dermondversteckt | OPEN RP Spot

"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."

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.

"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.

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.

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."

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.

"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.

"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."

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.

"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.

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."

"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?"

"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.

Well, yes, this is bizarre, he thinks to himself, grey blue eyes blinking at the rat that had been pulled out of nowhere.

But so is Kronid, isn't he? He likes rats. They're plentiful, they breed, they aren't missed when they're gone, and they're everywhere.

"So these rats...they...act for you? Are they magical, like the rest of the house?"

Pretense of conversation. His fingernails find the edge of the teacup. Tap tap tap.

His stomach churns, but he keeps his expression neutral.

"Ah, not exactly." He sets the rat down on the table where it sniffs curiously at Bruno's tea. "They're normal rats. I mean, they're pretty smart, but nothing beyond that--I train them to follow little cues and then just sort of weave the stories around them. Right?" he says to the rat who, predictably, doesn't reply. "Mainly involving food, the universal motivator," he continues, half to his guest, half to the rat, his voice gently amused as he scritches lightly behind its ears.

The tapping sound might be lulling Bruno, but the rat sits on its hind legs and regards Kronid for a moment almost cannily, head slightly tilted, nose twitching. Then it drops back down onto all fours and calmly wanders away. Who can tell with animals, really.

There's a beat or so, then Pepa fidgets. "I should check on Dolores," she says, finishing her tea. She stands. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Señor. Make yourself comfortable--there are guest rooms on the main floor if you need to rest. Good night."

Bruno murmurs a goodnight and smiles a vague kind of smile as she leaves. Then he tries to stifle a cavernous yawn.

"Sorry, I just came over really sleepy...."

"I see. Well...they are cute."

Animals do tend to Know, don't they? They can sense a predator when they're near one, smell the blood on him. This one stays calm, but...well, something to keep an eye on. Plenty of hazards for him in this house.

When Pepa gets up, he smiles another of his tight smiles, inclining his head. "The pleasure is all mine. I wish your daughter the best."

...And now they're alone again. The ideal. Time to start acting in earnest, feeling this man out a little more for what he is. "No need to apologize, I - nnh-"

All the sudden, he looks a little bit off - pale face tilting further off color - and a grimy hand flutters to his forehead.

"Oh, dear...."

Bruno seems like a soft touch. Time to see how soft.

Very.

The moment Kronid appears faint like that, Bruno's eyes go wide. "What's wrong?" Pepa's out of earshot by now, so he stands, hoping the other won't faint--it'd take him forever to get him out of the kitchen. "Do you need to lie down? I-I can help you get to a sofa or one of the guest rooms?"

It's a little bit of acting, and a little bit of letting the mask drop - Kronid can't metabolize anything but blood, and so his body is reacting to the tea and fried dough as though he had taken a bit of poison.

"I...yes, I think I do. I'm sorry, I - I have a blood condition, and sometimes it...it causes problems."

All true, technically.

"A guest room would be...would be good, if it isn't too much trouble. A quiet place...please." He rises to his feet, swaying a little, but stable enough.

Fretfretfretfret.

"Of course," Bruno answers, making his way round the table. He draws quite near, offering an arm to help steady his guest.

This close to, a whiff of his scent might waft across one's nose, and it's a complicated one. There's the soft smell of some kind of hair oil, the slightly herbal tang of some kind of handmade soap, all trying to cover the faint musky odor of one who keeps animals and the warm dry scent of human. A dash of the tea, a bit of the food. Thrumming under all of that, of course, the vital, almost metallic scent of his blood.

Fortunately the guest rooms are all on the ground floor, so he can lead Kronid out of the kitchen and a short distance to a sturdy wooden door. Above them the second level of the house glows a faint gold from multiple points, a warm counterpoint to the silver of moonlight on the open courtyard.

Bruno pushes the door open and steps inside, and presently a yellow glow from an oil lamp lights the room. It's small and cozy and simple--just a bed and a dresser and a washstand, all of high quality. Then he returns to Kronid's side, leading him into the room.

"Nice and quiet," he says, grinning a little sheepishly.

The grimy, reedy traveler clutches at the offered arm - his hands are cold, almost impossibly so. Bruno's scent hangs heavy on his senses, the undertone of his blood stoking Kronid's hunger.

The vampire himself smells of earth, of tobacco, of incense and of something coppery. There isn't much in the way of body odor, given how filthy he looks...odd.

The guest room is simple, unassuming, cozy. Comfortable, for those who sleep in beds.

"Thank you," he murmurs, moving to sit on the bed. He feels ill, but...that will subside once he has fed. Time to work. His hands find the coins he wears around his neck. Clink. Clink. Clink.

"Do you take in company often, Bruno?"

He blinks. "Me, personally? Ah... sometimes, if someone wants a vision and they're here really late." A soft, self-effacing laugh follows that. "I don't get a lot of social calls, if that's what you mean." His gaze moves away as his hand rubs the back of his neck--a slew of physical cues that this man just... isn't as popular as the rest of his family, for whatever reason.

"But, I mean, if you wanna talk a while, I can do that." He moves to the door and closes it before wavering in an indecision. He doesn't want to appear too standoffish and remain near the door, but he doesn't want to get all up in this stranger's business by sitting next to him on the bed and there aren't any chairs and... oh well. He sits on the bed, a small distance away from Kronid, just at arm's length. "Are you feeling any better?"

He finds himself leaning a little nearer to him, that sound wicking into his subconscious and drawing him in.

Bruno's every antsy motion, every uneasy word is taken in with a sharp, attentive gaze. So, a relatively solitary man. Eager to please. Probably lonely.

Perfect.

When the door is shut and the human comes close to sit, Kronid nods a little, fingers still playing at the coins. "A bit. It always takes me a little time to recover from the vertigo. I am as glad for your company as I am surprised to hear you have few stopping by for social reasons...a pretty thing like you."

A measured beat, followed by practiced sheepishness. A web he's spun over and over and over again. "Oh, listen to me. That was so forward, I do apologize. I have been alone on the road for too long."

Slinging off his satchel, then his coat, Kronid acts like he had said nothing out of the ordinary.

"Visions, you keep mentioning. So are you the one the town mentioned? Who can see the future?"

Is that a warm, reddish flush to Bruno's skin? An almost imperceptible quickening of his pulse?

Yes. Yes, it is. He's incredibly unused to compliments, especially any regarding his appearance. No, he's too scruffy, too small, too tired-looking to fully believe he could be considered any kind of attractive. Which is a shame, because he has lovely soft hair and warm eyes of an intriguing jade colour, and the line of his neck to his collarbones is so graceful and almost delicate. His gaze darts again.

The idea of the townspeople mentioning him, however, turns it to a hot blush. "No, no, they don't talk about Bruno," he says instinctively before he stops himself, taking a few breaths. "Well, I mean, I guess they do now..." Another self-conscious laugh. "But... yeah, that's me. I see the future, good or bad."

He wishes this hadn't come up, but it was kind of inevitable. He toys with the frayed hem of his ruana, suddenly acutely aware that it's three sizes too big. Sure, this Kronid fellow isn't much larger than he is, but he seems to wear that small stature a little more... deliberately. And with clothes that fit him. Inwardly, Bruno upbraids himself--good lord, you're not a kid, you could have had this stupid thing taken in and hemmed at any time....

He's lost in thought, now, quite involuntarily.

The quickening of Bruno's pulse certainly does not go unnoticed - nor does the tantalizing way the blood rushes through his skin, or the delicate lines of his neck.

Of course, Kronid's reason for looking at all of those things is less attraction, and more the fact that he is deeply, deeply hungry.

"Good or bad," he repeats, making a show of easing off his vest, unbuttoning the top couple of buttons to his shirt. Casual, but - careful, practiced. He hums a little as he does it, an alluring, mysterious little tune. Drawing Bruno further in.

He looks up finally, expression softened, eyes bright and looking oh-so-intently.

"That must be so difficult for you. People do so love to shoot the messenger, especially if all you can tell them is the truth."

If he's lonely, and if the reaction to his compliment had been what it was...well, time to make a move. He leans over slightly, resting a hand on the other man's thigh, wearing his best look of concern.

"It's hard, when the thing people expect from you is also the thing they despise you for."

He should run. There's something predatory going on, here. Casita was unsettled and that never happens with a visitor....

Then again, it could be something so simple as the fact that he's a stranger and there are no strangers in this village. Honeyed words are merely something Bruno's never heard. The little tune slides further past his defences and when he's touched....

"Yeah. Yeah, it's... it's not good. But of an understatement, really...."

When did he move so close to this man? Close enough to... to....

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