“it is not against the law,” she clarified her words. “but it is for the best. the last time demons breached into the institute, the elite had to protect the weak ones before they could deal with the real threat which, in my opinion, was a waste of time. it might not have left too much damage behind but all these could’ve been avoided if it weren’t for some scared shadowhunters. believe me, the nephilim species can be pretty useless because most of us cannot understand what their duty is. i get it, being afraid of death is perfectly normal but it is our job to protect this city from demons and people who tend to forget about this don’t do anything but waste our air.” angelique was aware of how harsh her words were but she had never been one to look for a nice way to say things. “no, it’s not my duty to select the soldiers but since most of them look up to me, it would be such a waste of opportunity to keep my mouth shut. think about it. they might not believe that i’m right about their lack of skills so they want to spar with me just to test it out. most of them end up realizing that they were wrong about this in the first two minutes, some of them try to make it to the entire training session. they can see it with their own eyes, i just like to point out things beforehand. my job in this institute, besides slaying demons and protecting our guests, is not related to the army assignments. i’m working in the lab, trying to get answers from people that are not able to speak anymore.” of course she was proud of her job, how could she not be? many would say that this is not something a woman should do but little did she care about other people’s opinion. she loved her job, it was one of the few things that could stimulate her brain and she found it rather intriguing to discover the story told by what is left of a great warrior.
a short chuckle escaped her lips. “you might be immortal but that doesn’t mean you can’t be killed,” she pointed out, “yes, you have been alive for a long time but you never know what might or might not happen tomorrow. no, i do not intend to murder you, if that’s what you think so i guess we can go on with this little argument of ours. or we can stop and pretend it never happened. it is entirely up to you.”
there was one puzzle piece that was missing, something she didn’t know about. her dark eyes never left his as he spoke, she did notice a change in his attitude. how strange, it reminded her of somebody trying not to make it obvious that they are hiding something, something that shouldn’t reach the surface. was he trying to defend himself? maybe it was not the smartest move to push it, no. she could wait and do some research on her own. “you’re right,” she replied. “we aren’t friends. i was just wondering how come i have never heard anyone talk about her. i can’t really stand marriage-related conversations so i’d rather talk about something else.” that was not entirely a lie. she could never imagine herself marrying someone and it did made her uncomfortable to talk about this but there was something else that was telling her it was time to change the subject. she had no idea why, she just felt like it would be better for both of them to chat about something else. she would do her homework on this matter later. “have i ever told you that you’re an interesting man, karl?” angelique mused. she was in fact telling the truth. she found him interesting but that was not the way she would usually talk about men. angelique would objectify them, appreciate nothing but their bodies. however, there was something quite mysterious about him and he managed to catch her attention. “she probably paid him well, i don’t see any other explanation. she was nothing but a dark page in the history of this institute and i’m glad things have changed quickly.” as he moved onto the next painting, angelique followed. “you were curious to find out how i heard about this and i told you how it happened. i’m not talking about regular gossip, i’m not interested by it. i was talking about secrets people might spill without even noticing what they did. at least not until it’s too late. honestly, yeah. i actually believe that there might be some things that i know and you don’t. please don’t tell me you truly think that you know everything there is to know about this world, you’d make a fool out of yourself and it doesn’t sound like you at all.”
charlie saw it as his duty, both as a delacroix and as a vampire, to protect the weaker members of his species. he was old, well accustomed to this world and the threats to his life, and he had long since found a way to neutralize those hazards. where he had once been a weak, terrified mundane, he had become the creature that had once haunted his dreams. now, he was to help the younger generation navigate the world that they’d been drawn into. therefore, he couldn’t understand that way that she dismissed those nelphim that were weaker than her. perhaps they were not skilled fighters, but they were gifted diplomats or teachers or historians. weren’t those people important in a civilized society as well as soldiers? if he had his way, soldiers would be entirely unnecessary. “i do not think that i will ever understand your way of thinking,” he replied with a little shrug of his shoulders. he had long since accepted that he would never understand the arrogance that seemed inherent in shadowhunters. raziel himself was a superior creature, but it was evident in his creation that he’d thought a bit too highly of himself and of them. charlie had lived amongst shadowhunters for enough centuries now that he’d become some odd mixture of entertained and exasperated by their boasting. strange creatures these were. “death is nothing to be afraid of,” charlie shook his head. “it is a gift at the end of a long life. peace in the wake of chaos. people are afraid that they do not know what comes next.” but it hadn’t mattered to charlie in years. he craved finality. this world had not been exciting in ages now, and he had become accustomed to its charms.
his gaze flitted over the painting before him as she spoke. charlie observed the scene curiously, the red smears of blood amidst the handsome old fashioned landscape of london. there was something beautiful in the madness. he took in the faces, the shape of the seraph blades, the cobbles of the street, and he tilted his head as if it were all that mattered to him. in truth, however, he was rather intrigued by the young woman standing beside him. there was some beauty in her madness as well, he thought, glancing sideways at her. she seemed bloodthirsty, more so than he’d been since he’d turned, and yet there was something more to her. what kind of person spent so much time with someone that she didn’t even seem to care much for? “the lab?” charlie shook his head slightly, evidently not understanding exactly what she meant by the words. he knew that there were a great many facilities in the london institute, but this was the first that he’d heard of a lab. and more interesting still, she claimed that the ones in it could no longer communicate. in his mind he worked to fit the pieces together, and quickly gathered that her work was with the dead. “and what do the sleeping tell you of our dear city’s troubles? perhaps they have told you a cause?” if he knew what to search for, he would be more effective in his hunt. he smirked. “i was going to accuse you of murderous thoughts. i am glad you see that i am more worth your time alive than dead.” still, he didn’t fear death. “should death come tomorrow, i will scold him for being late. not a bit late either.” he huffed softly. with that, his gaze retuned to the picture.
it was all that he could do not to think of her. in this painting, in the shape of the homely woman next to it, he could see her. the pleading look on her face, the blood on his hands, the heartbreak that still threatened to tear him apart. charlie didn’t care to talk about his wife. it was hard enough to always think of her. “as would i,” he responded curtly. discussing his beloved with someone that seemed to laugh in the face of tragedy, was not his intention. what came next, however, was nearly equally frustrating. at once, charlie scrunched up his nose. he hate that name. it was old, a reminder of days that he wished to forget, and it marked him as an outsider. he was an englishman now, as he had been for a few hundred years, and he had long since perfected the english accent. telltale signs of his native language, or any of the other dozens of languages that he’d picked up, were not to be found when he spoke. “karl.” he spat the name as if it were poison. “how did you learn of that?” he shook his head. this would simply not do. why did she insist upon seeing him squirm? couldn’t she simply let him be? shaking his head, he tried to rid himself of the old name. “you haven not told me, no, and i would prefer it if you called me by charlie.” she wouldn’t listen. she would never listen. polite requests didn’t seem to register in her mind, only violence, and he wouldn’t stoop to such lows to get her to say his name properly. he had his own ways of getting even. a coy smirk pulled across his lips, and he shrugged his shoulders. “perhaps i am so foolish,” he replied plainly. “you know very little of me.” in truth, he didn’t mind what she thought of him. whether she thought him a fool or a friend, he was more intrigued by her mortality. she would grow and change before his eyes, perhaps into a softer person or even crueler, and he found such transformation in such a short lifespan impossibly fascinating.
there were no suitable words in any language that could describe how grateful isabel was for her brother. ever since she turned into a vampire, which was such a long time ago, he never hesitated to help her. her brother was always there for her, despite her claiming that she can handle everything by herself. right now, isabel didn’t have the situation under control. she needed him by her side but she couldn’t ask him to come home, she knew that he was probably busy with diplomatic issues. somehow, he showed up just in time. “you look great, karl. don’t worry about it,” she replied, stopping right in front of him. she nodded her head in response. “the fledgelings aren’t the main problem anymore. there’s something else bothering me, but we can’t talk about it here. join me in my office, i’ll gladly share the information with you.” she let out a sigh, trying not to look as worried as she really was. “philomena is here as well, she’s probably checking out the newcomers. our mansion, as large as it might be, doesn’t have many vacant rooms right now. they keep coming and there are many others on the streets.”
karl. no more could he remember the face of the woman who’d bestowed upon him that name, but he had carried it with him throughout his long life. for many centuries he hadn’t thought much of it, but by the second world war a man with the name karl very well should have been fighting with the nazis. or, at least, that was what some of the less educated allied soldiers thought. so he’d shed his name just like he’d shed his mortality. these days, most of the ones that knew him by that name had died. isabel was one of the few who still remained, and it would be silly to scold her for old habits. instead, he followed her her office. a smooth, polished desk stood to one side of the room, surrounded by old books and fine art, and he smiled at the scent of it. this was home. this had been home for ages now. despite the comforting scent, there was something amiss. he could hear more ruckus than he remembered when he left, and the expression that isabel wore was disheartening. “has she come home?” he lips turned upward slightly. “i had begun to wonder what corner of the world she had hidden away in.” as he listened to her concerns, charlie tilted his head slightly to the side, considering this news. “is that so?” blue eyes narrowed to slits, trying to untangle this newest riddle. “i apologize, but that doesn’t make sense. why would there be so many now?” vampires were not created at such a rapid rate, not since the accords anyway, so either something had gone terribly wrong or vampires were flooding into london. frankly, neither solution made much sense. “isabel, what is going on?” there had to be something, and already he knew that it was something terribly bad.
“not much but that doesn’t mean it has to stay like this,” she replied. angelique didn’t know much about this, let alone his guilty pleasures. she just assumed he was nothing like her. being a cold-hearted bitch wasn’t the only thing she enjoyed. loud parties, strangers, sleepless nights, skyline views, late night trainings, science and, well.. being the best. these are only a few of the things that made her who she is. in those moments, angelique could finally disconnect herself from the routine of her life. she could forget about her problems for a short amount of time and succumb to the pleasures of life. it didn’t last for long, of course, but it was better than nothing. her sweet escape from the living hell that she called a life. “nah, not really. i know some nephilim that gave up their runes and steles due to realizing that they aren’t helpful at all. i may or may not have something to do with it. they don’t really have a choice, they either stand by the rules of the clave or they go back to living a mundane life. i don’t think any of them ended up sided to the renegade, although i can’t be sure. there were others that actually thanked me for behaving like this, they are now part of the elite,” she simply said, shrugging shortly after. “that’s how the shadow world works. you’re either a hunter or a prey. i just happen to be a living reminder of this. i refuse to be hunted down, i’d rather be the one that pulls the trigger. or, in my case, uses the whip.”
never in her life had angelique let herself be weak. she knew she was going to make it to the golden book of the greatest shadowhunters that roamed the earth. she had to. it was the only way she could prove to herself that she did the right choices and to prove that her parents were wrong all this time. she lost contact with them but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for her. she was the ice queen, after all. she could never be bothered by such an insignificant detail.
“it was not—” but she didn’t finish her sentence. instead, she let out a little groan of frustration. damn, was there any way she could make him understand that she wasn’t gawking? probably not. it was just a term but it sounded like a silly thing to do so she did not approve it. “we can disagree on this until the end of our lives, it wouldn’t bother me.” her eyes slightly narrowed due to uncertainty. she would’ve known if he was married, angelique was very attentive when it came to details. the lack of the ring made her believe he was either lying or not telling the whole truth. no, something was missing. she was good at many things but when it came to detective work, angelique could proudly call herself a genius. “you’re married, huh?” sadly for him, she became interested. she had to find out what’s going on here, to solve this mystery. she decided to keep silent on her scepticism. “then how come you’re keeping your wife a secret? also, being married did not stop you from gawking at that hideous portrait. i really hope she doesn’t remind you of your significant one, it would be such a waste of your pretty face,” she said. it couldn’t be that hard to notice a change in her attitude, a mood swing. but it was probably not the one he was expecting of. “i’m a straightforward person. i would’ve told you if that was true.” as she noticed him studying her, angelique slowly tilted her head to one side, still smirking like a little devil she was. intriguing, he said, but what was he talking about? the portrait? her knowledge? her? “i’ve heard arthur talk about this painting way too many times, i know everything there is to know about it. he is incredibly proud of it. did you know that rembrandt was actually a warlock? unfortunately, he’s dead. i know that this woman,” she said, gesturing towards the portrait, “did not deserve the honour of being painted by such a great artist. gossip spreads like wildfire, darling. you just have to choose the people you believe carefully.”
his best kept secrets had long been buried with the dead. murdering his wife in his post-transformation, going half mad with grief and the realization of his immortality, his fleeting love for mortals and his part in the world wars. charlie, too, had been a warrior once, but he had put that person behind him. he had too much blood on his hands, had seen too many loved ones die far too early, and he’d come to despise violence and combat. perhaps if she lived for as long as he did, if angelique had seen the things that he had, she would understand why he felt such distain for violence despite having grown up in an ugly, brutal time. but she was harsh and hardened, despite her youth. a little frown pulled across his lips. he didn’t like to think of shadowhunters who’d been chased from their place as guardians because of her harsh words. it didn’t seem like her place to decide who was fit for the role and who wasn’t, but he kept his mouth shut. he didn’t know what it meant to be a nelphim, he didn’t fully understand their responsibilities, so perhaps her criticisms were needed. “is that so? i had not known that weakness was against the law of the clave.” he found it hard to believe. recklessness, yes, but weakness? everyone started off weak. children and bear cubs alike, they were not prepared to fight until they were older, until they had more training. "why do they give your word such merit?” he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. honestly, charlie wasn’t sure. “you are the singular reason that they succeed or fail? that is a pressing responsibility.” charlie didn’t see the same need for cruelty. his kind were more durable, could survive a great many things even if they were not particularly good at fighting. and unfortunately for some, they could not simply walk away if they were told that they were bad at being a vampire.
“yes,” he agreed, “this is true, but my life is much longer than yours. so in the end, i think that i win.” whether or not it worked like that, he prodded for a reaction. she was bothered by him, he already knew that of her, and he was curious to see what would make her angry and what might convince her to loosen up a bit and enjoy herself. if she insisted upon remaining in his company, he didn’t want to have to deal with the insults and goading.
talk of his wife always made him ache. it had been hundred of years since he’d last seen her, and he could still feel the blood on his hands. his expression hardened, as if to protect himself from these ugly thoughts, and he nodded briefly. “yes,” charlie murmured. “i did not keep her a secret. you never asked about her, nor are we friends, so i don’t see why i would tell you such personal things.” he could hear the defensiveness in his tone. it betrayed him. she was clever enough to realize that there was something hidden beneath his words, and he could only hope that she wouldn’t ask. to have her prod him for those memories were so painful and private and personal. his gaze locked on the painting, as if it were his anchor. like him, it was unchanging, and oh how he needed something to stable in this moment. “they are nothing alike. i merely admire the artist’s work.” the words were short, clipped, sounding a bit more like his native german. her eyes were on him now, watching for every minute reaction, and he tried to force himself to loosen up. it was in the past. so, so long in the past, he shouldn’t be this upset about her death. the pain should have worn away by now. he sighed, a long breath of air, and pressed his eyes closed briefly. he needed to learn to let it go, he couldn’t let himself be eaten alive again every time he brought her up. he had spent centuries in such a state already. it was talk of the talented artist that let him refocus his attention. much as she frustrated him, as he found her aggravating, charlie had to admit that he was intrigued by her. “i did, but i hadn’t realized he would bother to paint someone like this.” he studied her once more before moving onto the next painting. “you forget that i am old. ancient even. i know better than to listen to menial gossip and i assure you that i have my sources. do you think you can tell me something that i don’t already know?” he asked, letting just a bit of personality color his expression again.
angelique shrugged as if it was something normal to feel good while making people cry. “i’ve been told to have a mean streak. judge me as much as you want, you have your own guilty pleasures and so do i,” she replied as she rolled her eyes. “it’s for the greater good. most people understand how useless and weak they are. some tend to improve themselves, some quit. it’s just the natural order of things but of course you have to take it as a stupid thing to do.” angelique was pretty proud of where she stood. she was part of the elite and, one day, she might become the best forensic pathologist this world has ever seen. she wasn’t expecting him to understand. just the fact that he called himself royalty made her want to vomit. she was never the girl to believe in prince charming and his white horse. she thought that royal families were nothing but bullshit. using their titles and privileges to hide the fact that they aren’t special at all. that worked for the delacroix family too. they were a bunch of vampires, who weren’t even blood related, that proclaim to have blue blood running through their veins just to seem better than other downworlders. he claims that he works as a diplomat for his species but why do the conflicts between the downworld species still exist if he is as great as he says he is? “i’d rather let people choose. they can stand by my side, or they can say goodbye to another sunrise. easy as that, nothing complicated. you’d be surprised to see the results.
she scoffed. of course he didn’t understand her. there were moments when not even angelique could understand herself. she was aware that she was a pretty complicated person but she didn’t see anything wrong in that. “i was observing,” she corrected him once again. “i do think it was pretty amusing to watch you talk to a piece of canvas, quite strange i might add. but that doesn’t mean i was gawking.” the truth is that she never liked that term and she would never allow anyone to use words she couldn’t stand to describe her. she was that stubborn. a smirk grew up on her lips, mirroring his only a few seconds after. “how can you be so sure i would reject you?” she teased him, softly arching one of her eyebrows. this was getting interesting. “i don’t really wine and dine. i also don’t recall saying you’re annoying.” without glacing towards the painting for the second time, angelique replied. “rembrandt. it portrays a former head of the london institute. she wasn’t beautiful, nor smart. she was more of an idiot, if you ask me.”
“and what do you know of my guilty pleasures?” charlie mused. not much, he figured. his pleasures came in the little victories won in diplomatic feats, in talking an enemy down, in learning a new language, in perfecting a new accent, in blending in seemlessly with his surrounding so he could pretend to be real for a moment rather than the immortal monster he’d been made into. those moments, in which he could forget how meaningless his life truly was, were some of his favorites over the past centuries. but how could she possibly understand what that was like? she was mortal, living life to its fullest, and though he didn’t necessarily agree with what she did, he envied her. “and what is the good in getting them to quit? more often than not they will become your enemies, i see no good in that.” he shook his head. embarrassment turned to anger easily for most people, boiling until it became hatred. to chase those that were underperforming from the institute would only end in more anger. one might push themselves to be stronger but in an attempt at revenge. or worse, harsh words might make one give up entirely. no, he’d lashed out at one point in his life, he had taken his anger and misery out on others, and it had hurt him in the end.
that thought, however, had him glancing down at her out of the corner of his eye. was that why she acted the way that she did? was she cruel because she was angry or miserable? it certainly made sense given her behavior, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what someone like her would have to be upset over. he didn’t know enough about her. perhaps he would have to do some investigating in the hopes of learning more about her motives.
a short laugh bubbled from his lips. the tiniest of smiles pulled across his expression, but it left just as quickly. he knew that he came off as odd on occasion, air headed even, but he didn’t care much what people thought. the years had eaten him from the inside out, leaving him but a shell of the person that he was. let them gawk. “i think it gawking,” he replied with a little shake of his head. “but i suppose we will have to agree to disagree, hm?” in all honesty, charlie wasn’t sure whether angelique found him interesting or just plain strange, if it was the latter he didn’t much care to be someone’s freak show. and the thought taking her out on a date, especially when he wasn’t certain of her motives, made him feel oddly unbalanced. “because you think that i am odd,” he retorted, "besides, i am married, i have no interest in taking other women out.” he had been married, but it had been centuries now. despite all of that, however, he had remained loyal. he had not been with another. "you did not say it, nor did you have to. it’s rather implicit in the way you act toward me.” her mention of the painting gave him pause. he glanced at the painting, studying the fine brush strokes, and he realized that she was right. yes, a rembrandt. it had to be. he blinked, taking in the woman for the first time. suddenly the painting had some context. what he found more interesting, however, was the young woman standing beside him. his gaze fell to her, studying her more carefully this time. “how very intriguing.” he murmured. “and where, dare i ask, did you learn all of that?”
“okay, fine,” angelique replied, almost seeming to agree with him. “diplomacy might be crucial for some people but i’m a warrior. manners are only going to get me killed and, unlike you, i’m not everlasting young. i’m happily living my mortal life, cutting throats open and making people cry in my own way,” she confessed, shrugging lightly. now that she was thinking about it, immortality sounded pretty nice. however, she couldn’t bear to watch the people dear to her while they grow old and die. also, immortal angelique didn’t sound like a good idea, not for the people who did her wrong. it would probably be a curse for the world. besides, out of all the downworld undying species, she would have to become a vampire and beeing blood thirsty was not a fancy idea, not at all. she liked daylight as well. “you do your thing and i do mine. you’re probably satisfied with the life you have, so am i. to be honest, i don’t see how diplomacy can ever be fun, nor entertaining, but i can assure you that kicking ass is great. it makes you feel like you’re on top of the world sometimes.” she nodded her head in response, thinking about the accords. they were done by diplomacy and if it weren’t for them, no downworlders would be allowed in any institute and shadowhunters would probably have to defend themselves and attack the downworld species at the same time. it would be an unnecessarily war, that would do nothing but to distract all of them from fighting their common enemy. “well, as you can already see, we are now having a conversation. unlucky for you, there is nobody else here i can talk to. i’m not gawking at you, i’m talking to you. there’s a difference in that. also, you haven’t answered my question so unless you do that, i’m just going to assume that i was right about it. oh, let me guess, the woman in that portrait was one of your lovers, wasn’t she?” angelique chuckled, wrinkling her nose as she glanced towards the unattractive woman once again.
“people’s tears bring you joy?” charlie raised an eyebrow slightly, as if she’d just started to speak in a language that he hadn’t yet learned. nelphim were proud creatures, he knew that much, but he hadn’t anticipated that they took joy in upsetting others. frankly, he wasn’t all that impressed. “how very oafish.” charlie respected warrior culture, he understood that sometimes violence was the most logical means to an end, but he’d never preferred it. when charlie had attacked another being, be it another vampire or even a shadowhunter, he’d done so only when it was the last possible resort. those that he hurt, or even killed, would not stop until they had whatever despicable thing they’d desired. charlie shrugged his shoulders. “nor do i understand how you take pleasure in making others bleed. such cruelties are typically expected of vampires, not shadowhunters.” he sighed softly. “i suppose we shall have to agree to disagree, hm? of course, if you’ve never outwitted someone, convinced someone to see something the way that you do, it’s quite empowering.” charlie took great pride in his ability to trick others into seeing things his way, to convince clever foes to begin alliances with the delacroix family and to think that it was their idea. battle was a brutish, ugly thing.
he sighed softly. “i do not understand you.” charlie confessed with a little shake of his head. one moment she seemed to despise him, to think him troublesome and strange, and the next she demanded his attention wholly. he was not permitted to have a say in this, of course, if she joined him, his attention was to be hers alone. “you were gawking,” he retorted with a sideways glance. “if i recall you found my reminiscing quite amusing. perhaps i misunderstood?” doubtful. it wasn’t hard to tell what she thought of him. as far as angelique was concerned, she probably thought he lost his mind nearly three hundred years ago. and maybe he had. it hadn’t been easy to keep himself sane, to salvage what bits of his personality he could. “i do not think it wise to ask you on a date,” he replied, a little smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “first, i am quite sure that you would reject me, and second, i don’t particularly enjoy the company of people that find me annoying. it radiates off of you.” his eyes turned up toward the woman in the painting. “in truth? no, i did not know her. i wasn’t in london during this time period... probably for the best if she was thought lovely enough to paint a picture of.”
“perhaps,” she almost agreed. “i don’t see how perfect manners might come in handy. i’ve been told that mundanes use them so they could feel in control of the situation, but this is not the case of it. i’m a shadowhunter, you’re a vampire. diplomacy has no use in the shadow world.” throughout her entire life, angelique learned that there is only one efficient way to get things done—by knowing how to threaten people. fear makes them easy to manipulate. the right words said at the right timp, accompanied by some bruises or cuts, and here you go. your problem is solved. she was the type of person that would rather use force to get whatever her heart desires than to use kind, mannered words. it took too long and it wasn’t near as satisfying as kicking ass or blackmailing was. the nephilim scoffed, wondering if the man really thought his joke is funny. she decided to step into his game for a while so she was now facing the portrait of a woman. “excuse me, ma’am, but i believe you’re interrupting our conversation. rest in peace, it’s not such a loss that you aren’t alive anymore,” she said. “not with that look on your face.” angelique’s eyes were now carefully following charlie’s features. enough is enough, she won’t talk to paintings anymore. she moved herself right in front of the portrait, blocking his view. “we are nothing alike. she’s ugly, i’m not. she’s dead, i’m not. at least, not yet but i might soon die of boredom. i’m also not visiting her grave, sorry to disappoint both of you.” and right then, she smirked. that devilish smile could never mean any good. “hold on a second, is it a habit of yours to take women to the graveyard? what an unique date, aren’t you such a hopeless romantic? cute.”
as elitist as shadowhunters were, they tended to be a rather brutish bunch. most drew their weapons before they ever tried to talk things through, to smooth things over, and it had given them a rather poor reputation amongst many downworlders. having lived amongst them for centuries now, charlie had become used to their warrior-like culture but statements like these never failed to disappoint. they saw themselves the protectors of the downworld, and oftentimes they caused as much trouble as the forces that they fought against. “diplomacy has a place in every world, it is what sets mankind apart from the beasts. we are not driven on instinct alone but on culture, tradition, politics...” he listed a few. “if not for diplomatic deals made by shadowhunters and the delacroix clan, you and i would not be standing here as we are.” instead he’d have tried to bury his fangs in her throat, would have tried to suck the life from her. he shrugged. perhaps she thought little of diplomatic work, but it had been his most passionate interest for ages. art was yet another of his interests. he loved that its styles and practices changed, but the artwork done in the past remained a relic of that time. this painting before him, with the scowling woman, was made of the same carefully crafted paints and handmade paintbrushes of the 1600s. oh, how he loved the art from those years. in speaking to the art, he half hoped that she would spit a few insults at him and leave him be, but she was far too stubborn for that. he raised an eyebrow as she berated the painting, and found himself glancing down at her out of the corner of his eye. “we were not having a conversation, as i recall.” he reminded her. “you said that you would merely stand here and watch.” he sighed softly, as if disappointed in a boorish child. “you say that you’re bored but you won’t do anything about it. why is it that you would rather stand here and gawk at me?” a short, soft sound of laughter left him, accompanied by the roll of his eyes, it was better not to humor her chattering about dates. he wouldn’t speak of such silly things.
angelique didn’t even bother to reply to his question, the answer was obvious from the look on her face. sadly, there were only a few things that could catch her attention and hearing stories about the past, coming from a man who talks to pieces of stone that can’t hear him and can’t reply to him aren’t on that list. her lips slowly parted but only to let out a short sigh. it wasn’t the first time she heard somebody complaining about her lack of manners but the truth is that she couldn’t care less. she was a soldier, not a princess that needed to learn how to behave. while other women wasted their time by learning those so called manners, she was taught how to use a sword. it didn’t take long until she made her way to the elite of london and, as if that wasn’t enough, angelique discovered another passion of hers—criminology. she came upon some old books and soon found herself studying hard, trying to become the best forensic pathologist there is. with a life like hers, manners were pretty much useless. “sorry to burst your bubble but there are so many things that are considered to be more relevant than my lack of manners, don’t you think?” the shadowhunter snapped back at him, narrowing her eyes. “you can go back to talking with the wall, i don’t mind. just pretend i’m not here, i’ll keep my mouth silent shut.” now this was an attempt to make fun of him. looks like whatever she had to do, could wait a little longer. she just found a new way to keep herself entertained.
“perhaps if one’s life is as short as yours.” he agreed with a little shrug of his shoulders. charlie thought manners of the utmost importance. he had not been raised with them either, people of his original time hadn’t bothered much with etiquette as it often hindered survival. it was only as he grew, as he tried to fit into other societies and as the world matured around him, that he had started to learn his manners. now, after hundreds of years of practice, they came just as naturally to him as breathing once had. he had all the time in the world to master anything he pleased, so why not master manners? charlie had an eternity to develop any skill that he so pleased. he sighed softly. honestly, he didn’t understand why she always seemed to snap at him, nor why she insisted upon hanging around if she found him so troublesome. glancing downward, he caught her profile out of the corner of his eye and found himself marveling at her stubbornness. “you don’t have to stay, you know? the art and i were keeping one another company just fine until you arrived.” now, however, he could feel the judgement pouring from her. she seemed to despise every move he made. but she was stubborn, so charlie shifted his tactic. he glanced at the painting of a woman and decided upon having a chat with it. “oh and it’s good to see you again,” he lied. “honestly, it’s been too long.” a pause, as if he was listening. “yes, yes, i will stop by your grave soon enough, madam.” charlie hadn’t known this woman, nor did he care to judging by the ugly expression she wore. he put his hand up to the painting, as if stopping it from speaking mid sentence and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “... you know, i think you two might be related. she just brought it up but...” he glanced down at angelique. “you do quite alike.” they didn’t. “the good madam would like you to come visit her grave with me. you know, to see for certain.”
angelique leaned against the wall, careful not to touch anything that might break, while listening to what she considered to be nonsense. the man who stood in front of her was literally talking to a carving and he seemed to be emotionally involved in whatever he was doing. she could mock him, make fun of him for talking to a piece of stone but, for some reason, she didn’t. her eyes quickly gazed towards whatever he was talking to, trying to see if it was really a carving of him or not. the thing about sculptures was that you could make them look like several people at the same time so it was probably nothing but bullshit. “how touching,” she replied in a sarcastic way, slightly unimpressed by his story, nor his attitude. how typical of a vampire to blame the shadowhunters for doing their job. yes, indeed, for a long time, nephilim thought that downworlders were nothing but a problem of the society but these days were long gone. he should know it better. ever since samantha merryweather died, the gates of the london institute opened for everyone, regardless of their species. however, it seemed like some people were still bitter about it. he found the wrong person to tease and he was just about to find out about this. “pardon me, i do not lack any manners. i just carefully select the people that get to see them,” she replied, furrowing her brows. despite him being handsome, angelique found him rather weird most of the time. it was almost like he got the wrong movie, like he came from a whole different world. she understood the old fashioned term but it was a little too much for her liking. she wasn’t used to uncommon things or people so she couldn’t help but wonder what’s wrong with him.
“is that what you consider touching?” he tilted his head slightly as if trying to make sense of her. in truth, of course, charlie understood that she was teasing him. it was evident in the expression that she wore that she took very little interest in what he had to say and that she thought him strange. he could hardly blame her. “how curious...” what he did find curious, however, was why she continued to come around when it was so obvious that disliked him. it wasn’t as if they had a mission that they were to go on together, or unfinished business, but she stuck around whenever she bumped into him. to try to get under his skin, perhaps? he stepped to the side, letting his hand fall away from the engraving, and turned his attention to the next image. it was a hundred years or so later and showed a much uglier scene than the last. he observed it silently, paying no mind to what she’d said, before finally permitting his attention to turn to her. “manners are polite social behavior. if you only choose to use them on occasion, there is something dangerously askew.” an eye for an eye, he thought. if she were to poke fun at him, to use him as the butt of her jokes, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t do the same.
it’s not that the shadowhunter wasn’t impressed by art, not at all. she never had enough spare time to stop and stare at the several paintings and sculptures that could be found in the institute’s gallery, angelique would often pass by these hallways without even catching a glimpse of what was found on its walls. always so busy, she lost the count on how many times she had passed through the gallery ever since she moved here. today, however, despite her rushing down the corridor, the nephilim stopped as she heard the voice of a man. she turned around, not knowing whether he was talking to her or not—that’s when she recognized him. he was a vampire, brother of that red headed woman that called herself the leader of the night children. in reality, angelique did not know much about them, nor about their family, but she has heard many stories about them. vampire royalty, or so they called themselves. how pathetic, she thought. very few of them were born as royals but all of them considered themselves to have blue blood running through their veins, what a hypocrisy. “do you always talk to the sculptures?” she finally spoke, arching one of her eyebrows. she crossed her arms, her dark eyes scanning him from head to toe. he did look good, there was no use in denying that, but there was something about him that could easily annoy her. whether it was his everlasting calm or his old-fashioned ways, she had no idea. in fact, she didn’t even know why she stopped to talk to him, in the first place.
his finger traced gently along his own familiar features to the shadowhunter standing next to him. the man had hair drawn back, away from his face, and a too large battle axe in hand. "ah...” he murmured. the corners of charlie’s lips turned upward, evidently amused by what he saw. “now i remember. the artists certainly did not bother draw you as you were.” the realization made him chuckle softly. he couldn’t remember the man’s name anymore, nor did he care to, but he knew exactly what scene this was meant to show. the nelphim had been brave, for he hadn’t the brains to be cowardly, and had been led by the nose to heroism by the delacroix family in order to further their own agenda. shadowhunters, he mused, always seemed to think their presence was overly important. he’d just started to turn his attention to the next piece, when a familiar voice caught his attention. charlie turned slowly, the smile still tugging at his features. “only the ones that speak to me,” he replied with a wider grin. he tapped his finger on the man. “i remember this fellow. he was quite a brute, even by medieval standards.” shadowhunters had been crueler then, less willing to make alliances with downworlders who they’d seen as their inferiors, but on occasion they bothered to work together with lesser creatures if it meant getting what they wanted and some of the downworlders had obliged if it meant they got what they wanted. oh and they always got what they wanted. “he very nearly slayed me. a rotten thing it would have been, as i am the reason he is in this gallery at all. but you shadowhunters have never been particularly good with manners, now have you?” with that, he gave her a pointed look.
a millennia of living, or unliving, permitted an individual with a certain perspective. he had been born more than two hundred years before the completion of the notre dame, nearly five hundred years before michelangelo started to pain the madonna, and so, so many decades before the opening of the louvre. he was an old acquaintance of culture, of art, of beauty, and he found himself pausing in the london institute’s gallery. already he had spend hours and hours wandering through the shelves, reading through subject matter that he’d never dreamt that he might have access to, and then he’d ended up here. he admired the history that was lain out here before him, artwork and scripts telling of the accomplishment of great shadowhunters. some of the older pieces featured his kind as enemies, as demons to be slain, but the more modern pieces showed vampires as an occasional ally. he smirked slightly, blue eyes darting over the features of the piece, and he tilted his head to the side as he observed. yes, he remembered these events, many of these events. his finger came up and he touched upon a young man in an engraving set in the 1500s. “huh.” he murmured to himself. “i don’t remember this.” but the carving showed him, so he must have been there. how slippery memories became after all of those years.
the delacroix mansion was as calm as usual. isabel took care of the fledglings. she fed them, told them everything they need to know about the shadow world, particularly about being a vampire, asked them questions about the people who turned them into immortals, then assigned every single one of them to the rooms of the fourth floor. she was now in her office, in the highest place of this house, trying to investigate on the recent problems. as the leader of the london vampire clan, she couldn’t allow rogue vampires to roam free, to kill mundanes for fun, or to turn them into confused and aggressive downworlders. it was her duty to investigate who was behind all this, to catch the one in charge and to make sure that this won’t happen again. not under her reign. she had been distracted by a sudden feeling. she could recognize the smell of his blood anywhere, there was no doubt about who the visitor was. with an incredible speed, isabel reached the main floor of the mansion, a warm smile growing on the corners of her lips as she slowly went down the stairs. “welcome home, brother.”
ever cunning and skillful with words, charlie’s ability to enthrall mundanes and downworlders alike had only increased over the centuries. there was something genuine, something natural, about his drawling pronunciations and impeccable manners. he laughed at exactly the right times, made eye contact, and could navigate how to best ease a tense moment with a self-effacing joke. he was not born royalty, instead he’d been invited into the delacroix line, but he’d seemingly embraced his place. knowing his skillset, charlie had been something of a diplomat for the family for as long as he could remember. he had created many peace treaties and formed hundreds of alliances, and his skills had been put to use yet again in the scandinavian peninsula. despite the lavish living arrangements afforded to him in copenhagen, he was glad to be home. he missed his own quarters, his well worn chair, his favorite books, and especially his dear sister. he grinned up at her, pleased that she’d taken time from her busy schedule to meet him at the door. “sister,” he purred in response. “i hadn’t expected you to meet me at the door or i might have bothered to clean up a bit.” a lopsided grin appeared across his lips. “you look lovely as ever, i certainly hope that means the fledgelings have been well behaved.”
ASPHODEL — MY REGRETS FOLLOW YOU TO THE GRAVE; AUSTIN BUTLER is KARL "CHARLIE" DELACROIX, an NINE HUNDRED EIGHTY-TWO year old VAMPIRE. He is said to be CHARMING but NIHILISTIC as well. Let us welcome THE HOPELESS WANDERER into the Institute with open arms.
BIOGRAPHY;; tw: blood, tw: violence, tw: murder
karl fuchs was born into the mundane world in the year 1035 c.e. nearly a thousand years later, he no longer remembers the precise date, nor the place, nor the people that he was born to. what he does know is that he was born in the kingdom of germany and that his parents were laborers. his father, as his last name suggests, hunted foxes and his mother tended to the home.
of course, karl was not educated formally. he was taught to speak old saxon purely because he spoke and heard it, but he did not learn to read or write at this time in his life. instead, he was expected to hunt alongside his father and he earned his wage from a young age.
by his early teenage years, he found himself in an arranged marriage with another teenager. the two fought a great deal with the marriage first came about, both finding the other particularly annoying, but as the years wore on they learned to care deeply for each other and even grew to love one another.
at age twenty-four, karl was hunting in the forest early, early in the morning and a strange woman sprung from the trees, startling karl immensely, but through the use of encanto, she managed to convince him to spend time in her company and to feed from her.
in the aftermath, he found himself dizzy and confused. rather than continue his hunt, he went home and rested, feeling rather ill. within a few months he’d put the incident in the very back of his mind, trying his damedest not to think about the woman and to be more careful in the forest.
approximately a year after the feeding, karl met his end in a hunting accident. his wife tearily buried him and it was there that he rose from the grave and became a vampire. there was no one to keep him from feeding, to help guide him through the process, he slaughtered a dozen people in his village, and only afterward did he realize that he’d killed his wife in the frenzy.
he was heartbroken and horrified by what he’d done and he fled from his village, after watching his wife’s burial from afar, in the hopes of hiding himself away. karl viewed himself as a murderer, as a monster, not understanding that something had happened to him.
it was on this journey that he met with the delacroix family and was invited to join them. he was reluctant to do so, afraid of getting close to anyone lest he hurt those he cared for again, but ultimately he’d accepted. they seemed in control and he hoped that they would teach him how to control himself too.
it was through the delacroix family that he learned the truth of what he was, what he was capable of and what he could do, and he tried to embrace this new power. still, he missed his wife and felt terrible for the things that he’d done.
isabel joined soon after karl and he found her intriguging, the two formed a bond akin to siblings.
over the years, karl tried to find a great many uses. perhaps most notably, he fought in both world wars as an englishman, fighting against the people of his home nation, and it was at this time that he changed his name to charlie so that his brothers in arms would not distrust him. he was fiercely protective of the soldiers that he fought with and did everything in his power to keep them safe.
oddly, charlie sees mortal lives as being worth more and though he helps the vampires, he tries his damnedest to help mortals as well. he has a particular fondness for mundanes, but he also enjoys shadowhunters and werewolves (though his bloodline says he shouldn’t).
to this day, memories of what he did haunted him over the years, but outwardly he has polished his appearances. he is charming and capable of being playful, but in reality he doesn’t see much point in his life as it is. if not for his family, charlie surely would have lost his mind. at present he acts as something of a diplomat for vampires and the delacroix family. he uses his charms to help the vampires get what they need and serves his life’s purpose in that respect.
WANTED CONNECTIONS;;
siblings - charlie’s relationship with each of his siblings is different, but these are the lifeforms that he has spent the most time with over the centuries so he has a great deal of respect for their abilities and differences. these are the people that he feels that he can be himself around most, and he appreciates the freedom that their relationship gives him. [taken by isabel and philomena delacroix, more places available]
immortal friends - they met a hundred years ago or so and have been fast friends ever since. they enjoy one another’s company and are able to pass the time together quite comfortably. they don’t need to see each other all the time, what’s the point, but they are about as close as charlie feels to anyone outside of his family.
modern day love interest - since killing his wife about nine hundred years ago, charlie has never taken another lover for fear of what he might do, but something about this person caught his eye and he finds themselves intrigued by them. though he will fight it with everything he has, he finds that he wants to be nearer to them and has trouble controlling this urge.
demon blood - charlie took an interest in ophelia because of the demon blood that she possesses. he feels that he can help her learn to control it, just as he has learned to control his own blood, and he wants to make her more comfortable in their own skin. although she doesn’t always want him around, he doesn’t mind much. his willingness to help is a way to pass time, and he can find other things to amuse him if she won’t have him. [taken by ophelia rivendale]
mortal friends - their lives are fleeting, short lived and bound to make him mourn, but he’s always taken a liking to mortals. he likes to watch the way that they progress and the journeys that they make in their short time on earth. somehow he envies them. in truth, he lives vicariously through them, enjoying the ups and downs of their lives and trying to remember what it felt like to be whole.
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