There was a stain on the D’Eath household, in the form of the Half-Bloods that coursed through it. Bad enough that the Vampire blood was present, that the Vampire curse was present, the insult to injury was the extent of the Half-Blood contamination. Though, admittedly, being a Vampire was very little to be proud of. Alistair felt himself lucky that his traits manifested in his unconscious but rearing desire to kill. The various graves erected because of his hand would not be forgotten because it was those deaths that helped define him - those deaths that put the price on his head, the price now wiped from Ministerial records. He enjoyed his siblings far too much. The amusement he got from them was never ending though he couldn’t deny the way his hands twitched and his eyes fell to the barely visible trail of blue beneath the pallor of their necks. The insanity they presented him with was something he did not act upon. Of course he did wish in vain for their deaths but he was sure they could be of some worth - eventually.
“You’re a child,” Alistair reasoned, unable to keep the patronizing tone from his voice, “and therefore you are in no position to suggest what I do or no not know. I’m weathered by the world, Christina; it’s merely caressed the surface of your little life. Perhaps for that I will concede I am jealous. Still, no matter.” Alistair shrugged noncommittally and raised his cup to his lips for a mouthful of coffee. Once swallowed, the elder D’Eath tapped his fingers against the side of the cup and continued to listen to the younger girl. She was almost, almost irritating and he could just about appreciate her bite. “Do you want some money for the shops?” Alistair inquired, brushing away her comments as if they were merely misplaced lint on the shoulders of his suit. “Or do you have enough? I had better be on my way really.”
He nudged up the arm of his jacket and peered at the watch clasped around his wrist. He nodded and let it fall back before managing a small, rare smile for the girl. He then reached into his bag and pulled out a small pouch of gold. He let the bag clasp itself shut again and he tossed the pouch to the girl before smirking and sidling past her, calling over his shoulder that she, “shouldn’t let that Rookwood letch near you. Go for the family jewels if he does.”