The Universe's Mixer

The castle felt a lot more fitting to him than any of the residences he'd taken up within the City to date. More than the hotel room he had shared with Baba, more than the hidden day place he kept even now, just in case. More than Fangtasia, certainly more now that it was Purgatory. And definitely more than Baba's weird little cabin - which followed him around as he walked the grounds of the castle like a puppy.

It wasn't just because of his royal bloodline, the fact that he should have been a king in a former life. It wasn't even the fact that he was pretty much a king now. A king with a queen he'd waited centuries for.

The place was just... right.

Of course, even with a place that was right, there was something missing. He hadn't seen Logan in a while, and worse, he couldn't feel Logan within the City anymore. There was just a void where the boy had once been. It wasn't, admittedly, as large a gap as it would have been had this been Pam, his first progeny would always be his favorite, no matter who came along. But Eric couldn't deny that he had a fondness for Logan that had been growing since the first time they'd met. And he had filled a strange, previously unknown Viking need to sire a male heir.

Given that Pam could, and would, be able to take over completely and with authority and ability should anything happen to him, it was an absurd need to have at all. Still, that very ancient pride had welled up after Logan's making.

The vampire sat, brooding a little, in a vast living area that had a giant fireplace. He'd lit the wood within, even though it wasn't cold and he'd never particularly feel the need for a fire. There was a large wingbacked chair situated directly in front of the warmth. He was planted in it, staring at nothing.

For a while he had felt out of place in this new city. Every little anomaly kept him on his toes. He'd observed with reserved incredulousness all the noise and colours and vivacious people on the streets, half-wondering if this was some vision of a dystopian future (the irony of the past re-created wasn't lost on him) that he'd wake up from.

But the uneven bricks that lined the buildings he walked past were rough and cool under his fingers. It didn't seem so strange to be out of place after all when everyone else seemed to have their own quirks and stand out in their own ways. A conformist in a city of individuals could pick up rather quickly that everyone was as out of place as he was.

He'd wandered about aimlessly, turning this way and that, learning something new around every corner until his feet brought him to a glass window with city guidebooks on display.

When there was a soft jingle at the door he looked over his shoulder and glanced at the bell before making his way over to the display counter. The array of fiction behind him was admittedly tempting to look at but for now he needed to know more about this place.

Flipping through one of the books he'd picked up, he seemed more curious about the texture of the paper than he was about the actual contents printed between the folds.