Rowan was silent.
In his silence, Rowan seemed more like his tree namesake than a man. Much like a tree, Lorie wanted to shake him. But there was no point in shaking a tree that didn't beat its own fruit. There was no point in shaking a tree that bore fruit, either, in Lorie's opinion. Then again; Lorie didn't eat fruit. Lorie was a vampire.
"It's Christmas," had been Lorie's first argument.
"I'm an atheist," was the surprisingly solid rebuttal from one stubborn tree of a man.
"It's also a full moon," was the second point Lorie made.
"There'll be others," the wry Rowan replied as he did the dishes. "It comes and goes, you see..."
"Aren't you some kind of scientist?" Not so much an argument as it was an exasperated sidebar.
"Something like that," Rowan said, infuriatingly unaffected.
Lorie tossed up his hands. Rowan, ignoring his immortal shrug of annoyance completely (mostly because his back was to Lorie and Lorie didn't reflect in the window over the kitchen sink), continued doing the dishes. And after this, he'd do the vacuuming. And the dusting. Maybe the dusting first.
That probably made more sense.
He thought of all these things instead of thinking of the one big pressing Thing; which, coincidentally enough, was all Lorie could think of.
The vampire in the brown leather coat finally dropped his arms and turned away, rubbing his mouth. Rowan refused to react to that, too. He hadn't ever quite approved of the dead hanging around his ward. It was as ominous as it was irritating; especially the part where this particular undead did card tricks and rode on his father's coat tails.
Privileged parasites were all quite the same that way.
"I'm just saying, think of Quillan."
"I do," Rowan replied honestly, drying dishes now. In fact, it's almost all he did these days. Think of Q, not do the dishes. He'd been doing less and less of those since...anyway; he'd started ordering a lot more Isle takeout. It could be good; if you knew which restaurants to order from. If they didn't list human flesh on the menu, it was usually a pretty safe bet.
"Then if you won't think of this option, for whatever reason--" Reasons; plural, Rowan corrected silently as he laid aside a freshly-scrubbed skillet.
"Think of the season." A small, brightly-wrapped box was set beside Rowan's right hand on the counter. In the box was a set of keys to a brand new car, but Lorie didn’t mention that. The box didn’t mention it, either, as it was well-padded to avoid the potential for unnecessary jingling. the keys might not have been free in any sense of the word, but Lorie knew how much even a tree needed freedom. The guardian who looked, at times, more graying and granite than tan and thriving in the dull kitchen light, glanced at it. The golden now atop the red parcel was comically large in comparison to the box's size. Rowan thought of this instead of the lump suddenly rising in his throat.
"Happy nothing, atheist," offered Lorie, tired and defeated. He turned to go. Rowan placed one hand atop the box; the other reaching out to grasp Lorie's shoulder before he could fully shift away.
"...just--" Rowan let go; wooden limb dropping numbly back to his side.
"Have patience."
"...I do," said the vampire. "I trust you." These words lacked all doubt and granted Rowan some comfort.
"I'm just scared," Lorie admitted, eyes laughing without laughing; mouth dry. Rowan nodded; stoic. At least, externally.
"Good," he said, handing Lorie a towel and a damp coffee mug.
"So am I."
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