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[dermondversteckt]

((Kronid Dascalu - Progenitor Vampire - Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay over 18 (appears 31) - Absolute Bastard Ratman and Traveling Musician))

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Colombia, 1952

[sandinmyhair]

The village in the mountains near Medellín was nearly impossible to find--that is until the odd seismic event that carved a pass in the mountains. Now it was merely extremely difficult to find. But find it one could.

And if one found it, say, at night, one would find a vibrant little community that filled its streets with lamps because they aren't going to let something so prosaic as sundown put a damper on enjoying one another's company. Indeed, music and laughter wafted by on the sultry night air long after dark. It was bright and loud, and the brightest and loudest of the whole place was the giant house that stood atop a hill, overlooking the village like a medieval castle would have done centuries ago.

The village shimmered with an odd kind of magic that tickled the senses, and that sensation only grew stronger the closer one got to that house. It drew one in, the varied colours of its energies somehow weaving into a cohesive and almost mesmerising tapestry. Here was blue, a strong undercurrent, with red and orange and yellow dancing through it, blooms of purple, curls of teal, and a sinuous line of green. It was inviting, it was new, and it was powerful.

Anyone would want to explore it more closely.

[dermondversteckt]

The Stranger currently approaching said house has seen a little bit of everything. This isn't his first remote village, and it's further still from his first markedly unusual house in such a place. No, he's been around long enough to see a little bit of it all, every color one could imagine...though the colors of magic are unusual, a bright spot in the dark.

So far, he likes this village. It's friendly, to be sure, but more than that, people are chatty once they deem you a friend, or someone in need of help and pity. He had heard all about the family in the big house, yes. Magical powers. Interesting. Cute, even.

He is a grimy, scrawny thing, the satchel on his back worn and patched and worn again. Dark curls tumble messily into his face, framing bright gray-blue eyes set in a pale but handsome face. As he walks, one hand plays with the string of drilled coins around his neck, jangling them about with long-nailed, dirt-caked fingers. The clinking is incessant, steady, ringing around him in a chaotic little beat.

It's true, he does want to explore it more closely - but he can't very well go in uninvited.

So instead he sits on the ground not far from the front door, letting his satchel clatter from his shoulders and into the dirt. He pulls from it a pan flute, winding long legs beneath him as he settles to play.

The melody is haunting, alluring.

He wonders who it will snare first.

[sandinmyhair]

It's not very long before the door is opened by a small fellow, looking behind himself at first.

"...find out what's got Dolores knocked out like that. I'll be right back, don't worry."

Then he turns and sees their visitor. Curiosity writ in his expression he steps forward, the door swinging shut behind him.

"That tune...." His brows twitch together in confusion. "It's... is that what's doing this?"

Oh, now this is interesting. This little fellow has brought that green energy with him. It twines around him, feeds lazily on him, dances behind his eyes. There's a wariness to his gaze, though.

"Who are you?"

[dermondversteckt]

Well, that was easy.

Pulling the flute away from his lips, he looks up from the ground at the man who approaches - one he recognizes from the mural in town. One of the family. The colors mean less to him than the crackle, the imperceptible hum of magic that clings about him like a mantle of cobweb.

He'll do. The reedy man makes a show of flinching, of looking pitiful, hungry.

That much is true, anyway.

"Just a traveler," he chuckles, casual, smile a little tight lipped and accent far, far away. "I'm so sorry for the intrusion. The town spoke of this place and I wanted to get a look for myself."

His long, grimy nails drum on the flat of the flute. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.

"And I certainly didn't mean to overhear, but - is everything all right?"

[sandinmyhair]

He should ask how this stranger even got here to begin with. When's the last time someone from outside had even found this village? He should ask how he's doing that with mere sound....

Sound. That thought shakes Bruno back to the here and now. A kind of screen covers his thoughts--well-practiced, timeworn.

"It's fine. Everything's fine. We were all just curious." He shrugs. "It isn't every day we get a stranger here, much less one content to sit outside our door and play music." He seems a little amused, a little self-conscious.

[dermondversteckt]

Please. He's not stupid. Murmuring about someone being knocked out, the town talking about a girl who could hear for miles...and of course, the song he had been playing wasn't purposeless.

But he'll play along. It worked, after all. This man is guarded, he can tell, and it's not going to be as simple as the average human. But then perhaps that's why he's here, hm? A challenge? Otherwise he could have picked off a different villager.

Excess of time leads to boredom.

"Oh, well... it's just what I do. I travel by nights, and your home, it seems to...glow, somehow. I suppose it seemed a friendly place to sit for a time, but perhaps that was thoughtless of me. I am far from home."

He sticks out a hand, would-be friendly.

"My name is Kronid. Wandering musician."

[sandinmyhair]

Bruno hesitates, wavering, his gaze darting for a moment. Something about this stranger's voice draws him in. And the more it draws him in the more he knows he should fight it. And the more he fights it, the more it pulls at his consciousness.

Besides, he seems polite. And Bruno's the last person who's got a leg to stand on to criticise anyone's state of cleanliness. He may be washed and brushed now, but those ten years were pretty filthy.

"No, no, it's... it's okay." He looks back at the door. "Maybe you'd like to come in? Tell us your story. We have plenty of food, I mean, you look a bit hungry, is all. I'm Bruno, by the way." He takes Kronid's hand and shakes it firmly enough, though his hand is bony.

He's relatively intelligent, this Bruno, but his attempts at guile fall very short, as this is a pretty obvious attempt to get this visitor inside the house, where he'd be at a disadvantage.

[dermondversteckt]

Perhaps it is an obvious thing, this play to get him into the house. But there is a truth here, a fact that Bruno doesn't know but Kronid had been counting on.

The fact that a vampire needs to be invited in.

The hand in Bruno's grip is cold, as cold as the shallow grave he had clawed his way out of at nightfall. "I'm pleased to meet you, Bruno. And I would gladly accept that invitation. I hope it isn't too late for you and yours, mind, but I would be glad of the hospitality."

Not that he can eat human food. But he has answers for that.

[sandinmyhair]

It's so cold.... Immediately Bruno's wary look turns worried. He rubs his hand over Kronid's, as though his own scant warmth would help at all. "No, it's not late. You're freezing--come in."

He releases his grip and turns, pushing the door open again. "Let's get you warm, yeah?"

[dermondversteckt]

Hook, line, sinker.

Kronid smiles another frail, tight-lipped smile as Bruno rubs at his hand. Not flinching away from the grime, at least. A kind man.

As he rises to his feet, hauling up his satchel to follow, he shakes his head a little.

"Oh, it's - I have a circulation problem. I'm always cold, even in this weather, if you can believe it." His fingers find his necklace again. Clink clink clink. Repetition to put Bruno at ease. To find a crack in that wall up in his mind.

"But you're very kind. I get met with a lot of suspicion, looking like I do, but all I'm trying to do is get by. My homeland is very, very far from here."

[sandinmyhair]

The repeated sounds do make their way under Bruno's defences, but what really worms its way in is those words. He looks back at Kronid, a sad look flashing across this face. But while Bruno is taken in by these words and sounds, the house becomes... restless. The tiles shiver beneath their feet.

Bruno looks down at them. "It's okay, Casita," he says. "Just a stranger."

The house doesn't seem much calmer, though.

A voice can be heard: "Bruno, did you find out what was going on?" A slim red-haired woman in a yellow and orange dress steps into view. Her eyes narrow slightly, even more suspiciously than Bruno's had done. "Who's this?"

"Just a traveler, Pepa," he answers. "He's cold and hungry."

A beat, then her expression softens a bit. "Bringing in stray people, now?" She looks at Kronid. "I'm Pepa."

[dermondversteckt]

The sympathy card seems effective with this man, Kronid notices. Good to know. Perhaps his blood will be just as sweet -

But the thoughts are interrupted briefly by the rattle of tile. Kronid looks down, then up at the walls, eyebrows furrowing. Interesting. He has heard rumors of this place being alive, of the house itself caring for the family within...but those he had taken with a grain of salt.

The rumors had been right. And now here he is, a sickly dark crimson smudge on this colorful tapestry.

When the woman approaches, Kronos lets Bruno explain first while he tries to use the ambient sounds to map the immediate area with his mind. Strange. It feels...flexible.

But he pulls himself from his examination to bow a little to the woman. "Kronid. Charmed, I'm certain. This ratty old stray is sorry for intruding."

[sandinmyhair]

"Oh, he's polite," she says, smiling slightly. "But we'd better get him into the kitchen before Mamá finds out. This way."

They lead him further into the house, even though the very walls seem to lean in slightly, watchful.

"Too bad Juli's asleep already," Pepa says. "Between the two of us, we might get some tea going, if we're lucky."

"How's Dolores?" Bruno asks softly.

"Out like a light. She seems okay, just... sleeping really hard." A small cloud forms over Pepa's head. "She's all tucked in and has half a dozen night-birds watching her." She makes a frustrated sound and waves the cloud away. "So I'm not going to worry."

"Let yourself worry, Pepa," Bruno answers, sounding as though it's something he's said a million times.

"Fretting's not going to do anything useful, though," she counters.

The kitchen is still brightly lit and she makes her way to the cookfire, locating the kettle and filling it with water. "Sit, you two."

[dermondversteckt]

Once he's passed Pepa's apparent assessment, Kronid is content to follow along, eyes flicking this way and that so as not to stare in any one place for too long while he listens in. Dolores must be the one with the enhanced hearing...and perhaps this is the girl's mother. He doesn't smile, looking towards her and Bruno with his most concerned expression.

The house is watching, too, after all.

"I don't mean to pry, but - is there someone unwell that needs tending to? Don't let me take you away from important family matters."

Even matters that he's responsible for, he thinks, sinking into a seat at the table and drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

[sandinmyhair]

"No, no, it's fine," Pepa replies, her cheer sounding a little forced, the cloud reappearing and drizzling a mist of rain. She pauses, taking a deep breath. "Really, Dolores seems to be okay. And in the morning when Juli wakes up, she'll fix it, I'm sure." Her tone made it clear she brooked no disobedience from, well, reality. As though she could bend physics to her will with no more than pointed words.

Bruno shakes his head, then looks at their erstwhile guest. "She hasn't been sick a day in her life--" here he breaks himself off, lightly rapping his knuckles on the table and then on his head with an odd little 'knock on wood' patter. Then he continues, "But I'm sure Julieta can do something. We trust her remedies."

It's common knowledge in the village that Julieta Madrigal heals their wounds and small ailments, after all, so he's pretty nonchalant about mentioning it.

Every time he relaxes into silence, though, Kronid's own drumming causes his eyes to lose focus slightly, and it becomes clear he's far more psychically sensitive than the woman is. The smell of brewing tea slowly wafts into their senses.

[dermondversteckt]

The vagrant tilts his head curiously at all of this - at the cloud, the mist, but more notably the talk of Julieta. (The little pattern of knocking that Bruno does is met and almost mirrored, beat for beat, in the drumming of his fingernails. Learning. Everyone has their own rhythm, and knowing Bruno's will make it easier to disrupt.

"I had heard about a healer from the villagers. That must be this Julieta, then?"

An idea is beginning to form - but he needs just a little more information, yet, before he makes a decision. The tea smells strong, and...well, he can't drink it, of course. But this is hardly his first time running this kind of gambit.

[sandinmyhair]

If Bruno even notices this man easing himself into his own personal rhythm he gives no indication. Said rhythm is easily shifted, thoughts and words and actions syncopated with one another, seemingly chaotic until one listens more deeply. It's there, a kind of pulse that fades into perception almost from outside his mind. And then it clicks into place that the syncopation is a smokescreen, something meant to stop Bruno's thoughts falling into this deeper rhythm.

It's clear that Pepa had taken charge of the tea--a surprisingly painstaking process involving a French press and very exact measurements--so Bruno answers, a slight, proud smile on his face.

"Yeah... people come to her when they're injured or are sick with something like a fever." He chuckles. "We have one doctor here, who's bored out of his mind most of the time. I think he's taken up painting."

[dermondversteckt]

Very interesting, this man. But malleable. Something he can work with, especially if...hm. He might have a good thing on his hands, if he can play his cards right.

"That's amazing," he chuckles, oh-so-lightly. "Injuries too? Even broken bones, or bad cuts?"

If this Julieta can heal as well as all this...he may need to change his plans. Kronid's eyes brighten a little with excitement - easily mistaken for wonder, perhaps, for all that it's the look of a cat who has just found his way into the fishery.

[sandinmyhair]

"Broken bones, bad cuts, cacti... mass bee stings...." Here both he and Pepa chortle as though at an inside joke. Listen, they love their brother-in-law fiercely, but this thing with bees is pretty funny.

Pepa brings the tea and its various accoutrements, as well as a plate with a few small balls of fried bread that smell faintly of savoury cheese, and sits next to Bruno. The family resemblance is clear, especially their eyes.

"Not a lot of people find this village. You must be really lucky or really lost," she jokes.

[dermondversteckt]

"Incredible."

As the tea and food is brought out, Kronid looks down at it, thinking to himself. What could his play be here, exactly? Mesmerize them so they think he has eaten? Sneak from his flask of deer blood?

No, all too risky, especially with the house itself watching his every move. Time for his least pleasant gambit. He doesn't take from the plate or the tea, being very polite - he is a guest, after all. He will let them serve him what they deem appropriate.

He looks up with another charming, tight-lipped smile. They're cute, really. Too bad he means to eat one of them.

"A little of both, honestly. I got very turned around out there, and then I happened to hear sounds of people, echoing off the mountains at just the right angle. I followed them, and here I am."

[sandinmyhair]

While they're talking Bruno goes about pouring tea.

"Heh. Makes it sound like a faerie village, like the one that only appears in the human world once every hundred years." The things he sees in some of his random visions.... "Milk? Sugar?" he asks of his sister and their guest.

Pepa requests her usual. Her own internal rhythm is a lot tighter and more regimented than Bruno's, a constant beat of steady, steady, steady, that seems partly natural, partly forced. Then again, it only makes sense, given her abilities.

The house seems to settle a bit, like a cat lying quietly with its eyes closed but its ears still moving.

[dermondversteckt]

"I have seen stranger, in my time, in my travels." His smile at this is just a little wry - after all, isn't he one of those stranger things?

"Just sugar for me, thank you."

His fingers keep drumming on the table. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Pepa feels...sturdier than Bruno. The man still feels like the easiest prey.

[sandinmyhair]

He sugars the tea and carefully places it in front of Kronid with a smile before pouring milk and sugar into his own. Sipp. "Buñuelo?" he offers, gesturing to the cheese and dough balls.

Bruno is, indeed, a much easier target for just about anything than Pepa is. She seems rawboned and pointy--even her smile is sharp, though that seems as much down to how her face is shaped as to her personality. Her eyes are a little too wide, her gaze a little too intense, all out of sheer habit. Everything about her is focus, focus, focus.

By contrast, Bruno seems much more... soft. While a keen intelligence sits behind his eyes he's phlegmatic and appears to carefully marshal his energy, as though he fears expending too much on any one thing would leave none for anything else.

"We all love stories," he says. The tapping sound has him relaxing, smiling faintly. "Who knows, maybe I can add some of it to my telenovelas."

[dermondversteckt]

"Mulțumesc."

Nodding his thanks, he takes the tea, carefully drawing a sip from it. It's sweet, and well made...and immediately it makes his stomach churn. Keeping his expression static, he takes one if the fried bits offered, munching on it (oh, he hates this gambit) while watching the two at the table with him.

The woman brings him to mind of some sort of bird, angles and anxiety. He could mesmerize her, but it would be tiresome to do unless she was alone. Best to stick with his original mark.

"Sorry - telenovelas?"

[sandinmyhair]

"Well, sort of telenovelas. They're episodic stories, kind of like..." here he looks for the word. "Like film serials. Of course, what I write aren't really telenovelas in the purest sense, we don't get any television reception and besides, the actors are all rats...."

Pepa sighs, patting Bruno's shoulder. "Ay, the things you see in your visions sometimes."

Another thought hits Bruno. "I mean, like, literally rats." He reaches into the hood of his ruana and produces one such rodent, who blinks sleepily at him.

This whole family is weird.