“I want to write a fic about this but I don’t think anybody will be interested in it” ummm hello excuse me ma’am what do you mean you don’t think anybody will be interested in it??? YOU. YOU ARE INTERESTED IN IT???? write it because YOU are interested in it and YOU want to write about it. fanfic writing should always be first and foremost about YOUR enjoyment, not other people’s.
Have you seen the trailer for Tip Toe? It’s a new series that’s due to come out with Paul Rhys and all I could see when I saw it was Fr Hubbard in an alternate universe 😭
No, but i will watch the trailer and get back to you with my reaction 🤣
Saturday Night Fever (a Baldwin de Clermont fanfic)
Presenting the Baldwin at Studio 54 fanfic that rabidly developed a life of its own once I sat down to write it.
Characters: Baldwin de Clermont, Eva Jaeger
Word count: 2,720
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Studio 54 in the '70s is its own warning, but specifically recreational drug use, language, and vague mentions of sex
Author's Note:
This is a standalone prequel to Sympathy for the Devil. Last year, I had already written a meeting between Baldwin and Eva that referenced the last time they ran into each other as happening at Studio 54, @adowbaldwin inspired me to actually explore that encounter. It was going to be fun and funny but somehow spiraled into 'wow, Baldwin's lonely.'
Saturday Night Fever
New York City, 1978
Studio 54 may have held the dubious distinction as the most exclusive club in Manhattan, but like any other club, it reeked of booze, bodies, and bad ideas. Not just average bad ideas either. Bad ideas spawned from drug-induced disco fever - which was to say, some of the worst ideas imaginable.
Allowing a couple of daemons with no sense of restraint or discretion to open a nightclub in one of the largest, most audacious cities in the world was definitely up there on the list of bad ideas involving creatures.
As the Congregation member with the most connections in New York City, it fell to Baldwin to investigate and evaluate the risks. The witches refused to go anywhere near the place and Gerbert d’Aurillac was certainly not going to be able to blend in with the likes of Cher, Elton John, and Liza Minnelli.
Baldwin knew hedonism well enough. He was a Roman and had witnessed the excesses of that empire after all.
But there was hedonism, and then there was Studio 54.
The bad ideas flourished in every cocaine dusted corner of the building, from the dirty cubicles in the basement to the infamous rubber room upstairs. And like any hotbed for vice, the energy-seeking daemons and hungry vampires of the city were drawn in like moths to a flame.
Half the stories circulating failed to fully capture what really went on behind the velvet ropes and ruthlessly guarded doors - and those were only the stories shared by the clueless humans. Those were the modern myths in the making that gave the club its star-powered notoriety.
The salacious things Baldwin helped cover up - like how that dead body really got into the air shaft - were secrets as closely guarded as the vetting at the door. The key to keeping those stories tightly under wraps were straightforward threats of how easy it was to arrange ‘accidental’ overdoses.
Between the intoxicated humans, chaos-prone daemons, and vampires in search of easy prey, it was a creature PR disaster waiting to happen.
Yet Baldwin could not bring himself to shut it down immediately.
By his reckoning, the club’s downfall was inevitable, regardless of if he was involved or not. If it wasn’t because of the illicit drugs, it would definitely be the tax evasion. Drug addicted daemons made horrible accountants. That fact was never more obvious than when he learned about the garbage bags of cash stuffed into the ceiling panels of the managerial offices and smuggled out each morning.
In truth, despite its outrageousness, Baldwin had a soft spot for Studio 54.
Maybe because dead bodies and overdoses were easier to deal with than the cutthroat world of creatures politics.
Maybe because he did not find the out-of-control, over-the-top debauchery as distasteful as he pretended at Congregation meetings.
Maybe because he rather liked doing lines off Jerry Hall’s chest, even if the drugs had no effect on a vampire. At least until her married boyfriend Mick Jagger foolishly tried to get handsy after a couple Quaaludes.
Maybe it was all those things, and more.
It had been a tough few decades since the world wars reshaped the world. In some strange way, Studio 54 reminded him of a time when he had far fewer responsibilities.
Regardless, Baldwin was never one to overthink the reasons behind his actions. He just kept going night after night under the pretense of keeping a close eye on the situation.
As a rule, he did not often partake in the more scandalous revelries. In fact, most nights he simply did the rounds to gather incriminating intel, avoided Andy Warhol (the most tedious, pretentious daemon he’d ever met), and allowed some hot young starlet or singer to coax him onto the dance floor.
But no creature, human or otherwise, was completely immune to the electric, intoxicating atmosphere. Not even Baldwin de Clermont.
This particular Saturday night, Baldwin was in a dangerous sort of mood. The New York economic situation was in complete shambles, Matthew had somehow accidentally blown up his state-of-the-art million dollar lab in Oxford (he was blaming Marcus, of course), and the new witch representative on the Congregation, a demanding, ambitious little fuck named Peter Knox, was doing his head in.
Aloof observation was not going to cut it this evening. He needed to fuck or fight to blow off some steam, and he’d gone too long without the satisfaction of either.
Emerging from a dark corner of the VIP section, Baldwin wiped the corners of his mouth with a silk handkerchief, pocketing it before smoothing the wide lapels of his rust brown suit. The two accommodating young ladies he left behind had been more than eager to expose their necks. Sadly, they were more interested in each other than him, meaning he was still on the prowl.
The heavily laced blood began to hit as he sauntered over to peer down from the balcony at the packed dance floor below. Gods only knew what was pumping through the veins of the club’s elite clientele - coke and Quaaludes for sure, but there was a variety of other potent drug cocktails on offer in the restrooms.
Whatever it was heightened his own desires considerably, and he swore he could feel Donna Summer’s soulful voice reverberating through his very veins.
Tapping his foot and swaying to the grooving beats, Baldwin scrutinized the writhing sea of bodies below in search of someone worth seducing. The air was thick with smoke and the musk of sweat and sex, but his keen nose picked out something he never expected to find there.
Something familiar.
Something that hit him square in his inebriated chest with a pang of longing.
Frankincense and orange blossom.
Copper head swiveling, Baldwin spotted her standing on the other side of the dance floor, casually leaning against a pillar with another vampire whispering in her ear. She was decked out in a shimmering black and gold halter dress that sparkled when it caught the flashing lights and perfectly showed off her flawless pale skin and lithe limbs.
Eva Jaeger.
There were very few women he considered to be his great loves, but Eva was definitely one of them. He’d been quite smitten with her, once upon a time. Their relationship had spanned roughly half a century, though it was off and on towards then end. More off than on, really.
Her classically beautiful face had already tilted in his direction, searching. Through the din and cloud of hazy smoke, their eyes met. Next moment, Baldwin found himself swerving through the VIP crowd and down the stairs with little regard for anyone else.
It had been thirty-odd years since he last saw her.
It was that night he’d sought her out in Germany right after the Second World War. Not long after Philippe died.
He’d been drunk.
Drunk former soldiers were not hard to find in Germany in those days, most unable to cope with the collective traumas of the war and its aftermath. Ysabeau wasn’t the only de Clermont who went hunting post-war; it was darkly satisfying to drink Nazis dry and call it revenge. Not that it ever filled the void left by his father’s death.
Given she left him for the final time more than a decade earlier, Eva had every right to turn him away when he tracked her down in 1945.
But Baldwin had never groveled like he did that night.
He’d been desperate for relief. Anything to help him stop thinking about Philippe’s horrific end and seeing the greatest vampire to have ever lived reduced to a broken shell of a man.
For reasons unknown, Eva had taken pity on him. Offered him untainted blood and the best red wine she could scrounge up and listened while he ranted about everything, but especially about Matthew. How he’d done what should have been Baldwin’s duty in helping their father die, then having the audacity to claim it was Philippe’s dying wish Matthew assume control of the Knights of Lazarus.
Somehow they ended up in bed.
She kicked him out in the morning and told him that was the last time. He knew she was serious by the Luger pistol she calmly aimed at his head while she did it.
Baldwin avoided Germany for two decades after that, until Verin and Ernst got married. He gave Eva the courtesy of letters and telegrams informing her of his family’s movements in Germany (East and West) and his business dealings in Berlin (on both sides of the Wall), but she never replied.
This wasn’t Germany though - this was Studio 54. New York City was relatively neutral territory, despite Baldwin’s substantial investments in the city, the stock market, and the ruling vampire family.
Undeniably under the influence, he was loose on his feet when he swaggered up to Eva. She merely arched a delicate eyebrow at him as she took a drag from her slim cigarette. Her vampire companion was off speaking to one of the shirtless bartenders at the bar.
“Hello, Eva,” he greeted, considering if she would allow him to swoop in for a kiss on the cheek.
“Baldwin,” she replied in such an icy tone that he decided against the hello kiss. “I didn’t know this was your scene.”
“I spend a fair bit of time in New York these days. It’s everybody who’s anybody’s scene.”
He gave her an appreciative slow sweep of his eyes, particularly liking how her dress’s low V neckline showed off a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. His lungs hauled in a deep inhale of her familiar scent now that he was within arm’s reach.
“You’re looking well,” he purred, a bit too fascinated with the way the changing lights played on the metallic sheen of her dress.
“You look…” Her pale aquamarine eyes narrowed speculatively, taking in his too large pupils and uncharacteristically ruffled hair. She pursed her lips primly before concluding, “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
Baldwin smirked conspiratorially. “I am. There’s a lot to enjoy here.” He angled his head as close as he dared, mindful of the burning cigarette in her hand. “Perhaps we could find something for us both to enjoy, Liebling?”
Eva stepped away, pointedly clearing her throat and casting him a withering warning glare. “You presume too much, Baldwin. I am here with Reinhardt.”
“I suppose he could join,” Baldwin shrugged cavalierly.
Eva rolled her eyes with a rather unladylike snort, flicking the ash from her cigarette on his toes. “Don’t try your luck.”
“You may change your tune after you’ve sampled some of the crowd,” he said, casually kicking the ash off his shoe. “I have a penthouse nearby we could take a few back for a private party. Reinhardt can tag along.”
“Nein, danke,” Eva snapped with a soft hiss. The German always slipped in when she was angry. “We had our goodbye fuck, Baldwin. That’s not a mistake I care to repeat.”
Baldwin flinched noticeably.
Even in his addled state, he grasped the futility in continuing this pursuit.Time apart had not done him any favors - it appeared that bridge was well and truly burned.
The longing in his chest turned into a dull ache made all the more painful by the drugs and alcohol in his system.
Shifting so he was standing alongside Eva, he attempted civil conversation for the sake of appearances. “What brings you to New York? This isn’t your sort of scene either.”
He wasn’t sure she would answer, but she did not move away again as she took a thoughtful drag of her cigarette.
“I’m studying in Boston,” Eva replied. She did not bother to blow the smoke away from him. “We came down for the weekend to see what the fuss is."
“Studying?” Baldwin echoed incredulously. She was not academically inclined when they were together. “What on earth are you studying in Boston?”
“Economics,” Eva replied, flicking ash in his direction again and flashing a devious grin that showed off her perfect white teeth. Teeth he knew could cut deep when they wanted. “At Harvard Business School.”
Harvard…someone else had mentioned Harvard University recently…
It took him a few moments to remember. That pest Peter Knox had been stuck on something to do with Harvard - some witch who worked there. It was purely a witch matter though - nothing related to vampires.
“You wished to go to university for that?” Baldwin asked, coming back to the present and still thoroughly confused. Eva had never shown much interest in his financial dealings when they were together. She listened, of course, but seemed content to leave him to it.
“I already earned a degree at Mannheim. I am studying other perspectives now. It is all because of you, of course.” Baldwin shifted uncomfortably as one of the light towers nearby flashed red like a giant warning beacon. “You inspired me to study the subject more thoroughly.”
That dull ache in his chest felt more like a sharply twisting knife that even the drugs couldn’t dampen.
There was only one reason he could have inspired her to study economics. Engineering Germany’s stock market crash in 1911 was something he came to regret. Not only was it the reason Eva left him when she eventually learned of his involvement, but it also deepened the divisions in Europe which eventually led to the First World War.
“Eva—I—”
Reinhardt chose that exact moment to join them, passing a glass of wine to Eva and eyeing Baldwin suspiciously.
“So this is the notorious Baldwin de Clermont?” Reinhardt drawled in heavily accented English over Eva’s shoulder. Somehow he managed to look down his nose despite Baldwin being half a head taller.
Baldwin drew to his full height and squared off with a stiff nod, not offering to shake the other vampire’s hand.
“And you must be Reinhardt. Eva and I were just catching up.”
“And I’d say we are finished now,” Eva said with cool finality. “Enjoy the rest of your…carousing, Baldwin.” She arched that damn judgmental eyebrow at him again before turning a soft, adoring smile toward Reinhardt.
Unbidden, Baldwin remembered when she used to smile at him that way.
“Auf Wiedersehen, Eva,” he growled curtly. He did not bother acknowledging Reinhardt again.
As he stalked off in the opposite direction, he overheard Eva ask her new partner to dance. It sparked a flash of memory when they went out to the clubs and cabarets in the ‘20s, of Eva coyly fluttering her lashes and pulling him out of his seat for a dance.
Baldwin’s precarious mood from earlier resurfaced, exacerbated by rejection and bitter remorse. He wondered how far he’d have to push Reinhardt to spur him into a fight. Although a vampire fight was sure to draw notice even in Studio 54.
Of all the disco clubs in all the cities in all the world, why did she have to walk into this one?
His refuge from responsibility lost its luster with the abrupt force and ferocity of a flash flood. In the span of a vampire’s heartbeat, the Bee Gees blaring through the speakers began to hurt his ears and the chaotic lighting irritated him further.
In a black haze made worse by the drugs, Baldwin had a strange sense of alienation despite being completely surrounded by people.
Despite the upbeat funky music, the dancers were no longer attractive; nor were the glamorous VIPs in the balcony above. Drinking from anyone else under the influence was definitely a bad idea, because it would only pull him down further and likely make him aggressive.
Finding his way home to the solitude of his mansion on Fifth Avenue was more appealing than continuing with his earlier enterprises. He had no doubt he could find someone else willing in the crowd, but anonymous sex was not going to cure what ailed him.
***
The anonymous tip sent to the IRS on Monday morning was not going to cure him either, but it would hasten Studio 54’s demise.
It was purely a matter of business, Baldwin told himself from the comfort of his corner office overlooking Wall Street. He was simply doing his duty and what he should have done from the beginning.
It had nothing to do with his ex-girlfriend or his sudden dislike of disco.
Saturday Night Fever (a Baldwin de Clermont fanfic)
Presenting the Baldwin at Studio 54 fanfic that rabidly developed a life of its own once I sat down to write it.
Characters: Baldwin de Clermont, Eva Jaeger
Word count: 2,720
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Studio 54 in the '70s is its own warning, but specifically recreational drug use, language, and vague mentions of sex
Author's Note:
This is a standalone prequel to Sympathy for the Devil. Last year, I had already written a meeting between Baldwin and Eva that referenced the last time they ran into each other as happening at Studio 54, @adowbaldwin inspired me to actually explore that encounter. It was going to be fun and funny but somehow spiraled into 'wow, Baldwin's lonely.'
Saturday Night Fever
New York City, 1978
Studio 54 may have held the dubious distinction as the most exclusive club in Manhattan, but like any other club, it reeked of booze, bodies, and bad ideas. Not just average bad ideas either. Bad ideas spawned from drug-induced disco fever - which was to say, some of the worst ideas imaginable.
Allowing a couple of daemons with no sense of restraint or discretion to open a nightclub in one of the largest, most audacious cities in the world was definitely up there on the list of bad ideas involving creatures.
As the Congregation member with the most connections in New York City, it fell to Baldwin to investigate and evaluate the risks. The witches refused to go anywhere near the place and Gerbert d’Aurillac was certainly not going to be able to blend in with the likes of Cher, Elton John, and Liza Minnelli.
Baldwin knew hedonism well enough. He was a Roman and had witnessed the excesses of that empire after all.
But there was hedonism, and then there was Studio 54.
The bad ideas flourished in every cocaine dusted corner of the building, from the dirty cubicles in the basement to the infamous rubber room upstairs. And like any hotbed for vice, the energy-seeking daemons and hungry vampires of the city were drawn in like moths to a flame.
Half the stories circulating failed to fully capture what really went on behind the velvet ropes and ruthlessly guarded doors - and those were only the stories shared by the clueless humans. Those were the modern myths in the making that gave the club its star-powered notoriety.
The salacious things Baldwin helped cover up - like how that dead body really got into the air shaft - were secrets as closely guarded as the vetting at the door. The key to keeping those stories tightly under wraps were straightforward threats of how easy it was to arrange ‘accidental’ overdoses.
Between the intoxicated humans, chaos-prone daemons, and vampires in search of easy prey, it was a creature PR disaster waiting to happen.
Yet Baldwin could not bring himself to shut it down immediately.
By his reckoning, the club’s downfall was inevitable, regardless of if he was involved or not. If it wasn’t because of the illicit drugs, it would definitely be the tax evasion. Drug addicted daemons made horrible accountants. That fact was never more obvious than when he learned about the garbage bags of cash stuffed into the ceiling panels of the managerial offices and smuggled out each morning.
In truth, despite its outrageousness, Baldwin had a soft spot for Studio 54.
Maybe because dead bodies and overdoses were easier to deal with than the cutthroat world of creatures politics.
Maybe because he did not find the out-of-control, over-the-top debauchery as distasteful as he pretended at Congregation meetings.
Maybe because he rather liked doing lines off Jerry Hall’s chest, even if the drugs had no effect on a vampire. At least until her married boyfriend Mick Jagger foolishly tried to get handsy after a couple Quaaludes.
Maybe it was all those things, and more.
It had been a tough few decades since the world wars reshaped the world. In some strange way, Studio 54 reminded him of a time when he had far fewer responsibilities.
Regardless, Baldwin was never one to overthink the reasons behind his actions. He just kept going night after night under the pretense of keeping a close eye on the situation.
As a rule, he did not often partake in the more scandalous revelries. In fact, most nights he simply did the rounds to gather incriminating intel, avoided Andy Warhol (the most tedious, pretentious daemon he’d ever met), and allowed some hot young starlet or singer to coax him onto the dance floor.
But no creature, human or otherwise, was completely immune to the electric, intoxicating atmosphere. Not even Baldwin de Clermont.
This particular Saturday night, Baldwin was in a dangerous sort of mood. The New York economic situation was in complete shambles, Matthew had somehow accidentally blown up his state-of-the-art million dollar lab in Oxford (he was blaming Marcus, of course), and the new witch representative on the Congregation, a demanding, ambitious little fuck named Peter Knox, was doing his head in.
Aloof observation was not going to cut it this evening. He needed to fuck or fight to blow off some steam, and he’d gone too long without the satisfaction of either.
Emerging from a dark corner of the VIP section, Baldwin wiped the corners of his mouth with a silk handkerchief, pocketing it before smoothing the wide lapels of his rust brown suit. The two accommodating young ladies he left behind had been more than eager to expose their necks. Sadly, they were more interested in each other than him, meaning he was still on the prowl.
The heavily laced blood began to hit as he sauntered over to peer down from the balcony at the packed dance floor below. Gods only knew what was pumping through the veins of the club’s elite clientele - coke and Quaaludes for sure, but there was a variety of other potent drug cocktails on offer in the restrooms.
Whatever it was heightened his own desires considerably, and he swore he could feel Donna Summer’s soulful voice reverberating through his very veins.
Tapping his foot and swaying to the grooving beats, Baldwin scrutinized the writhing sea of bodies below in search of someone worth seducing. The air was thick with smoke and the musk of sweat and sex, but his keen nose picked out something he never expected to find there.
Something familiar.
Something that hit him square in his inebriated chest with a pang of longing.
Frankincense and orange blossom.
Copper head swiveling, Baldwin spotted her standing on the other side of the dance floor, casually leaning against a pillar with another vampire whispering in her ear. She was decked out in a shimmering black and gold halter dress that sparkled when it caught the flashing lights and perfectly showed off her flawless pale skin and lithe limbs.
Eva Jaeger.
There were very few women he considered to be his great loves, but Eva was definitely one of them. He’d been quite smitten with her, once upon a time. Their relationship had spanned roughly half a century, though it was off and on towards then end. More off than on, really.
Her classically beautiful face had already tilted in his direction, searching. Through the din and cloud of hazy smoke, their eyes met. Next moment, Baldwin found himself swerving through the VIP crowd and down the stairs with little regard for anyone else.
It had been thirty-odd years since he last saw her.
It was that night he’d sought her out in Germany right after the Second World War. Not long after Philippe died.
He’d been drunk.
Drunk former soldiers were not hard to find in Germany in those days, most unable to cope with the collective traumas of the war and its aftermath. Ysabeau wasn’t the only de Clermont who went hunting post-war; it was darkly satisfying to drink Nazis dry and call it revenge. Not that it ever filled the void left by his father’s death.
Given she left him for the final time more than a decade earlier, Eva had every right to turn him away when he tracked her down in 1945.
But Baldwin had never groveled like he did that night.
He’d been desperate for relief. Anything to help him stop thinking about Philippe’s horrific end and seeing the greatest vampire to have ever lived reduced to a broken shell of a man.
For reasons unknown, Eva had taken pity on him. Offered him untainted blood and the best red wine she could scrounge up and listened while he ranted about everything, but especially about Matthew. How he’d done what should have been Baldwin’s duty in helping their father die, then having the audacity to claim it was Philippe’s dying wish Matthew assume control of the Knights of Lazarus.
Somehow they ended up in bed.
She kicked him out in the morning and told him that was the last time. He knew she was serious by the Luger pistol she calmly aimed at his head while she did it.
Baldwin avoided Germany for two decades after that, until Verin and Ernst got married. He gave Eva the courtesy of letters and telegrams informing her of his family’s movements in Germany (East and West) and his business dealings in Berlin (on both sides of the Wall), but she never replied.
This wasn’t Germany though - this was Studio 54. New York City was relatively neutral territory, despite Baldwin’s substantial investments in the city, the stock market, and the ruling vampire family.
Undeniably under the influence, he was loose on his feet when he swaggered up to Eva. She merely arched a delicate eyebrow at him as she took a drag from her slim cigarette. Her vampire companion was off speaking to one of the shirtless bartenders at the bar.
“Hello, Eva,” he greeted, considering if she would allow him to swoop in for a kiss on the cheek.
“Baldwin,” she replied in such an icy tone that he decided against the hello kiss. “I didn’t know this was your scene.”
“I spend a fair bit of time in New York these days. It’s everybody who’s anybody’s scene.”
He gave her an appreciative slow sweep of his eyes, particularly liking how her dress’s low V neckline showed off a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. His lungs hauled in a deep inhale of her familiar scent now that he was within arm’s reach.
“You’re looking well,” he purred, a bit too fascinated with the way the changing lights played on the metallic sheen of her dress.
“You look…” Her pale aquamarine eyes narrowed speculatively, taking in his too large pupils and uncharacteristically ruffled hair. She pursed her lips primly before concluding, “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
Baldwin smirked conspiratorially. “I am. There’s a lot to enjoy here.” He angled his head as close as he dared, mindful of the burning cigarette in her hand. “Perhaps we could find something for us both to enjoy, Liebling?”
Eva stepped away, pointedly clearing her throat and casting him a withering warning glare. “You presume too much, Baldwin. I am here with Reinhardt.”
“I suppose he could join,” Baldwin shrugged cavalierly.
Eva rolled her eyes with a rather unladylike snort, flicking the ash from her cigarette on his toes. “Don’t try your luck.”
“You may change your tune after you’ve sampled some of the crowd,” he said, casually kicking the ash off his shoe. “I have a penthouse nearby we could take a few back for a private party. Reinhardt can tag along.”
“Nein, danke,” Eva snapped with a soft hiss. The German always slipped in when she was angry. “We had our goodbye fuck, Baldwin. That’s not a mistake I care to repeat.”
Baldwin flinched noticeably.
Even in his addled state, he grasped the futility in continuing this pursuit.Time apart had not done him any favors - it appeared that bridge was well and truly burned.
The longing in his chest turned into a dull ache made all the more painful by the drugs and alcohol in his system.
Shifting so he was standing alongside Eva, he attempted civil conversation for the sake of appearances. “What brings you to New York? This isn’t your sort of scene either.”
He wasn’t sure she would answer, but she did not move away again as she took a thoughtful drag of her cigarette.
“I’m studying in Boston,” Eva replied. She did not bother to blow the smoke away from him. “We came down for the weekend to see what the fuss is."
“Studying?” Baldwin echoed incredulously. She was not academically inclined when they were together. “What on earth are you studying in Boston?”
“Economics,” Eva replied, flicking ash in his direction again and flashing a devious grin that showed off her perfect white teeth. Teeth he knew could cut deep when they wanted. “At Harvard Business School.”
Harvard…someone else had mentioned Harvard University recently…
It took him a few moments to remember. That pest Peter Knox had been stuck on something to do with Harvard - some witch who worked there. It was purely a witch matter though - nothing related to vampires.
“You wished to go to university for that?” Baldwin asked, coming back to the present and still thoroughly confused. Eva had never shown much interest in his financial dealings when they were together. She listened, of course, but seemed content to leave him to it.
“I already earned a degree at Mannheim. I am studying other perspectives now. It is all because of you, of course.” Baldwin shifted uncomfortably as one of the light towers nearby flashed red like a giant warning beacon. “You inspired me to study the subject more thoroughly.”
That dull ache in his chest felt more like a sharply twisting knife that even the drugs couldn’t dampen.
There was only one reason he could have inspired her to study economics. Engineering Germany’s stock market crash in 1911 was something he came to regret. Not only was it the reason Eva left him when she eventually learned of his involvement, but it also deepened the divisions in Europe which eventually led to the First World War.
“Eva—I—”
Reinhardt chose that exact moment to join them, passing a glass of wine to Eva and eyeing Baldwin suspiciously.
“So this is the notorious Baldwin de Clermont?” Reinhardt drawled in heavily accented English over Eva’s shoulder. Somehow he managed to look down his nose despite Baldwin being half a head taller.
Baldwin drew to his full height and squared off with a stiff nod, not offering to shake the other vampire’s hand.
“And you must be Reinhardt. Eva and I were just catching up.”
“And I’d say we are finished now,” Eva said with cool finality. “Enjoy the rest of your…carousing, Baldwin.” She arched that damn judgmental eyebrow at him again before turning a soft, adoring smile toward Reinhardt.
Unbidden, Baldwin remembered when she used to smile at him that way.
“Auf Wiedersehen, Eva,” he growled curtly. He did not bother acknowledging Reinhardt again.
As he stalked off in the opposite direction, he overheard Eva ask her new partner to dance. It sparked a flash of memory when they went out to the clubs and cabarets in the ‘20s, of Eva coyly fluttering her lashes and pulling him out of his seat for a dance.
Baldwin’s precarious mood from earlier resurfaced, exacerbated by rejection and bitter remorse. He wondered how far he’d have to push Reinhardt to spur him into a fight. Although a vampire fight was sure to draw notice even in Studio 54.
Of all the disco clubs in all the cities in all the world, why did she have to walk into this one?
His refuge from responsibility lost its luster with the abrupt force and ferocity of a flash flood. In the span of a vampire’s heartbeat, the Bee Gees blaring through the speakers began to hurt his ears and the chaotic lighting irritated him further.
In a black haze made worse by the drugs, Baldwin had a strange sense of alienation despite being completely surrounded by people.
Despite the upbeat funky music, the dancers were no longer attractive; nor were the glamorous VIPs in the balcony above. Drinking from anyone else under the influence was definitely a bad idea, because it would only pull him down further and likely make him aggressive.
Finding his way home to the solitude of his mansion on Fifth Avenue was more appealing than continuing with his earlier enterprises. He had no doubt he could find someone else willing in the crowd, but anonymous sex was not going to cure what ailed him.
***
The anonymous tip sent to the IRS on Monday morning was not going to cure him either, but it would hasten Studio 54’s demise.
It was purely a matter of business, Baldwin told himself from the comfort of his corner office overlooking Wall Street. He was simply doing his duty and what he should have done from the beginning.
It had nothing to do with his ex-girlfriend or his sudden dislike of disco.
In my head Marcus in the 80s-90s was the prince of the dancefloor! 👑✨️
Music of depeche mode (like "policy of truth"), radiorama ("vampire" was his song ahah) or snap! ("Rhythm is a dancer" for flirt with girls 💅🏻✨️), I think is his best years lol
Oh Marcus 100% got down and dirty at the hacienda in Manchester (its a uk thing 🤣) Dirty house acid raves, popping a tab to the Prodigy. The grottier the venue, the better
Probably bumped a line of the finest columbian marching powder with Sean Ryder as well
As an add to this, i like to picture Baldwin in the 70s, massive side burns, flares & platforms groovying to saturday night fever and boney M 🤣
Yesterday I have this doubth "In the univers of ADOW, if mermaids were real... can they have a good relationship with vampires?"
Both charms their prey, are great hunters in their elements, but I see potential danger of trespass (like mermaids on land with human legs). It's funny to imagine the vampires wrinkle their noses for the smell of salt on this kind of beautiful women lol
Not sure if the vampires are immune of the songs of the sirens (and viceversa the persuasion of a vampire can work on a mermaid 🤔).
A really silly thought 😂
So i have a few parts to this answer:
Deb essentially said that the only creatures are the 3 we see... then in the black bird oracle we see mentions of little fairy type creatures (sorry if you havent got that far)
So 1) was she lying about other creatures or 2) did she forget this and put the fairies in LOL. I think there is scope for more creatures but hvent explored that yet in the canon time line
I cant remember if mermaids have ever been specifically mentioned, but id LOVE to see it. I can really see Gallowglass having a Mermaid mate 🥹 just living life loving the ocean Like, maybe after being heartbroken by the events of BoL with Matthew and Diana he decides to go on a hot warm holiday and just so happens to run into Princess Indira 👉👈
I dont think Vampires would be suseptable to a Siren... but i have no reasoning for that LOL just a feeling
