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Bloodkiss/Russian Vodka

"I understand." Damian replied, nodding carefully as he understood that he would be able to act fully like a human if only he gave it time, also that he would become stronger the longer he lived and would later have to feed less, in some way it reminded him of how children could be, eating often early but later sticking to three meals a day.
 
Ariya leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. "Is there anything specific you need to know?" Long fingernails tapped on the thick ebony armrest, the wood worn from years of the obvious habit.
 
"Not for now miss, I think I need to remember what I've been told before asking more." Damian shock his head lightly as he watched her, not really minding her tapping on the chair.
 
She cracked open one eye, glancing across at him. "If you need anything else, let me know. I'll be here." She continued to lightly tap her nails across the old chair's armrest, her slender fingers moving quickly. She didn't seem to notice her actions, the habit long-lived.
 
Damian nodded, watching her as he almost adored her. She was so much older and used to being a vampire than him as he wanted to become older too, wanted the experience and a better feel of life, as well as to be able to be himself.
 
"What's what?" Damian asked her back, noticing her as he then looked away. "Ohh, nothing." He muttered, trying to shrug if off yet secretly still admiring her.
 
She laughed. "What are you thinking about?" Her eyebrow was cocked in curiosity, a high blonde arch. "You're thinking about somethng...I can smell it..."
 
Damian heard her laugh as he watched her. "It's nothing, never mind it miss." He said, looking away from her now as he was hoping she wouldn't push it.
 
She smirked, flicking a strand of red-gold hair out of her eyes. "You aren't really one of my servants. Thee is no reason for you to adress me as 'miss'."
 
"You're still older than me, and I barely know you." Damian replied, feeling a smile on his face. "I'm only following courtesy, keeping my manners towards people." He closed his eyes, taking in the escent of the room as he knew that she knew more about him than he would probably ever know about her.
 
She shook her head, her grin widening. "I'm probably the oldest being alive, aside from my twin." She laughed, leaning back once more, tired and sore from the long evening.
 
"Then I'm glad I found you, knowing you have lots of experience." Damian kept his eyes closed as he listened to her, not really minding anything about her.
 
Cecilia opened the door, leaning inside and glancing around. She spotted Ariya and bowed slightly. "Do you need anything else, Mistress?" Ariya shook her head. "That's all, Cecilia. I can get myself into bed." Cecilia nodded, leaving and closing the door behind her. "G'night miss." "Good night, Cecilia."
 
Damian noticed Cecilia but didn't seem to mind the interuption as he sat there in silence, listening to them as he knew that they were probably rather close.
 
Ariya closed her eyes once more, massaging her temples. "I apologize, I've had an ache in my head all evening. I dislike gatherings." She moved her attention to her wrists, rubbing in small circles. "Thank you again for fixing the vases and the flowers." She paused, rubbing harder. "My hands are too tired to have rearranged anymore silly decorations."
 
"It was nothing." Damian told her, feeling himself smile a bit as he remembered it easily. "I would probably have done the same for anyone else." He added, hoping she wouldn't take it too bad.
 
Ariya smiled, glancing into the fire. "Well, I'm glad to have had your help." She leaned back in the chair, tapping her fingers across the wood in a steady rythm.
 
Damian watched her smile, and then looked at the fire too. "I'm happy to be of service." He replied, feeling a smile turn a bit bigger.
 
Damian looked away from her, hearing her question as he then thought hardly, only coming to something that might resemble to a normal answer. "I come from a small village, a few weeks travel from here." He told her, not remembering the name of the village.
 
She chuckled. "You're all mysteries, aren't you? No real answers. Not so much unlike myself. I don't like to remember things. I don't like letting the past follow me. Tell me, are you without answers by choice, or do you not even know yourself?"
 
"I know myself, but I only remember one thing clearly about my past and that is my sickness." Damian told her, not feeling it very funny as he looked away from her. "After I was turned, he left me alone in an alleyway, left me to die. It was only by my own luck that I managed to get inside where my family lived." He spoke in a slightly bitter and rather dark tone. "I survived there, sleeping through the day but at night, I had the worst fever you could possibly imagine. I could hardly open my mouth, yet they took care of me." His tone dropped to a whisper when he mentioned the fever. "I thought I was going to die from it, that I would not be able to survive and live like I had wanted to." He stopped there, wanting to let her comment on it or tell him something like he expected it.
 
She shook her head. "Did you have convulsions? Did you have moments where you could no longer remember where you were? Who, or what you were? Some people have painful turns, and some have no recollection of the slaughter they leave in their wake."
 
"At first, I only knew who I was, and who I had been. I did not understand what I had become, but the sickness was painful for me, leaving me drained from energy for several weeks before I could slowly begin walking about in my room." He told her as he then closed his eyes, having a painful flashback. "The only thing I remember before I left my family, was that I killed the servant girl who had been told to take care of me, I didn't know what went over me but I drank her blood, all of it." He told her, actually feeling deeply sorry for it. "She was a beautiful and innocent girl." He sobbed lightly, hiding his face from her. "She didn't deserve to die." His voice was down to the whisper again as he felt the tears run from his eyes, not wanting to remember it because it hurt him, more than anything else.
 
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