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To one side of the vault door was a counter, around which Edgar moved and ducked. Underneath were a series of boxes. His lips rose in a sneer as he considered the thick layer of dust over everything. He sighed, resigned to deal with the dust as necessity demanded. Still, he grumbled. They had airtight locks on the Barrows. They should have installed them on every floor, at every entrance. He directed his attention to Isabelle.

"How many do you think know of those hallways?"

"Well, I imagine a few ..."

"Did you know of those hallways?"

"No. I had no idea they existed."

"Hidden in plain sight. Even at the height of this coven's existence, when we got along with the humans, before all of that happened--" he pointed up at the ceiling in reference to the carnage upstairs, "there were only two vampires who gave a damn about the humans who served us." He turned his attention back to the boxes under the counter, crouched down, and opened the first one. Inside were rows of keys. He began scanning the lines of text under each set.

"Those two were Penelope Vega and myself. Everyone else was polite and kind enough, but only just barely." Edgar closed the first box and moved to peer through the second. He went on to explain how he had warred against aloof vampire culture. Penelope had been his sole comrade in arms in this endeavor, though between the two of them, they managed to turn a brood of vampires into a functional and beneficial addition to the community in which they lived. This allowed them the extravagance of the [[The Manor#The Column|The Column]] and the activities insulated therein. Early in the development of the manor, the system of hallways and corridors was relegated to the humans, by which they could move undisturbed in their daily operations serving the vampires.

"So you, Penelope, and the humans are the only ones who knew about the hallways?"

"Others knew about them, but no one knew their way around them. Why would they bother? Everything they ever wanted for was at their fingertips at a nod. Most members of the coven--" he closed the second box and dove into the third. "--cared little to traverse the same hallways as the humans, so they never came. You would think curiosity would get the better of most, but not down here."

Isabelle was thoughtful a moment; this might explain why no one was ever persistent in getting to the bottom of The Column. She returned to the conversation at hand.

"Okay, but couldn't the humans get their hands on all this?" She gestured to the rows upon rows of firearms.

"And do what with them? Kill us?" He closed the third box and moved into the fourth. "You know better than that."

Isabelle was confused.

"No I don't know." Her frustration was palpable.

Edgar turned to look up at her from his crouched position. "Munitions are for use against human threat; they're useless against vampires. Short of blowing your head off, you would eventually recover, and rather quickly if you're well fed." He returned to scanning the fourth box. "Except for Penelope, Roberto, and myself; taking our heads just makes us angry. No, guns are no use against vampires. Vampires destroy each other the way our gods intended: we tear each other apart."

"Stake through the heart?"

"What about it?"

"That wouldn't kill you?"

Edgar closed the fourth box and turned to look up at Isabelle. He popped out a laugh and opened the fifth box.

"They gave you a copy of Dracula and told you to learn how you could be killed."

"I ... yes." Isabelle felt embarrassed, understanding by Edgar's expression she'd been taken. They told her Bram Stoker was one of the first vampires and wrote of his experience. She was only now realizing how foolish it was to have believed them.

"Fret not about it. Almost every youngling believes it. Someone inevitably lets them in on the joke." Edgar found the first set of keys he was looking for. He lifted the key ring off its hook, blew the dust off the keys, and continued scanning the box.

Edgar found the second set of keys he was looking for in the sixth box. He snatched up the keys, snapped shut the box, and stood. He felt around the edges of the counter. The dust grated on him, but what could be done? He felt the switch he was looking for, which pulled his thoughts away from the dust. He flipped it, causing a low hum to rise all around them.

Pairs of lamps began to switch on, one set at a time, bringing further illumination to the various cases and displays along the walls and across the racks neatly pressed against one another along opposing walls. Though the lamps were many, the light emitted was very low. This would have frustrated humans who may have tried to work with the weapons here, but for the vampires, the added light brought the room's details into sharp relief. The dark hues of the blue carpet and walls, contrasted with white trim, brought out an altogether calming effect.

Isabelle, however, was less impressed with the color scheme and more amazed at the sheer amount of weaponry organized throughout the hall. Carved out alcoves showcased specialized weaponry in sombre displays, while rows upon rows of identical weapons spread out between them. High on one wall was a set of custom shotguns, under which was a rack of near-identical ones, though of a more mass-produced variety. Another case presented rifles. Another, broadswords. And on and on; all appeared to be ready for action.

"You all really needed all of this firepower?"

Continued after the break

Edgar walked over to the tall racks pressed up against each other at one end of the hall, leaving eddies of dust whirling behind him. He flipped a switch on one column, and a mechanism whirred to life, the racks moving along tracks built into the floor and ceiling until the column he selected was standing on its own, both sides accessible.

"Our history as a species is a sordid one." He looked at Isabelle, her mild confusion plain upon her face. "They weren't too keen on teaching you."

Isabelle shook her head as she walked over to join Edgar in the aisle.

Among the rows of racks stacked one over each other were mechanical semi-automatic rifles from a bygone era. To Isabelle, these appeared to be almost as old as the manor above. Growing up in an age where technology had progressed to the point where it seemed even culture itself was automated, she had experienced quite the shock once she began learning to control her more base instincts. The manor was in a style older than her great grandparents, and there were no robots, no intelli-dapps, no sign of anything technologically advanced beyond the coffee makers employed by the humans. Some of the coven members maintained portable high-tech computers as part of the jobs they held, but otherwise, tech was sparse. Even within the Column, the only advanced tech employed managed the air filtration system, the vault and air locks, and the Barrows. Even then, many of the mechanisms powering the vault locks employed mechanical apparatuses as either primary tooling or failsafes.

Everything, with few exception, was designed to use little, if any, electricity.

Edgar used the first set of keys he collected to unlock one of the rows and remove the guard keeping the rifles in place.

"Vampires have been hunted since our inception," he said, lifting a rifle. He hefted it in hand, released the clip and examined it, opened the chamber and closed it. "This armory was already becoming an impressive collection when we began integrating ourselves with the humans around us."

He handed the weapon to Isabelle, fighting to ignore the dust, and lifted another one, taking it through the same examination as he did the first, saying, "We thought it prudent to maintain our stores in case of emergency."

He looked up at Isabelle, who had her head craned over the stock as if ready to fire the rifle at some unknown target. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, and he couldn't help but laugh; the dust on the stock had come away, leaving a large dark smudge on her cheek, against her shoulder, and over her breast.

"Oh you're one to laugh," said Isabelle, eye his jacket.

Edgar looked down and frowned; his suit was covered in dirt and dust. He grunted, looked at Isabelle, chuckled, and said,

"Touché."

He returned his attention to the rifle he held.

"I suspect these haven't been used for quite some time," he said. "Esta bien. We'll need to disassemble and clean them, get them in good working order before we take them out." He was still a moment, frowning, thoughtful. He then replaced the weapon he held on its rack, and retrieved the rifle from Isabelle, returning it to the rack as well. "But first, we need to clean this place up."

Edgar directed Isabelle to accompany him to the janitors closet through which they passed before entering the armory. He selected a number of cleaning supplies and gestured to Isabelle to take them up and carry them to one of the tables. He then removed his pistols and sword, tucking them away on an unused shelf. Despite the dusty state of his clothing, he took his time removing his jacket and vest, folding and placing them next to his weapons. He released the top two buttons of his shirt, then gathered a number of additional supplies, carrying them out to meet Isabelle where she dropped off everything else off.

After setting these supplies down, he moved to the front where the key boxes and power switches were. After some investigation, Edgar turned a knob and the air conditioner roared to life, sending dust eddies scattering into their his faces and throughout the hall. They erupted in a fit of coughing, which did not ease up until both had escaped into the closet, shutting the door behind them.

Once their coughing and sniffling subsided, they each collected and donned a set of googles and masks before heading back into the armory.

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