Chapter Text
Scott wished waking up naked on the floor wasn't a feeling he recognised, but well, he would have missed out on some great nights, had he been above this. Scott hadn't become immortal to then squander his life away, bored. Oh he could do without the headache or the cold, gods knows he hated the cold. But it seems that last night him hadn't been considerate enough to wrap him in some layers. Not that it surprised Scott, after the hellweek of two of his boytoys walking out on him like he meant nothing?? He had done worse things after a mild inconvience than party and get blackout drunk. God, he wasn't supposed to get hangover, but his head was killing him.
He frowned.
No, that wasn't right. That had been the plan, to go crazy and find new company, but his usual haunts.. had proved lacking. Oh he loved the buzz and excitement. He had enjoyed dancing, drinking, having someone obsess over him. He had felt great. Like the night could go on for eternity. Who cares that he had been broken up with? That his best friends didn't care enough and still kicked him out for their date night? This was where he was meant to be. Surrounded and loved.
Then he spotted it, a face long dead, one he created and hated, and suddenly the walls had been caving in on him, and there was no space, everybody touching and pushing, grabbing, dancing. No space, no space, suffocating warmth, hands on his shoulders, someone grabbing him, they were talking, laughing, leaning in. Arms over his back. He pushed.
Not his finest moment, fleeing outside. Oh he knew that the Scott of 200 years ago would have been laughing at him now, wondering how he could have let himself so weak. In truth, he still thought himself weak for it. Nevermind what his sire would have said. Scott shuddered as cold wrapped around his hands. He was supposed to be better than this, he knew, he knew. Weakness wasn't acceptable, he knew. Better not let anyone find out, it would get worse-
He forced his thoughts away.
He had been alone, or well. As alone as he would get, considering Abolish hadn't left him alone all week. He remembered that well. After the suffocating air of the bar, he had fled to the most desolate places he knew of, somewhere sane people would stay clear off, scared of what hid in the dark. Scott, long acquinted with what dwelled in the shadows, had been comforted by it instead. Just him, the rats, and the loud footsteps of Abolish. He noted how the other made them louder, announcing himself, probably as something borne out of consideration, after his earlier panic. Scott hated it, he wanted to snarl at the perceived pity. Instead he plastered a smile on his face, took a moment to elegantly turn around, making sure his hair flowed dramatically as he took a self assured stance to look into the familiar.. Blue eyes? Blue- not Brown- not Abo-.
He hissed, remembering the cold metal pressed against his brow. The hate filled eyes, the smug face. But above all, the deafening crack of his skull, the pain piercing through his brains.
Scott curled into himself, something he normally never did, but here, in his isolation, he allowed himself the moment of weakness as he reflected. He had gotten complacent. He had noticed the difference in the footsteps. He had dismissed it so easily. Now he was here, in this.. damp room. Damp and cold, sure to would have make him ill if he hadn't been a vampire. Cold and chained up, silver wrapping around his arms and melting the flesh away. The burning of it making the cold worse, or that might have been the bloodloss, as his body tried to heal itself and make it worse by extent.
Why was he here? A random act of violence, while unfortunate, wouldn't have been out of the ordinary, considering where he had been walking. Scott knew he still walked and talked like a noble, and it was a universal truth that he looked mighty fine, even at his worst, so that he would be targetted was not something incomprehensible. But it should have just been that. His body left in the alley, probably robbed. Who took a corpse with them? Had it not been for the damned silver chains binding him down, weakening him, ruining his arms, he would have thought it maybe a cannibal, or something sicker.
With the silver chains? Well.. Whoever did this, they definitely knew he was a vampire. A quick slide with his tongue revealed his teeth were still intact, so his kidnapper believed him to be harmless, or couldn't stomach pulling someone's teeth, even if they would regrow. He could work with that.
He started moving his limbs, carefully stretching them as he searched for damage. Aside from his arms, where the silver was wrapped, and stomach, where they had rested, only his head, expected and throat, less expected, hurt. He was hungry, which was less then ideal, and had no food, in fact, he had nothing. Scott hoped that whoever brought him here, had the decency to have stored his clothes somewhere safe. Those were designer! And of a line long since discontinued! What even was the point of taking his clothes? It was not like he would be able to strangle himself with them?! Ugh, stupid kidnappers and their stupid vile choices.
The noble settled himself more comfortably against the wall, staring at the door. A solid metal door, because of course. He would bet his fortune that it was some silver alloy, just to spite him. As if that wasn't bad enough, he could feel the damp condensing, causing droplets to roll over the back of his neck, making him shiver.
He sighed loudly, making his displeasure known the world, or at least, to himself and the room. The waiting was always the worst in these situations. If people found it so necessary to kidnap him, which he personally still found incredibly rude, then they should atleast have the decency of not making him wait. But no. He spent hours staring at the door, walking around the room, testing the door, which in fact, was a silver alloy. Sitting down again, sighing dramatically, and repeat. Once upon a time, people had known that getting Scott Goldsmith bored was a.. dangerous choice. He wished it were still those times. He remembered times in perceived captivity, where he still got a book or some sort of entertainment, just because they were scared of what he would do without it.
Those times were over. Though this made him consider if Abolish would accept it if he went back to his old ways for a day, as a treat. Oh, Shelby would scold him for sure, his fledgling had always been so sensitive about this. And drift would give him that silent, disappointed look. She had perfected it over the last centuries, making it go straight to his heart. A smile found its way onto his face, as he thought of them. He closed his eyes, as he imagined the faces of Drift and Shelby, smiling at him as they walked through a market. Shelby talking to him about some book or interest she had been obsessed with that week. Drift's solving a murder mystery and her subsequent rant about all the inaccuracies of it. He remembered Avid's face, laughing as he started the fire. Pyro's smile as he held them, and they put their warm hands on his face.
As he opened his eyes again, he was still there. Standing, watching. Not the first time he was haunted. The ghost stared, smug, at his curled form, zeroing on the chains. They looked different, Scott noted, not the white hair and red eyes he got used to, but more akin to how they used to look. Brown hair, intelligent, curious blue eyes.. blue eyes?
He sat up, forcing his body into a more dignified position despite the restraints, and smiled pleasantly at his old fledgling.
"Long time no see, Pyro."
-
Scott stared at the mirror, showing the reflection of two dead men. One who would be unchanged forever , and one barely recognisable, if not for those hate filled eyes, which should have haunted his nightmares. They didn't, and there were times he felt guilty about that. Knowing that he was the cause of the scholar's spiral, yet unable to actually feel the guilt.
Now was not on of those times. Not with their, unclawed, hand in his hair, his own bound to the sink before him. Pyro had been silent, and what he planned to do here, in this room with only a water filled sink and mirror, Scott had no idea. But he recognised that they felt confident, and that set the noble on edge more than anything else. He would not show that though. He had kept his demure smile, something they both knew to be an act, but it masked his true thoughts regardless. Something the scholar could learn from.
"You must have been quite happy, when they started making mirrors without the silver backing."
"You know me so well." Scott rolled his eyes, the comment so obvious that he wondered why the other bothered wasting air to say it.
"Hard not to, when you constantly lamented about how you couldn't see yourself." With that, the scholar leaned in, the warm breath against his making it flick, the only break in the noble's well composed expression. "Always so obsessed with yourself."
"You say that, but I am not the one whose obsession with me followed me after death." Scott smirked, aware he was playing a dangerous game by pushing back. Though when Pyro started laughing, apprehension curled around his spine, making him stiffen.
"I cannot wait to ruin you, as you did to me, Goldsmith."
The hope that this was an empty threat shattered alongside the mirror as Pyro slammed his face into it, keeping it pressed there. He hissed as he felt the broken bits of glass biting into his skin, getting pushed further in as Pyro leaned closer, carressing the skin left unscathed with a faux gentleness.
"That's much better."
He forced a straight face as his face was pulled away from the broken mirror, forcing him to lean into Pyro as the brunette tipped the vampire's chin up to assess the damage. The damned smug smile widened as the other saw the pieces stuck in pale skin, bleeding lazily. Scott watched him focus on one fragment in particular, which had lodged into his eyebrow and tried to turn his face away as he saw the other's dirty hand reaching for it.
"Uh uh, you were behaving so well, Goldsmith, don't start fussing now."
"Did you really think I would let your dirty paws touch me without any complaint?" He looked offended at the other, putting his full rich persona in the judgemental look between the scholar's hands and face.
"My apologies, how could I think such a thing." Pyro pressed closer to keep the vampire in his grip, dipping his hands in the water before grabbing Scott's face, making him wince as he felt the familiar burn of holy water dripping down his face and neck.
"Is this better, my lord?" the scholar asked with mocking sweetness at which he hissed, "Much, you have my thanks, dear."
Had he been a lesser man, he would have kicked and struggled in the scholar's hold as they reached with their other hand for the glass shard in his eyebrow, but he was a Goldsmith, goddamnit. Not just any Goldsmith, the last Goldsmith. So when Pyro pushed on it, he smiled, despite the blooming pain. When the glass was dragged from his brow, through the eyelid and over his cheek? He. Smiled. Gods, it hurt. Gods he hated the scholar. Scott knew what they were doing of course. Giving them matching scars. He still smiled. He hated it. He didn't want to look like them, broken and pathetic. No better than a dog. He kept smiling, kept all his feelings off his face as he had long been taught. Better that they don't know what bothers you.
If Pyro thought he could reduce the one and only Scott Goldsmith to tears? Oh they could try. He would have his fun ripping them up. Satisfaction bloomed as he saw the scowl the scholar wore.
"Did you really think this would bother me, dear? This is nothing." He taunted, a laugh interwoven in his voice. The words landed with the intended effect, evidenced by Pyro tightening his hold.
"I'd hoped so."
With that, they pushed the vampire's head into the holy water. Scott wanted to laugh, Pyro should know that drowning a creature like him was a futile effort, even if it was just for the dramatics of recreating the scene. But it burned. He wanted to scream. He felt it stinging in the already existing wounds, melting away the edges, the skin, the nerves and he refused to scream. It had been a long time since he had felt the weakness and burn associated with holy water. He would have loved it to be longer as he felt his damaged eye start to melt.
The vampire started trashing, nothing like the proper noble he should have been, deciding he didn't care as agony drowned out every thought. He tried elbowing Pyro in his ribs to get them off of him, his movements limited by the chains. He thought he heard the other laugh. He wasn't sure. He couldn't see, only felt pain. Pain, pain and the laugh above him. And he laughed too, holy water forcing its way into his mouth and throat and lungs. For he knew the scholar's game.
He remembered the lake, so when he felt the other's teeth on his throat, blunt, not sharp like his own had been, he wasn't surprised. Scott Goldsmith was not a weak scholar though, not some prey to slaughter. He refused to be weak. He was a vampire first, noble second and that showed as he forced his body out of Pyro's hold, breaking skin and muscles to escape, the flesh and tendons of his arms stretching too far, as he turned and twisted and kicked, forcing Pyro back.
Had he not been dizzy with pain, he probably would have thought of the teeth in his neck, which left gaping wounds as the skin tore between the two forces. But he was, and as he could breathe again, he didn't even feel the pain, only the relief of cold air on his face.
The scholar didn't let him have that though, and tackled him to the ground with a rage filled scream, biting more and more chunks out of his throat. Scott tried to push him away, hated the feeling of being so helpless, his arms still chained and pulled out of their sockets by the fall, skin flayed by his earlier panic. He refused to give up though. Him? The last Goldsmith brought down by someone so pathetic? No, he refused. He had pride still goddamnit.
But the wounds, holy water and hunger were pulling his limbs down, made his regeneration slow, kept his body forced to the ground, no matter how he tried to move and fight. By the time the noble could see again, there was nothing left of his throat, holy water and air escaping without constraint. His whole body was burning, but his face, his face was agony, not a single patch of it wasn't screaming. Not even his fresh healed eyes. And all for nothing, as all he could see was Pyro leaning over him, with a bloodied smile, admiring his work.
For a moment, all Scott saw was the blood red moon over a lake. His own face leaning over him. Then nothing.