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Monty walked into the studio and closed his eyes, letting the sounds and smells wash over him. Austin left a sandwich at his desk again, Kerry’s computer was on and rendering, and…
Oh. Well that’s unexpected.
He opened his eyes and turned, staring at Ryan’s desk. It was unusual for him to stay late, especially on a weeknight. Either he was editing a let’s play or he got roped into animating; both options were equally possible.
His instincts burbled under the surface, telling him to run, get out of the building and out of town, but he shook his head and purposely unclenched his fists.
Not this time.
He forced his feet to move, one in front of the other, and purposefully made his way across the studio floor, intent on taking the opportunity of the empty studio to confront his feelings once and for all.
Ryan heard his footsteps and looked up. “Monty,” he said curtly, pursing his lips.
The vampire held up his hands. “Let me get straight to the point,” he said, stopping several feet away. “I owe you an apology.”
The man stared at the desk for a moment, then nodded, meeting Monty’s gaze again. “Alright.”
"I was wrong in assuming you’d be like the previous generations of your family. I’m sorry."
Ryan’s face softened, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Is that what this is about?”
"If you have a minute, I’d be glad to explain."
He nodded quickly, then motioned to Lindsay’s chair next to him. “Please, sit down, let me save my work, and we can talk.”
Monty walked around the long way and pulled the chair out, sitting fairly far from the man. “Forgive me for sitting over here, but my instincts are fighting me.”
"How do you know my family?" Ryan asked quickly, swiveling in his chair to face him and propping his elbows on his knees.
Monty swallowed. “Atlanta in the 1940’s had a very large vampire population because so many of the young men went to war. It included me.”
Ryan heaved a sigh. “My great-grandfather…” he muttered.
"Yes."
He ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. “The Haywoods aren’t a long line of vampire hunters. In the mid-1800’s they were weathy slaveowners, with a large plantation and who knows how many slaves. Just before the Civil War, a huge coven rolled through. Ate most of the slaves and took the ones they didn’t. They wanted revenge.”
Monty nodded. “Let me guess: when the war broke out the men enlisted with the plan to end up in the special hunting units.”
"There are books written about my family, how they stuck together through the hard times of war to kill ‘unearthly Yankee spies’." Ryan groaned. "That fighting spirit carried down through the generations but got turned from revenge to protection. When World War II broke out and the men left—"
"The Haywoods stayed behind to protect the city from the likes of me." Monty stared at his feet.
"How many of your coven did he kill?" Ryan asked quietly.
"I was never in a coven, not until Rooster Teeth," Monty replied. "But I watched a lot of my friends die at his hands, and your cousins’. I watched the smoke rise with the sun from a hill outside of town as they burned the bodies." His eyes glazed over as he remembered. "It smelled like sulfur and tasted like ash…"
The human shook his head. “I’m sorry, Monty, I—”
He held up his hand to stop him. “You don’t need to apologize for him, Ryan. He’s long gone and his skills are dead with him.”
Ryan nodded. “My grandfather was trained, but when he married my grandmother he stopped hunting. My dad was never taught and by the time I was old enough to be, it was illegal anyway. Most of my family is still incredibly racist, but not me.”
Monty shifted in his seat. “I don’t think you realize how much you resemble that man. Height, build, voice, even smell. I’ve had to fight my instincts a lot since you came to work at the office. Between that and my assumptions—”
"—and it explains everything completely."
"Explains, but doesn’t excuse. Please, accept my apology." Monty flexed his hand a couple times, before finally reaching out towards Ryan.
The human smiled widely and shook his hand. “It’s alright, Monty. You’re forgiven.”
Monty stared at their clasped hands and laughed. “He must be rolling over in his grave.”
Ryan joined in laughing with him, and nodded. “You know, my dad told me once he named me James after him because he thought I could bring peace to his name.”
"Is that why you go by Ryan?"
He nodded. “I couldn’t stand being named after such a bigot.”
"Well, you can tell your dad that I think he’s right." He stood up from his chair and pushed it in. "And if anyone has the right to say so, it should be me."
"Damn straight. Not many vampires were hunted by him and lived." Ryan stood up too. "And to think, I just thought you were an asshole."
"Hey, I might still be an asshole. You never know."