Sebastian Ellington

I thought you knew I was filthy rich
I thought you knew I never answer my phone
I thought you knew I was a late night with a bad bite I thought you knew.

Prior to Dorian, prior to that ferris wheel, prior to the discovery of William's newfound life, and even prior to that young girl that had entered his life and taken up that mantle as his maker, there were distinctly few moments in which Sebastian so dwelled on his own creation. In fact, such dismal thoughts were often reserved for one day of the year - the anniversary of the evening he was made. Or rather, the anniversary of the evening he died; the evening they all died. It had been so long since he truly dwelled upon John in any great depth - not beyond the circumstances that surrounded all of their deaths. A small shrug crossed his shoulder at Dorian's effort to offer some sort of apology and yet, truly, Sebastian could do little other than shrug. William had been the only one whom had mattered to him that night. To know now that he had survived assisted in diminishing that sadness he held all those years over the man's death, thought certainly posed a whole new host of internal sufferings. "It's fine, John never really liked me much anyways, I was below their station but....my family was well connected and William took a liking to me so...he merely tolerated my presence." It was rare that Sebastian spoke of his past - beyond those subtle hints he sometimes provided and though this was certainly one of his less shining moments in time, he hardly struggled as much on the topic of his own death as he did the death of his wife or the mere mention of the months after his turning. "It had been his stag party that night...we were all legless." He commented softly, his thoughts clearly still dwelling upon that final resting place. "I know we stood no chance against her but, it was my fault they died. She chose us because of me." Those words were so softly spoken, the weight of all that had been on his shoulders certain was revealing in those moments and the ones soon after. How much guilt Sebastian did harbor!!

That gentle squeeze upon his thigh was enough to draw his thoughts from that evening, at least to some degree. Those questions that so lingered upon Dorian's mind surely failed to see him press that night entirely from the forefront of his brain and yet, he was willing to turn his attention momentarily elsewhere - to the state of their kitchen, to be precise. The disarray that so beset the room had a fashion of agitating him, to some degree. To have a home that was anything shy of immaculate was all too telling of the plight of the rich. It suggested the homeowner did not have enough funds to care properly for their home, or their wives were simply unwilling to do so. Sebastian himself was neither poor nor incapable and that simple mess so demanded him to right that kitchen. That handing of that piece of the teapot prompted the vampire to assure the fae that repairing it was hardly necessary, not with taking into account how terribly long it certainly would take. Dorian, however, hardly seemed to be easily dissuaded in his efforts, particularly not when he had so seen that look of utter defeat that had fluttered across the vampire's own features. Truly, Sebastian hadn't meant for his affections for that ceramic kettle to be so blatantly obvious, that apology so falling from his lips in those moments afterwards, even though he was regarded with a roll of those silver eyes he loved so intensely.

He hardly expected the insistence that his attempt to atone for surely bringing his companion such guilt would be so dismissed, much less Dorian to so effortless catch onto his words as his lips parted to utter such an apology once again. He found himself slowly closing his mouth, a small smile crossing his features at the simple fact that the King so knew him this well to anticipate exactly what he intended to say. "You're right." He responded, purposefully biting his tongue on that tempted third 'I'm sorry'. It was such a part of his demeanor - of his culture to apologize for anything and everything. Some parts of that British world entirely persisting in the man despite how many years it had been or how many different places he had traveled, it seemed he was still an Englishman at heart. Those questions he was faced with, however, caused little more than a sigh to leave his lips. He knew well he was long overdue to answer many of those inquiries Dorian held. After all, were they not so designed by fate for one another? Surely if anyone could handle the truth of that decidedly difficult situation they found themselves in, it would be Dorian? The vampire shifted, sitting up as he moved to place his chin upon Dorian's shoulder, inquiring softly, in a roundabout fashion, if the King still intended to stay with him in spite of all that he now knew and soon would know more of. Though fate had bound them, he knew many might flee at that baggage the vampire quite literally carried with him.

That weight of Dorian's body against his own was wholly familiar, comforting sort of sensation. That scent of his lover's cologne so filled his nose in that moment and yet, he remained entirely attentive to the King as Dorian shifted to raise one arm around his neck. That soft press of Dorian's lips upon his cheek brought, perhaps, the only bit of real peace the vampire felt all evening, those whispered words produced a small simper within the wake of that display of affection. "Thank you." He uttered softly, the man's reassurance met with genuine gratitude. He hated to admit how deeply it concerned him, that this might be too much for the man at his side - much less what he was assured would come in the future. Delicately, he pressed his lips against Dorian's own in the wake of that second kiss and yet, his own was entirely fleeting. That newfound desire for alcohol to further soothe his fraying nerves perhaps got the best of him in that moment. Slowly, the vampire stood, moving through that kitchen as he did his best to answer those questions the King had so posed to him, fetching those liquors and wines required to make that Italian beverage with his favorite English Gin.

The explanation of that connection between Maker and Child was one that he knew largely in part from his time spent with others of his species, in those covens he would flutter in and out of, in that company he might casually keep upon the street and, naturally, those dues he made to the larger covens within England so as to ensure he did not impose upon any sort of hunting grounds within those estates and towns he owned. The world of vampiric politics was one he navigated with the same ease as that of the courts of his elder days, even if they were fraught with perhaps as much judgment. That knowledge he'd gained was quickly proving invaluable, now that he had finally come face to face with his own creator. He poured those alcoholic beverages within those tumblers, listening all the while as his lover so mused upon that connection. That question of release, however, saw him shake his head ever so slightly. "There is but...it's highly unlikely." He commented, handing that drink towards the King. "There arn't many who release their child. You have to remember, Ma Bichette. We are...possessive creatures. To let go of the one being we create? I fear it would be like me letting go of you."

That question of her Maker, however, was one he was inclined to dwell on as he commented idly of that drink's origins, simply watching as the King's tongue danced over the grim, tasting that fruity flavored beverage only to present the vampire with a glimpse of glee that clearly suggested he liked it. A small simper crossed his features, the vampire momentarily taking a sip of his own before he moved to grab that rag, answering the fae's question in the process. "To answer your question, I fear I don't know her Maker. I know very little of her, really. I believe she is French, and roughly six hundred years old. I've heard rumors that she was not always like this - that once she led a coven but..." He shrugged, "The rest is all a muddled mess." In spite of everything, Sebastian had tried to help her. He'd tried to uncover that past in hopes of any efforts he might be able to find that might bring her back to that state Ceara had once spoken of her being. It was that notion, however, that prompted the vampire to comment upon just where he'd left that investigation. "I had been told she'd made another once before. A female. I intended to attempt to find her - if she's still alive but...I fear I got distracted." A small smile crossed his features as he glanced towards that King - the vampire's origins and is Maker's fall from sanity had nearly all been forgotten in the wake of that love he'd found within the Monarch, much less his role as Consort.

That simper, however, all but waned in the wake of that need to tell that very story of that night within the woods - the one that had made Samatha so utterly terrified of him and, in turn, had complicated his own life more than he had ever wanted. The majority of that tale he voiced had very little to do with Samantha herself, the vampire already assured that Dorian had heard those bits of exactly what had occurred from Samantha herself. He saw little reason to reiterate that he had, indeed, bitten her or that he had made every effort to save her with the use of his own affinities. Rather, in that short tale, Sebastian saw to give Dorian the reason why he had done what he had, that puzzle piece surely missing for far longer than it should have been. It was that notion of himself having a daughter, however, that saw him pause, glancing up but briefly at the man with a small furrow of his eyebrows. To have a child - that was definitely something he would have voiced to his boyfriend. Still, Dorian seemed altogether willing to forgo the past with the once fae Queen altogether, brushing it off too in the wake of her disappearance. Even so, he saw fit to share those thoughts Anna-Marie harbored of himself, thoughts she had informed him of on more than one occasion.

That utterance that Dorian disliked the girl produced a small, sad simper upon his features before the vampire offered a small shrug. "I do not think many actually like her." He admitted, the vampire himself holding rather mixed feelings on the girl. He fell to silence in the aftermath of those thoughts, voicing them had a way of bringing all he often ignored to the forefront of his mind. He was hardly attentive, really, to the way his lover crossed that kitchen until the King's hand landed upon his own, stilling him by mere touch. Those softly spoken assurances that the sharing of this was perhaps part of that role both as boyfriend and Consort hardly served to placate the vampire, the man glancing away for a moment before commenting softly, "I know...I just...you have a whole country to run, Dorian. I hate to burden you further." Not with things so silly as these - things he should have been able to handle with the same ease he so effortlessly took the reigns on all other aspects of his life. In that singular moment, Sebastian had, perhaps, admitted that his world was hardly as put together as he so often strove to make it appear. He hardly expected that raise of that class to his lips and yet, his mouth parted to take in that last gulp of that fruity drink. That suggestion that they surely deserved another, saw him nod ever so slightly, the vampire certainly needing that distraction tonight.