#anriwrites

[prunussachalinensis]

⚠️noncon blood drinking. short unedited scott/avid thingy i wrote the other day

[prunussachalinensis]

When it comes down to it, life in New York is pleasurable — here autumn is crisp and soft; a carpet of crimson leaves a crunching thud-thud-thud with Drift’s every step. Almost all the blooms had already begun to wilt and die, but Drift is used to that, so she smiles at the sight of the familiar grave, now at arm's length. Standing next to her is Scott, as Shelby had taken a moment to grab a scarf (to look prettier, they said, as if their looks were not drop dead gorgeous already!) and flowers. 

It's been around one hundred forty four years since the beginning of their annual visits, the only everlasting chore in the ever-changing life of a creature of the night; to stop would be a breach of the vow to herself.

Scott is silent for most of these — out of grief, or wistfulness, or anything else; he doesn't talk about Avid, and Shelby doesn't talk about Avid, and therefore doesn't Drift. They rarely bring up Avid now. Except for the times when they do — just the two of them, pressed together skin to skin on the couch in Drift's place, chattering about everything that matters and not under the heavy blanket while fairy lights lit up the room.

November isn't chilly here, but sometimes feels so; leaves dripping red and red and red and everything is so vivid and crimson and it's not a colors she's very fond of. Apples are red, and they are tasty — or more so were red and tasty. Drift used to love apples, and she used to love color red, and she used to love a lot of other things, too.

Ah, what wouldn't she do to feel the creamy taste of her beloved Pumpkin Soup, perfect for this season, to not feel like ash on her tongue!

There are a lot of things she still misses, honestly. Drift's not that good at the whole vampire thing, is she?

"Don't you feel at least a liiitle bad?" comes up the question on its own. "About Oakhurst, I mean."

Scott hums and looks up at her, tone light and friendly. "What about Oakhurst?"

"Maybe— turning me, for an example?" 

Scott raises an eyebrow. "I mean— no? Why. Why would I. You seem to be enjoying everything quite a lot."

"Well," Drift says. "I didn't really... want to be one? You know," she drawls.

"You were basically asking to be a target," he sighs affectionately. "Do you really hold some old petty grudges? It's been centuries. And either way, you... have chosen this life? You literally decided to stay a vampire. What do I have to do with this?"

"I," she sighs. "Suppose so? I just—"

I just miss the warmth of my own body, she thinks, and soft bread, and sweet berries, and the pie Avid baked for me once, in Oakhurst, back when I was so scared and he was so scared and we all were so scared. But we had each other.

They always had each other. 

I just miss being alive, sometimes. A little. Even if it was my choice.

And— well— Scott is not wrong in any way. Drift had chosen to live in his castle. Drift had chosen to stay with him and Shelby. But— but—

There really is no "but" here, is there? it was her choice, wasn't it? Now she just feels silly!

...She wants Avid back. She wants her friend back. 

"I get that being a vampire probably can be hard or lonely at first," he placates, steps a little bit closet, and places a gloved hand on her scalp, playing gently with the hair, fingers running through the strands, like an animal searching for prey. "But I really was just helping you in the end, wasn't I? You could have died, but now you're immortal and have cool powers. You're better than ever." He says softly and pulls away. Drift mourns the loss of the touch. 

"I suppose so!" she smiles, teeth chattering from cold, but it feels like sandpaper in her mouth. She takes a look at the graveyard — the nearly dead trees, soon to be covered in snow, and then—

And then, as she realizes, arms suddenly squeeze around her tightly, pulling closer, and—

"Drift?" Shelby asks softly, burying their hand in the back of her neck. Drift exhales too dramatically for her own good. Shelby! Good old Shelby! Who else could it be? 

"Oh— Shelby! You're back, I— I didn't notice you," she cheers, voice wavering a little. 

Shelby's gaze lingers on her for a long moment. "You're shivering — here, take this," they take off their scarf, crimson red and soft, and, fingertips lingering on the cold and paper-white skin, wrap it around her neck, as if she's a cute little Christmas present. "Aww, just look how good it looks on my girl!" they giggle, and Drift wishes she could take a look in the mirror, to see what picture of her brings such a lovely smile on Shelby’s face.

She can't, though. 

"Took you some time," Scott snorts. "I was starting to get bored."

"No need to rush!" Shelby smiles, sweet and saccharine. "We have all the time in the world." Drift smiles back. They do. They really do. All the time in the world; eternal freedom, free off chains of fear. 

Drift doesn’t have to be scared anymore, not when Shelby holds her hand like it's the most important of all treasures, not when Scott stands beside them in all his quiet reassurance, and not when every year there are new flowers on Avid's  gravestone, and they're all loved, and everything keeps moving forward. Drift is not scared anymore. And yet— and yet—

There is a lingering thought in the back of her head—

Does she even want eternity in the first place?

Drift brushes the thought away, like a nasty fly — There are so many amazing things she could so, so many people she could help, so many criminals to catch!

Drift is no pawn. Drift is not scared anymore. Drift is going to be fine. It really is better for her, either way!

Drift is going to get used to not being warm, at some point.

Drift is not scared anymore. 

[prunussachalinensis]

Shelby doesn't like having blood, cold and viscous, on her hands, but it's something you get used to after some time as a creature of the night. She doesn't get to shine and sparkle the way vampires do in the movies, — something they found unfortunate even centuries after, — but it's fine.

Shelby doesn't like having blood on her hands. They really, really don’t. Especially human blood; they aren't particularly fond of all the death and dying and killing — everything is just so not romantic if you're the one who has to slice some poor animal’s skin to let their viscera flood your mouth and watch as all their life flows away through your fangs and claws. Not romantic! Not fun! No whimsy in that!

The blood near their spot was not spilled by her, but it might as well have been.

How did they even end up here? What did she do wrong?

After leaving Oakhurst, they’ve been wandering around for a couple of months, currently staying in the nice little town in New Jersey, streets here are white with snow, moon shining as bright as the fairy lights all across the town on the eve of the holiday.

It was supposed to be a nice, cozy day; they, — Shelby, Drift and Scott, — were going to watch the snow falling upon them, go ice skating, visit the local markets, like a family they were. Like a family they are!

It could still be a nice day, Shelby thinks, if she just tries enough. But what is she supposed to do?

There is a dead body in a small and quiet alley, away from the urban streets. The man's neck is covered in blood, as if tomato paste had been slathered too thickly on a raw pizza. Scott is standing right next to him, crimson stains still lingering on his face. If Scott were human, she could pretend that he had a smear of jam left in the corner of his lips, but alas, in their situation, that wouldn't work. Sadly so.

“Scott,” she raised their eyes from the corpse to the man in front of them, voice wavering. “What – what is this? Abolish—”

"Abolish doesn't know," he says. "And he doesn't have to know — this was a slip on my part, that's true, but you wouldn't want for his organization to hurt us all, right?"

"But Scott," they whisper. "You— you promised—"

"I didn't mean to," he placates in the softest voice. "I just— I was so hungry from feeding only on animals. I obviously wouldn't do something that might put you in a bad position, you know that, right? I— he was here alone, in this stupid little alley, and you left me here alone, too, and I was hungry, what did you expect me to do? Who even goes to places like this?"

"I— okay, okay," Shelby breaths. "But what are we planning on doing with... this?"

"I mean, you don't have to do anything. It can just be... a secret between us two," hums Scott, and steps closer, snow crunching his underfoot from the cold, and it feels too loud for her ears. He takes winter gloves off his hands and places them on Shelby’s shoulders, pressing lightly – a gentle and pleasant motion. “I’ve been thinking about, perhaps, putting the body in the trash can. I meeeaan, I can probably do that myself — to avoid getting your hands dirty, that’d be unpleasant,” Shelby clenches her lips.

“Do you – do you think this is going to work?”

"Yeah, absolutely. Surely nobody would notice either way – he doesn’t have a home or a family or anything, I don’t think he does. And even if he, in fact, does, we can just play a social game – you can do that, right? – I promise we’ll be fine. No need to panic."

"You’re– you’re right," it was their responsibility after all. She should have kept a closer eye on him! Why didn't she? “I’m going to help though! Of course I am!” she giggles shakingly.

“’kay,” Scott points at a conveniently-shaped trash can in front of them, just a bit further. “Can you – hold this part? While I hold the other one. It’ll probably be more… convenient.”

“Of course, of course! Just – you’re not going to do that again, right?” she asks, as they lift the body together. It will soon be over, and everyone will forget about everything. It’s fine, to slip one time. They can work on that! Nothing comes in an instant. Scott was just – well – Scott. It was fine. They could deal with that! Who else would?

She doesn’t want Drift to know.

“Obviously.” Scott smiles at her.

Shelby doesn't like having blood on her hands. They really, really don’t. Some things just have to be done.

It is her job, after all — as a best friend and a family member! Scott just needs more time to adapt!

...He just needs more time to adapt.

Shelby blinks and stares at the winter sky, shaking off the dizziness she didn't even realize she had, as a snowflake falls onto their hand: cold, shiny, and beautiful.

They wish they could be shiny and beautiful, too.