Blood Ties

At her son's admission, Charlotte's eyes widened in horror. It was true that she was a tad more lenient on her children than her husband was, but she was still devoted to their way of living. She wanted her children to have love of their own one day but only with people she and her husband approved of - and Dante didn't seem to be that sort of gentleman she wanted for her son. She knew that time had moved on and the gentlemen of her time were long gone, but she still held out hope that one would cross through into their home and her son would fall in love and lose all desire for travel.

Dante, with his occupation, was the last man she wanted her son to fall for.

Nervously tugging him through to a spare room to avoid his father overhearing, she took a deep breath once safely inside, wringing her hands together. "You... can't be serious, Rembrandt. I... no, this is... a practical joke, isn't it? You're teasing me, surely?"
 
"I don't want to lie to you, mommy. I just... I think he's the one,"he insisted, his smile dropping almost immediately. He knew her reaction wasn't going to be a good one but that didn't mean it didn't hurt to see her so upset. "How did you know daddy was your true love? I just... think Dante is that for me. We have so much in common, mommy! I-I... don't think I'll ever find someone like him again. Besides, how... exactly do you plan on me finding someone at all?" He dared to question, though immediately covered his mouth in horror.

"At the very least, could we free him? I don't... I don't want to eat him, mommy. I want him to at least be able to continue his journey, do something I will never be able to," he decided to comment, his call-out being subtle as he awkwardly adjusted his weight.
 
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"I'm not hearing this, this is... you're being so selfish, Dante! I-I brought you into the world, raised you for centuries, may I remind you, and... and you want to flee the nest the first real chance you get? I... can't believe you, this isn't how I raised you to be. You're being so disrespectful," she criticised sternly, though her shaking hands and teary eyes ruined any effort of being tough and stern. She was emotional when it came to her children and she often accommodated them, even against her husband's advice. She was especially accommodating when it came to her youngest, babying him more than she did the others, which made his declaration that he wanted to leave all the more upsetting to her.

"I... You thin he's the love of your life? That rude man w-who doesn't even have table manners is the love of your life?" She snorted in disbelief, waving her hand dismissively. "I-I can't hear this, Rembrandt. I won't allow this. I can forget you told me, if you promise not to persist with this r-ridiculous belief that you'll will run into the sunset together. Go and do your chores, I... I have to prepare for lunch."
 
“He could learn table manners if you gave him the chance, mommy! Please just... listen to me, I-I know in my heart that this is good for me. At least - at least let him live. He can leave and... I’ll never see him again, isn’t that good enough?” He tried to press, though remained still. It was the closest he had ever gotten to standing up to himself but that didn’t mean he was suddenly full of himself, not after centuries of being put in his place.

“I don’t ask for much, mommy. If you save him, I promise I will never speak to another guest again. If I can’t be with him, I just... want him to be with someone,” he whispered, his eyes locked on his toes.
 
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"Whether that boy lives or dies is down to your father. Now, I'm not going to say another word on the matter," the woman declared sternly, shooting her son that severe glare before taking her leave. However, it would only be an hour later until she reappeared to her son, tracking him down in the garden which, fortunately, was far enough away from her husband to keep their conversation private.

Pale and obviously quite nervous, she grabbed her youngest's hand and pressed an envelope into it, casting anxious glances over her shoulder for any other member of her family.

"...There should be enough in there to last you a few months, Rembrandt. There's a passport in there too, your father taught me how to fake them when we used to travel without you children a few decades ago. I... don't send letters to me, sweetheart. Your father won't like that, I can't imagine he'd be happy with you leaving, and I can't have him growing suspicious of me. I... I'll miss you terribly, but I know you'll... have a wonderful time," she whispered with a faint smile growing on her face, reaching to brush his hair with her fingers affectionately. "Come back home when you're ready; don't be too long. I can't believe I'm allowing this, but... but I want you to be happy, Rembrandt."
 
“Are you certain?” Rembrandt immediately questioned, his eyes scanning his mother warily. He had spent the last hour in the garden, contemplating everything. He had never been away from his family’s side, not in centuries, so to suddenly be given the opportunity was scary. Nonetheless did he take the envelope, his face growing rosy in a mixture of emotions.

“I’ll collect my things and head out tonight,” he decided firmly before tugging his mother in close, wiping the tears from his eyes quickly. “I won’t be gone long, two months tops. I just... want to see the world, if only for a little. I could never really leave you, mommy. I’ll bring back souvenirs and everything!”
 
"You do that. You go wherever you want - but remember to eat, Rembrandt. I don't care how you do it, just make sure you get some proper food into yourself, that's the only thing I insist upon. I can't have you turning up here in a few months all weak. It'd prove your father wrong if you returned happy, healthy and tanned, hm Just... above all, have fun. I... couldn't forgive myself if I stopped you doing this; something I did when I was younger and enjoyed. You head out into the world and enjoy every second," the woman beamed, pressing a loving kiss to her son's forehead. Her urge to cry was growing by the second with the realisation that she wasn't only just going behind her husband's back, but she was also knowingly disrupting their family life and losing her youngest son in the process.

"...You really like that human, don't you? I suppose I can't be too mad at you. Your father fell in love with me when I was just some human, after all. It's how we met. He whisked me off travelling and we built all of this together, I... I can't be hypocritical and stop you following the same path, can I?"
 
“Mommy, t-this means so much,” he whispered, sniffling. “I promise I won’t let you regret this. I do really love him, mommy a-and I know I shouldn’t but... but he’s the one, I believe. Perhaps, by the time I return, he might want to stay with us?” He slowly suggested, his teary eyes sparkling.

“I will write a book,” he decided. “I will write a book of my journey and it will be a part of our library, right? Oh, I... I’m sure this will be okay,” he whispered, moreso to himself. “What will you tell daddy?”
 
"...I'll think of something, don't you worry about that. I suppose I'll tell him the truth; at least then he'll put the blame on me and not you. If he can't forgive me for it, that's his problem, I suppose. You know I love your father, but... well, he got to travel. You're old enough to see the world, and I trust you not to do anything reckless. That man upstairs seems... responsible, so that's a relief for me," she sighed, her hands shaking nervously despite her attempts to seem calm and collected. She was going to be losing her youngest child for a few months and she knew she would be left to deal with her family's anger.

"I'll make you some sandwiches to take with you and... and a nice flask of tea," she nodded quickly, smiling wide in an effort to counter the nervousness. "You should fetch our guest some herbal tea, try and make him feel better."
 
“Yes, that sounds lovely,” he quickly replied, unable to hide back his growing excitement as he quickly headed into the mansion and up the stairs, knocking politely before pushing through the door, a wide grin on his lips.

“I have good news!” He urged to Dante, holding back the urge to squeak. “I - I suppose I should have asked first, but... may I come with you on your adventures? I want to be able to see the world with you,” he insisted with rosy cheeks.
 
During the other's absence over the hour, Dante had scoured the room from top to bottom for his belongings, eventually realising that they had beent taken and that the truth was being withheld from him. That, and Rembrandt's insistence that he get into bed and look ill when his parents were around, only confused him, so much so that he was in no mood to take in what was being said.

"...Where the fuck is my stuff, Rembrandt? What's going on around here?" He began with a stressed grimace, his arms folding over his chest. "I... I'm going now, I-- you want to come with me? I mean, I... sure, but not until you explain why you're hiding my stuff."
 
“I... can’t say, not here,” he replied quickly, his smile faltering a tad upon seeing that the excitement wasn't exactly matched on his level. Hesitating, he closed the door behind him quickly. "Just... please calm down. I know where your things are, I just... need you to take a deep breath and realize that I'm risking a lot doing all of this."

Offering an awkward smile, he anxiously fiddled with his hands behind his back. It wasn't going as he planned, evidently. Clearing his throat, he offered to rest a hand on the other's shoulder. "Come on, relax. I will get your bag I just need to know that you'll bring me and this... will be fun! You and I, traveling and experiencing new things? I think it will be romantic..."
 
"You're hiding my own possessions from me! How am I supposed to take that lightly?" He shouted accusingly, shaking his head in disbelief. Eventually, of course, he calmed down enough to fully take in what he was saying, a small smile pulling at his lips. He loved his job, but admittedly, doing it alone was lonely. He wanted someone to travel with him, especially someone he clearly had chemistry with.

"...It is romantic," he conceded, sighing out to relieve himself of the pent-up anger. "I mean, you'll love Iceland and the countries up there. It'll be cold, but... we can see the Northern Lights? That's romantic, I suppose."
 
"So you'll let me join you?" He confirmed cautiously, pursing his lips. "I need to know for certain or... things can get complicated. My mother gave me money and a passport so I could come with you but I need to be certain. This - you don't understand how important this is to me, Dante." He urged before motioning the other to stay.

"Let me pack my things, I need to have my own luggage as well. I will fetch yours after I collect my things, don't worry! We... need to head out soon. I will say goodbye to Amelia, I already said goodbye to my mother."
 
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Amelia might have encouraged her brother to go and follow his dreams, and she was obviously delighted for him, but it was upsetting that their mother had agreed to it - especially when the woman refused to let her be with the person she loved. She thought it was bullshit that her brother could -with permission- head off into the world with a stranger, while she wasn't allow to even see the man she had loved for weeks now.

But typically, she held back her upset when her brother broke the news, knowing the positives for him outweighed the sole negative for her. With a bright smile, the sister's eyes brightened at seeing how happy Rembrandt was.

"Oh, that's wonderful! I... I'll miss you, of course. I'm closest to you, it'll be strange not seeing you, but... you'll be back soon, won't you?"
 
“It will be a few months top,” he insisted reassuringly, taking his sister’s hands in his with sparkling eyes. He didn’t really care to think about the consequences, knowing that if he did he would most likely back out. Offering an affectionate kiss to Amelia’s forehead, he tugged her into a tight hug.

“I’ll be back soon, relax. Don’t let too much change and if daddy asks, say nothing,” he urged before taking a reluctant step back to lead her to his bedroom. He knew Amelia was better at fashion than him and he trusted no one else to pick out his things.
 
"...Daddy's not going to forgive you easily for this, Rembrandt. Don't you remember when he grounded you for an entire month when you went as far as to the front gate without permission? Not that I think this is a bad idea; I'm very much in support," she promised, taking a seat on his bed with a faint smile at how brave she thought he was being. She could be brave and rush down to the village to follow her own dreams with the person she liked, but she was all-talk, knowing the possibility of her gaining the confidence to do that was slim. Besides, she assumed he didn't want anything to do with her now after the threats from her parents ultimately scared him away.

"Where are you going? Will you get to go to Venice? Mummy said that was always her favourite place to go, it'd be wonderful for you to experience it. I... I hope everything goes well with Dante, he does like you, I think. Are you... going to tell him, about what we are?"
 
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"Oh, I would love to go to Galleria Borghese or perhaps see Caravaggio's painting in the San Luigi dei Francesi Church out in Rome," he replied dreamily, his Italian fluent as were many languages, alongside his siblings. "Or perhaps try some hearty German Königsberger Klopse like mommy's cookbooks mention. Oh! Imagine seeing the Kremlin in Moscow, Amelia," he gushed, squealing eagerly as he grabbed a suitcase he had found years ago searching through their home. He never imagined he would ever use it but he had held onto the dream of travel for centuries now.

"Help me pick out some clothing," Rembrandt urged as he rummaged through his closet. Outside of the clothes he had collected solely as souvenirs from former victims, he didn't really have any 'modern' clothing, but he did shove in the essentials such as his favorite fur coat given to him by his mother, along with some sweaters and button ups. "I want to look my best, yes?"
 
"Of course, you can trust me when it comes to fashion; more so than our sisters. They're stuck in the 1700s, whereas I like to think I'm more modern. Remember that party that arrived w Daddy wasn't fond of the heels wonderful. I know Daddy wasn't fond of the heels and the furs, but I adore them," she gushed as she eagerly lent her assistance, absently placing clothes she approved of neatly into the suitcase. Most of her brother's clothes were the same, granted, but she tried to differentiate between them for his benefit. She wanted him to look his best, at least until he had an opportunity to go shopping.

"Whatever you see, wherever you go, will be fascinating, I'm sure. And to do it with someone you like? It'll be romantic, too, I imagine. He's very handsome, Rembrandt-- and free-spirited, too. It's lovely. I... I hope you return with him; I hope he understands about us, I mean. I'd love him to be a part of our family."
 
“Please don’t let mommy be hurt by daddy because of this,” urged Rembrandt after a moment of silence, his smile falling in horror at the realization. His father was never too abusive, at least not in his eyes. That being said, he had never seen his father as angry as he most likely could be. This wasn’t a joke or a little bit of fun in the village, this was a major moment.

“I promise this won’t be all for naught. I’ll see the world, perhaps I’ll buy one of those ‘Polaroid cameras’ that one lady had brought with hers; I could take them and show you what I see. I want you to be proud of me, Amelia,” he admitted, sniffling. “Now where did you hide his things?”