[The old Gautier manor has, supposedly, been abandoned for centuries. According to the legal documents they'd found, the great great great great etc grandson of the Unification War hero, Margrave Sylvain Gautier, still owned the land, but by all accounts, no one had actually lived there in a very long time.
Which, of course, makes it prime material for ghost hunting. Ancient castle where an equally ancient noble family tracing back to before the creation of the Unified Fodlan lived for countless generations? Too easy.
Still, their process involves Claude doing some reconnaissance, so that's what he's here for. Bundled up in the warmest winter coat he has, because damn it's fucking cold up north, he engages in a teensy bit of unlawful entry. Not like a place like this is gonna have a security system set up, so as long as he's careful, no one will be the wiser. If it's promising, Hilda will start going through the legal motions of getting permission to film there.
For now, it's just Claude sneaking in on his own, his motorcycle parked in some trees a few hundred feet away from the grounds, armed only with his cell phone, a flashlight, and a multi-tool. He makes it in easily enough, rubbing his gloved hands together in front of his face and blowing hot air into them to try and warm his cold nose and cheeks. It's slightly warmer inside, out of the wind chill, but even if it did have central heating retrofitted at some point, it's certainly not running.
He sweeps his flashlight over the room he's entered via a window-- it looks to be a study. He's immediately drawn to a bookshelf, but sadly whatever ancient tomes it once held have been transported elsewhere. Hopefully somewhere less-- dusty. There's a lovely looking chess set too, but oddly enough, it's not set in a starting position. Like it was abandoned mid-game. Lips quirking into a smile, he reads the board; he's pretty sure he can see the gambit White was going for, and on an impulse, he moves the next piece for it, disturbing the dust.
Another cursory sweep of the study and he moves out into the hall. It's got that old, abandoned ruins feeling in spades, that's for sure.]
[Sylvain never considered himself a nostalgic man, within his normal lifespan. As the centuries passed and the times began to change, he had to slowly come to terms with the fact that he was destined to be sentimental for old things. His old family manor is one of them, to his constant chagrin. It isn't as if he has many positive memories of the place, but everywhere else he's been and loved is long gone. Garreg Mach didn't survive the drastic changes in religion or technology, and it wasn't as if he had a claim to the lands anyway.
A little sleight of hand was all it took to keep Gautier lands under the Gautier name. He doesn't spend all his time here- not exactly conducive to finding meals after all- but he has apartments set up in the basement that he keeps un-dusty and liveable. Away from the sun, and away from prying eyes.
Generally, knowledge that the land is owned and rumors of hauntings is enough to keep people away, but once in awhile some chucklefuck takes it upon themselves to break in. It's been awhile since his last guest, so Sylvain is surprised to hear the soft footfalls from the upstairs bedrooms. Time to pay a visit.
Under cloak of night, he slips into the form of a bat and watches through the window as the figure approaches the chess set. The beam of light messes with his night-vision, but there's something so uncannily familiar it makes his unbeating heart ache. He feels it actually throb in his chest when one of the pieces moves, hovering in close to the window to try to see. Is it?
His back, leaving the room, walking just like-
Hopes too high for comfort, Sylvain slips around a shortcut, moving like a shadow. He attaches himself to the ceiling down a hallway the man is approaching, folded arms over his chest, and waits.]
[Given the nature of his job, Claude has seen a lot of creepy shit. And normally he's the one doing the jumpscares, but that doesn't mean he's never been on the other end of one. But he takes pride in the fact that their audience has a running tally of the times Claude has been visibly scared or startled on camera throughout all their videos, because it happens so infrequently.
That all said, nothing could have possibly prepared him for turning a corner, sweeping his flashlight down the hall, and seeing a whole-ass man hanging upside down from the ceiling. He shouts, stumbling backwards and falling on his ass, the flashlight falling out of his hand. Cursing, he scrambles for it, heart beating a mile a minute. What the actual fuck? Did someone know he was coming here tonight and set up a-- weird prank or something??] The fuck was that?
[Sylvain times it perfectly, peeking one eye open just as the light shines on him so that his predatory reflective eyes shine right back at- Claude.
It is him.
It's a lucky thing that Claude is already on his ass because Sylvain is reeling himself as he slips back into the shadows. Is he seeing a ghost? Is he being haunted for his failures? He seems rather solid, though. He can sense the heartbeat and the body heat coming off of him. He can feel the way that heartbeat increases, and a primal part of his brain growls.
He slips around behind Claude, silent as you please.]
You're in my house, Claude. The fuck do you think I am?
[Finally Claude's hand closes over the rolling flashlight, and he whips it back up towards where the body had been-- but it's gone now. He gets to his feet, every instinct saying to get the fuck out of there, because it's not worth it.
Then a voice comes from behind him and he whips around, taking a few steps back. The stranger knows his name--
Actually, that gives Claude pause, his mind returning to the prank idea. He kept his flashlight beam on the stranger, a grin on his face but his eyes wary.] ...Alright, you got me. Very funny. Did Hilda hire you for this? How'd you get that reflective effect, some sort of contact lens?
[The name comes out before Sylvain can stop himself. Hilda is here too? Somehow? He wonders if he's having a nightmare, but he hasn't dreamt since he Turned.]
No, she didn't. It's me, Claude.
[He slowly turns his head, looking almost at the wall next to Claude instead of at the man himself, his eyes slowly squinting.]
[That... is not a reaction he'd anticipated. The man is acting like Claude should know him.
He lowers the flashlight beam so it's not directly in the man's face, now that he's slightly less concerned he might attack him or something. Maybe he's a fan he met at an event once or... something?]
Well... I feel like an asshole for it but I can't say I remember you.
[This feeling... this must be what it feels like when a Hunter puts a stake through your heart.]
But you... the chess board... I thought...
[He starts and stops, faltering, gesturing helplessly as he does so. At last he stops, presses his hands together, and inhales deeply. Not that he needs to, but it helps anyway.]
You look exactly like someone I used to know. And you, apparently, share his name.
[He pauses a moment, assessing the pros and cons, before turning and beckoning Claude to follow.]
The chess board? [That thing looked like it hadn't been touched in centuries-- it had just been a weird whim, making what he thought the next move would be on it.
He watched warily as the strange man seemed to flounder, then collect himself. His "excuse" of knowing someone who looks just like him and has the same name falls extremely flat. Yeah, Claude's still pretty well-convinced this is some elaborate prank or-- or something. He's just entirely uncertain what the purpose of it is.
Does this guy really just expect him to follow him?]
Okay, hold on just a minute there, dude, I don't even know your name. I know I'm trespassing and all, but I'm not the one hanging from the ceiling and-- and sneaking up behind people in the dark and shit. How do I know you're not leading me into your secret murder lair?
[It's a good thing Sylvain is looking away and Claude can't see the face journey he goes on. His voice is a little darker, a little less reserved when he speaks, though. He sighs and starts to turn back around.]
You're not going to believe anything I say. I'm going to need to show you proof to even begin to convince you of the truth.
[He does chuckle lightly at the joke. More true than Claude realizes.]
My name is Sylvain Jose Gautier. This is my house. It has been for the last millennium, since my father, the last Margrave, died.
[Yeah... he should have expected that. Sylvain sighs and rubs at his face, turning back to fully face Claude, crossing his arms. He always was a skeptic, this man.]
I'm a vampire.
[Might as well just out with it. Claude won't believe him, but it's even more pointless to be coy about it.]
And Hilda didn't put me up to anything. This is my house. I can show you the deed.
Riiight... [Wow, he's really sticking to this, isn't he? Either he's extremely dedicated to the act or he's... actually delusional, which would make Claude feel like a grade-A asshole. Claude likes to think he has good instincts, and they're definitely not reading danger, despite all the glaringly obvious red flags.]
Okay, you can't just drop "I'm a vampire" and then go on about deed ownership like that's the thing most needing the burden of proof.
[He pulls up the camera on his phone as he speaks, with the intent to take a picture to send to Hilda; the lighting is crap, but Sylvain is definitely visible in his flashlight beam. Only, when he checks the picture he'd just taken, it's like he's just pointing the flashlight down an empty hallway.
[A thousand years ago, Sylvain found Claude's constant skepticism charming. Now? It's seriously making him frustrated. Looks like some things never change, even through lifetimes.
Though he does give a little smirk at the expression Claude is giving his phone after attempting to take a picture. He steps into the man's space, peering down at the phone.]
Oh, is something wrong? Was it a bad snap? [He grins, showing fangs.] vampires don't show up in mirrors or pictures.
[He's not sure if it's because he's so baffled and distracted by his phone, or because Sylvain moves absolutely silently, but he doesn't even notice him moving in to his space until he's there. Claude tenses, instinctively taking a step away, his heart rate once more picking up speed.
Okay, a moment ago he would have immediately dismissed those fangs as obviously being a costume piece but-- how the fuck would you fake the phone thing?]
I'm surprised a supposedly millennium-old vampire knows what a cellphone is. [Fuck, okay, his voice came out at a slightly higher pitch than he would have preferred.]
[Sylvain shouldn't have stepped in so close. He can hear the way Claude's heart starts to race clear as day. He can smell the blood in his veins and it stirs something in him.
He tries to remember the last time he fed. Shit. Sylvain squeezes his eyes shut to force his pupils to behave normally.]
I live in a basement, not under a rock. What do you think I've been doing for a thousand years? How do you think I find prey? Not by waiting for hooligans to break into my house, I'll have you know.
[Despite the creeping fear, he can't help a snort of amusement at someone who at least looks to be his age unironically using the word "hooligans".]
No offense, but I think I'm gonna need a bit more proof before I start rearranging my whole worldview due to vampires apparently being a real thing that exists.
Sylvain sighs, giving a shrug, and rolling his neck until the bones crack.]
Fine, since you insist.
[He gives his little arms a shake, and catches Claude's gaze with his eyes. Something about them seems to change, a sort of golden glow coming from within the honey-brown pupils. His charm seeps into victims through the eyes, and he makes sure he keeps Claude's attention, by reaching out and holding him gently by the chin.
He can feel his influence taking a hold of Claude's mind, wrapping it in a red haze. Even his voice sounds slightly different when he speaks, or perhaps that's just Claude's perception.]
Turn around, walk five steps, and turn back. Face me, pat your head and rub your belly at the same time.
[There's something very unworldly about Sylvain's gaze when it catches his, something that leaves him feeling like, even if he wanted to, he couldn't look away. He especially can't when Sylvain grabs him by the chin, his instincts screaming at him to look away, to at least step back, but-- he can't.
And suddenly it's like this is all there is in the whole world, just Sylvain's eyes and his voice and what he wants Claude to do. And Claude wants to do as Sylvain asks, because why would he ever want to do anything but? He can't even think to question it, he just does it. He turns around, walks five steps, then turns back towards Sylvain and does the ridiculous gestures without thought.]
[No matter how many times Sylvain does it, it's a thrill. Getting someone under his thrall, unable to resist, unable to fight. It scares him, it always has, and he hates himself for it, but it feels so good to do it. Like chasing women who will never love him, but ten times better.
Somehow, doing it to Claude, is both better and worse. He chuckles lightly at the stupid pose, taking some small enjoyment from the prank.]
Alright, that's enough.
[He beckons Claude back with a finger until he's standing a comfortable speaking distance away. Then lifts his hand and snaps, removing the trance and returning Claude's free will.]
[Claude drifts back into reach when beckoned, suddenly breathlessly aching for Sylvain's touch.
Then he snaps and Claude's own thoughts slam back into his head with the weight and speed of a freight truck, a flush belatedly rising to his cheeks as he realizes just what Sylvain made him do.
It's definitely not often that he's shocked speechless, but surely it's understandable in these circumstances. That wasn't magic, and it wasn't some strange Crest ability-- it was something else. He swallows roughly, taking a step back.
Well, at least Sylvain didn't make him really do anything, just... embarrass himself a little. But he could, and that makes Claude avoid his gaze for the time being.]
Alright. That's-- pretty solid proof. [Holy shit vampires are real.] You... said you wanted to show me something? [After all, if Sylvain wanted to force him to go along, or wanted to kill him or whatever, he certainly could right here and now. Might as well play along.]
[It hurts, to release the thrall. For one brief moment there's a look in Claude's eyes that Sylvain recognizes, and knows he let go to waste. Let slip away.
But no, this isn't that Claude. He remembers that acutely as the charm fades and Claude is left confused, and upset. Sylvain suddenly feels conflicted.]
I did, yeah. Maybe that would be too much to dump on you all at once.
[But he really, really does not want Claude to leave. No matter how painful it is to be looked at like a stranger, it's worse being alone.]
[As unnerving as all of-- that was, something's Off with Sylvain now. He'd been so determined to shove all of his proof in Claude's face just a moment ago. There's a strange urge to reassure him, but Claude leans more on his own curiosity instead.
If vampires are real, after all, and Sylvain is telling the truth about who he is and how long he's been around... there are so many questions to be asked.]
So... I gotta ask. Do you drain people entirely when you drink from them? Or is it like donating blood?
[Nerves and guilt aside, that reaction draws a huff of laughter from him. A crooked smile plays onto his face and Sylvain seems to be looking at something nobody else can see. He should have expected that.]
Of course you are.
[His expression is strangely soft, just for a moment, before he looks away.] Fine, follow me.
[And leads Claude toward what appears to be an extremely locked door as he answers.]
I only drain them entirely if I want to kill them. Which isn't often because that's a really easy way to get caught, not to mention pointlessly brutal.
Page 1 of 3