prodigal

William 'Liam' Lockhart II 225.  Vampire.

[liamlockhart]

after the storm | liam & jo

[liamlockhart]

@johannakoning​

“Did you really hear that? I thought I said it low– Ah, yes, your hearing, goodness knows how much you have heard me say with that trick of yours. I said kak, which, well, it means much of the same thing,” she explains, laughing quietly. Again when he tries to leave, as if she will be frightened away by the sight of blood. It’s… not pleasant to see, least of all because she imagines some of it as his, even if it isn’t, and tries not to look too relieved that he isn’t human. Any other human with blood on them like this… Well, she thinks they might have died and such a thing brings a faltering in her steps before she clears her throat, continuing on. Let it be mistaken for confusion at the idea of his brother. She didn’t even know he had a brother! “Your brother did this to you? I am starting to think nobody in Lethe has a close relationship with their family.” Jo is unable to keep the note of bafflement from her voice. Her choice not to pry into things and avoid bringing attention upon herself is often forgotten in Liam’s presence, and she has several more brimming on her tongue. Later, she decides, squeezing his hand in thanks at the reminder that wasn’t forgotten, a small part of her thinking just that until he says otherwise. Anything else she can handle – almost anything else. “You sold the Richmond? You loved that ship, you loved the sea. Any stop in port we made, you never looked fully comfortable unless we were on the deck and setting sail again.” It surprises her, and she glances over her shoulder, damn near walking into a pole in her confusion, correcting her course at the last second with heated cheeks. Another squeeze of his hand, she’s feeling bold. “You have no obligation to tell me anything, but I am relieved you would have eventually. Maybe… Well, maybe it was something you needed to do without anything hanging over your head?” she offers, opening the door to her home and tugging him inside. Her own shoes are kicked off to the side without much thought, and she reluctantly lets go of his hand to flip on the light. There’s no excuse to hold it anymore, much as she wants to do so. Jo hurries away in hopes of preventing that thought from crossing her face. “Magic is good in a pinch, you know, but a towel will help, too, to mop up the worst of it from you. I do have a shower, but… Well, I suppose I could try my hand at magic for your clothes, I am afraid I have nothing for men.” She’s more amused than not by the idea of Liam parading around her home wearing a blanket, the only thing of hers capable of covering him. The twinkle in her eye makes the though clear, but it turns a touch serious. “You are not hurt anywhere?”

“Only a brother of sorts.” He’s quick to correct, perhaps quicker than he should be. Family are meant to stick side by side, aren’t they? But Daniel and Mary, well, they’ve hardly been consistent family to him. Consistent sources of trouble, maybe. Edmund would’ve been ashamed by Liam’s inclination to distance himself... but Edmund’s not around anymore. That’s a reminder he’s got to keep in mind, so easy to forget and so hard to stomach. For now, though, Liam simply shrugs. “Family’s like that, I suppose.” At least his had always been. “I’m realizing I don’t know much about yours, besides that cousin... Eve, was it?” No, that’s not it, but he just gives a halfhearted smile. It becomes something more wholesome when his hand is squeezed, his sidelong glance turning into something full on. It’s nice to see her, isn’t it? Her shock shakes things up a bit, and Liam sighs. “I did.” Does he regret it? Maybe he’ll live to. But it was something he’d mulled over for longer than he’d care to admit. After all, wasn’t this what he’d always wanted? Somewhere to dock, to call home permanently, other than the worn floors of his ship. The assumption makes him laugh and it’s a heavy sound, punctuated by a hand running down his jaw, but he nods. “It’ll be an adjustment, I’m sure. Sort of feeling like it is already. But it’s what I had to do.” He’s quickly reminded about the importance of a real home upon entering Jo’s, and his gaze travels, taking in the details. It causes him to miss the moment where her hand pulls away, but his eyes move to watch Jo then, missing the contact already. “Hm? Oh. Well.” He’s certainly worse for wear, and runs a hand against the nape of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. “I... well, the clothes I can handle myself. Unless you’re really willing. I could always just... wash up, though. Best that I can.” Her mischievous glance isn’t missed, and Liam feels his smile return some, though it wavers at her concern. “Oh, I’ll be alright. He got me a few times, but nothing that won’t heal quickly. Daniel can throw a decent punch, but I’m pretty well off as far as healing goes.” After a clearing of his throat, Liam  shuffles forward, glad to see he’s not tracking blood anywhere. “A towel, though, that might be nice. Or I could always, ah... wash up in the sink, I suppose.”

[britishgentlemendaily]

[liamlockhart]

@august-ulrich​

Liam isn’t a surprise, and he half wishes his friend had been several days later when August can toss this ridiculous sling into the trash where it belongs and not explain a lick of how he got it. It’s too late for it now. “I was not actually on duty when this happened.” August shrugs, winces, and then gestures him inside with a wary glance over his shoulder. He hasn’t seen Daniel much, a worry itself, but he’s seen snippets of Mary and he prefers to avoid anymore sightings of them. The door closes behind him, and August leads him further inside. “You can have your room still. Delilah left a while ago, so we should not have any other surprise house guests unless something particularly unusual happens in the next few weeks,” he states with a nod, figuring Liam wants a moment to drop his stuff off somewhere, but they are set aside near the door. Ah, no time for it, it’s not like Liam came with much more than a bag and whatever his arms can hold. “Nonsense, you can stay as long as you want, what use do I have for those extra rooms? I did not open the door on yours for several months.” August directs them to the couch, plopping down onto the cushions and setting his feet on the wooden coffee table with a pained grunt. “You sure you want to know? You leave for a little, and you miss out on all the fun. Remind me, did I tell you that Daniel’s ex-wife lived in town?” he asks, brows furrowing. He doesn’t know where to start with this story, truthfully, even if Liam no doubt knows pieces of it. “I do not recall off the top of my head, but if I did not: her name is Aurélie, and she is… a friend of sorts, I suppose. She is not at all what Daniel tried to make her seem, but I did not realize how… intense he was about wanting to be rid of her.” Which is mostly why he tried to avoid mentioning her, but August can see how that failed.

August’s hesitation, his quick ushering inside – it’s enough to set Liam’s nerves on edge. He’s not the type for panic, though, simply shooting a glance over his own shoulder in the direction his friend had looked. “Thank you. Promise I won’t darken your door for too long. I’ll find something more permanent and less in your hair.” But there are more pertinent things to discuss than living arrangements, and so Liam wheels back toward his accommodating house with an inquisitive gaze. “Well, I’ll be sure to clean the dust off,” he replies, a simple jest before he gets to the heart of things. “Knew he’d been married, but not to someone, well. Like us.” Liam replies, crossing his arms and knowing they’re nowhere near what truly matters. His foot is tapping by the time August hints toward the problem. “Where did that leave you? In the crossfire?” Blue eyes dart over his friend’s face before Liam sighs, running a hand down his jaw. “So Daniel’s been causing trouble.” What’s new? His definition for trouble is beyond what most would consider, maybe, but there’s no better way to frame it. “Is he rid of her, then? Or is that where you come in?” From the expression on August’s face, he can guess as much, and Liam shakes his head. “So he’s probably livid. Fantastic. Guess I’ll be having a word with him about how to behave. He tends to forget when he’s not kept on a leash.” His jaw is working, brow furrowed. How quickly things seem to unravel when they’re on Daniel’s terms. And how quickly he’d forgotten. For now, though: “Are you alright, then? You and, uh... you and the ex-wife? Have you seen Daniel since?”

[liamlockhart]

after the storm | liam & jo

[liamlockhart]

@johannakoning​

Weeks isn’t long in the grand scheme of things, but it still feels like decades between the time she saw Liam Lockhart last and the time she sees him again. Is this how they are meant to be, ships who pass in the night again and again? Jo certainly thinks so, and tries not to make it obvious that she misses his presence, and his friendship, and his wit. So she doesn’t immediately think of the tall presence at the opposite end of the sidewalk as someone she knows. They are tall, and half obscured by shadows, and her eyes haven’t adjusted to the lack of lights after leaving the shop a total hour later than usual. Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag, thoughtful of how to attack, and then she processes it, that voice. “I can see you are thrilled to see me as ever, be careful I will soon think you would rather I stayed away,” she comments with a tinge of amusement and an arch of her brows. She tries not to laugh at the look on his face, and it’s easier to do than she thinks when looking at him reminds her that he has left for the second time with little explanation for it. A trend for people in her life, and it’s hell of a thing to realize at 7PM when she can do nothing about it. Not that she can at any time, as it turns out, but she can pretend. Jo blinks the thought away, studying him, and the marks on his face having her growing alarmed, and more at the splatter of blood on him, staining his skin and his shirt alike. “I have never heard an explanation more poor for this, but we can’t very well talk in public with you looking like that. Someone will think I am about to be murdered.” No time for chivalry, or politeness, and she takes his hand with only a shake of her head to silence his protest. “This way, I can bet I live closer that you do.” Or she assumes so, given he doesn’t look all that rushed to run away somewhere else. Some of her ire, the bits she can’t quite force to go away even when she tries, ease at his words. Jo continues walking, knowing if he had a protest, he surely wouldn’t let her keep pulling him. It’s harder to keep her words casual, as if it doesn’t matter, when it does, it really does, but she makes an attempt. “You were coming to see me? I had thought I wouldn’t see a hair of you for at least a decade. I… am alive, I suppose, still figuring out this town. I assume you are still trying to decipher it, too?”

“As I recall, your first ever words to me were ‘shit, you found me.’ Actually – not quite ‘shit.’ What was it again?” Amusement comes easily alongside her, and Liam is relieved to see it matched in Johanna’s face. The smile that dances across her lips makes him mirror it without a second thought. Funny, that. The mention of murder makes that waver some, but Liam huffs a laugh all the same, nodding. “Right. Wouldn’t want to scare the innocent public, would we?” He’s ready to depart then, bid her farewell with more haste than he’d wanted in order to go home and clean himself up properly. But the warm hand that takes his forces pause into him, and blue eyes give multiple dumbfounded blinks before he can make sense of any potential protest. “You don’t have to–” Her mind is made up, it would seem, and he knows better by now than to argue with that. So Liam simply nods, swallowing hard against the surprise rolling like a restless tide through him at the sensation of her fingers around his. Her back is to him as she sends inquiries his way, giving him ample opportunity to look over the brown tresses of her hair as if answers may lie there. “I, ah... I went to see my brother, actually. Well, Daniel.” Not his brother, not at all, and the distance feels increasingly necessary with the turmoil that the Bissets seem hellbent on wreaking. “But, tomorrow. I would’ve come to see you tomorrow.” It hadn’t been planned but as soon as he says it he knows it’s the truth. Not much use being in this town without her company, really. “Still trying to decipher, definitely. I’m staying, though.” That’s sudden, too, though certainly planned. “I, ah... I left to decide that. Whether to go out on the water again or head back here, I mean. Ended up selling the Richmond. So... I’m here. To stay, maybe. Am sorry I didn’t tell you, either, but I didn’t want to just toss a bunch of uncertainties your way. Not much of an excuse, though, I know.” She’s right: her home is considerably closer than his. Not even his, really, but August’s, who arguably shouldn’t have to deal with his messes. Johanna shouldn’t, either, but that’s easily forgotten as his eyes search the space, taking in the bits and pieces that make it, well, hers. “You’ve made a nice place for yourself here. Ah–” He pauses, shucking his shoes at the door, remembering his manners. Stopping in his tracks in the entryway, Liam frowns. “Don’t really want to risk tracking blood around.” Not so easy to get those stains out. He would know.

[liamlockhart]

@orionfaulkner​

Date: January 30th 2021 Time: 12:02 AM Location: An alleyway near Lethe Hospital

@liamlockhart​

Orion had no illusions about the state of Lethe these days, but he hardly wanted to ask his wife to ferry him to and fro everywhere he went. Some clients had emergencies, sometimes things ran rather late, so it had seemed a fair thing to stay until midnight and walk home alone. Properly alone, Maggie was at the vet until tomorrow morning, but he didn’t mind. Until he heard footsteps behind, felt a hand as cold as his own but stronger, far stronger, whip him around and shove him into a wall. Orion had not thought his ears capable of ringing anymore, but ring they did, enough so that he couldn’t even begin to hear what the woman was saying. Did it really matter? Not as much as the blows she rained down on him, the attempts he made to protect himself as feeble as could be given he had no idea what direction that she was coming from. He couldn’t bleed, couldn’t die, but he could feel pain. That was the nasty part of being a lich. He felt when his shoulder was jammed out of place, when a finger was snapped back as he reached out to cover himself. Fear hadn’t been a huge part of his life, at least not for himself, but it was all he felt by the time someone, some stranger pulled the woman away from him. Orion’s hands were shaking by then. He counted off the seconds to see if maybe she was just feinting, but no. Dimly he heard her being told to leave, to get out of here, and footsteps moving closer to himself. “I hope you aren’t here to give me a second round. Just because I can’t die from it doesn’t mean it’s painless.” Orion said, backing against the wall. “Who are you? Who was that woman? Obviously I can’t see either of you.”

It had become an occupation of sorts before he’d fled back to the sea: cleaning up after the tumultuous Bisset siblings. Edmund, at least, knew how to clean up after himself. Dangerous, maybe, considering how that talent coincided with so many secrets kept. But it led to less back alley fights, less blood for Liam to remove from the scene. No blood at all this time around, actually – that’s one of the first things he notes after realizing the initial contact. “Mary!” The shouting isn’t enough, but of course it isn’t. He’s getting rusty, unaccustomed from so many years away. No, he must rip her away like a persistent child, all clenched fists and bared fangs. “I don’t know if you realize, but this is the closest thing you’ve had to a real home in quite some time. If you or Daniel ruin it, you’re without anything. Edmund’s not here anymore. So don’t create a goddamn mess you can’t clean up.” Looking thoroughly chided, Mary opens her mouth for rebuttal but Liam doesn’t allow it, giving a sharp shake of his head. He knows better. “Go. Get the hell out of here before I report you to the police myself.” Easy, really, considering his current roommate. Bringing about actual consequence, however, is likely easier said than done. No secret that August has always held a torch for the younger Bisset sibling – but that’s a problem for another day, as Mary turns tail and heads out with some scalding remark he hardly pays attention to. Instead, he turns back to this blind doctor fellow with a weary sigh. His mother’s new husband, if he remembers right, and he knows he does. “Not on the agenda, no, unless that’s what you were looking for.” There’s no way in hell this man had started the fight, but the joke extracts some tension, if nothing else. At least on his own behalf. The trembling man doesn’t look so convinced. “Ah, Liam. It’s Liam... Lockhart.” Odette’s son, those had been the words bidding him. But that’s a moniker he can’t remember ever using. Not so easy to start. “And that was Mary. My, uh, unfortunate sister, of sorts. Apologies for her. Grief has made her lash out, but that’s no excuse.” And how sick he is of making those sorts of excuses. “I’m... not sure how to help. You’re as dead as I am, it seems, but not a vampire, right? So blood won’t be of much use. Should I escort you back to the hospital, then?”

[odettelockhart]

maman / liam + odette

[liamlockhart]

@odettelockhart​

“Non, non. That is not what I meant, I only meant the rest… not seeking you until now, that was for my sake,” she says swiftly, shaking her head, rattled and cursing herself for being surprised. She knew– she knew seeking him out would be painful. Odette underestimates how much when he’s looking at her, as if she is little more than a passing stranger rather than the one who had, once, chased away his nightmares. She bites her lip, but the experience with Riley, and indeed the centuries of practice in general makes it easy to smooth her face to something calmer. I don’t recognize you. Ah, cruel, and she flinches at the truth of it. “I recognize you. I see a lot of your father in you, but you have my family’s eyes. My eyes.” It’s why her first time seeing him had struck her silent, and why she could think of nothing to do except flee from the ghost standing in front of her. That is, after all, what he is, isn’t it? A phantom of the boy she knew, no traces of the round cheeks and bright eyes she recalls. “I was thirty-one when I died, and lucky to be well-cared for in that time, but yes. I did not feel young at the time,” Odette admits, a little awkwardly, frowning. “It felt as though I had aged a great deal in a short time, as most do after dying.” Her words trail off, looking up at him. He is taller than her, and older, too. Riley, at least, was young enough for Odette to pretend, but she cannot here. No chance to think of this, or even remark upon it, when he speaks next, and his words, though more statement than sharpness, are more painful than any knife. She’s learned from some of her mistakes, though, and she cuts in when he finishes with a rough shake of her head. Her head shakes, and they are standing on the threshold still, unable to step forward or backwards. “I didn’t leave him without a word, Liam. If he grieved… if he still… Then he did not heed my last request, but I shouldn’t have expected otherwise, he always did love deeply.” Too much so. She blinks rapidly. Don’t focus on William, she can do nothing for him, even if the idea of him grieving her until his last breath brings another sharp pang. “I didn’t abandon our family! When they killed me, when I woke up, I didn’t know where to go or what to do, it was like… I do not know how to describe dying.” And she doesn’t need to, does she? Odette runs a hand through her hair, and her hand shakes, her hard-worked control trying to unravel. “I came home, and we tried to make sense of it. I should not have been alive, and we thought it best for me to leave. To not endanger you both by being different. Désolée, Liam, I asked him not to tell either of you, you deserved not to think I had willingly abandoned you.”

The comparison to family doesn’t impress him, and Liam’s raise of a brow indicates as much. “Well, suppose we’re family by blood if nothing else, so. Not surprising.” It’s clipped, harsher than it should be, maybe, but can he be blamed? With memories of Edmund’s tales about his mother in mind, shadowed by images of his father’s grief that could have, by all means, been avoided? His laugh is embittered at best at her mention of age. “Younger than me. Christ.” A hand runs down his jaw, head shaking. His mother standing before him, an utter stranger and four years his junior in appearance. Wrong isn’t enough to quantify it all, so he says nothing for a moment, giving her neither pity nor scorn. He simply wants to take in her face. Not because he’s seeking a mother – not really. Not anymore. But because he can’t help but imagine her departing their once happy home without so much as a glance back with those blue eyes they share. “He knew, then?” That’s news to him, but really, when could father have gently told him that his mother had chosen life – or undeath – alone? How do you explain to a child that their mother had no interest in them? 

Edmund certainly had, but by then Liam had been grown for many years. And what’s another lie, anyhow? Nothing, at this point. From his seemingly honest father, it is striking, perhaps, but not terribly so. Edmund’s fables likely had their own bits of untruth; he is not so naive to think otherwise. But those seem not to matter now, as Liam speaks through his teeth, his ire growing in strength and visibility. “Just because you had your reasons doesn’t mean it wasn’t abandonment. You and Riley both. It wasn’t as if you tried to give us the truth and we turned you away. You chose that for yourself. Don’t need to tell me about dying, either. I’m familiar.” With his own death, the deaths of others, their ledger kept in his own careful writing and tucked away somewhere secret. Their memories not so much ghosts as they are creeping voices, gnawing shame. “I would have liked to hear from my mother.” He responds simply – needy, maybe, but he’s not above it. Not right now. “Your brother, he told me plenty about abandonment. Taught me how to do it myself, though I’m beginning to think it was an inherited trait.” From mother, from sister... this was the pattern of things, and he so blind to it. But he is not blind to the current pressing truth, and so he lays it bare: “Killing, too. Imagine we’ve all got blood on our hands. Actually, I know it for a fact, if I’m to believe what Riley told me.” Liam’s gaze is measured, meeting one so like his own, so like that of his mentor who lies somewhere in the ground, or scattered to the wind... he hasn’t bothered to ask. “Edmund. That was your doing?”

[liamlockhart]

Date: January 26th 2021 Time: 9:30 am Location: August’s house

@august-ulrich​

It’s not as if he didn’t call in advance. He did – a couple of days ago, in fact, when his feet were on solid ground and the ship he’d tended to for so long was but a speck on the horizon. He’s not sure he’ll ever truly be able to put into words what made him loose his ties to the Richmond, but in his heart of hearts, he knows it was the right thing, letting go. The thing he was bound to by duty, maybe. But he won’t search so much into it. No, really, if he is to return to Lethe, the most pressing matter is where he’ll live. August had accused him of loitering when he’d tried to hunker down by the river on his first venture into town, so it’s August he calls now, seeking shelter. August whose door Liam knocks upon, his scant belongings in his arms or tucked into the bag slung onto his back. Some of which he sets down in order to greet his friend properly, but he doesn’t get the chance, instead taken aback by his appearance. “Well then. Police work taking its toll?” His brow furrows as he observes the sling the other man sports. “You alright?” And then, with a sigh, he hefts his belongings up again. “Besides that, ah, thank you for letting me stay here. I shouldn’t be long. Sure I’ll find a place that doesn’t infringe upon you.” Once he’s crossed the threshold, once bags and boxes are sat down, Liam turns to his host with a question in his eyes. One he’s, frankly, not so keen on asking. “Now... what exactly have I missed?”

[anothermusic-blog]

Visit Original Link

[liamlockhart]

In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders Of ev'ry glove that laid him down Or cut him till he cried out In his anger and his shame "I am leaving, I am leaving" But the fighter still remains

[odettelockhart]

maman / liam + odette

[liamlockhart]

@odettelockhart​

Date: January 27th 2021 Time: 2:15pm Location: Liam’s place of residence.

@liamlockhart​

How many times has she thought about this moment over the last month? Too many to count, certainly, enough that her work is slipping through her fingertips like water, and she’s helpless to stop it. Two hundred years of grief and mourning over… over nothing, truly, because both her children are alive, and it leaves her feel bereft to have this emotion yanked away from her. No, not bereft, though she doesn’t know what exactly is sustaining her until she’s knocking on the door, waiting for his response. If he gives one. Relief, maybe, for knowing she might see them even once, when she’s thought thus far she would be stuck imagining it. Guilt, maybe more so, for the years they haven’t been together, and the suffering that has brought them to this moment, standing on a threshold hoping someone will open the door. “You already know who I am, there is no privacy in this town. And everyone in my family kind, but meddlesome, they will have told you my story already,” she starts, sighing heavily, hoping he is there to hear it. “I am sorry I could not tell you myself, I will not lie and say it was for your sake. It was for mine, I…” Odette falters, heart in her throat. She’s hoped for a reunion where she would simply cry, and hold onto the things she’s thought long lost. It seems cruel to make her hold onto a semblance of control when all foundations seem to be breaking, the things holding her aloft falling one by one. The loss of her children, and Lethe, and Edmund’s shadow, and all are a pillar of who she is, but no longer. No children mourn, only time to regret. Lethe to worry about, but it seems so much farther away. Edmund, his threat and shadow is laughable, but it still squeezes at her lungs, now more than ever, to know she took his life. Took his life for the ones he had stolen from her. “I have spent two hundred years thinking I would only ever see and know you as messy haired boy who wouldn’t sleep without the red blanket and the little tin soldier. So if you do not want to speak, if the story matters little to you, may I at least see you once?”

He senses the guest coming before he sees her. Even once he’s laid eyes on the figure coming up the pathway of the house he’s just moved back into, Liam can say he saw this coming. A surprise, really, that he’d avoided such a reunion during his first stay in Lethe. But there is no avoiding it now, as hard as he tries, staying still and silent behind his door as his mother begins to speak. A voice that sways something in him, the turn of the faintest tide of memory. He swallows it down. For now, at least, in order to listen properly. It’s what he owes his mother, maybe. As much as he feels she owes him the truth. He feels his jaw working then, more recent memories abound, of Edmund’s recollection of his mother’s departure. By choice, he said. And isn’t that something? Something that had stung, that aches now, a long closed wound reopened. How many lies had there been, really? Well, there’s no Edmund to ask anymore. Only one other option, the way he sees it, and with the phantom sensation of that tin soldier in the midst of his clenched palm, he opens the door wide. Wider than he maybe should, but he’d like to look at her as much as it seems she’d like to see him. After a moment’s pause, when blue eyes find blue in the midst of everything, the man speaks in a tone almost removed from what it is saying. “Edmund told me you left by your own will. Because you wanted to. And here you are telling me it was for your own sake. So he was right, then. You simply left us.” His eyes take in her face slowly, searching. The inquisition comes up short, though, and his head shakes before he can think twice about it. “Beyond what I see we have in common, I don’t recognize you.” It’s frank, and perhaps callous, but he was the one who had been orphaned. What pity should he give? “You look young.” Another fact, laid bare, no frills about it. “Imagine that means you did die when Pa claimed you did. At least that part was true.” This next bit is cruel, maybe. Skills endowed in him by his maker – or perhaps a lack of skill. Lack of empathy, lack of nuance. Whatever it is, it’s turned into something like instinct by this point. “He grieved you like it was his sole occupation. For years. I don’t remember you. But I can remember the way he mourned. Did you ever tell him the truth? Write a letter, at least? You told Riley, evidently. When was she filled in? I never was. Not about her. Not about you. Not until now. I got no information, and I suspect Pa didn’t, either. Is that right?”

[liamlockhart]

after the storm | liam & jo

Date: January 27th 2021 Time: 7:05 pm Location: On the path toward August and Liam’s house

@johannakoning​

Not exactly the way he’d wanted to spend his night. But, really, who could temper Daniel Bisset if not him? No one, it would seem, considering the blood he now sports. Some his, some that of his pseudo brother. Thankful, isn’t he, for the lack of true connection. Hardly brothers. Especially now, after Daniel has wreaked so much havoc in such a short amount of time? Scandal in the newspaper, assaulting friends and, apparently, an ex spouse – this troublesome news was enough for Liam to seek a confrontation. An attempt at tempering. It’d turned into quite the opposite, though, when punches were thrown and an angry draw called. Those punches are what he sports the marks of, and though he can feel them healing with haste, he’ll still have to answer for them. To August and – “Ah, shit.” To Johanna. Whom he’d offered limited explanation for his departure and no real date of reference for his return. Had he wanted to return? Maybe. He’s here now, isn’t he? And worse for wear, which has led to worry written all over Jo’s face. “Johanna.” He clears his throat, then, wanting to apologize. Is it meant for her? No way to be sure. “Ah, it’s not entirely mine. Which maybe isn’t consolation, but... just a bit of a scuffle. No harm done, really.” A hand run down his jaw, a sigh, weary, regretful. “This isn’t really how I wanted to greet you. Planned to stop by the shop tomorrow, you know. But, well. Here we are.” It’s as much of an explanation as he can manage. His focus turns to her instead. “How are you, then? Alright?”

[balfeys]

Sam Heughan during his HFPA Press Conference for “OUTLANDER” at TCA 2020.

[soracities]

Let me pull myself out of these waters. But they heap themselves on me; they sweep me between their great shoulders; I am turned; I am tumbled; I am stretched, among these long lights, these long waves, these endless paths, with people pursuing, pursuing.

Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via soracities)

[liamlockhart]

@arthur-talbot​

The laughter he hears is far too deep to belong to Ciaran, though he glances down at his son, momentarily bemused, until he hears the tinkle of the bell and a man walking in. A familiar one, though in the way faces and names were vaguely familiar when he was a Riverborn: he knows it, but he can’t place where. Arthur settles Ciaran back into an area penned off for him and Phoebe, the latter of which is curled up in her playpen, so asleep she doesn’t stir when Ciaran smacks the side of it. “Giving your name out to strangers is a risky move,” he supplies, still puzzled. “You never know which person might remember it, and if you are immortal, seems like it would be easy for a determined one to find you. Like you have.” Not a good first meeting then, but the man looks too amused by the situation to be a threat. It doesn’t settle Arthur, but he doesn’t shoot him a threatening look, and it fades almost altogether at the mention of the Richmond. Pain crosses his find, the memory clawing its way to the surface and elbowing its way into place. He grimaces, waiting, well used to the sensation of a spike through his head when it comes to memories and the pieces of them he doesn’t have still. “Ah, him. Not a very nice fellow either, his stories were horrid and his music even worse,” he says with a short laugh, rubbing his forehead briefly. “Job didn’t need to be done for another week, they wanted me to have him closer to the next port, but another night of that and I would have jumped overboard myself. I am Arthur though – you are… Liam then?”

“Suppose I should’ve learned that by now.” Liam quips back easily, more amused than anything else, really. He should probably be more upset about the mistake he’d made in allowing this Arthur aboard, but this is a bygone he’s willing to let be a bygone. His brow lofts at the next comment, and Liam huffs. “I didn’t come here determined to find you, rest assured.” He shakes his head, wanting this conversation to stay lighthearted. He’s not about to pick a fight against a man with a baby on his hip. Done worst in the past, sure, but again: bygones. Liam instead squints at the man as he winces. Regret, then? He himself is not too sorry about the loss of that scoundrel, but Arthur’s reaction is making him think maybe he should be. A shame, really. Maybe he is too hardened at this point. Still, the joke gets something akin to a laugh out of him and Liam allows the confusing flash of pain go by without question. None of his business, as he sees it. “Not exactly a gentleman, no. But I was surprised someone wanted him dead. He was a nuisance, but I didn’t think him to be dangerous. People can surprise you, though, eh?” His fingers toy with one of the baubles on a bluebell and he shakes his head. “Imagine jumping overboard would’ve done as much damage to you as its done to me.” No heartbeat on this one, and it’s not shocking, not around here. Surprising that he hadn’t caught on aboard the ship, but those water-tossed years always did make him rusty. “Yes, that’s me. Had to leave the Richmond in other hands recently, sorry to say. Hope to be back aboard soon. Did you always live here, then? Didn’t discover this little nook of a town until recently, myself.”

[johannakoning]

daydreams | liam & jo

[liamlockhart]

@johannakoning​

Jo inclines her head, a point in his favor. “You have been alive a long time then? You did always have this look in your eyes, like you were a hundred years away from the deck you stood upon,” she speculates. “I am not upset at her being alive - far from it, I am relieved to know her life wasn’t cut short, but it is hard to reconcile the years apart with…” Jo has no easy way to end the sentence, and she lets the wind carry the unspoken ending away. She laughs, trying to imagine the last time she had a chance to pick up a paint brush, it is a hobby she’ll return to when she settles in Lethe. If she does, given how different it is from life at sea, from life on the run, and even from her home, but there is little choice in now, is there? Evi is here, a root Jo will not unearth, and Liam is here, too. “I only ran into trouble a few times after we parted, and its nothing a couple of well-placed words didn’t mend. Or a spell, but that, apparently, causes a different type of trouble,” she muses, thinking of the humans who flinched at her casual use of magic, giving Liam a moment to gather his thoughts.

If he can laugh, she hasn’t broken anything, she thinks, lifting her head to smile up at him, standing on the edge of the water. “If not water, I’m partial to a fireplace for thinking once in a while depending on how cold it is outside, but… ah, a vampire will not find that as pleasant, no?” Memory loss is a double-edged sword in her book. Lose the painful memories, and lose out on all the reasons she’s been pushed this far. “I imagine some people have bad that outweighs the good, and they would like to let it go. Can’t say I do personally, I have too many things I’d like to remember.” Like dragging Evi from an event without revealing how drunk her cousin was. Like showing her brother how to dance, and her other one how to cook. Like stargazing on the deck of a ship. Jo blinks, and shakes her head, fond thoughts slipping. “Ah, nothing extreme, just thoughts of home. I don’t recall what one of those feels like anymore, I wonder if this could be it. Too soon to say, unfortunately.”

Her comments on her cousin strike a chord, and Liam looks back to Johanna with genuine compassion. He nods at first, allowing his eyes to return to the water before he speaks. “Reconciliation’s not easy. Learning that part, myself.” His mind is on his sister, then, the way she’d wept before him. It was enough to elicit pity in most men. But it hadn’t been enough for him. How do you forgive? Even more challenging: how do you forget? These are the very things he’d come to the river to piece through, but he’s got something far more pleasant to occupy his time for now. He looks to Jo with a creeping smile, a small laugh. “I would’ve been shocked if you hadn’t stirred anything up. Glad you managed to escape relatively unscathed.” Her evaluation earns an eyebrow raise, and Liam shrugs. “Sure, the fire has some consequences, but it can only do to me what it can do to most people. Tends to be a welcome warmth, actually, when you’re always cold. Got used to the cold on the sea, though. Not setting fires on my own ship.”

Her comment on memory is an indicator, really, of how many years separate them. How much time he’s had for things to sour. The days on the sea -- he wouldn’t mind keeping those. Hell, even the more pleasant times with Edmund, before each day was a battle for a cause he couldn’t seem to believe in. Memories worth keeping, though many harsh ones separate them. She’s got fonder things to look back on, though, and he can see it on her face. Mirroring her smile, he nods. “Guess it’s not a life truly lived if you want to forget it all.” Liam gives a hum at her comments on home. After all, he hasn’t been privy to a real one in a while. The Richmond was as close as he got, and he’d been rather fond of her. Hard to think she’s sailing out there now, under someone else’s command. But some time on dry land is good for the soul, isn’t it? Time spent in a place akin to a real home rather than always seeking a destination. That thought strikes a memory, and Liam laughs suddenly. “D’you remember the song Campbell used to torment us with? That damned Scotsman had the biggest mouth. How’d it go?” He pauses a moment before singing a line or two, laughter at the edges of it: “Rolling home across the sea, rolling home to dear old Scotland...rolling home, dear land to thee -- something like that, so repetitive. And you joined him, that one night.” Liam’s waded into the water now, uncaring about his dampening shoes as he smiles at Jo, mired in memory. “We were docked in Bantry Bay and went to that pub. You stood up on your stool just to try and out sing him. Remember?”

[liamlockhart]

@orionfaulkner​

Orion had a bone to pick with the universe as a whole, but specifically with Lethe and how ‘dead’ didn’t seem to be dead for the vast majority. Sure, he didn’t have much room to talk given what he was, but when precisely were relatives and friends going to stop popping out of the woodwork like undead daisies? That was the real question here. Liam Lockhart the man says, as if it’s a commonplace name, as if he hasn’t heard it from his wife’s lips in conjunction with tears. Matters to attend to indeed. So a vampire, like dear Riley. There was no other reason someone born human would live this long and be setting out for a blood pickup. He realized belatedly that he had lapsed into a semi-rude silence and he dragged himself mentally to the point. “Quite a fine name, Liam Lockhart. My wife’s prior name was Lockhart, my stepdaughter’s name is Lockhart.” Orion said, deciding to call a duck and duck and get it over with. Either the man would bolt or he was the right Liam, but it was a chance worth taking. “She had a son named Liam, once upon a time. So tell me, Mr. Lockhart, precisely how old are you? A tad over two hundred? I mean not to scare you off, sir, but the coincidences are past the pale. And if you are the Liam I suspect, I would dearly love to make your acquaintance.”

It’s been quiet for a moment since his introduction, and really, that tends to be enough to make him start to fret. Running with Edmund will lead to such things, people recalling your name with bitterness or outright loathing. So Liam is braced for... something. Some sort of confrontation or questioning about misdeeds done and, more than likely, a life ended. And so the commentary about names, the coincidence of it all, well. That’s disarming to say the least. Hard to swallow, too. It’s not as if he doesn’t know about his mother. Alive, or resembling it, in the same way he is. Having left their family behind and gotten this new husband, to boot. Centuries have passed, so perhaps it should be expected. Doesn’t help the sting of it, though. Time heals all wounds, they claim. Seems like bullshit. “Ah, yes. Something thereabouts. Can’t say I’ve, ah, kept up with tracking it, exactly.” Staggering, isn’t it? This crossing of paths. To be rediscovering his family through this... liaison of sorts. What can he say to this man, who clearly knows about him already? “Certainly seems like once upon a time.” Oh, the bitterness. There it is, like seawater in a wound. Stinging, still. “Well, then. That’s certainly, ah... it’s something. Coincidence, sure.” A beat as he exhales, trying to steady himself against the tumultuous tide of it all. “Have you and your wife been in this town long?” Liam deserves to know, doesn’t he? The history of his mother, this Orion’s wife -- has this been her refuge for the entirety of her centuries spent away? It isn’t as if he’d spent years searching for her, but to know her whereabouts makes the situation all the more real. “I can’t say I was aware of where exactly her new life led her.”

[liamlockhart]

@briarbishop​

“I don’t look bad enough to call upon your deity,” she scoffs, swiping hair off her forehead, a twist in her lips as her fingers over the bruise. The vampires who come to the Otherlands are destroyed on sight, lest they start a blood bath of pretty faes, and she’s only faced one once in all her centuries. Not bad, really. “I was sloppy though, I will get her next time.” Its as much a promise as it is a threat. Briar stares at this man, with his hands held up and his attempt at soothing, and narrows her eyes. “My kind? How do you know what I am?” she asks, suspicious, swiping the blood off her face and smearing it across her cheek instead. “There is no secrecy or mystery in this town, everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everything.” She hates it more because she’s the one in the dark, always stuck questioning who is who and what is what. Her eyes flicker to his, and the blueness of them sends an annoying lurch in her chest for someone that is, after all, gone. Someone she didn’t know long enough to grieve, but knew enough to feel… like this. Briar shakes it off, and if he mistakes her bristling with annoyance for her own feelings to be something about the woman, then she lets him. “Who is she? I didn’t catch her name, she didn’t launch into pleasantries first, its a weakness people in this town have in spades.” She takes a step, frowning. Her vision falters a moment, black spots appearing in her vision, and she stumbles, wincing, her knees hitting the floor. Anger and embarrassment flood her in equal measure. “Fuck. I’m going to kill her.” 

“Agree to disagree,” Liam quips though he moves no closer, not wanting to push boundaries here. She looks like hell -- perhaps not worse case scenario, but not exactly ideal, either. Liam raises his brow as the selkie goes on. Her confidence could be ignorance, but still, it’s impressive. “Will you? She’s quite the foe, that one, as I’m sure you figured out already. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You seem like a fighter yourself.” He’s looking like a regular turncoat right now, hands raised in surrender to this brash selkie. But he’s not keen on a fight. Not today. So he stays like that, even as she pushes irate questions his way. “Can’t be sure, but there’s a certain smell to it. Every species has one. Blame the vampirism, if you will.” He laughs at her next comment, though it’s from of a bitter taste of irony more than anything else. “You’re right on that front. I’ve felt that way, too, anyhow. Seems like everyone else has a leg up, doesn’t it?” But that’s enough with the small talk when she’s still bleeding and Mary still stalks the streets. Quite the introduction she’s made. He’ll have to clean up the pieces. Some things truly never change. “Her name’s Mary. Bit of a hothead, though I imagine I don’t have to tell you that.” Liam leaves the comment about pleasantries alone, though this one doesn’t seem so keen on them either. Instead of pointing out that irony, he’s lurching forward when she falls, only to catch himself. Don’t want to seem like a regular predator, after all. “Afraid she’s already dead. And you may be, too, if you keep on losing blood the way you are. Can I help you get somewhere to get patched up? Or would that make you want to kill me as well?” He exhales, then, and tries something more cordial on for size: “I’m Liam, if that helps anything. Figure, you know, the pleasantries.”

[liamlockhart]

@riley-voss​

“I didn’t know,” she breathes out after another set of anger words leave Liam, hoping that he’ll listen. “I know that is no excuse, Liam, I don’t mean for it to be but I- I just…I didn’t know.” How can they mend so much damage within one family? It would be so easily to blame Edmund, to think that he caused all of this and that none of them played roles in each other’s hurt. But the pain on Liam’s face, the abandonment and betrayal he feels, that is not on Edmund. No, that…that is all on her. Riley’s bottom lip quivers, “no.” I wish he hadn’t. I wish I could turn back time, change what had happened. I wish I had come back sooner, kept my promise to take care of you, I should have…she should have done a lot of things, but here they are now. The two Lockhart siblings, though they hardly feel as such. They are no longer close as they used to be. Time and Edmund did quite a good job of tearing them apart. Though Riley knows she had a hand in that as well, leaving like she did.

It stings worse when he pulls away. No words could hurt worse than that, or the distance he puts between them as if she’s got a deadly disease. Perhaps to him, she is the plague. She blinks back tears, letting them roll down her cheeks as she looks down, needing a moment away from her brother’s gaze. “Well that’s uh- I…I expected, as much. I didn’t forgive mother either, not at first.” With time, maybe, she hopes he’ll come to understand or at least he’ll forgive her. None of what she did had been to hurt him, surely he knew that. At first, keeping away from him had been about his safety. But then, over time, the hatred she had for herself as a vampire only grew. In Riley’s mind, if she went back to Liam, he would see her for what she thought herself to be all along; a monster. Of course Arthur convinced her otherwise, but too late. Edmund had already killed Liam, or so they thought. “Yes, I wanted something else,” she says after a moment, stepping forward only slightly this time. “Not your forgiveness, I know better than to ask for that. I want a chance to move on. Liam, Edmund’s…he’s dead. Our mother killed him,” she begins, trying to catch his gaze. “He’s gone. Our pain’s not, I know that, and…we can’t change what’s already happened. No matter how much I want to, God, I do,” Riley’s brow creases, and she steps forward again. “We can’t. But we can move forward without him. I mean haven’t you wondered what it would be like without him? Or what it would be like if mom or I were alive? I always wondered and wondered, and now…now we have that. Right in front of us, we’re all here except dad and it’s just…why can’t we just be happy for that? For a second?” She bites down on her lowe lip, head shaking. “Please, Liam. You don’t have to forgive me, but at least give me a chance to talk to you? Properly? If not now then another time, then? When you’re ready?”

“Glad to keep in line with your expectations.” It’s petty, maybe, and snappish to boot, but he’s angry. It simmers, not the violent rage seen in the people he frequently keeps company with, but it’s enough to grit his jaw and shake his head. She’s bold, though, this maybe sister of his, and forward with her demands. He levels his gaze with her then even if he keeps his distance, trying to keep his expression natural even if he feels anything but. “I’m aware--” he begins to retort at this piece of news she must feel so important in delivering. But the second bit is new. It’s enough to get another laugh from him, as disbelieving as the first, and his foot drums, his gaze avoiding his sister’s then no matter how much she searches. “Christ. This family knows no limit on its ironies, I’ll give it that. For God’s sake.” His mother, the fleer of their family, now the killer of the man he’d come to call father. The news delivered by a sister who had up and abandoned him as well. How bitter it all is. It only grows worse as Riley launches into the idyllic, and Liam turns to her, his disbelief past the point of humor, even the most ironic kind. “Do you hear yourself? You tell me that our mother killed the only family I’ve known for the past two centuries, then expect me to put that aside and see the joy? To pretend to be a family with you two, who left me behind? No, Riley. I didn’t have the chance to wonder because I took the family I got. The family that didn’t leave me. And now he’s gone. So forgive me if I can’t sit here and gaze upon your ideals.” Time separates them, and space, too. But not enough of it. He walks to the door, then. More space is needed. But he won’t be forced out of his own home -- a borrowed home, a seemingly temporary home, but still. His. “I don’t know that I’ll be ready. Give me another century or two of solitude. Maybe then I’ll be able to forget.” The door is pushed open and he turns back to her, meeting eyes so like his own. The only thing that makes them feel like family, really. “Leave me be, please. You had your chance to talk.”