God, you gotta love summer. The nights may be short, but for once they're mostly clear. It's warm. You don't have to wear jumpers everywhere. You can be... human again. And if you're lucky, well if you're the kind of person who could enjoy such a thing, you might even get a little color back with the return of the sun.
Nightcrawlers, don't despair! The nights are short but they are crowded. Just like the banks of the Wharf are crowded. Cafes, clubs, open-air seating, rooftop dining, one non-stop party.
I told you all of that just so I could tell you this...
I spy with my all-knowing eye a certain gentleman by the name of Valan Montague. He's handsome. He's well-off. He wears D&G better than most people wear their skin. Tonight, it's cranberry colored trousers and and orange t-shirt, no labels (please!), bearing the totem animal of Blois. That's right: the porcupine. And he's coming home after an early dusk stop-off at the Starbucks and the market. It's his turn to cook.
But then, when isn't it?
He comes in bringing bags, tossing his keys on the foyer table. He shifts the bags in his hands and comes in. Only problem with this picture?
He's frowning...
That part of the house is empty. But its not so difficult to find the townhouse's other occupant. A hanging bag currently suffers the punishment of his fists, paying for some deed gone earlier unpunished. The heavy droplet rings and thuds in a continuous pattern of expended aggression. Nothing else, really, to do with that energy, since the generator of the explosive power spends most of his time at home.
But it goes on, the noise, down the hall from the next portion of the now-expansive brownstone. Edward may not have heard the keys, but he certainly heard the high-pitched chime of the opening door and felt the energy move through his home.
-thud-thud-thud-thud-
-thud-thud-thud-thud-
-thud-thud-thud-thud-
The rest of the house is silent. The television is off. No music plays. The only lights are those left from earlier and the one from the ground floor training facility.
Oh, Lucy! I'm home!
He's half-tempted...
The frown takes the tiniest incremental motion toward an upturn. What you probably hear is his steps to the kitchen, setting bags down. Items are left as is. He'll grab them later.
Maybe you have the right idea. He really could use something to beat up. It's fortunate that the two of you have such a facility or shite would be dead all over London. The energy that is moving through this house is one of his agitation and your exorcism.
When he appears at the doorway, he stops there. Golden hair mussed most fashionable. That brushed golden color of his skin is alive with last night's meal-on-wheels. And when he sees you, he can't help but smile. At least a little. Even though one may tell by his disposition that someone has rather done it in his shoes, to coin a phrase.
"Bonjour, ami," he says in French, using it richly like a bad habit. There is warmth when he says it and that warmth moves right over him. Valan folds his arms against his chest, leaning against the easing of the door.
He left while you were still in bed. He called you from the store to wake you up with the very last sliver of magenta in the exhaust-heavy air of London. Pollution makes for the best sunsets, they say. "I have everything," he follows in English, he wears it well these days, though still accented. "...for the lamb, I will do it in a bit. Who are you killing?" He smiles at that thought.
"A cheeky mage and a shite-waste of wolf," Edward replies calmly. All the while, the bag goes
-thud-thud-thud-thud-
-thud-thud-thud-thud-...
"Why do you ask, cher ami?" Edward murmurs, his voice silken. The bag's continuous defeat brings a quietude to him. Scullers never had it so good.
"And lamb -- my favorite -- "
-thud-thud-thud-thud-
-thud-thud-thud-thud-
"You're such a..." -thud-thud-thud-thud- "...marvelous...delightful...cook."
Cook. That's it.
"While you are killing things, ami," he says, "I want you to hit it once... or twice... for me..." Valan takes a seat upon the bench and exhales some of the energy away. A hand moves through his hair, doing nothing but making it more fashionable. It's impossible to screw it up, that's the beauty of it. "There is a man with whom I am angry..."
Such smooth intonation, and so quiet. He must be upset. He tends to get quiet when he is angry, you have discovered. You have also discovered the marvelous, near invincible power of the French Pout. The "No, nothing is the matter, everything is fine, ami" tactic -- a low blow. But you are not the target tonight. Someone else has earned his ire.
"Lamb and apricot chutney," he announces, "... with a good wine followed by an apricot liqueur. How does this sound?" He smiles. Oh and when he smiles...
And then Valan watches your hands. Watches the bag. Watches the slaughter. A golden eyebrow lifts. A cheeky mage, a shite-waste wolf, and a soul rapist. Good company. Valan spreads himself out, arms still folded. "You don't mind if I watch and destroy things vicariously do you?"
-thud-thud-
"Oui, the food sounds spectacular," Edward exhales, hands capturing the rapidly-moving leather bag. It would have bounced in the palms of a mortal, the kinetic energy residuals forcing last motions. No such reverberations shudder through Edward's fingers and arms. The bag comes to a sudden, contra-Physical halt.
"What's wrong?" he asks, shoulders tensed. Edward looks over his forearm at you. "And don't watch me," Edward adds, taking a step back, "I can show you how to do this yourself."
Eyebrows shoot up and he stands. "I'd like that, yes. You will show me how to do it without killing myself, yes?" Valan laughs, eyes sparkling gold-green. "Your friend," and even though they are Our Friends, when they piss me off they become yours alone, ami, "...the one with the castles and the cars...I am upset with him."
William...
"It took me a while to figure it out," Valan smirks at himself as he comes to stand beside you. "I thought I was just uneasy. But it is not unease. It is me being pissed off at him." So matter of fact in English. He's fluent these nights. "So! Show me this... very different from what I am used to..."
"Sure," Edward murmurs, taking a step back to let you take his position. "Start slow. Keep your arms up. The idea is to use the undersides of your arms. Muscles that you do not use much, to keep the repetition. Start at a pace that works for you, even if you think it's blindingly slow." His hands move over yours and lift, fingers closing over the backs of your hands. Gently, he raps your knuckles at the bag, not pushing it very much, but encouraging a left-right-left-right-left continuing drone. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"So, why are you upset with William -- it's understandable, really. Everyone's pissed off at him at some level. At some time." You know.
"I can't imagine why." Oh, the sarcasm. "It's not as if he..."
Tap -- Tap -- Tap
"... takes things that don't belong to him..."
Tap -- Tap -- Tap
"...Like people's souls, bodies, self-respect..."
The motion is slow, but his form is good. He knows all about position, how to make his arms move to strike. A little too much turning in the wrist -- bad fencing habits -- but not bad, really. He doesn't even turn and make a mockery of it by using it as an excuse to have you close by -- he doesn't need to resort to that. Not at all. He's treating this seriously. He wants to learn. You see him get the feel for it.
"I feel..."
That was no tap, it was a punch...
"...violated..."
Another punch. Watch the wrist, Valan...
"He just ... takes what he wants. Does what he wants. Francesco was right..."
Holy shite...
You've lost him.
The hands clasp yours, causing things to still again, immediately.
"What?" Edward asks softly. He'd be more annoyed, but he's been at this bag since you woke him. And, in truth, leaning behind you is more than a distraction.
"What happened?" William's not in the city. What's going on?
"I met a woman this afternoon," well, very early evening, "...who strangely enough," and what are the odds, "... had been painted by him, too. You know, talking to her made my mind clear about all of that." It did take him a while, didn't it?
He stops as you stop him. Valan turns his head, not changing the position to look to you. Such a pointed look, a bright look, a hot look. He even starts to flush a bit.
"I was never really comfortable about them... when I look at them, I'm more than naked, Eduard. And he didn't have the right to do that. Those aren't paintings, not the way he does them. And I'm not the only one who feels this way."
Valan lowers his hands. "I understand why you ran upstairs at him that night. You should have punched him..."
Ah. Edward exhales, but he is slower to let your joined hands drop. He takes a step back, allowing clasped hands to float downward freely.
There's a nod of his head. "Maybe I should have. He is like my brother," Edward confesses, "...and the guy at the bar that I continually want to beat to the ground."
"I'm sorry you feel this...and that it's happened now, ami." It must be strange and confusing.
Edward doesn't want to feel this. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I have never said this about William, ami...he is transparent." And you'll not hear Edward say it again. "And...perpetually...what he is. He will not change his personality. And that," Edward steps back, fully out of your sphere, "...is why I did not hit him, ami."
Because I realized how trapped and stuck he is.
And he will never be more than that.
But I can.
"You have learned of something...about yourself, your thoughts, that William..." Edward looks down, "...may never have the chance to know. It is not in his path to grow, ami. Maybe not. I cannot say. And as a result, I must love him and take him for what he is....and what he is not and may never be."
"But I only realized it then. When I wanted to hit him."
And I walked away. And my understanding of myself changed eternally that night.
"Here, sweet," Edward smiles, his hands at your hips now. "How can you be angry...at someone who does have the heart and capacity...that you do, hmm?" A smile twists at Edward's lips.
"You are rightfully angry," Edward says, changing his tack slightly. "As I was then. For yes, he has a skill that he wields sloppily. It is no excuse that he should not know what it is, at his age. Yet..." a shrug. There you go. "What does that say for him? And...how injured are you? Am I?"
"He is without care, in all connotations. He is not sloppy. It is more than that. He simply does not care." Your words through your philosopher straight into thinking. His anger is blunted. Valan exhales and then smirks. I suppose that is true. "Now, you will have me feel sympathetic." Lips twist in a slight smile. Eyes go upward and head tips back. The color begins to drain, and the words to sink in.
Gold-green eyes find their way back to you and Valan exhales again. "So, we let him go on being Himself. In his little universe? What do we do when he wants to see us? Do we spend time with someone like this? If he is this way, why put forth the effort? What is the relationship, Eduard. He gains. But do you? Do we? And, oui, I know that relationships are not about gain and get. But they have to be reciprocal. So we what? Give in, pretend, and simply minimize? What do we do? I am new in his life, and in this life. I don't have the baggage, and I don't want it."
And what if someone says that about me one day, me being stuck forever in time like that. Would I think that my life was good while everyone around me saw how faulty it was? Would I spin around in that insanity as he does, thinking he's the sanest person he knows?
I would rather die than be that alone...
"Did he ever say anything to you about it?"
"He did," Edward adds, smile still on his lips. "He apologized. He offered to destroy them. I said for him not to, and to send them to me at Fleurlil." And that's how they ended up there.
"His intents, ami, are not my own eyes. And what I see, is of my own Making. He does not control this. And so, I wanted your face in Fleurlil."
"And I cannot say what you should feel ami. I know what I feel for him. As you have chosen with Maria," Edward reminds, "...so may you do the same with William. That is your choice." In your youthful discard. "I have known them both for so long. For good, for ill. And remember, you are not mortal. It is not a short time, ami. Can you afford to discard so quickly, in your infancy?"
Think Longer. Think Eternity.
"Who will be with you in three centuries? Six?"
"He has been kind," he reminds himself, thinking past the paintings and past the anger. You have a point about time. "And Ian," Valan tacks on, nodding to himself. They have been. They took me into their home. Into their life, as strange as it now seems to me. "...Which is more than I can say for Maria. At least William never accused me of damaging your immortal soul." Did you know she said that? Did I tell you? "So," a clearing breath, "... I guess I'll just leave it alone. You had your out with him, he apologized." Valan shrugs. "I will try to be more tolerant of ancient people." His mouth begins to curl. "But on the next occasion, Valan Montague will speak his mind."
God forbid...
"...and I will not tip-toe around him. If he says bullshit, I will call him on his bullshit." And it will be hard not to look at him and not feel sorry for him.
"I thought he had The Life. I thought he had it together..." And sometimes a mortal's golden illusions end in a vampire's cynical disillusionment...
Edward's arms tighten around you. "Remember when...we were first together, ami? I told you...that you were real? You, as you were then? Not us. We are...shadows. Figments of humans. Some are even more so. Do not mistake what you see, hmm? Time is the best evaluator of things."
"Ami," Edward groans, "...look at what you do to me? You make me sound..." ugh. Like an adult. Or someone responsible.
"I cannot stand this. We must change the subject," Edward sighs, looking around.
"I'm not going to be a figment," The Modern Man says. "I don't believe in ghosts."
His arms come around your shoulders and he sighs. "Alright, ami, I will change the subject. How about dinner then? Are you hungry now, or would you rather have me now and dinner later?" And then Valan Montague grins. Splendor Solis, that smile.
"So, what of the cheeky mage and shite-waste wolf? Is there a story there that I want to hear?"
"Not really," Edward breathes. "But yes. Main first," he grins, leaning in, "...and the rest is but a nightcap."
Posted by rowan at September 19, 2003 11:07 AM
