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Leo is not new to being a vampire of the Red Court. He's not a noble or anything, but he's been around for a very long time. He's reached the ripe old age of 600, outliving his noble father and the vast majority of his bloodthirsty sisters, almost entirely by being a filthy coward. He has no pretensions to the blood of milk-pale virgins; he's perfectly fine getting his dinner for the week under a bridge. He occasionally keeps slaves, but only rarely. Most of the time, he occupies himself with reading, and painting, and delicious, delicious blood. On occasion he indulges in a good alleyway lurking.
This is one of those occasions. Chicago's alleyways are not particularly well maintained, but they're better than the slums of Toledo in 1632. Leo likes them. They're meditative, and often contain convenient homeless populations.
A short, confused man with a cat perched on his shoulder stumbles out of a brick wall that looks for a split second like it is made of black rock and has a crack in it just wide enough to admit him. He spins around to stare at the wall. He prods it with his finger.
"I didn't think I was that lost..." he says woefully. His cat meows. He sighs.
The cat is a grey tuxedo tabby with bright gold eyes. The man's age is indeterminate; at first glance his height makes him look like a child, at second glance the set of his face makes him look considerably older, and at third glance it's hard to imagine anyone this radiantly, offensively healthy being much more than twenty, especially not in any century where people dressed like that. If there has ever been a century where people dressed like that. He looks like he belongs in a Disney movie.
Well, isn't that a thing.
"Hello. So, what in the everliving fuck are you?"
"Better question, where in the everliving fuck am I?" exclaims the Disney prince, looking around in confusion and alarm.
"The great city of Chicago. If you're lost in the Never and you open a Way to nowhere in particular, it seems like there's about a ten percent chance you'll land here; it's a major crossroads. I thought you were some kind of faerie for the pretty and the portal, but you're not acting like one. Again, what are you?"
He considers this question in fairness, and then says, "A prince. And very confused. You?"
"A prince! How charming." Leo sketches a highly ironical bow. "Now, I think a royal dwarf would've come up in the gossip rags a few decades back, and I think the royals aren't inbreeding enough to churn those out anymore anyway, so... are you the prince of some odd species of tiny pretty men who live in caves in the Nevernever and, I don't know, hunt unicorns or something?"
His cat meows definitively.
"Oh? Well all right then," he says, shrugging. "Anyway, where was I? Right. I am the prince of Raxwell. It's a perfectly ordinary human kingdom, more or less. And I have no idea what you mean when you say 'the Nevernever'."
"Humans don't have kingdoms anymore, friend, so I'd say you're very, very lost. If you don't know what the Nevernever is, I'd say that's a point towards even more lost. And if you have to specify that the cursing faerie was wicked, that'd be your third strike. So. Welcome to Earth, princeling."
"Thank you. I'm afraid I don't know your name." The cat meows. "Or your species," he adds.
"I'm Leo," says Leo. "And don't I look human to you?"
"I didn't look human to you at first," the prince points out. "And yet I am."
"Oh, alright. I happen to be a vampire. We're very nice, as a race, once you get to know us. Your name?"
"Milo," he says with a charming smile. "What is a vampire, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Oh, you are lovely. We're... hm. We drink blood, and we're strong and fast and all that. And of course, we're very pretty."
"I will grant that you're very pretty," Milo says agreeably. His cat rubs her cheek against the side of his head; he grins and ducks slightly in a halfhearted attempt to evade her. "Um. The blood of what, specifically?"
"Oh, we can drink from just about any large mammal. Cows. Pigs." He smiles good-naturedly. "Humans. When the mood strikes."
"Oh, mildly enough. I don't go down Main Street opening throats left and right, you know. It'd be awfully conspicuous, for one thing."
It may be noted at this point that the alleyway has no exits.
"Um," he says, recovering. "Seems like a poor deal for the vagrants. And/or beautiful young lads."
"Well, it's a very pleasant process for them. Vampire saliva is like bottled happiness. Really, it'd be crueler to let them live in a world without a regular supply of it. Are you talking to your cat? Actually, is your cat talking to you? That's adorable."
The cat meows.
"Her name is Catherine."
She meows again, somewhat more at length.
"And I'm not repeating that."
"Aw, a kitten is swearing at me. My day just got a hell of a lot cuter."
