Uninvited tension entered the premises. Anastasia teetered on a thin line between naiveness and dumbness - the two are barely inseparable, and how flawed her train of thought might have been. She should have known better. Granted, Red Creek excelled itself in the segregation of supernatural species, resulting in citizens not easily being able to detect who belongs to what, but it’s Owen, someone she put her faith into long before Aurora, Clark, and even Cole Darius. Was. It’s the past tense that replicates concurrently, the blonde trapped in a stupefied daze. “You were already a target,” she repeated once more for absolute sureness, detecting the dryness of her throat as a cry for concern. “Which means..” Everything warped into a blur. While it is true this is clearly deception on his behalf, a part of her couldn’t fault him for neglecting to tell her.. yet it was her, and he should have known she would not pass judgement, and that’s where she felt insulted, particularly hurt given the complexity of their friendship, though that title may come to an end due to the current intimacies taking place. “I don’t understand,” Anastasia jabbered, scratching the back of her head to indicate her confusion, and to emphasize how incomprehensible the idea of him, the man who comforted her in the midst of her sorrows, lied to her. “I met you six years ago and this entire time you haven’t been human? You were scared because someone or something might hurt me including your ex-girlfriend?”
She could sulk in silence, not feeling the need to weep, but visibly let down by his actions. Anastasia’s thoughts retraced to her innocence being taken for granted by other supernatural species including the time when an original vampire accepted her as an evening meal.. to her disdain. It sent shivers down her spine. Her body movement froze at his nudge as hazel orbs protruded out, echoing, “I never knew you were in the army.” That, too, is true; it’s strange how much they spoke, yet so little she knew about him. A sense of guilt ensued because of the trauma derived from serving your country to then becoming some sort of manifestation.. a reign of power. It’s clear he doesn’t know what he is, but is made up of something peculiar. “Whatever you are, you’re still my Owen,” Anastasia mustered out, grabbing a fistful of her hair before heavily sighing out of frustration. “I’m hurt, but I do understand why you did what you did. It doesn’t make me like you any less.”
An uncomfortable laugh dispersed, immediately relieving her locks to palm the forefront of his knee, still avoiding proper eye contact. “I wouldn’t have told anyone. I would have never judged you if you had told me initially. I’m sure my other friends might have encouraged me to stay away from you - to not trust you anymore, but it’s me. I’ve thoroughly accepted every single part of you since the day we met. I would’ve never kissed you if I didn’t!” Thus, speaking of that unpredictable moment, the blonde’s eyes rolled back, brooding over the what-if’s. Regardless of their spurious situation, Owen is a good man whose characteristics triumphed many of the other citizens of Red Creek. He proved himself well-grounded each time the two conversed, a trait Anastasia deeply admired. “I kissed you because I wanted to maintain a meaningful goodbye, but how could I possibly leave knowing you feel like a ghost? You don’t even know what you’re capable of. That makes me ill; I can’t leave you. You need me. I need you. You don’t have anyone for God’s sake. Do you think I could live with myself in Kentucky knowing I left you in this current mental state?” The emotional pressure of it all saddened Anastasia, harboring at the thought of him morosely residing in the swamps of Red Creek alone. “It’s not as if you and I can get hitched and everything will miraculously soothe down,” she quipped as a joke, mocking the exchange of nuptials.
“I was in denial for a long time, I think I still am,” a solemn chuckle escapes him, his own tongue feeling akin to a brick in his mouth. “There was this lil’ blonde lady, though lots more menacing than she looks,” his inability to enunciate what exactly transpired escapes him, as if the remnants of Lyra’s compulsion still had him in a chokehold. He’s near spluttering to gather even a fragment of a word, running a hand through his own flaxen locks out of pure frustration, scowling in retreat, “I would’ve told you if I could. I’d tell you now if I could. She--” He vied to tell her the unspeakable things Lyra forced him to do through compulsion. How he was meant to bring her victims to drain of their blood, and how, if Anastasia was near, he’d fear she would be next on Lyra’s long list of destruction. Owen would become forever marred had his presence in Anastasia’s life led to her untimely demise and so he kept a fair distance until he was sure the danger was astray. “I’d tell y’if I could,” it’s miserably reiterated and he’s near lachrymose at the thought, sighing in exasperation, “But it’s over now and that’s what matters, t’me, and hopefully t’you.” If only Anastasia could know and comprehend that his untimely death had loomed as well and he could not handle the idea of Anastasia having to cop with his loss, had it occurred.
“Oh, yeah,” he beamed proudly in spite of the visceral scars that remained from his deployment, “Was t’one thing I was born t’do. I was never really set up f’r success,” Owen’s look transmogrifies to one of near shame, near shy at all he was now willing to share with her. There is, however, no time like the present and despite his heart lurching in his chest, he continues, “I was’sa orphan who never got picked up from t’orphanage. Aged out. Had t’fend f’r myself f’r a while. Army was my saving grace.” A grief ridden smile came about. Sure, there had been plenty of despair in his life, but he was ultimately happy with the way things continued to go; all things considered. Her acceptance means everything to him as whatever monstrous blood ran through his veins was still incomprehensible to him and all he vied for was understanding. Lyra wished to use his species as the means for her own supernatural war and whatever that had meant terrified him more than he could ever say.
"Thank y’f’r accepting me even if m’havin’ trouble accepting myself,” shoulders slacked as if finally at ease in the conversation. There would be mountains of more hidden parts of each other to uncover but for now he would settle for Anastasia’s clear forgiveness, a weight having lifted from him. “All I’ve been tryin’ t’do all these years is put together the pieces of my memory that ‘r’left.” It’s hopeless, so far, and it allows him a piteous sense of misery, abandoning any idea there would be a solution for him. “Ever since the army nothin’ about what brought me to Red Creek has made a lick of sense.” Owen vows to let it go for now, offering her a near wistful smile, “Who the hell says it can’t? A good ol’ wedding can solve anything,” he teases, brows lifting as if in mild wonder, “Consider this my formal proposal?” He’s merely teasing, though if reciprocated he’d surely set up something wonderful for Anastasia, it’s what she would deserve.
