After leaving the amusement park, Marx and Cherie decide to head to the galleries. It was a quiet afternoon and the streets of Paris were bathed in the warm glow of the setting sunset.
The galleries, a stately building with grand columns and a wide staircase, stood at the end of a tree-lined boulevard.
Inside, the galleries are a world away from the bustling amusement park. The air is cool and still, and the walls were lined with paintings and sculptures from artist Marx had never heard of.
He moves slowly from room to room, taking in the beauty and complexity of the artwork.
There were landscapes that seem to come alive with color and light, paintings that capture the essence of their subject, and pottery that told stories of ancient civilization.
Marx finds himself drawn to a painting of a boy sitting by a window, his face illuminated by the soft light of the moon.
The artist had captured his expression perfectly, a mixture of longing and melancholy that seemed to reach out and touch Marx's soul. He stood there for a long time, lost in the painting, before moving on to the next room.
Cherie, who had been wandering quietly through the galleries, Caught Marx's eye and motioned for him to follow. They walk together through the hall, their footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor.
Marx noticed how even Cherie, usually so loud and energetic, seemed subdue in the presence of such beauty.
After a while, Marx notices Cherie speaking with one of the gallery's staff. They stand in the corner, their voices low and serious.
Marx watched from distance, unable to hear what they were saying but sensing the importance of their conversation.
The staff member listens intently to Cherie, his face serious as he nods in agreement. At the end of their conversation, the staff member bow respectfully to Cherie before walking away.
Curious, Marx approaches Cherie as he returns from the conversation. "What was that about?"
Cherie glanced at Marx, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "It's a secret." he replied, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Nothing for you to worry about, my dear."
Marx raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue. He didn't know him well enough to pry into his personal matters, he also didn't plan to do so, since they are going apart anyway soon or later. He nodded and let the matter drop, choosing to focus on the artwork around them.
As they left the gallery, Marx and Cherie headed to the restaurant. The restaurant where they had their dinner is the epitome of elegance and luxury, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the white linen-cover table. Each table is adorned with fresh flowers, and the murmur of quiet conversation fills the air.
Marx and Cherie were seated at a corner table, a prime spot with a view of the bustling Parisian street outside.
As they dine on a lavish spread of gourmet dishes, Cherie leaned forward, his eyes serious, "Marx, you do remember when I tell you about the other vampire from the mansion, right?"
Marx only replied to him with a nod while his mouth was busy chewing his steak.
"Actually I had a conversation with him. He is the gardener of the grandeur mansion. The gardener mentions a certain vampire, the one who turns him into a vampire. From the way he described him, he was dressed in noble attire and was seen in Paris, but it was a long time ago, it's just that there might be a chance he could still be around."
Marx nodded again, listening intently. He took a sip of his wine but his eyes never left Cherie's face.
Cherie suddenly stops talking, he leans his elbow on the table, crosses his finger and rests his chin on it, grinning, he stares back at Marx. "You are enjoying your meal, don't you?"
Marx put his wine glass back on the table, "Continue." he said.
Cherie laughed and leaned back on his seat then continued, "According to the information I got from the gardener, this vampire might be one of the ruler types. They are stronger among their kind, often called the origin vampire. Vampire as a race originated from one person, and the power spread through turning others. This nobleman might be the closest to the origin. If we're lucky, we could find him here in Paris."
"So, what's the plan?" he asks, his voice calm and measured.
Cherie pauses, swirling the wine in his glass thoughtfully. "We start by investigating high-society circles. I'm guessing as a former human noble, they would blend in with the aristocracy, attending the same events, frequenting the same place. We'll need to keep our eyes and ears open for any unusual activity."
Marx nodded, understanding the plan. If Cherie were right, they might encounter the vampire anytime. They indeed need weapons.
"And, if my theory is right," Cherie paused, sipping his wine. "Just let me handle, their strength is beyond an ordinary vampire."
"Cherie," Marx said.
Cherie's eyes widening slightly in surprise, he was caught off guard. His face quickly turned a shade of pink that deepened with every passing second. It was the first time Marx called out to his name.
Firstly, he put down his glass, cleared his throat, and when he was about to say something, he heard the guest from the next table murmuring something while looking at Marx.
Seeing Cherie act a bit weird, Marx calls him again, "Cherie?"
Now all of the guests at the restaurant are staring at both of them, while whispering to their companion.
Cherie, who is the root of the problem, stands up, pulling Marx's hand and immediately leaves the restaurant.
Cherie keeps pulling Marx as far away as he can so Marx wouldn't hear what the guest inside the restaurant is talking about.
"Why are we leaving?" Marx's eyebrow rose in confusion.
"No. Nothing," Cherie looked guilty when replying to Marx. He can't even tell Marx that 'Cherie' in French means 'sweetheart'.
At first he is just going to joke around with Marx, if he happens to call out his codename during their fight with the vampire, it might become a laughing stock for him but Marx never calls out his name these few days, so he had forgotten about the joke until just now.
If he is to tell Marx the truth, Marx would definitely split his head into two and leave him to die right away.
Cherie suddenly thought of something, "What is your real name Marx? My real name is Julius. I think we should go by our real name if we are outside, you know that our squad is a secret to public so we might also—-"
"It's Maverick." he said, meeting Julius's eyes. "Maverick's my name."
Marx seems convinced by Julius' unreasonable request, so for the time being, Julius is safe.
Julius unconsciously rubbed his chest and let out a long sigh of relief. "So, what are you going to tell me at the restaurant?"
"I just want to ask why you look like you hate vampires so much? I've seen you fight them with everything you've got, even when you know it's not worth the trouble, what's driving you?"
"Well, that's our job." Julius replied with a smile on his face.
Maverick looked sharp, "Don't lie"
Julius looked at Maverick, his expression unreadable. He leaned on the wall, eyes were darker, more intense.
"It's not about hate." his voice low. "I want them gone, wiped out from this world. Vampires are plague, a disease that needs to be eradicated. They bring nothing but pain and suffering."
Maverick watches Julius, noting the grim of his jaw, the fires in his eyes. He knew there were more of his words, a deeper motivation that he wasn't sharing. But Maverick also knew better than to push. He would reveal his secret in his own time.
"Allright." Maverick said, his voice softening.
Julius nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Let's head for the theater."
Maverick nod.