It was that idea of vikings that seemed to interest him the most. Vikings were the things of stories. They existed in books and legends. Darcy, despite his appearance and the ready drawl that seemed to cling to his words, was well read. Well educated. He knew those stories and those histories that spoke of the vikings and their conquests. They made for good stories after all and yet how much of those tales were real? He'd seen war. He knew killing. Yet history made out as if those vikings had damn near perfected the business of both. Maybe he could see why. The man before he was an impressive specimen, to say the least. Darcy rarely, if ever, impressed by his own kind in any fashion. Blood-crazed fuckin fools most of the time. Not this one though. Shame he was pretty. Too pretty. There was no place for pretty boys in Syn other then himself. His query on that viking nature was met with an easy nod before Erik offered him that little bit more. That viking working he said, was easy and steady. It had its uses and he had been young. A soft snort fell from Darcy's own nose in turn though it was hardly a derisive sound. Rather, he knew damn well just what Erik meant. He'd been damn young too when he'd joined that civil war. Darcy for now, choosing not to dwell on those things. His intrigue in Erik's past clear enough as his strange, mismatched eyes met the other vampire again.
"Is it like in dem books day write 'bout ya'll? Pillagin', plunderin', raidin' and whorin'?"
Those books, after all, so often made out as if those very activities took up a damn lot of a vikings time, when he wasn't at sea. Darcy curious on whether or not history spoke truly of them. Who better to ask then a real viking? Even if, Darcy suspected, he was long since retired. That conversation shifted to Darcy himself. The vampiric man always content to talk about his beloved Georgia. Even if he had something of a love-hate relationship with that land he'd come from. That Southern pride remained as ingrained as ever. Darcy, even after all this time, still holding no small measure of resentment over the war. He loved that state, he loved that land, that way of life and yet....how he'd damn well hated his own family. His resentment toward them near as potent as his hate over the loss of the war. That town he'd come from, those people who'd known him. They better off all damn well dead. There'd been nothing there for him. Not after Nancy died. Those thoughts of his little sister were rare and few. The man choosing instead to lament upon traffic and that turf disagreement Syn was having with Night Train. Such knowledge, after all, was hardly a secret. Erik would only have to spend ten damn minutes with any other vampires to hear about it. Maybe he could be convinced to punch out the next fellow from Night Train he saw. Unlikely though it was.
Darcy's gaze shifted briefly away from his newfound companion to sweep over the club and the dance floor below. The gesture was near habitual. The vampire keeping watch over that space to make sure his own staff were doing their jobs and non of those patrons, in turn, presented any sort of disturbance beyond their over-enthusiastic dancing. Darcy's gaze returned to Erik then as he asked after this...vengeance plot the viking seemed fixated upon. Vengeance and vampires, after all, seemed to go hand in hand. It was easy enough to offer Erik that information on Hunters within the city. Most of them, after all, gathered at the Headquarters or the stables where they kept their mounts. The horses themselves most likely proving a better source of information than their riders. Maybe Erik would take out a Hunter or two in his quest. Darcy hardly seeing any harm in less of those damn bastards being around. The viking, for his part, appeared equally as interested in that information. Erik one of the few whom didn't seem to struggle to understand him when he spoke. Such beings few and far between.
His offering of that information, however, was surely worth a little from Erik in return. Darcy querying after just what this Hunter had taken from him. That question seemed to prompt Erik to tense before forcing himself to relax. This, it seemed, getting a little under the vikings skin and yet he'd seemingly decided he was willing enough to answer that question. This Hunter he was after so apparently having taken the life of his prodigy. One eye lifted in a vague expression of both curiosity and surprise. His prodigy? Did he mean child? A vampire of his own making. That connection between newborn and maker was always potent, even Risque had been swayed by it on occasion and yet he'd never seen her go to such lengths as this Erik seemed willing to go. Maybe he'd loved this prodigy of his. The idea was almost...baffling.
"When ya say 'prodigy' do ya mean ya vampire child? One ya made?"
Either that or Erik had simply found some baby vampire he'd desired to take on and watch over. Darcy had seen it happen before. Their species, despite itself, occasionally seeming to find some ...need to claim one another. To help. Wasn't that what Risque had done for him before she'd become his mate? She'd plucked him from obscurity, from nowhere, and made him something- even he had never known why. Would his own lover have gone to these lengths for him? Hmmm. Maybe- at the very least she would undoubtedly desire her revenge on his behalf. Darcy settled back within his seat once more. The vampire content to turn over those thoughts for several moments before his attention returned to Erik. He had surely kept the man long enough. Erik, by some miracle, having managed not to irritate him like most of their kind did.
"I dun go sayin' dis often but I didn't mind meetin' ya, Erik. If yar ever back dis way come by for a drink. Reckon I'd like to 'ear more 'bout dem vikin days."
We are rough men and used to rough ways.