Grand Naivety, Broken

“Iceland is really pretty, Master,” murmured Frank, still staring over the foaming white waves hitting the Icelandic shoreline. He could feel the chill in the air, which he found strange, considering his newfound vampirism, and he could see the beautiful green grass ebb away from the white sand. Sheep -- full of pristine wool and grazing idly -- were wandering across the rolling hills and steep cliffs. The water of a lake in the distance looked clear and blue, waterfalls swirling the water in one end.

Gerard glanced down at him with that never-fading smile of his. “Yes, it is,” he said, “I’m proud to call this place my home.”

Frank noticed a slight accent in his voice, almost hidden under the pride. “So you speak Icelandic, still?”

“Auðvitað, sætasta vinur minn.”

A smile crept onto Frank’s face, his nose slightly red and his cheeks rosy. “It sounds nice, in your voice, Master.”

The elder vampire chuckled lightly and tightened the arm still resting around Frank’s shoulders. “Thank you, lítill vinur minn.”

“I feel like you just referenced my height.”

Gerard merely laughed again.
…

“So you founded this place?” Frank wondered aloud, frowning at a painting in the salon consideringly.

“Yes,” replied the other as he stared out a window overlooking the previously-mentioned town below. “In 1775, when the war between America and Britain broke out. Beings of the same ilk as I needed a safe haven, especially when I began to sense the upcoming World Wars. I found this peninsula when I was sailing from Grundartangi, which is the closest major city to us. The small settlement had been abandoned many years prior, so I took advantage.”

“So, are you the mayor or something?”

“No, I’m merely in a position of great power in this town. The mayor is a close friend of mine, Brian Schechter. I met him shortly after my master passed.” Gerard smiled fondly at something Frank could not see.

The youngest vampire looked at his sire, a frown on his face. Already, after only being awake for mere hours, he could not imagine being away from his master, yet Gerard’s had already died. “When did he die?” he murmured, gently, hoping not to anger the man who gave him ‘life’.

Gerard turned to him, still with that fond smile gracing his lips. “Don’t worry, Frank. My sorrow has long since passed. He died in 1477, only a few years after I was sired.” He made a convulsive gesture, to which Frank rushed to him and slipped his arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Frank sympathetically into Gerard’s side.

Gerard grinned and carded a hand through Frank’s dark hair. “That’s okay. Now, let’s continue our discussion.” Frank backed away, but hooked his finger through Gerard’s belt loop as they left the salon. “You could say that my associated and I run a private detective agency. I swore to protect my kind and my legacy with my life, so that’s what I do. Any and all crimes are investigated by me, and then handed over to the police. The only human who resides in this town is my distant nephew, whom I found almost fifteen years ago and raised myself. He works as the file clerk in my business.”

“So this isn’t where you work from?”

“No,” Gerard confirmed, “the agency is in town. Normally, I would just phase there, but I want you to see the town.” As they approached a door, Gerard handed Frank a nice raincoat, helping him into it, although he did so unnecessarily. He shrugged an overcoat on and opened the door, holding it for Frank with a most pleasant smile. “After you, dásamlegur vinur minn.”

Frank frown suspiciously at Gerard, but decided to heed to his instincts and trust the older man. He waited for Gerard at the end of the pathway as the former locked up and buttoned his own coat at the same time, nimble fingers somehow succeeding in slipped each plastic disk through its slot and shoving the keys into his pocket. They walked silently down the deserted road that led to town.

As they reached the center, Frank saw seemingly normal people, but as he looked closer, he noticed stark abnormalities. A group of men and women with the same shade of fiery red hair almost glided down the sidewalk, and an extremely tall man exited what looked to be a barber shop. Two short men -- shorter than Frank, even -- ducked between legs and weaved through the mass crowd, avoiding feet skillfully and giggling mischievously. A tall, slender, elegant looking woman seemed to tower over the majority of the citizens, looking both regal and arrogant as she walked.

“What are these people, Master?” Frank asked quietly, looking at the taller man with wide eyes.

“The truth,” he replied with another prideful smile. For a moment, Frank wrinkled his nose at the cliche statement, but he thought that maybe, Gerard had a point. All his life, Frank had been living under the pretext that legends were just that: legends. But now, he was one of those legends himself. It was a strange sensation, the realization that he -- along with the majority of the human race -- had been living in the dark and amongst these creatures. It was like stepping on a lego and successfully playing Stairway To Heaven on the guitar all at once.

Gerard held the door open for him when they reached the agency. It was a short but rather long building with a black and white logo hanging over the door with the words ‘Way Detectives’ scrawled across it in dark red. The lobby was just as unbecoming as the outside, with bland tile floors and dark walls, a reception desk near the back center. A man -- about Gerard’s height -- with spiky brown hair and a wide, mischievous grin waved eagerly at the pair from behind it.

“Hello, Mr. Gerard!” the man greeted happily, leaning against the counter to look at Frank. “And who’s Short-Stack over here?”

“Good morning, Brendon,” Gerard said with a reservation Frank hadn’t seen in him before. “This young man is my childe, Frank Iero. Frank, this is Brendon Urie, our receptionist.” Frank shook Brendon’s outstretched hand timidly. “I assume Mikey is in, Brendon?”

“Yes he is, Sir. Should I call him in?” Brendon looked positively enthused by the thought of aiding Gerard in any way.

Gerard nodded and sent the boy a thankful look; not exactly a smile, but his eyes said it all. “Thank you, that would be wonderful.”

With another enthused grin, the young man shot out from behind the desk and into a corridor to the left, calling “Mikey! Mikey! Mr. Gerard is here to see you!” over his pounding feet.

Frank looked up at Gerard with a bemused smile, giggling slightly. “He seems interesting,” he observed, meeting Gerard’s swirling eyes.

“Oh, he’s quite the character,” confirmed the elder vampire. “He’s a loup garou. I found him in France right before the Battle of Verdun. Since I could sense the upcoming battle in that area, I took him under my wing and brought him here. He was still young at that time, having only been borne three years prior.”

Loup garou? Frank knew that name; he had heard it on the History Channel at some point. “He’s a werewolf?”

“A French werewolf, to be precise. There are several breeds.” Gerard’s hand twitched as if to touch Frank’s hair like he had become accustomed to doing, but it stayed in place.

Frank had noticed how his sire had kept his hands to himself since they reached town, which poked at his curiosity, along with his professional manner of speaking around Brendon. Frank guessed it was just the boss/employee relationship.

The couple stood in silence for a few more moments before Brendon came charging back in like a puppy to its owner (not an inappropriate comparison, really). A tall man came walking in behind him, his face expressionless and his hair painfully straight.

“Morning, Gee,” the tall man -- whom Frank assumed was Mikey -- said, giving a small smile to Gerard and wrapping his long arms around the other man, who reciprocated easily.

“Good morning, Mikey. I’m sure you’ve already heard about who I’m with this morning,” said Gerard with a sly smirk.

Mikey snorted. “Of course; Brendon couldn’t shut up about it.” He turned to Frank, who had so far kept quiet while the relatives spoke. “Hey, I’m Mikey, Gerard’s brother -- sort of.”

“Frank,” squeaked the youngest vampire. Mikey was much more intimidating than he should have been.

Gerard discreetly brushed a hand against Frank’s lower back, as if to say, “Calm down.” Frank’s erratic heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened out as a result. “So,” started Gerard, “have any cases been called in?”

The two employees shook their heads. “Nope,” Mikey said. “Not since two weeks ago.”

Gerard frowned but remained silent, instead merely nodding. He hugged Mikey one last time and threw Brendon what looked to be a Milkbone before leading Frank out, still with that troubled expression on his face.

Notes

Yeah, my computer chord just fell apart, so the delay was the product of not having the money for a new one, but I got it today, so WALA (or however you spell that) long chapter.
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-Stitches