InsaneJournal

NIGHTTIME SNACKING

JUNE 19 | The Station → São Paulo | MIDish

He was slumming it. There was no other way he could describe the new living conditions and he knew his mother would be disappointed in his viewpoint but really? Communal living? A starter allowance that was a pittance compared to his actual allowance and bank account? Painful. And the clothing options were pathetic. Gone were his closets of tailored clothing and expensive shoes. Gone were the fancy watches and tech.

But there was a larger problem: the sourcing of blood. There weren’t exactly Feeders on staff here and Aunt Rose had secured something for his mother here but there were suddenly three more adult mouths to feed and that wasn’t going to be sustainable.

Andre dropped down onto the floor of the hallway, leaning against the wall just to have a little bit of space and peace to himself for a few minutes while he tried to figure out what to do next. The whole place was awash in chaos and most were taking it all in stride or at least faking it really well. On the plus side of things, with him being not at home, there was one stressor off his plate. He needed to tell Emily about that, though. Eventually. Maybe. Andre pressed fingertips against his forehead and tried to will away the headache that had been creeping up. The door across from him opened and he didn’t bother looking up right away. “Don’t suppose I’ve missed any announcement on the network about them having found a way to send us home?” he asked whomever had just joined him in the hallway.

"If you missed that, I must've missed the one where I was elected the town crier." The arch of Hope's brow was only rivaled by the one in her tone. Sometimes it just came out when someone caught her at the wrong time—and stumbling across someone as soon as she left the apartment she had not grown up in was the wrong time.

A vast majority of her energy for the last twenty-four hours had gone into making sure her brother was settled. It meant stocking the pantry and the fridge for a figurative (or literal, depending on one's perspective) demigod and finding a couple of the classic boardgames for the sake of familial sentimentality. Sure, they'd been self-appointed errands, but the last thing she wanted was for some rando to suddenly thrust yet another responsibility on her. Hope eyed him for a moment before declaring, "I don't know you."

"Gold star," Andre drawled as he lifted his gaze. "I am not from San Francisco nor have I ever been here before my unwilling arrival." The smile he offered didn't reach his eyes and looked more like a practiced thing. Like the rest of the Moroi the smile also didn't show his fangs. But Andre still had manners and he got to his feet in the presence of a lady. "Andre Dragomir," he said, dropping the hyphenation. Lissa Dragomir had a better chance with name recognition than Christian Ozera did. "I fear I am wildly out of my depth here."

She smirked at his response, but it was gone before he got to her face, replaced by a thoughtful look. "Are you related to Lissa? And if you are, and I don't know you and you've never been to sunny San Fran, then that opens up a whole host of other questions and possibilities that I am definitely not sober enough to tackle." Hope tilted her head at him in open curiosity, gaze taking the whole of him in—well, the parts she could see. "What exactly is your depth, Andre Dragomir?"

The slight bow he gave, right hand crossing to come up over his heart briefly, was not completely condescending. It looked too ingrained. "Got it in one," he affirmed. "Vasilisa Dragomir is my mother. I was born at Court which is on the other coast. We never had reason to come to San Francisco. The furthest West I ever went was Montana." He had already straightened and his hands slipped casually into the pockets of his slacks. "For one, my considerable resources aren't here and I feel it is fair to complain about that." But Andre paused and frowned. "What do you know of my mother here?" She was so young here. Naive, even. He stepped forward and his expression smoothed into something more charming as he smiled again. "And what is your name, by the way?"

"Hope," she replied, off-handed and without supplying her surname, because it was already clear it wouldn't mean anything to him. Well, all of that was even more confusing. The more she tried to puzzle it out, the more she became aware of a pinprick of pain forming between her eyebrows. "I mostly know her kid, Melissa. I'm a few years older than her, but we still grew up together. Here. Where you've never been. Which probably means your dad isn't Scott McCall." Hope was close enough to reach out and brazenly pat his chest in the most condescending way possible. "Love those priorities, Andre. How on earth are you ever going to survive?"

Andre's eye twitched. He couldn't help it and he hate that he felt it. "Melissa is," illegitimate, "not my sister." It was said tightly and he struggled against the emotion that came with it. "Scott McCall is most definitely not my father."

The condescension was at least familiar in a sick sort of way. He grew up around Royal Moroi and even though Lissa was trying to change things for the better there were still certain families that looked down on Moroi who weren't royal. Andre's parentage was never in question and it was easier to fit in when he went along with the crowd, rather than submit to the uncomfortable feeling that his parents or those closest to them wouldn't approve of his behavior. "My priorities here are admittedly out of order," he said with a tip of his head. "I am used to having at least one Guardian around me at all times and my every need tended to. Is that really so wrong? But I suddenly find myself here and now down is up." Just as with the eye twitch, he hated that he couldn't catch himself from letting his gaze stray to Hope's throat. It was brief but it was still a weakness and he was not supposed to show weakness. "But aren't you lucky to only be thrust into the past instead of completely and entirely upended into a new reality."

If she wasn't so close, she might have missed both of his microexpressions. They pinged two entirely different reactions, however. One was a flare of anger on Melissa's behalf, but the other was admittedly inappropriate interest. It seemed safer to bench the talk about families, even though he seemed dead set on beating the topic of his ancestral wealth into the ground. "Lucky, sure. It's not like my life got upended or anything. No, I'm just stuck in a time when I was a literal infant, and our very co-existence could bring about a universe-ending paradox. Sounds fun, right?"

Hope took a step away and started down the hallway. "I'm headed to São Paulo for a couple of hours. Ever get a craving? I'm in desperate need of pão de queijo." She paused and looked over her shoulder. It wouldn't be the first time her taste in someone led her to make a bad decision. And Koll wasn't around to talk her out of it, or give her the puppy-dog look that would make her second guess herself. "Wanna come?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "If it's a universe-ending paradox, doesn't that mean you won't be around long enough to experience it happen?"

Andre hesitated and reached for his phone. "What time is it there?" he asked, not even questioning the idea of just traveling to a foreign country at the drop of a hat. He could handle a certain amount of time out in the sun, of course, but it was draining and not the best of ideas when he was already trying to figure out his next meal source. "When we get there, I mean." Because he had already decided to go along. It was also getting infuriating that she did not seem the least bit interested in what he had to say or offer. Which meant he needed to try harder.

"Touché, but I can't help but think that split second of guilt would be its own kind hell, don't you?" Hope wasn't all that religious, but it was hard to discount things entirely when a body grew up on stories of the Underworld and shades and Our Lady Underground. Granted, she wasn't sure if they existed in this particular world, but it left an impression. Even if hell wasn't real, the principle was was an influential one, but not necessarily one that was particularly effective.

See above, re: inviting a random stranger to Brazil.

Speaking of, she came back over to him just so she could peek at his phone and the current time. "It's six-ish now, so it'd be a little after ten there." Hope looked up at him—literally up, because her type included the very tall—and grinned. "Past your bedtime? Will your 'guardian' disapprove, assuming you make it back home?"

Andre didn't take the bait. He just smirked. "Nah. I'm usually getting up around this time. Night owl," he said. "Though you'll be the one having to explain to Dimitri and Rose why you didn't return with me and they're both the scary type. Trust me. You don't want to cross them."

He tucked his phone back into his pocket and raised an eyebrow. "So. Brazil?"

Her mouth quirked to one side, and she didn't bother to hide her eye roll. "I meant returning home home, not back here." Hope definitely hadn't been in this time period long enough to remotely feel comfortable. It was like being in a familiar place, but things were ever so slightly off. She shook her head to clear that thought and smiled at him with a raised brow. "I really don't intend on stranding you on a different continent. Unless you turn out to be an asshole, I mean. But even then, I'd probably just make you sweat for a couple of hours. I'm way too smart not to be intimidated by Dimitri, but especially Rose."

It wasn't an exaggeration. She put her hand on his shoulder, visualized a particular alley just off one of the busier thoroughfares—a spot that hadn't changed in a hundred years, so she wasn't worried about popping them into a wall by mistake—and off they popped. Music echoed off the sun-warmed walls to either side of them. Hope grinned up at him. "Bem-vindo a São Paulo., Andre. Have you been here before?"

When Andre cursed in surprise, it was in Russian. It turned into a long, creative string and he had to steady himself against the nearest wall while he leveled a look at Hope. "When you said Brazil, I thought you meant a private jet," he ground out through clenched teeth. Moroi were typically pale in general but he seemed to turn even more pale with the sudden shift of space. "I haven't been here before, no," Andre added, trying to regain some control over the situation and his composure.

"Sorry." She wasn't. It amazed her how often people complained about her brand of insta-traveling. Made her tetchy, but sharing an exhaustive explanation took the fun out of all of it. "I mean, I'd be happy to take you back, and then you can charter a flight and go through security and customs, and then I suppose I'd see you again in… fourteen hours? I'm sure I'd find some way to pass the time. Without you, obviously."

The heat of the day still lingered on the pavement, and Hope lost no time in taking off her jacket and tying it around her waist. It was a stop gap. Chances were, she'd be losing more layers as the night went on. "Do you have any more constructive feedback, or should we go find some trouble? There's a club near here in my time. I want to see if it's already there."

Andre rolled up his shirt sleeves but that was the best he was going to manage under the circumstances without losing the button-up completely. And he forced a lazy smile; it was an expression he was proficient at so it was easy to fake and he slung an arm around Hope's shoulders as they began to move. His legs were longer than hers and he could catch up easily but this was about arrogance. Besides: she'd started it.

"I like the idea of getting into trouble," Andre said. Je suis cependant désavantagé. I am not fluent in Portuguese. French? Russian? Sure. How can I be sure you won't fuck with me?"

Reaching up to the hand on her shoulder, Hope tapped it gently with her finger as she took in the tightness in his jaw and the unhappy set of his mouth. Unacceptable. His cooler skin felt nice, and that's just how she wanted to keep it—nice. "Well, that was sort of ultimately the goal as far as I was concerned, but I suppose you could find someone else to fuck with. I don't hate watching."

They were almost to the sidewalk when she leaned up to whisper, "Ne t'inquiète pas, marcheur de nuit. Je ne laisserai rien t'arriver. Just tell me if you start feeling nibbly. I'd like to avoid a major incident, if we can."

Andre was about to come up with some sly remark (hey, she kept starting it) but his head whipped to the side and he drew away though only halfway, hand hovering near the back of her neck though it was without the intent to grab her. His eyes had gone wide and Andre couldn't seem to form another word.

"You know," he finally managed, a statement instead of a question. "That I am Moroi." His eyes, the Dragomir green, searched hers while he tried to make sense of the last four or five seconds. Andre didn't ask how. That felt somehow insulting to both their intelligences.

"I do." Simply put, without a hint of affectation. His shock was genuine. It only seemed fair that her response should be as well.

Hope came around to face him and smiled warmly up at him. "And it's not a deal breaker for me. Obviously. I wouldn't have invited you, if it was. And my brother could quite literally smite you if you tried to hurt me, but not before I popped you into an active volcano or at the bottom of the Marianas Trench. I can take care of myself, but I definitely have a weakness for dark and misunderstood things. You good?"

Andre swallowed a little thickly and glanced away but more to look out at the street they'd been about to walk out into. They were in the entrance to the alley, and it was still safe to speak of things not meant for the average ears. "We typically do not let humans know about us. The Moroi, the dhampir, and then the Alchemists are the only humans who know. Strigoi don't count; they're dead," he said quietly, clearly unnerved. Hope had moved around to his front and Andre lifted the same hand he'd dropped when she moved, reaching up to lightly tug on a strand of her hair. "I am not dark and misunderstood." One eyebrow raised and Andre aimed for haughty. "I am a Royal Moroi, my mother is the Queen, and I live in luxury. I just happen to have a nocturnal schedule."

Something in his eyes softened, though, like he couldn't hold onto his attempts at being snobby. "If it doesn't scare you, I would appreciate a blood donation. I haven't figured out what the Feeder situation is around here. Er, there. But it can wait."

If she hadn't gotten several glimpses past his carefully crafted armor, she might have scoffed and tossed off a snarky reply. As it was, she just watched him for a second or two and then smiled lightly. "I grew up in The Station. I guess after a while it stopped making sense to hide who anyone was, since the world was different and they all needed each other to make it through this new world. Well, new to them. I don't remember anything about where I'm from. It all tends to sound like made up fairy tales to me. Like, how on earth does a lowly commoner meet a bona fide prince, and then be the one to whisk him off to exotic places in a subversive plot twist?"

It was Hope's turn to stare, because here was something she didn't know. Her mouth opened and close a few times, before she shook her head—not to dismiss him, but to knock some clarity into her thoughts. It worked, but her words came out in a rush. "Okay, not no, but how does it work? Do you need my neck? My arm? My thigh? How do you make sure you don't take too much? Will it scar? My brother will notice if it scars. Does it—does it hurt?"

"Technically speaking, I'm not actually a prince," Andre said, this time looking genuinely amused. "Politics are weird like that." But he moved again and herded her just a little more into the alley once more. "Neck, thigh, elbow, wrist, wherever you want," he said and his voice lowered. Andre didn't typically need to seduce his potential meals, but it didn't mean he did not enjoy the predator lure his kind could throw out. If he was being honest, he was trying to be nice about it. "But as for taking too much, we are trained from a very young age. If we kill someone while feeding, our souls are forfeit and we become Strigoi." His expression shuttered at that; it was not something he would ever risk. "So we take only as much as we need, we are careful, and we make sure it feels good. I am told it hurts for only the briefest of moments and then it feels good."

Long, slender fingers trailed over Hope's neck because Andre couldn't help it. He was having fun. He smiled and allowed the tips of his fangs to show. "But the scar will fade unless your skin is super delicate. Which is where the more creative places come into play - like your inner thigh."

A little flutter went through her stomach, but whether it was nerves or anticipation was anyone's guess. Hope certainly didn't know, certainly not with the purr of his voice in her ear and his shadow looming over her. She waited for the instinct to run to kick in.

It didn't come.

"Next time I'll wear a skirt." She grinned, bouncing her eyebrows, and then brought her hand up to mirror his hold on her neck with his own. "I think I'd like a kiss first before I become your tasty snack, if that's all right with you? Safe, sane, and consensual is sexy as fuck. And, for the record, I am very consenting."

"Skirts are good for easy access," Andre agreed. He walked her backward until her back hit the wall though he moved slow enough to let her side-step if she truly wanted to. This was much more his speed, the flirting and the open desire. Andre didn't typically have to chase girls back home and Hope at least came with a little more challenge. She wasn't just some simpering Royal girl trying to curry favor with the family.

He dipped his head down and brushed his nose against hers, mouth just slightly open and inviting but not yet taking. "I told you that it could wait, you know," Andre teased. His free hand fell to brush against her waist where her jacket was tied. And then he kissed her.

Nothing was ever guaranteed, so why wait?

—is what she would have told him if her lips hadn't been otherwise pleasantly occupied. He was good at this, but so was she. Being demure simply wasn't in her DNA. In the very, very back of her mind, she could feel her brother's nose-wrinkling disapprobation.

Well, what he didn't know wouldn't kill him. And what happened on hot nights in Brazil, stayed in Brazil.