The red light district was thriving. It always was nowadays, especially on Fridays. The street was lined with bars on one side, and leafy trees on the other. A slightly murky canal could be seen on the other side of this thin canopy, not quite blocked from view by a few benches. A couple of young women, very obviously very drunk, supported one another on one of these benches, poring over a polystyrene tray of fries. They weren't using forks, and mayonnaise clung stickily to their fingers. One of their high-heeled shoes tapped an almost empty bottle of wine on the ground next to them; it toppled with a gentle clink, and a splash of the liquid was wasted. They didn't notice for almost a minute, and when they did, it was the funniest thing that happened that evening. Then again, everything that happened that evening was the funniest thing that happened that evening.
Albert paid them no heed as he walked past, apart from to chuckle very slightly and shake his head. Humans really couldn't handle their drink, sometimes. Then again, vampires sometimes had similar problems. Still, he didn't remember any vampire passing out from a blood binge; one of the girls' heads had rolled onto the other's shoulder, and didn't look like it would be moving any time soon. It wasn't even half past nine.
Just a little up the road, he reached The Burlesque. Unlike many of the flashier, glitzier, and, frankly, sleazier clubs and bars in the red light district, its only signage was, just that, a small sign with Welcome to The Burlesque written upon it in cursive lettering. Perhaps more obvious was the doorman, or, rather, doorwoman. She was an efficient girl named Jo, quickly turning away the trouble without batting an eyelid, and politely welcoming everybody else in herself. Everybody, of course, meant 'predominantly vampires' with enough humans to keep the ratio intact, and it was a more difficult job than she made it look. Vampires in particular needed welcoming, simply because many of them had trouble crossing the threshold, even with the implied invitation of The Burlesque's sign. Apparently Jo was a lip-reader, and so could usually guess a vampire from a human just by looking to see if they were breathing. Albert, the proprietor himself, obviously had no such problems, and walked inside with barely as much of a hand-wave to the clients and staff.
The Burlesque was a narrow building, but most of them in Amsterdam were, and at least it had long rooms, if not wide. He'd still tried to make the place as inviting as possible; the ultimate lounge, with, of course, a bar. It was hardly throbbing with people, but The Burlesque was never full. That was part of the charm; being able to get to the bar from the sofas without pushing; being able to hear the band, a proper, live swing band, over the chatter of the punters; being served at the bar without half an hour's wait. Of course, the clients paid for it. The prices were inflated, even beyond the natural pricing of higher-quality blood and wine. Obviously, it was free for Albert (in the sense that he had already paid for it) and the bar manager, upon clocking his arrival, immediately brought a wine glass to his boss with a polite nod. Albert's nostrils flared as he raised the glass to his lips, and took a sip, careful not to stain the corners of his mouth. Wine didn't stain, but this wasn't wine.
"Thank you, Felix," he said, "I'll be upstairs."
Still holding the wine glass, and politely smiling at the guests as he passed, he strode behind the bar and into the stairwell. Like everything else, it was a little narrow, but that was the reality of life. Everything else in Amsterdam was getting thinner. The third stair squeaked - it had squeaked since long before Albert had bought the building, and even now the moan of the staircase could faintly be heard over even the band in the main room. There was a scurrying noise upstairs. Albert closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Obviously he had no need of the oxygen, but the action calmed him.
Albert wiggled his key in the lock. The Burlesque was his home from home, and so he had a private flat upstairs. It was small, but comfortable, with a kitchinette, small living room, a master bedroom and a small 'guest' room as well.
"I'm back," he called, as he opened the door to the lounge. A young man with dirty blonde hair was sitting right there, or, rather, had been sitting; he sprang to his feet the moment Albert entered the room. He too had a glass of blood ready for his sire, but, seeing Albert had already had been given one, he put it down on the coffee table with a moment's disappointment flashing across his face.
"Hello, Meneer Ogthoven," Alexander said, his neutral voice undermined by his quivering hands, "How was it?"
"Like you wouldn't believe," Albert sank into the armchair, a particularly grand Winchester that seemed a little at odds with the minimalist décor of his town pad. He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, "The builders took out a wall - a load-bearing wall. They had to reinstall the damn thing, so that's a week's work wasted."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Meneer Ogthoven."
"Do sit down."
"Thank you, Meneer Ogthoven."
Albert sat down on the squashy sofa opposite the armchair, perched on the very edge of the cushion, . His eyes were locked directly on Albert's, who struggled to meet such an intense gaze. The room was very quiet, apart from the muffled sounds of the band downstairs.
"How have you been this week, Alexander?"
"I've been well, Meneer Ogthoven," his eyes were flickering. Albert only ever asked out of basic politeness these days. It wasn't that he didn't care; it was that he only ever received the same answer.
"Have you been working?"
"Yes, Meneer Ogthoven. Felix has given me tonight off."
"Good boy. And has she been?"
"Madame de Sauveterre, Meneer Ogthoven?"
"Yes. Madame de verdomme Sauveterre."
"I haven't seen her, Meneer Ogthoven, but I can go and ask Felix if you like," Alexander began to get to his feet, but was stayed by an exhausted wave of Albert's hand.
"I can ask him myself, thank you. I was given lips."
"Yes, Meneer Ogthoven," Alexander's eyes remained locked on Albert as his sire slowly took another sip.
"Do you want that?" Albert lazily pointed at the glass on the coffee table.
"Is there something wrong with it, Meneer Ogthoven?" the progeny looked horrified and started to his feet again, "I can get you anot-"
"Alexander, no," Albert's temper began to flare, and Alexander half-fell back onto the sofa. There was a pause and Albert took another deep breath, "I'm heading back downstairs in a moment. It doesn't look good for me to swan around drinking blood we don't sell. So," he pointed back at the glass on the table, "If you want that, drink it."
Alexander picked it up and held it in both hands between his knees, taking tiny, uninterested sips, "Thank you, Meneer Ogthoven."
"It's nice to be able to have a drink together, Alexander," his progeny perked up a little, "Perhaps, later, you might join me downstairs?"
"Yes, Meneer Ogthoven."
"But only if you'd like to," Albert paused. He wished that Alexander would respond, but he could sense the uncertainty seeping from his progeny's every pore, so he continued, "It's your night off, after all."
"Thank you, Meneer Ogthoven."
"Don't thank me; thank Felix," and then corrected himself before Alexander could jump to attention again, "Don't actually thank Felix."
"No, Meneer Ogthoven."
Downstairs. Albert breathed a sigh of relief and tapped his foot to the music he could now hear properly. They were his house band, and had actually given them contracts, as a band and as individuals, that were only to play other venues or occasions with his express permission. It was always neater simply to buy those things you wanted.
He had left Alexander upstairs lest he throttle the boy. Once upon a time, he would have specifically sought out the obedience - modern progenies were increasingly independent. It was a sign of the times. There were more outlets outside their immediate vampire networks; it was like American kids discovering rock 'n' roll. On the few occasions where Alexander was to be seen in public, directly associated with him, he'd typically received compliments as to how well Albert was raising his new progeny. The only thing was, Alexander had been fully fledged for over a decade now. He had been set, very deeply, in stone. Shaking his head, he ordered a drink from the bar. He went through the charade of paying his money into his till for his own bar's drink and sat down in one of the grand sofas to enjoy the band.