i_vanquish_evil | theatrical_muse - *answered from AU VH pov*

What do you look for in a romantic partner?

*slight variation - an AU version of Van Helsing (the one I use for otherways) has stepped up to answer this question, as the canon version of VH is on a mission and currently unavailable.

((AU VH is from 1997 and still works for the Knights of the Holy Order, the difference is, he really doesn't give a rat's ass what they know or don't.))

Right, so, my name is Michael. I kill things, so don't piss me off.

Introduction complete, let me see if I can answer this question or respond to this challenge or whatever it is I've been roped into.

A romantic partner? I must say, I haven't actually had a romantic partner in seventy years. Partners inclined to engage in sexual relations, of course, but little in the way of romance. It's out-dated.

However, if I were to seek out someone, surely I would have someone who... and... but...

btw - don't look for white text, there isn't any... 'cept this, the rest is just spacing.

Oh, fuck it. Carl, all right. There is no way I could ever have anything remotely romantic without him. But, since somewhere along the course of history, someone felt it would be an absolutely fantastic idea to have him DIE, I don't see that happening any time soon, do you?

Didn't think so. So romance can fuck off for all I care.

Muse: (Alternate Universe) Gabriel Van Helsing
Fandom: Stephen Sommers' Van Helsing
Word count: 150
** word count does not include the sentence of 'white text' **

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

*cue staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare*

A sneer.

"Who the fuck are... oh. Nevermind."

*cue toddling off to his workshop to blow something up. Several things, actually.*

Unstable chemicals are not love. Love is complicated and scary. Unstable chemicals are fun...and full of Distraction.

Maybe he quirks a bit of a smile and follows the little friar-man. Though he, himself, looks quite out of place in black leather and silk, but that's not really the point.

"Huh, I don't remember it looking like this." He leans over the friar's shoulder. "Something wrong?"

"There's been rather a few explosions since you last left, Van Helsing, so the idea that things might be slightly different really shouldn't be so out of the realm of possibility, now, should it?"

He is definitely not looking at Michael.

He narrows his eyes and glances around the lab. "No, that's not it." He turns his head slightly and inhales deeply. "So close, but not. Oh, almost... almost, but not him." He growls, deep in his throat. "Oh, but I wish you were."

He turns and glares at him.

"Were WHAT?"

He leans in, very close to the other man's face. "I wish you were my Carl." Heavy breathing for just a moment. "But you're not... are you?"

"You're Carl, as you so succinctly put it, is dead. So no, I'm not your Carl."

And he spins, almost violently, away from Michael to turn to his books.

A mixture of anger and sadness flares in his eyes.

"Yes."

He leans over the friar's shoulder again and takes a deep breath. "But you smell so much like the one I knew; the one I had; the one who was mine, until the Order took him from me." He turns his head to inhale the scent of this Carl again and his nose brushes the man's ear. "Be wary of them. They will strip your life away."

He turns, face curled in a snarl.

"You say that as if I have anything to live for other than my work and the occasional tavern wench?"

He sneers. "I meant literally."

"As did I."

And then he starts writing in a book furiously.

"Do I scare you?"

He rolls his eyes and turns halfway to peer at Michael from the corner of his eye.

"No. You irritate me. Please, feel free to find your way out. I realize that neither you nor Van Helsing were never the brightest of bulbs, but I believe the large, door-shaped aparatus with the hinges might be what you're looking for and make sure it doesn't hit you on the way out."

"You're going to tell me you're not the least bit interested?"

"I have work to do."

"Why do I get the feeling that wouldn't actually stop you?"

He turns, irritated again.

"Do either get to your point or leave."

He shrugs.

"With your... talents... I'd've thought you'd already have an idea. Guess not."

He turns and starts for the door. And yes, tight leather and very nice silk.

"I have an idea, but I'm debating whether or not I want to do anything about it. You, however, are not helping."

He turns over his shoulder. "I've never been one for being helpful."

"Yes, you were. And perhaps that's why I'd rather not."

"No. I did what was right. It's not always helpful."

Another shrug and he turns to the doors again, this time not turning back over his shoulder as he says,

"Suit yourself."

"I always do."

The doors open, then close, and he's gone.

theatrical_muse - answered from AU VH pov

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