yes. You can no longer rely on a cash cow that has dried up, after all," he remarked. "Two years now since you’ve spoken with Ben, is it?"

[Trillian]

Mick visibly flinched. "The fuck?" he exploded. He sneered and pouted all at once before ripping his gaze away and glaring furiously at the closed front door.

Fucking Fancy-Pants had thrown that at him to see how he'd react. Shit. Had he failed? He returned to glare at the vampire looking shrewdly at him and gave a petulant reply. "That little bitch ran away from home and married money. I'm making my own way."

Only because he had to.

[Ehcorn]

Mick’s outburst hardened William’s face. The ocean blue of the vampire’s eyes grew darker. They were no longer the sun-kissed surface of the open sea, but the deepest depths, where dangling lights drew prey into gaping, tooth-filled maws.

"Mind your tone with me, boy," William bit out. "When I ask a question, you answer respectfully." There were several beats of silence, then he scoffed softly and shook his head.

They’d sent him a cat, yes. A feral one.

"Has it been two years since you last communicated with your brother?" he repeated, offering Mick a final opportunity to answer him in the manner he expected.

[Trillian]

His shock wore off quickly. He hadn't thought about Ben in over a year but it was still a fresh wound Fancy Pants had poked. Still, he didn't miss the tone and was wary of it. His old boss used to cut off fingertips when he adopted that tone. It was a reason Mick had started looking elsewhere, but if he was going to abandon that kind of boss then he'd needed to go to someone more powerful.

"Sorry," he said, the word of apology stilted on his lips. "It's been about two years, yes." With his response he had a strong urge to gripe some more about his fucking brother but he held his tongue. Fancy Pants wouldn't care about his family problems. Mick figured Ben had only come up because of that stupid fucking election that had his stupid fucking face everywhere. He knew campaigns cost a lot of money and his greedy fuck of a brother could've shared that wealth with him. It wasn't like he was hard up.

[Ehcorn]

While Mick’s mental voice retained its surly edge when he thought less-than-gracious things about his brother, he’d been able to speak out loud with the respectful tone William had insisted on. Surprisingly, he’d even made an effort to filter out irrelevant information from his answer. Mick was right: William didn’t care to hear about his familial woes beyond how it affected him and his business. He could ill afford to be pulled into the bubble of notoriety Ben Samson had created for himself after stirring up the prolétariat of the supernatural community with his talk of democracy, but he’d established that Mick’s relationship with his brother was unlikely to be repaired any time soon. He could put it out of his mind for now.

"Good," William said, inclining his head in lordly recognition of his subject’s ability to appease him. "Follow me." Without pausing to see if Mick did as instructed, he moved through the foyer, stopping short of crossing the line where tile transitioned to plush, cream-colored carpet. He nodded towards a nearby mounted coat rack with a long bench against the wall beneath it, both as minimalistic and modern as all the rest of the furniture and decorations in the house. "Remove your boots. You may hang your helmet and coat here."

While he waited, William clasped his hands behind him and turned to gaze at an abstract painting hung opposite of them, its swirls of grey and inky black giving a dreamlike impression of tumultuous waters churning against each other.

[Trillian]

Mick followed, his obedience to a superior easy enough when the requests made of him were not difficult. His self-preservation skills were high but so was his self-respect and at times the twain did not meet when he was challenged on a personal level. He could be defensive and a little bit aggressive, much like his brother, who showed these traits in different ways. And, like Ben, he could also control his emotions, thought unlike Ben, Mick was very much an emotional creature who made his decisions spontaneously based on how he felt at the time. Analysis only came afterwards, and only if things ended badly. A happy result for Mick was always 'worth it' in the end.

When given a place to leave his helmet, Mick hung his leather jacket up as well even though he'd intended to keep it on, but hesitated at his boots. They were good enough to walk in - the kind of motorcycle boot that also attracted those who worked in offices because they were presentable when worn beneath trouser suits. Mick selected them mostly because they were comfortable and he didn't have to change out of his shoes all the time.

Bending down, he unzipped and removed them, revealing his black socks. Who knew why Mr Fancy Pants wanted him in stockinged feet instead of in shoes? He'd screwed up his first impression already, he wasn't about to start second-guessing his potential new boss two seconds into being shown around. The guy might be a hard-ass, but he was saner than the last guy Mick had worked for.

So far.

[Ehcorn]

William turned from his painting when rustling and zipping and thunking ceased and all he could hear was the steady beat of Mick’s heart and the whisper of air entering and leaving his lungs. He was pleased his instructions had been followed without question or remark (out loud, at least), but the only sign William gave of his approval this time was to beckon Mick to follow him.

He maintained his silence as he led Mick through his home, pausing when he reached a door that he opened to reveal a wooden staircase that creaked its complaint as they made their way down. Once they reached the bottom, they were greeted by a long, brightly lit hallway with white walls and tiled floors. Every five paces was a steel door with fingerprint keypad access — twelve in total — but William didn’t stop until he’d reached the final door on the right.

As he pressed his thumb to the reader, he simultaneously extended his awareness to another set of locks in the door that didn't have an outside means to unlock them, triggering their release with a mental nudge.

"This is one of my extraction rooms," he told Mick as he ushered the human inside a moderately sized room that smelled strongly of cleaning solution.

If Mick had visited a phlebotomist recently, the general setup would be familiar to him. Along one wall was a counter with a working sink and above that, mounted shelves that were stocked with various medical supplies. In one corner there was a small refrigerator and a rolling stool pushed against it. At the very center of the room was a large chair capable of reclining with wide armrests and in that chair was a waifish young man no more than twenty, with shaggy brown hair and widened green eyes the color of fresh spring leaves. He’d been tied to the chair in multiple places with a magic rope similar to what the Ward used to subdue whomever they wanted when the mood struck. An IV jutted out from the inside of his elbow, and from that, a long tube fed blood into a clear bag hanging from the armrest.

When William moved to the chair and lifted the bag to check its progress, the earth nymph cringed away from him and leaned as far as his bindings allowed in Mick’s direction.

"Please, you have to help me," he hissed. "I’m not supposed to be here."

William paused and looked over his shoulder at Mick, a speculative glint in his eyes.

[Trillian]

As soon as they walked down the corridor past the metal doors, Mick knew right away what they were for. One door was a safe or storage room. Multiple doors were cells. Still, he didn't manage to put two and two together about why his new employer was called 'the Collector' until they stepped into the last room. Looking at the person in the chair hooked up like he was, there was a profound moment of understanding.

And then the victim looked at him and begged him to help.

Mick set his jaw, discomfort oozing into every one of his muscles, stiffening them and turning him into an awkward looking statue. He backed up on stick legs, angry at the other guy for making him feel bad about being unable to rescue him. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Fight the vampire? What a fucking noob.

"Then you shouldn't have got yourself caught like a little bitch," Mick spat at him. His gaze flicked next to Fancy Pants and he forced himself not to flinch away. He wasn't the victim here. He was in control. Well, out of the two mortals in the room, he preferred his position the most and he wasn't going to risk it for anyone. So what if they took some idiots out of the gene pool and bled them dry? It wasn't like vampires weren't doing this all the time anyway. This was just more... medical. Pushing down on the emotions that this room made him feel, Mick voiced a question.

"What do you need me to do?"

[Ehcorn]

In addition to watching Mick’s reaction, William listened to his thoughts, paying close attention to the emotions that colored them. The human's unease was a contemptable lizard that whirled and scurried around in Mick's mind in search of a place to hide, but when no shelter could be found, the lizard grew into a dragon and Mick breathed fire. William chuckled.

"Ah, well," he said when he turned to face the earth nymph again. He cowered from William, now fighting his bindings to burrow deeper into the chair. William hooked a long finger beneath the nymph's chin, causing him to whimper when the vampire forced him to look the long way up at him. "It appears my assistant is unmoved by your predicament. You will remain my guest for the time being."

He released the nymph's chin and returned his attention to the nearly full blood bag: the first he'd filled that night. His smile had faded, but some of the frostiness had melted from his voice when he finally responded to Mick's question, "There's a stack of empty bags on the shelf. Bring me another."

While he waited for his request to be fulfilled, William asked a question of his own.

"Is the motorcycle your only mode of transportation?"

[Trillian]

Mick's feet swished across the flat surface of the floor towards the shelves. He couldn't immediately see a stack of empty bags and the more seconds that ticked by, the more urgent the need to fulfill the request became. He could feel panic rising in his chest and threatening to swamp him. Relief flooded into him when he saw them, lower on the shelf than he'd expected. Grabbing one of them, he spun around just as he was asked about his motorcycle.

He nodded but it seemed appropriate to voice his response. "Yes." Mick walked the bag over to the Collector and paid attention to what was being done with it. Likely he was going to take over this stuff. He figured this was why he was being shown.

[Ehcorn]

"No, this isn’t for you to do," William said, not turning his attention from his task as he responded verbally to Mick’s thoughts. He crimped the feed line, disconnected the full bag, and replaced it with the new one at a rate a human would have trouble tracking.

When he straightened, his attention was inexorably drawn to the still-warm bag between his two hands and the sloshing crimson liquid within. His nostrils flared as he caught the unique woody tang of earth nymph blood in the air. The muscles in his jaw flared as he pushed aside the impulse to tear the bag open with his fangs and devour it all.

If he hadn’t fed earlier in the night, he suspected his internal battle would’ve lasted longer than the few seconds it took him to squash his urges and take the blood to the refrigerator instead. Once temptation had successfully been removed from his sight, he relaxed, but he made no effort to move any closer to the nymph at the center of the room, whose eyes had grown unfocused and fluttered shut.

"I need you most on the outside," he told Mick, clasping his hands in front of him. "He has to be returned home."

"Home? I get to go home?" The nymph’s head lolled towards William. "I swear," he slurred. "I swear I won’t tell nobody nothing."

"You won't," William agreed. "I will wipe your memory first."

"You’ll what?" 

William ignored him in favor of continuing where he’d left off with Mick. He raised an eyebrow at the human. "How would you achieve that without being seen?"

[Trillian]

"Why would I need to not be seen?" Mick asked, curious. "Wouldn't it be easier to come up with a cover story? Like I'm his dealer or something and we go somewhere and get high together? Could you put memories of that into his brain or are you only able to take 'em out?" he asked, somewhat intrigued but also unsettled at the idea that Fancy Pants could alter his reality. But hey, as long as he made it a good alternative reality, he could deal.