Sugar Rush (Luther & Soto)

[Dieter Auttenburg]

Isn’t life just great?

I mean, it was completely perfect, today I just managed to convince Luther to stop being such a grouch and go get some ice cream with me, which mind you took much more effort than you would think because, like I said so before, Luther was fairly grouchy. But the planets must have aligned or something because right now he had accepted. Now I was even more than smug because of the fact that he wasn’t complaining and that I was finally getting to eat some ice cream. There is nothing in this entire world better than ice cream covered with some nice warm blood. Even the very though of it made my mouth water, I could just taste the cold ice cream contrasting with the warm blood and I better stop this train of thought before I go too far.

In order to distract myself I turned my attention to my surroundings. It was fully night now, a jet black sky covered by only the faint glimmer of stars and a little slice of the moon hanging between it. The neon lights blazed as it was custom almost to the point of being blinding, bodies shuffled back and forth between the sidewalks, at some points making it impossible to walk past without stepping on someone’s toes. The cars whizzed past oblivious of their surroundings, just concentrating on the street before them and dodging between the cars as easy as they could. Normally this kind of congestion was impossible to see, but since it was early night you could see all kinds of people, from vampires to werewolves and even humans dressed in party clothes and chatting animatedly between themselves.

I dodged a couple that was holding hands and smiling gleefully at each other before turning my head around to search for dad, quickly finding him just behind me. I shot what would probably look like an encouraging smile in his direction, hoping the excess of people would not foul his mood before concentrating on not getting trampled over by the living, breathing traffic of bodies. The streets were partly so busy because nearby here there was a particularly famous underground bar which if I remember correctly was actually quite good.

Concentrate Dieter, you’re here for ice cream, not bars. Nothing about bars today, besides I doubted that dad wanted to get drunk, but his mind did work in mysterious ways so you never could be so sure. But I didn’t favor getting drunk, so I guess that’s that.

We halted in front of the street, waiting for the cars pass by, but the traffic seemed relentless. We stood there for a good five minutes and still no break to pass forward. I was clearly starting to loose my patience as a scowl made its way into my face, more our frustration that I still didn’t have my ice cream more than anything, I was even beginning to glare at the street. Why wouldn’t the traffic cease? I was starting to get annoyed; I threw a sideways glance at dad, my face probably showing my disapproval at being made to wait by such an idiotic thing as cars. A sighed, at the endless stream of traffic when finally, by some kind of miracle the cars finally stopped. I had the sense to look at my wristwatch and know that exactly seven minutes had passed since I initially stood waiting there.

For your information I did check the watch while I was crossing the street, I wasn’t about to wait, standing there like a moron glaring at his watch. No, of course not, I was a moron walking and glaring at his watch. Now that was different.

However, after my shoes slapped against pavement I nearly ran over a thin body, quite a few inches taller than me, which forced me to do some evasive maneuver and suddenly pause and look up, one eyebrow arched in question as to why this person wouldn’t move. I mean simply why. Was the world plotting against me so I couldn’t get my ice cream? More importantly, did dad just pick the worst days possible to be in a good mood? Sure seemed like it.

But by God I would get my ice cream.

[The Zodiac]

I stared at the papers in my hand—official, government issued papers—and, for the first time in what must have been a few hours (a personal record for me), I smirked. I had received the documents a year ago, as what I believed was a gift from The Man to make amends for those eighteen years of foster care. What had currently caught my attention was the birth certificate, the names of my ‘parents’ scrawled in black ink, and through these I was able to find two living relatives.

Luther and Dieter Auttenburg.

These two names were familiar to me now, as I had been… let’s say, observing them from afar for a couple of weeks in order to become accustomed to their daily routine. They were vampires, I knew, but what I didn’t know was whether this was a good or bad thing.

Then again, it wasn’t as if I had much of a choice, now, was it?

Late into the night, I watched as they left their home (which will soon be my home as well, FYI) and plunged themselves into the busy London streets. I had followed close behind them, and due to the convenient crowd, they hadn’t noticed me. My plan was to catch them when the crowd thickened, where there would be no chance of escape. I would then go in with the direct approach. You know, the “Hey, I’m Soto, you’re long lost relative! Well now, why don’t I just grab my things and move right in! That’s what family’s for, right?” And of course, I had the proof of my blood relations with this Luther and Dieter Auttenburg right here in my hands. Yes, it would all work out perfectly…

Once crossing the street to the next block, though, my limited amount of patience got the better of me and I decided that now was the time to strike. I managed to shimmy through the elaborate mass of people and conveniently block their path. “Hello!” I greeted in my best jovial tone, offering what I hoped to be one of my rare, non-sadistic smirks. I then couldn’t help but notice how much shorter they looked up close, considering how I had at least a few inches of leverage over both of them. However, I decided against remarking on this fact aloud, for once not wanting to make the wrong impression, though I didn’t have the heart to forbid myself an amused smile as I thrust the papers in their general direction. “You must be Luther A-u-tenburg!”

(._. Luther's post will come later. Hopefully then it will make sense.)

[Luther Auttenburg]

So there we were, struggling to move through the labyrinth of people when Dieter, who currently walked in front of me, came to a sudden halt. Now this wouldn’t have bothered me if the streets weren’t the re-enactment of a mosh pit, and the irritated citizens behind me hadn’t decided to push their way past. But it was and they did. And I was bothered. I would have insulted their primitive mannerisms as they shoved passed, but alas, by the time I managed to collect myself, the perpetrators were long gone. I moved beside Dieter, my eyes flicking toward him expectantly, awaiting an explanation. When none came, my attention then focused on the actual cause of this inconvenience I'd just had—a young, grungy looking man who seemed intent on blocking Dieter’s path. The guy didn’t look the slightest bit familiar—at least, not to me—and to be honest, I was glad of that. I didn’t want to know someone so… how should I say this politely… homely looking. I know I’m not really the one to talk when it came to proper hygiene and clothing, but I at least ran a brush through my hair every once and awhile, unlike this person, and I at least washed my clothes—again, unlike this person with their overly large, torn and tattered sweater. My first thought was one of Dieter’s patients, but as I looked toward him for any sign of recognition, I saw none. This worried me greatly, as the man would not move and seemed to be smirking at us with a sort of hopefulness that I didn’t understand. At least, not yet.

“Hello!” he said, and I was really beginning to hope that Dieter would suddenly recall something about this man because a random stranger suddenly talking to us couldn’t be anything good—especially one looking like this. “You must be Luther A-u-tenburg!”

…

Now I believe that had just made the situation about ten times worse. Not only had he butchered the pronunciation of my name, but I had absolutely no recollection of this guy, and I preferred not to have random strangers knowing my name. Though the good thing was that he was addressing Dieter as he said this, not me. That happened on occasion—since Dieter looked like a younger, pierced version of me, we would often get confused for one another. And now I decided to use this to my advantage. “Fhy yes. Yes he is,” I said before Dieter had a chance to speak, having to resist smirking in amusement. “T’ough he prefers to go by t’e name Figgins. Isn’t t’at right, Figgins?” Now I felt a bit bad for passing my burden onto Dieter, but… it soon passed. I would have completely blown off this guy altogether if the fact that he knew my name hadn’t arisen. But now that it had, I couldn’t simply leave without knowing how he knew and what else he could possibly know. Moreover, those papers that he had shoved at Dieter obtained my interest as well. I, however, did not want to get involved, and therefore was forced to wait in my burning curiosity for Dieter to read them, then decide whether or not he was actually going to tell me what was on them. Oh, I was like a kid on Christmas Eve all over again.

Of course, that was sarcasm.

(Ahah, replying to myself is kinda fun. And rofl his accent just made that name 10x more amusing.)

[Dieter Auttenburg]

I looked up and what I saw was not at all pleasing. He was taller then me, scruffier hair, greasy, unwashed and uncombed in what would seem like years. He wore a smirk on his face which really made me question his motives and instinctively my vision flicked to his hands then back at his face, I mean when you’re used to treating a bunch of crazies it is normally the right choice to see if the person is carrying a weapon, god knows if this man was related to someone who I doomed to an asylum and he was equally insane and willing to exact some form of revenge. Anyway, his skin looked greasy, like the damn thing hadn’t taken a bath in a few months, his clothe were tattered and worn out, a sweater and some rag of clothing masquerading as pants.

However, despite his appearance, it wasn’t what bothered me the most it was something about this fellow it was that not only did it seem like he had this entire encounter planned, but that he seemed to be very familiar with both our faces or acted like he was. Either way, it couldn’t be good news.

“Hello!” he said a tad too cheerfully for my tastes, then again, all I wanted was some damn ice cream and it seemed like I wasn’t going to get any and until I got my fucking ice cream I would not accept cheerfulness from anyone else but myself. “You must be Luther A-u-tenburg!” he added to the previous statement shoving some papers he carried in his hands towards me. I didn’t make a move to pick them, but rather looked down at them, back up at him and arched a brow. Hopefully this guy understood the action as the universal sign for saying “what the fuck”?! However, before I could add words to my expression and clarify that, firstly, I wasn’t Luther Auttenburg, that he was asking for my dear father who was currently standing right next to me and secondly that he just butchered the pronunciation of our last name and thus he should be sentences to the lowest level of hell for his stupidity, but dad butted in, lucky for him because right now he was merely seconds away from a verbal assault from my part.

“Fhy yes. Yes he is,” interrupted dad, which made me turn my frown of disapproval towards him, instead of this man. “T’ough he prefers to go by t’e name Figgins. Isn’t t’at right, Figgins?” he added, unhelpfully, which really wasn’t that much of a surprise since dad was mostly there for his own amusement and no one else’s. Still the fact that he hadn’t insulted this man in some way made me question dad’s thoughts at the moment; soon I came to the conclusion that it must be simply curiosity. Yet, just because he was curious didn’t mean I was about to take this abuse. “Not helping,” I almost snarled, not in the mood for distractions, right now I was single-minded, ice cream and nothing else. I was aware that was a tad exaggerated, but I am rather fond of my ice cream and a man randomly coming towards me and getting insulted in the progress wasn’t something I enjoyed even if I wasn’t desperate for food. In which case, it would explain why I turned my frown towards this man saying as I did so: “Try calling me t’at and you’re going to discover how far t’ese papers go up your ass,” I said towards the man.

I then proceeded to gingerly detach the papers from his grasp and quickly read over them, already trying to come up with an excuse as to why I couldn’t read over the papers when I suddenly found my everything steer to a sudden stop as I read over single name. Elyse Auttenburg was clearly stated over the paper, my eyes quickly read over the read of it, skimming over all the unnecessary details and stopping only to indentify dad’s name and my own. I frowned at the papers, not quite sure what to make of them, they could be forged, really, it didn’t matter, but something told me this fellow wasn’t showing these papers out of kindness of the heart and because he wanted to simply get to know us. Which would explain why I shoved the papers towards dad muttering a “Read t’em,” as I did so and turning towards him. “Fhy the papers?” I asked, meaning to have him state his intentions in showing us the papers and maybe even getting to know a little more about this guy, name, relation, etc, etc. (I did say I just skimmed through the papers, I didn’t read them thoroughly or anything).

[The Zodiac]

Neither of these two Auttenburgs seemed particularly pleased by my presence. In fact, they appeared disgusted just to be within my vicinity. But this was merely the normal reaction. I would, actually, be concerned if they showed the slightest amount of delight in my sudden appearance before them. After all, I had not touched running water in a week or so, and therefore it was a given that I would both look and smell awful. However, did I care? No, because, you see, no matter how disgusted the person might be with the sight and/or smell of me, they still couldn’t help but feel the pang of pity that resounds within their conscience, and that pity was essential. It was an emotion that could be quite easily manipulated to my own advantage.

…At least, that’s how it worked with most people. Now, however, as the papers were thrust into one of the Auttenburgs’ general direction, he made no move to take them. All he had done was merely glance at them for perhaps a second, then looked back up at me with disapproval. ‘This certainly won’t do,’ I thought, and my attention soon shifted to the other Auttenburg to assess his reaction in order to see if it was more satisfactory. And in fact, it was. “Fhy yes. Yes he is,” the Auttenburg announced, and I could not help but notice the… odd accent. Actually, his lack of ability to annunciate a w was so unexpected, I had to suppress the sudden bout of laughter that bubbled within me. Normally I would not put such restrictions on myself—in other words, I’d be keeled over in hysterics right now—but instead, I forced myself into submission. For perhaps the first time in my nineteen years of life, I wanted to make a good impression on these people. After all, my future living situation hindered on them; whether I would live in a house or a cardboard box was in their hands. Needless to say, THE PRESSURE WAS ON, though stifling my snickers with this man’s next sentence would prove to be more trying than I expected.

“T’ough he prefers to go by t’e name Figgins. Isn’t t’at right, Figgins?” My face betrayed me then, my lips curling into a foolish smile that threatened to become full-fledged laughter.

I then took emergency action, which was, evidently, to blabber mindlessly in hopes that the talking would distract me from my current overwhelming amusement. “Figgins? Like the fruit? …Figs? I always wanted t’try one, just t’say I did, but—”

The sound of my lovely voice was interrupted by a rather angry Auttenburg—we’ll call him Auttenburg A. He, apparently, did not find this Figgins joke as funny as I had, as he said, “Try calling me t’at and you’re going to discover how far t’ese papers go up your ass.” Auttenburg A appeared to have meant it, too, based on the irritated expression on his face.

I shut up immediately.

Now if these two had known me at all, such an action would have completely baffled them. But, again, I was attempting to make a good impression here, and it seems that my rare streak of obedience was met with reward, as Auttenburg A finally retrieved the papers from my hand. I observed eagerly as A’s eyes rapidly skimmed over the pages, barely able to control my sudden excitement. However, this was fairly short lived, as the other Auttenburg uttered what seemed to be a rather sarcastic comment, and even though he, indeed, did not make eye contact with me as he said it, it was clearly directed at me. “My God, Figgins. If talking were a marathon, he would be in the top ten at least.”

This was quite true, and my lull in excitement only lasted a few, torturous seconds. And then I was back to fearing that my mouth would gain a mind of its own as Auttenburg A read through those papers, and I would begin ranting on about figs again, but to my relief, Auttenburg A handed the papers to the other Auttenburg—we’ll call him Auttenburg 1—and asked, in what seemed to be a much calmer tone, I might add, “Fhy the papers?”

Now to me, this man may as well have asked, ‘Is your hair brown?’ because that is how redundant it sounded. Clearly my hair was, indeed, brown, so there was absolutely no point in asking. In the same sense, the papers had clearly stated that I was a blood relative to these two Auttenburgs (or one of them, at least), which was clearly the reason for them. Despite this stupidity, however, I merely grinned widely and said, “T’show that I’m related t’you, of course!”

(Luther's post coming... eventually).