Monsters and Men:
Before any training can truly begin, you must find out what they know, how much, and how much you need to correct in their training. Mary and Joshua's parents likely ensured they had a good grounding in the basics, but it never hurts to check. And perhaps see how much or little control Joshua has of his powers. And your third stray... likely will need to be built from the ground up. It's been centuries since you trained up younglings, it'll be interesting to see how much rust you'll need to shake off.
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You took a long breath as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The day was ending, and with it came the inevitable awakening of the children from their midday nap. The sight of them rousing at dusk always brought a faint smile to your lips—something was amusing about their synchronized rise with the setting sun. But as endearing as it was, you were acutely aware that this seemingly mundane routine would soon be disrupted. All three of them were bound for school and training, and normality, and with that came risks you could not afford to overlook.
Your defenses, formidable as they were, could only do so much. The children were vulnerable in ways they didn't yet understand, and the world beyond your protection was fraught with dangers they were not prepared to face. You knew they had to be vigilant, to ensure that nothing caught them unawares.
The thought gnawed at you, stirring a sense of urgency you couldn't quite quell. Patience had been your strong suit, but the waiting—waiting to see what they were capable of, as you had done for hundreds of fledglings who wished to learn the secrets of your power… and who gained it through great difficulty, was not one you had done for a very long time. Nearly two hundred years… since Tim first stumbled upon your doorstep.
It was still amusing, even now, as he begged for help when all he had to his name was his service.
The scent of dinner wafted through the air, bringing you back to the present. It was a simple meal, pasta with sauce and mushrooms and broccoli—nutritious but unremarkable. Mary was at the stove, her brow furrowed in concentration as she stirred the pot. She had taken to cooking with surprising enthusiasm, finding solace in the routine of it, just as she had when she was younger. Her parents were always trying to find ways to make sure she could care for herself, and her brother, long before the catastrophe that led the two children to you. You could see the care she put into each meal, even if it was something as ordinary as tonight's dinner.
At the counter, Joshua was perched on a stool, his small hands slamming together in a rhythm that only he understood. His energy was boundless, a stark contrast to his sister's calm demeanor. He was waiting to be served, his bright eyes following Mary's every move with anticipation. It was the strangest thing, seeing Joshua being the small child he was, rather than the ancient being of magic and memories of millions that he was. It was disarming to you. But you did not try to think too much of it. He would learn soon enough. And he would learn from you.
But it was young Paul who caught your attention most of all for his brazenness. He was seated by the window, his gaze fixed on the setting sun. There was a longing in his eyes, a silent yearning that tugged at your heart. You knew what he was feeling—the pull of the daylight, the desire to be part of the world that was slipping into darkness. But there was also something else, something deeper and more complex. As the last rays of sunlight faded, Paul's gaze shifted downward, into the encroaching shadows. He watched with a mixture of fascination and dread as his fangs slowly elongated, growing sharper with each passing moment. His hair, usually a striking white, began to darken, turning into a deep, raven black with his focus.
Paul was experimenting, testing the limits of his abilities in that quiet, unassuming way of his. You could see the concentration etched into his young face, the way he furrowed his brow as he willed the transformation to reverse. Slowly, his hair lightened, returning to its natural shade, and his fangs retracted, though not entirely. The boy was still learning, still coming to terms with the power that coursed through his veins—a power he had yet to fully understand or control.
You watched him in silence, your mind racing with thoughts of what the future might hold. The children were special, each in their own way, but Paul was different. There was a darkness within him, a potential that both intrigued and worried you. He was on the cusp of something, teetering on the edge between innocence and the dangerous knowledge of what he truly was. And as much as you wanted to guide him, to protect him, you knew that some lessons could only be learned through experience.
As the last traces of daylight vanished, you felt a familiar chill settle into the room. The night had come, and with it, the challenges that the children would soon have to face. You couldn't shield them forever; that much was clear. But for now, you could prepare them, teach them, and—when the time came—stand beside them as they confronted the world beyond these walls.
There was time for that later. They would eat, and than, you would train them.
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Mary:
After the dishes were cleared and the kitchen returned to order, you quietly motioned for Mary to follow you outside. The night air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves as you both stepped onto the front yard. You found a spot on the porch steps, gesturing for her to sit beside you. The moon was rising, casting a soft, silver light over the scene, but your thoughts were far from peaceful.
Mary took her place next to you, her posture straight, her chin held high. You could see the determination in her eyes, the steely resolve that had grown sharper over the past few weeks. She was strong—there was no doubt about that—but strength alone was never enough.
"You know I'm going to ask," you began, your voice calm but laced with the weight of the conversation that was to follow.
Mary met your gaze without hesitation, her expression unwavering. "I'm trained enough," she replied, her tone firm, almost defiant.
You took a deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill your lungs. Ah, the arrogance of youth. It was a trait as old as time itself, a bold confidence born of inexperience and the belief that the world could be bent to one's will. You had seen it countless times over the centuries, in countless faces. It was a fire that burned bright, but one that could be all too easily extinguished.
"You're skilled," you acknowledged, choosing your words carefully. "There's no question about that. But training isn't the same as experience, Mary. You've been taught how to defend yourself, how to wield the weapons your parents taught you with, and identify the magics and the horrors of the darkness. You haven't faced the true darkness that's out there. The kind that doesn't play by the rules, that doesn't give you a chance to prepare."
She frowned the initial flicker of frustration on her face quickly morphing into something deeper—fear. Her eyes darted away from yours, and she seemed to shrink in on herself, her earlier confidence dissolving into shame. "I know," she murmured, her voice barely audible as she looked down at the ground, avoiding your gaze.
"Yet you seem frustrated with that," you observed, your tone gentle but probing.
She bit her lip, the conflict within her evident as she struggled to find the words. Finally, she spoke, her voice tinged with a quiet desperation. "I am. I don't have magical powers, and I'm not a vampire, nor do I want to become one." She hesitated, the weight of her admission pressing down on her. "I just want to protect my brother, and I don't know how."
Her vulnerability was laid bare, the strong facade she had built up over time now crumbling in the face of her deepest fears. She wasn't like you, or the others—her blood didn't carry the ancient power that her brother did, nor did she possess the dark gifts that came with vampirism. She was just a girl, trying to navigate a world that was far more dangerous than she had ever imagined, and the burden of protecting her brother was one that threatened to crush her.
You smiled, a small, reassuring gesture meant to lift her spirits. "Well, it's a good time to learn then," you replied, your tone filled with a quiet encouragement as you stood up, offering her a hand.
"What can you teach me?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and determination.
"Anything you desire and more," you replied with a knowing smile. "But for the next few weeks, we'll start with the basics." With a subtle movement, your shadow extended and reached into the depths of darkness, retrieving a classic firearm—a gleaming Army 1911. The weapon was a relic from another time, one of many you had collected over the centuries. This particular piece, however, held a special place in your collection. It was a gift from John Moses Browning himself during one of your tours in Europe, where you visited old friends and allies. Of course, you had several dozen of these, and an impressive stockpile of ammunition to match. Over a million bullets, still ready and waiting to be used—a testament to your foresight and meticulous preparation.
You placed the pistol on the table between you and Mary, the weight of its history and power evident. "Firearms," you began, gesturing to the gun, "and using that hammer of yours that you seem to favor so much."
Mary's eyes flashed with a hint of pride as she summoned the hammer to her hand, its heavy, iron weight materializing with a faint shimmer of energy. "I know how to use a firearm," she said confidently. "Rifles, shotguns, sniper rifles, crossbows…" She listed them off as if reciting a familiar litany, each weapon a badge of her experience.
You arched an eyebrow, impressed but not surprised. She had the confidence of someone who had seen her share of battles, but you knew there was more to it than just knowing how to fire a weapon. Combat was as much about instinct and adaptability as it was about technical skill. "Really," you said, your tone both challenging and encouraging. "Well, good… then you won't mind if I put you through a series of tactical drills to see where your strengths lie."
Mary's lips curled into a smile, the kind of smile that spoke of a fierce determination. "Bring it, old man," she said, her voice filled with a boldness that almost made you chuckle.
Ah, poor girl, you thought, though not unkindly. She had spirit, that was certain, but there was so much she didn't yet understand about how to live with this knowledge and the world you were in. She hadn't scratched the surface of it.
And hopefully, she would never have to.
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Joshua:
The young boy did not enjoy being awake so late at night. His eyes were heavy, his body fatigued, and every fiber of his being cried out for rest. But you knew that sleep would have to wait a little while longer. There were more pressing matters at hand, matters that required his full attention and, more importantly, his control.
Magic, as you well know, was a double-edged sword. It could be wondrous, a force for creation and life, but it was also perilous, volatile, and capable of immense destruction. As a vampire, most magic was something you had always approached with caution if not outright disdain. Your kind had little use for it—despite knowing all the secrets of magic, and the will to learn it, precious few of the vampires ever studied the arcane, because it required something that most young vampires did not have.
Patience, control, and a bit of creativity. And any of the old vampires who knew it, besides yourself and a few others, would never use it because it was too hard on them. They had fallen into the trap of conformity, and stagnation.
In a way, you had to, not delve any deeper into it and only use what you mastered.
Yet now, you found yourself in a position where you could no longer ignore it. You had to confront it, embrace it even, because anything less would be a grave negligence on your part.
Joshua was no ordinary child. He was The Conduit, the vessel through which the raw, untamed magical energies of the mortal world flowed. He had been both blessed and cursed with the power and experiences of countless magical beings who had walked the earth before him—beings who had never succumbed to the seductive allure of vampirism, who had remained true to their mortal nature until the very end, many of them hunted down and killed by you and your kind. But now, all their power, their knowledge, and their struggles resided within this boy, and it was more than he could handle.
You could see it in his eyes, the way they flickered with the faint glow of arcane energy. He was like a vessel overflowing with a force he barely understood, let alone controlled. And that made him dangerous. Not just to himself, but to everyone around him. The slightest misstep, the smallest lapse in concentration, could unleash a cataclysm of magic that would be impossible to contain. You could not allow that to happen.
"Joshua," you said, your voice calm but firm, as you knelt down beside him. "I know you're tired. I know you want to sleep. But we need to work on this. You need to learn control."
The boy looked up at you, his eyes filled with exhaustion and a touch of fear. He didn't understand why this was happening to him, why he had been chosen to bear such a burden. But he trusted you, and that was enough for now.
"Magic is not just a tool," you continued, your tone taking on a more serious edge. "It's a living thing, a force that can be as destructive as it is creative. And right now, it's running wild within you. We can't afford to let it. You can't afford to let it."
Your hypothesis was unsettling but plausible: the boy, Joshua, was not alone in his struggle for control. Within him, a battle was raging, a silent war between the various entities and past lives that had taken residence in his young body. These ancient beings, each with their own history, knowledge, and power, were fighting to act as a regulating valve, attempting to manage the chaotic flow of magic within him. It was as if they were trying to protect him from himself, preventing the uncontrolled surge of magical energy from overwhelming and ultimately destroying him.
Yet, as comforting as that might seem, it would not do. You knew that relying on these spectral guardians, these remnants of lives long gone, was a dangerous crutch. It was a temporary solution at best, one that might stave off disaster in the short term but would inevitably fail in the long run. Joshua couldn't rely on the echoes of others to control his power—he needed to learn how to master it himself.
The boy's future, his very survival, depended on his ability to regulate the potent energies coursing through his veins. He needed to gain the wisdom and skill to command his magic, not as a frightened child, but as a young mage with full control over his abilities. The past lives within him could offer guidance, but they couldn't fight his battles for him. The burden was his alone to bear, and the sooner he realized that, the better.
You thought back to the countless others who had fallen into the same trap—those who had relied too heavily on external forces, on the knowledge and strength of others, only to be consumed by the very power they sought to control. It was a common mistake, one that had claimed many lives, and you were determined not to let Joshua follow the same path.
"Joshua," you called his name calmly but firmly, drawing his attention back to you.
"Yes, Mister Norton," he responded, his voice tinged with the uncertainty and fear of someone much older.
"What do you feel right now?" you asked, your tone steady, yet probing. "Where do you feel right now?"
He hesitated before speaking, the weight of his internal struggle evident in his voice. "Like I'm in an ocean, and it's trying to drag me down," he admitted, the imagery stark and vivid. "There's a raft nearby, and I need to get to it."
So that was the form his struggle had taken—a raft in a stormy ocean. It was a fitting metaphor, given the tumultuous nature of the power within him. But metaphors, while powerful, could also be misleading. You needed him to see beyond the storm, to understand the true nature of his predicament.
"Joshua," you said quietly, but with an intensity that demanded his full attention, "I need you to understand something. That ocean is storming because you are not in control—but you *are* in control. The storm is yours, as is the calm. The raft can come to you if you will it."
"How?" he asked, his voice tinged with desperation, a boy lost at sea, searching for a lifeline.
"Focus," you instructed, your voice a beacon in his storm. "Not on the storm, not on the raft, but on me. Focus on the face of your sister, on where you feel safest, where you feel grounded."
You watched as his breathing began to slow, his panicked gasps turning into more measured breaths. His eyes, which had been wide with fear, began to narrow as he concentrated. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tension in his body began to ease.
"That's it," you encouraged softly, "Feel the connection, the safety, the love. Draw the raft to you, not with desperation, but with certainty. The storm obeys your will, not the other way around."
Joshua's brow furrowed in concentration, his small hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He was still so young, and yet the responsibility he bore was immense. But this was the first step—understanding that the power within him was not a curse, but a tool, one that he could command if only he learned to master it.
"You are the calm in the storm," you continued, your voice low and steady, "You are the hurricane, Joshua. The chaos may rage around you, it may need you to become monstrous, but it cannot touch you unless you let it."
Minutes passed in silence as Joshua focused inward, his face a mask of determination. Slowly, you could sense the shift in the air around him. The wild, erratic pulses of magic that had been swirling chaotically began to stabilize, like a tempest being tamed by sheer force of will.
Finally, he opened his eyes, and you saw the first flicker of control—of true understanding—dawning in them. The storm had not passed, but it had been quelled, at least for now. He had taken the first step towards mastering the power within him.
"Good," you said, allowing a small, proud smile to touch your lips. "That's the way. Remember this feeling, Joshua. Hold onto it. The storm may return, but you now know how to find your calm."
Joshua nodded, still looking a little shaken, but there was a new resolve in his eyes, a quiet strength that had not been there before. He was beginning to understand, and that was the most important thing.
"Thank you, Mister Norton," he said softly, his voice filled with gratitude.
You simply nodded in response. The road ahead would be long and difficult, but this was a start. He had taken his first steps on the path to mastery, and as long as you were there to guide him, you were confident that he would eventually succeed.
Now you just hoped, that the forces within him wouldn't seek his learning as a danger.
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Paul:
Paul was quiet as the nights dragged on, his silence unsettling in its intensity. You had focused so much on the others—Joshua's dangerous magic and Mary's determined yet raw potential—that, at first, you showed little sign of training Paul. Perhaps it was because he had seemed the most stable, or perhaps because you had been hesitant to awaken something within him that even he might not fully understand.
But that was changing. You could sense it. Paul was growing restless. Though he lacked the insatiable hunger that plagued full-blooded or newly-fledged vampires, the cravings were still there, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. He was drawn to the hunt, the thrill of the chase, the primal satisfaction of sinking his teeth into warm flesh. It was not a need born of starvation but of something deeper—something more dangerous.
He was acting on instinct, like a cornered animal, his movements becoming sharper, his senses more attuned to the slightest hint of prey. This was the problem with those who had been born half-turned, the dhampirs, the daywalkers. They existed in a state of perpetual in-betweenness, not fully vampire, yet no longer entirely human. The hunger did not dominate them, but it lurked, always waiting, always whispering in the back of their minds.
Paul as you suspected, had been taught from a young age to be nothing more than a tool. His purpose was to serve—his betters, his parents, his sires. He had been trained to complete the tasks assigned to him, to carry out the will of others without question or hesitation. Failure was not an option. He was expected to succeed, or he would die trying. It was a harsh, unforgiving existence, one that had left him more weapon than a person.
You didn't care about those who had pointed him like a blade at their enemies, or at the challenges they wished to overcome. You only cared about the fact that now, in this place, under your protection, Paul needed to be more than just a tool. He needed to learn to control his instincts, to master the cravings that threatened to overwhelm him, to become his own person, rather than the extension of someone else's will.
And so, the time had come.
You approached him as he sat alone, his eyes dark and distant, lost in thoughts that likely haunted him more than any nightmare ever could. He didn't acknowledge you at first, too consumed by the restlessness within, but you didn't need him to. You could feel the turmoil rolling off him in waves, the tightly coiled tension that needed release, but one he didn't yet know how to achieve.
"Paul," you said, your voice low but firm, breaking the silence that had enveloped him.
He looked up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, the way a wolf might eye a rival. There was a challenge in his gaze, a defiance that you had seen many times before. This was a boy who had been forced to fight for survival, who had learned to trust no one, not even himself.
"You're restless," you observed, taking a step closer. "The hunger is gnawing at you, isn't it?"
Paul's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer. He didn't need to. The answer was clear in the way his body tensed, the way his eyes darted to the shadows as if searching for something, anything, to satisfy the cravings within.
"You've been taught to act on instinct," you continued, your tone softening slightly, but still edged with authority. "Like a hound that's been trained to hunt, to kill on command. But that's not enough, Paul. Acting on instinct alone will only lead you down a path of destruction—yours and everyone around you."
He scoffed, the sound low and bitter. "What do you care?" he muttered, more to himself than to you. "I'm just another one of your projects, right? Another stray you've taken in to play with?"
You smiled, but there was no warmth in it. And while you had taken others in the past that were such cases... he was not one of them. "You're not a project, Paul. You're a person—a person who's been used, manipulated, and left to fend for himself. But that ends here. You need to learn control, not just over your cravings, but over yourself. And I'm going to teach you."
He looked away, his expression hardening. "I don't need your help."
"That's where you're wrong," you replied, stepping even closer until you were towering over him. "You do need help, Paul. Because if you don't learn to control this—if you don't learn to master the instincts that are driving you—you'll never be more than a tool. You'll never be free."
For a moment, there was silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. Then, slowly, Paul looked back at you, something shifting in his gaze. It wasn't acceptance, not yet, but it was something—a crack in the armor he had built around himself, a flicker of recognition that maybe, just maybe, you were right.
"What do I have to do?" he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
You reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, the gesture both comforting and commanding. "You have to let go of what you were taught, of the idea that you are nothing more than a weapon. You have to learn to think for yourself, to act not just on instinct, but with purpose, with intention."
He swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his eyes stark against the defiance that still lingered there. "And how do I do that?"
You smiled again, this time with a touch of genuine warmth. "By trusting me. By letting me guide you, by accepting that you are more than what they made you to be. It won't be easy, Paul, but if you're willing to try, I'll be here every step of the way."
"And what happens if I fail?" He asked.
"You won't." You replied with a smirk. "I have trained countless like you, and let me tell you, despite everything, you are the most put-together of that psychopathic bunch. You are just a child who has suffered. who just needs help being put back together to where he can make his own choices."
At that Paul laughed "Where would you start?"
"Now… first, we must begin with your camouflage," you said, your tone half-serious, half-playful. "Boy, you need to look better than, as Mary would call it, a 'broody pretty boy who spends all his money at Hot Topic.'"
Paul couldn't help but chuckle at that, a sound that was rare coming from him since he arrived and you freed him from the control. It was a laugh tinged with both amusement and a hint of self-awareness. "And what do you recommend?" he asked, still grinning but with a genuine curiosity now.
"Blond hair, blue eyes, pure colors like that," you replied, your voice taking on a more thoughtful tone. "Something that makes you more disarming, more… approachable. The kind of look that people trust without thinking, the sort that makes them lower their guard."
Paul tilted his head, considering your words. "Blond hair and blue eyes?" he repeated, skepticism lacing his voice. "Isn't that a bit too… obvious?"
You shook your head, a knowing smile playing on your lips. "It's not about being obvious, Paul. It's about playing into expectations. People see a brooding, dark-haired boy with a chip on his shoulder, and they expect trouble. They see someone who looks like the golden boy next door, and they expect… safety and reliability. It's a façade, one that you can use to your advantage."
He frowned, still uncertain. "But won't it be… fake?"
"All camouflage is fake," you replied, your tone gentle but firm. "The point isn't to be real, it's to survive. To blend in when you need to, to pass unnoticed, and to make people see what you want them to see. It's about control, Paul—control over how others perceive you, and control over the situations you find yourself in. If you can control that, you can learn to control other things about you."
Paul nodded slowly, the gears turning in his mind. "I see," he murmured, almost to himself. "So it's about shaping their perception, manipulating it. And gaining control of myself?"
"Exactly," you said, pleased with his understanding. "It's about taking the power away from them and keeping it firmly in your hands. You don't want them to see a threat, Paul. You want them to see someone harmless, someone who blends into the crowd. And then, when the time comes, when they least expect it… you strike."
Paul's lips curved into a small, almost predatory smile. "I like that," he admitted, the idea clearly appealing to him. "But how do I… you know, change?"
You nodded, already anticipating the question. "It's easier than you think," you explained. "Your vampiric nature gives you more control over your appearance than most realize, and entirely under your control. You can change your hair, your eyes, and your entire look with just a bit of focus. It's part of what makes you so dangerous. Part of what makes you more than human. And requires no outside influence to maintain, unlike what you have probably been told by your sires and parents."
"How?" He asked.
"Simple." You smiled, this time, warmly. "Focus on what you want, you desire, but instead of letting it go away... allow it to flow over you, like water. Then you will feel it."
Paul seemed to consider this for a moment, then closed his eyes, focusing inward. You watched as his dark hair began to lighten, the rich brown gradually turning to a golden blond. His eyes, too, shifted from their deep, almost blood-red crimson to a clear, piercing blue. It was a slow transformation, but one that showed his potential.
When he opened his eyes again, the change was complete. Gone was the brooding, raven-haired boy, replaced by someone who looked every bit the picture of youthful innocence and charm. But the danger, the predatory edge, was still there—hidden beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
"How's that?" he asked, his voice tinged with both pride and a hint of uncertainty.
You smiled, genuinely this time, impressed by his ability to adapt. "Perfect," you said, nodding in approval. "Now you look like someone who can walk into a room and be forgotten—until it's too late."
Paul grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "So, what's next?" he asked, eager to continue.
"Next, we work on your demeanor," you replied, your tone returning to its serious edge. "It's not just about how you look, Paul. It's about how you carry yourself. How you move, how you speak, how you interact with others. You need to be able to switch between the roles you play at a moment's notice."
He nodded, understanding the gravity of your words. "And you'll teach me?"
"Of course," you said, your voice softening just a touch. "But remember, Paul, this isn't just about surviving. It's about thriving. You've been trained to be a weapon, a tool for others to use. But now, you need to become more than that. You need to become someone who can shape your own destiny. And that starts with mastering the art of deception."
Paul's eyes gleamed with a newfound determination. "I'm ready," he said, his voice steady.
You smiled again, seeing the potential within him, the drive to rise above what he had been made to be. "Then let's get started."
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Training Went well, Mary is a well-equipped protector, Joshua has begun his long trial as a Wizard… and Paul is beginning to follow your philosophy.
Though young Paul still has moments of... falling back into his old habits. watching waiting... killing some small woodland creatures for sustenance like a Junkie needing his fix.
Small things that you could help, given time.
But a month, maybe two passed, and now…you had to deal with a new problem.
What is it?
[] School Trouble: Mary has been attracting a lot of unwanted attention at school. With her Amazonian physique starting to show due to the intense training you've been putting her through, along with her natural beauty, she's become the center of attention, though not all of it is positive. Jealousy from both boys and girls has been brewing, manifesting in whispered rumors, stares, and even notes of affection. But what's caught your attention is a threat—an actual, written threat in Old Germanic, the language of the Sea People. Those ancient troublemakers are back, and it looks like they're targeting Mary. This is more than just high school drama; it's a potential threat to her safety and your carefully maintained secrecy.
[] A Magical Discharge: Joshua had a bit of an accident at school. In a moment of lost control, he accidentally summoned a lightning bolt, causing a massive uproar and damage. While you can cover up a lot with your influence, this incident is tricky. If the mortals start asking too many questions, or worse, if the Council catches wind of it, they might use this as leverage to separate you from the children by calling in some of the other elders who could defeat you. That's not an option. You need to cover this up, fast, and ensure Joshua doesn't repeat such a mistake.
[] Paul's Parental Issues: The American Child Protective Services has knocked on your door, claiming they need to take Paul back to his parents. The problem? besides the obvious of them being vampires or vampire adjacent, Paul's parents are abusive, monstrous individuals who treated him as a mere tool—a hunting dog trained to kill and had no desire to care for him, seeing as they left him with you for over a month with no sign of communication. You're not about to let them take him back, not when he's finally starting to heal. This situation calls for a delicate touch of influence, or perhaps a not-so-delicate display of power, to ensure CPS backs off for good and leaves Paul in your care.
AN: enjoy.
I needed this.
