A/N: So I wrote a silly thing with Quin and Matheus interviewing each other. It's not canon, spoiler-free, and mostly exists so I could make the following announcement.
Real Vampires Don't Sparkle, vol. 1, is being released June 9th! It's available in either ebook or paperback, for your reading pleasure. In celebration, up until June 9th, I'll be giving away free stuff on Facebook. Just join the Real Vampires Give away Free Stuff event: events/601907746509492/ It's open to everyone!
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"Do you have your questions done?"
"Almost," said Quin, hunched over a notebook, holding the pen like the hilt of a knife. Matheus imagined soldiers didn't have much opportunity for writing, but he thought, over the years, Quin might have learned how not to hold a pen like a kindergartener.
Matheus drummed his fingers on the arm of the loveseat. His own notebook sat in his lap, pen long lost into the cushions. He swore the loveseat contained a portal to another universe. Coins, pens, wallets, all vanished into its depths, never to be seen again.
"You know it's only supposed to be five," he said.
"I know." Quin straightened, tucking the pen behind his ear. "Who's going first?"
"I will," said Matheus. "What would you change about yourself, and why?"
"What's wrong with your shoulders?"
"They're too narrow," said Quin, with a shrug.
"Of course they're narrow," said Matheus. "All of you is narrow. You're a narrow person."
"I just don't like them."
"I like your shoulders," Matheus muttered. "Your turn."
"Why are you making me do this ridiculous exercise?"
"Are you serious?"
"That isn't a valid question!"
"You didn't say there were rules," said Quin. Matheus narrowed his eyes at him.
"Ask a different question," he said.
"Fine," Quin sighed. "What is your favorite position to be fucked in?"
"What's wrong with that one?"
"I am not answering that," Matheus said, hissing through clenched teeth.
"This was your idea." Quin grinned at him, snaggletooth peeking out.
"Ask. A. Different. Question."
"Have you ever been to Iceland?"
"The northern lights are beautiful," said Quin.
"No," said Matheus. "I have never been to Iceland."
"We should visit." Quin swung his leg over the arm of the chair, foot bouncing. "Go."
"Why'd you become a soldier?"
"Five brothers, only one shop to inherit," said Quin. "I had to do something, and I had . . . natural talent."
"Right." Matheus snorted. "Go."
"What is your favorite thing about me?"
"For the love of Christ."
"Of course, if you can't pick one thing, feel free to list them in no particular order."
"God," said Matheus. "You really are an egotistical twat."
"If you're not going to answer any of my questions, I'm not answering yours," said Quin.
"Fuck, I don't know. I like . . . " Matheus thought for a minute. "I like the way you talk. Not your voice. I mean, the things you say . . . you're . . . entertaining."
Quin raised his eyebrows. Matheus looked down at his notebook, wishing the loveseat portal would open up right then and there. He cleared his throat.
"Who was your first love?"
"Silvanus," said Quin. "My cousin. I was five, he was thirteen. I thought he could balance the world on one finger. His mother was a Gaul, a slave, but my uncle didn't have any other children, so he acknowledged Sil as his heir. I used to beg Sil to adopt me when he got old enough." Quin paused. "He died before his fifteenth birthday."
"What happened?" Matheus asked.
"He got sick." Quin ran his thumb along the spiral binding of his notebook. "Lots of people died young."
"Do you miss Germany?" Quin interrupted.
Matheus closed his mouth.
"I did," he said after a second. "When we first moved to England. People . . . kids...kids can be cruel. I missed hearing German. We lived in the country before, so London was a cultural shock. Now . . . it's been so long since I lived there, I don't know. I don't know if it stills feels like home."
"Would you want to go back?"
"Maybe," said Matheus. "Yes."
"You look surprised," said Quin.
"I never thought about it. But, yeah, I'd like to go back." He laughed. "I wonder if I have an accent now."
"You might." Quin leaned his head against the back of the chair. "I miss speaking Latin."
"People still speak Latin."
"Church Latin. Formal Latin. Not everyday speech. And no one ever gets the pronunciations correct." Quin shrugged. "Next question."
"How many people have you turned?" asked Matheus.
"Fifteen," said Quin.
"I thought . . . " Matheus shook his head. "I don't know what I thought. All blonds?"
"No," he said. "There were a couple redheads. And one brunette, but she was unique."
"She," said Quin. "Henrietta Foster Archwood. Most determined woman I've ever met. Extorted me into turning her, then staked me and left me to burn in the sun. By the time I caught up with her, she'd conquered a small island in the Caribbean, and had a fleet of pirate ships working under her control. I almost felt bad about ripping off her head and tossing her corpse into the ocean."
"Almost," said Matheus.
"Well, I couldn't let her set a precedent."
"Of course not."
"Okay," he said. "Worst memory? Best memory?"
"I don't remember my worst memory," said Matheus. "I—I wasn't myself, but I know . . . I know something happened, and not being able to remember what I did makes it worse."
"And the best one?"
"That's five," said Quin. "Are we done now?"
"I still have one more," said Matheus. He glanced down his list of questions, then decided, fuck it.
"What do you think about when you jerk off?" he asked.
Quin blinked for a moment, then threw his head back in a burst of laughter.