Remi stirred. He felt itches. Mostly he felt warm. Maybe, oh sweet Lord let it be true, maybe, they’d sent him to the Real Hell where he could burn decently in the Lake of Fire like all the other sinners! Please, let it be true...
Except that he figured the Lake of Fire would be more...singing, less... woolen. And less Comfortable.
He slowly opened his eyes and saw bright, happy sunlight shining through half-shuttered windows.
Contrary to both hopes and dreams, Remi had not awoken to Hell. Instead, Remi awoke to warm sunlight, the promise of protection from the joyful day, the coddling of a soft bed and thick blanket, and the itch of bandages that told him tales of a job well done. He felt like Hell, true... but he smiled as the scent of homemade breakfast brought him away from days of terror and trouble. For a few bleary moments, he watched the leaves on the trees outside swirl and dance in preparation for being rained on this afternoon (he was in England after all, he remembered), and when he had his fill of pleasant sights, gave himself over to the last warmth of his cooling breakfast.
His reach was complicated by the massive amounts of bandages wrapped around him in various places, so he stretched his arms out and more ‘twitched’ than reached for his meal. It made his stomach hurt, but it did turn him around a bit, and let him see Harry there.
He was only a little surprised to see Harry sitting by his bedside, though he wasn’t sure why it was ‘only a little’. He was tolerably certain that something was preventing a fair amount of pain from getting entirely into his head, and blamed his only slight surprise on this. He decided to ignore the vague discomfort of thought in favor of smelling sausages.
Harry smiled at him, and kept his undead fangs to himself. “The brave hero awakens.”
“It’s early,” Remi said, sure his wit would astound as much as the fact that his sleep-soaked eyes blinked in time did. He was rather impressed that they did.
“When properly motivated, I have been known to risk even the uncanny burning of the sun. Would you like breakfast? The girl brought it not five minutes ago.”
“Indeed,” Remi said, ignoring his ignoble position stretching bandaged arms out awkwardly towards his breakfast on the nightstand. He let them hang where they were. He had gotten a vague idea from his body that pushing himself up wasn’t an option right now. “Verily, very much, very hungry.”
“Good to hear you in spirits enough to partake in your usual noble speech.”
Harry got up and after some moments of awkwardness managed to help Remi get into enough of a sitting position he wouldn’t choke to death on pig bits or whatever it was that they always served for breakfast in England. Actually, Remi wasn’t precisely sure what it was he was eating... nevertheless, he forced no shyness in the matter of eating it. Food was good.
Feeling much revived for getting some food into him, and pleased that English generosity enabled him to keep doing so, Remi glanced at the bandages that now served well enough to clothe him. “Surely, I was not so wounded. Those fiends were not prepared for so righteous an onslaught.”
Harry rolled his eyes, letting pass the little pieces of eggs flying enthusiastically from Remi’s mouth as he spoke. “They weren’t prepared for onslaught at all,” and seeing Remi’s scowl, “The righteousness was just the holy icing on your slaughter-cakes.”
Remi nodded, waving a fork in vague circles. “Slaughter-cakes... I like that...”
“You would. It should be your nickname amongst your fellow holy avengers,” Harry replied, keeping a wary eye on his unbalanced companion’s waving cutlery. “You know, even with my natural inclinations, I still wouldn’t eat blood sausage.”
“Issat what this is?” Remi pointed inquiringly at something he was busy eliminating from his plate. “And that’s your ‘Devil-bestowed and accurséd inclinations’, if you please.”
“I was referring to my being natively English, and thus from far yonder birth afflicted with such cookery, but your point would stand just as well.”
Remi blinked at him, momentarily considering the pros and cons of being English versus being undead, and their similarities, before he continued his assault on breakfast. They spent a few moments in silence, or rather, boisterous consumption and disgruntled observation, respectively. Remi didn’t mind not thinking. He’d thought quite enough. He had pleasant burn going through his body right now.
“I wonder what would happen if I took you out to dinner sometime, Remi.”
Remi almost choked...or rather, he almost stopped eating for more than a few moments before continuing on with fervor. A tick later, he slowed. Harry’s languid smirk sat uneasily on the slayer’s mind. He knitted his brow. He gestured with a fork. He opened his mouth once, and closed it.
“I would have to stab you,” Remi said.
“At least have the decency to do it after dessert, my most implacable slayer, I know a place where you’d love the chocolate mousse...”
Remi flushed at having been fooled, and opened his mouth to make apology.
“...and I’d take great delight in the waiters.”
He shut his mouth again into a scowl. Harry simply smiled. “Your breakfast is growing cold.”
Dutifully, Remi returned to the business at hand while the vampire lounged in his chair, starting somewhat squintingly at the sunlight playing in the trees.
“Do let us be moving on soon, Remi. I’m sure your terrible scourge has whipped the evil out of the very ground here, not to root again for many years. There are plenty of places in England just ripe for that sort of gardening-of-evil.”
Remi wasn’t sure what was in his mouth, but he swallowed it quickly. “Surely you aren’t proposing to hunt your wicked twice-lived brethren with me? Is that allowed?”
Harry shrugged. “As you are aware, lacking the general spirit of goodwill amongst vampires that men are so reputed to possess in great, though invisible quantities, I am allowed many things as regards, as you call them, my ‘kin’. Besides, I have been remiss in my duties as host to you, now that you’re voyaging in my country of origin. It would be impolite for not to show you some of the sites, and let you ravage some of the dens of sin in them.”
Remi gave the vampire a very suspicious glare, no less effective for the continued consumption of the patented English-brand, ‘God-knows-what’ morning victuals. He didn’t trust the vampire, seeing as how he was a vampire, but they had known each other for some time now, and it did make sense that it’d be the sociable thing to do. He had to admit, as well, that the vampire was a good ally in a scrape, and had provided assistance on more than one occasion, where otherwise Remi might’ve potentially found himself cashing in his good deeds before the tables closed, if you got his meaning.
Still, he wasn’t sure... his dreams still weighed heavily on him, their drastic import on his immortal soul quite present in his mind... there were certain occasions when perhaps Harry’s motivations has been less than clear. Though again, Harry had always seemed a gentleman, if a bit foppish, so perhaps it was just the remnants of good human breeding being brought out by Remi’s generally upright (but yet immortally doomed) companionship. In that case he couldn’t really deny the offer, what with the benefit he’d be having on a lost soul. Perhaps even his devotion to ridding himself of worldly sins of the flesh, both done and undone, would have such an effect that Harry’d realize his own dark deceptions and go ahead and stake himself.
...An action which, though he must recognize it inevitable somewhere deep down in his highly misgiving heart, nevertheless made Remi feel distinctly uncomfortable, and which he kept from his thoughts with utmost humble, repentant vigor. Then again, perhaps his impression of Remi’s good intentions, though forever marred by a black nature, would only inspire the vampire far enough to follow his example, and Harry would devote himself to his own theological betterment, though perhaps not to a most worthy self-destruction.
Remi had another moment of doubt. He was unsure of why these were so frequent, and becoming uncomfortable with that frequency. He was distinctly discomforted with these thoughts, though from what murky swamp this discomfort exuded could not be discovered in his own mind. There were the drugs to consider, but... Ah-ha!
Self-destruction was a sin, was it not? Then Harry couldn’t possibly destroy himself. It would imperil his soul even further than it already was imperiled, which was quite a lot.
Remi felt better. In fact, Remi felt positively hale. As for taking Harry up on his offer of accompaniment, it was true that he would no doubt have an easier time finding vampiric strongholds and routing them, and that Harry had saved his life, quite selflessly, a few times, and most importantly, it did mean he didn’t need to look up any of his fellows in the Brotherhood to guide him. Which was really all for the better in just about every way possible. Raw bread dough still made him ill. It would also be most pleasant to accept Harry’s invitation to dinner.
Remi gave a provisional nod. “Indeed, though I charge, I won’t hesitate to prevent any evil in my presence, even if it’s you. Be wary, lest there be any villainy about your ways.”
Harry sat up straight and set his pale hand over his slow-beating heart. “I’ll mend them as best I can, for fear of your righteous wrath.”
Fortunately, Remi was too involved in breakfast to notice his companion’s smile. That was probably all for the best, too.
“Verily, it is a kind offer, and surely bears well for your blackened soul, so I accept.”
“How kind,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. “I suspect we should move soon, though. You want to get on with your slaying and such business before all the vampires go to ground knowing you’re here.”
Remi glanced at him, and couldn’t help feeling slightly suspicious of his sincerity, however he let it pass as the effects of staying up to late into the hours of the rising sun. He was assured this was very dangerous for these night-beasts to do.
With great pleasure, Remi scraped the last remnants of possible edibles off the plate, then, with a glance at the vampire, unceremoniously upturned to plate before his face. Waste not, want not, after all. His youth had made him frugal, in addition to aware of his thrice-as-sinful-as-thou nature.
He set the plate on the nightstand, sighing contentedly as he let his arm congratulate his belly. The bandages weren’t so bad that they constrained the expansion of his much neglected stomach. Staring at his white clad arm and torso, he wiggled his fingers and worked his elbow, whatever it was that was preventing pain doing its job quite effectively.
“Surely I was not so injured by those unholy monsters. I didn’t think it had gotten that bad.”
“Well,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, “You probably stuck yourself more than a few times.”
Remi smiled. “Ah, the fog of battle. Still, mayhap this doctor was a bit zealous. I am eager to get on with my journeys. Did he happen to say how wounded I was?”
Harry smiled, and Remi felt a vague discomfort dribble its way up his spine. “Oh, you were exceedingly put out, I’d say, friend slayer.”
“In that case, I do suspect I owe you quite a debt of gratitude,” Remi continued, quite merrily, “perhaps even my life.” He glanced at Harry, whose eyes glinted back at him with a certain lack of concern. Remi’s brow trickled together, and he pursed his lips, staring at the vampire’s smiling, half-shadowed face.
The vampire leaned forward once again, earnest anxiety on his face as it poked into the light. “Oh, we were all quite concerned for a while, there, Remi. Even when we thought the game might be up, though, you turned it around and recovered.”
Remi shifted in his bandages. He, for some reason, rather wanted his clothes... and his stakes. He spoke with as much confidence as he could muster, “Nigh unto the threshold of death, eh?”
Harry leaned back again, granting the slayer some modicum of relief. He wove his pale fingers together behind his head, leaning back into them as the sunlight strayed away from his coppery red curls.
“Yea, even unto.” He shut his eyes as Remi let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
“You ought not to worry about that, though, Remi. I would hardly let you die.”