For reasons beyond his understanding, the Marquis de Howlite was obsessed with the smell of hair, more specifically, the smell of hair of women. Granted, not while it was on their respective heads.
While Draigo wasn't sure of the exact details as to why the Marquis liked the smell so much, he had heard rumors.
The Marquis would regularly refer to these locks of hair as "inspiration", so many assumed that in the way some artists go on drug induced stupors for inspiration, he was doing the same with the scent of hair.
Some believed he was just a simple pervert, who derived some carnal satisfaction from the action. He was rich, he was weird, it kinda made sense.
While others believed that he was using this as a means to find a suitable bride. There were some clans who determined marriageability based on specific physical features, cultivation ability or skill sets, so the idea of him trying to find a bride based on scent wasn't too weird.
Regardless of the reason why he searched for these locks of hair, there was one consistent thing about his collecting habits: he would pay absurd amounts of money for these locks of hairs, as long as he was pleased by the scent.
The Marquis vigorously sniffed the first lock of hair for a few moments more before focusing on the other. Draigo was sure he was in for a great payday, especially since he made sure to fulfill the criteria list...well, what he believed was the criteria list.
Draigo wasn't the first to exchange locks of hair for money with the Marquis, which gave him the ability to compose a list of traits that he figured would capture the Marquis' attention and his money.
As far as Draigo knew, the hair had to still retain it's natural color, belong to a woman at least twenty years old and retain it's natural scent, no perfumes and pre-wash preferred. He forgot if social status was a factor, but this was hair that belonged to daughters of notable families from here and abroad, so at least one had to catch the Marquis' fancy, right?
The Marquis kept smelling the provided locks of hair for a few more moments before stopping and closing his eyes. The two locks of hair were gripped in the Marquis' hands as his arms hung limply to his sides. Evidently, the Marquis was now deep in thought.
"So...are the locks to your-"
"Shut up for a moment."
The Marquis contemplated with his eyes closed until finally coming to a decision and opening his eyes. He turned to face the old musician.
"While the quality is quite good, it lacks the substance I need. I cannot in good faith pay for these products. I apologize," the Marquis told Draigo. Adding a touch of finality to his point, Draigo used a bit of aether to ignite the locks if hair and burned them both into smoke and ash. "Now please, get out."
Draigo was crestfallen at the Marquis's actions. He had sincerely thought that he had fulfilled all of the criteria necessary for a payout.Now after spending most of his day doing nothing but making sure these hairs made it's way to the Marquis, he had absolutely nothing to show for it.
This meant that for the first time in a while, he wouldn't have the drink necessary to suppress a certain memory of his.
Draigo was about to turn and leave, maybe he could he get in some last minute begging he thought, when the Marquis suddenly told him to stop.
"Wait one moment," the Marquis said with a raised finger.
Draigo stood still as the Marquis slowly made his way to the old musician's side, until he was uncomfortably close. Draigo was a bit confused over the closeness, until the Marquis leaned over and pulled a single strand of hair from his clothing.
'Huh? Where did that come from?'
The Marquis gingerly took the hair between his fingers as he brought it to his face to analyze it.
He quickly and delicately brought the strand to his nose and took a deep breath. As he did, his eyes went wide as if the smell was the most intoxicating thing in the world.
"This...this is what I was looking for BAHAHAHAHAH!," the Marquis exclaimed as let out a demonically manic laugh. Draigo was a bit taken back by the Marquis' sudden change in demeanor.
The manservant had appeared out of nowhere, materializing like a shadow.
"Take this man to the treasury, prepare the large sum and give him one of the finest bottles of wines from my cellar. Nay, two bottles!," the Marquis suddenly declared. He began to twirl the single hair through his hands like a fine thread made of gold.
"At once my master," Corriandis said with a bow, "But before I do so, another party has come to so business with you.It's not inspirational, but it should be interesting."
"Oh?," the Marquis paused, intrigued. "What have they brought?"
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Outside of the Marquis' manor, Zhen Liu, his family and Alexander Dominick Goldshire, were waiting at the front gate to be let inside.
"Well this place is...nice," Zhen Liu said with a deadpan expression as he stared at the statue garden. The holes in all of the statues' chest made him uneasy, while the gothic style mansion with Ebony Ivy flowers growing all over it, made him think this place was probably, definitely haunted. It was a good thing his kaijin could be kept on holster as accessories, otherwise he wouldn't be anywhere near this place.
[Milord...this place looks like it's owned by a vampire,] Nepherage commented in Zhen Liu's mind.
[Drac...ula...,] Frosttusk echoed.
As Zhen Liu began to wonder how these two knew what vampires were, his father came up to his side.
"You don't have to play polite yet, my boy," Zhen Yan said while placing a hand on his shoulder, "This place gives me the creeps too."
"Eep!," Zhen Yan suppressed in his throat.
As if summoned by their comment, a maid with incredibly pale skin suddenly appeared out of nowhere behind the iron gate. She has this stuff neutral expression on her face that just reinforced the vampire impression in Zhen Liu's mind.
'And here's the mind controlled ghoul...'
Unfazed by the probable ghost maid, Alexander took the lead in starting conversation.
"Ah hello there, we-"
"The Marquis de Howlite will see you now. Please come this way," the maid interrupted before opening the gate. As she did, a rusty sounding creak groaned from the door.
'Haunted. Hundred percent haunted.'