//can't recall how much I shared last so here's the scene I had, with additions and edits made today//
Sweet night aside, one of them handled daylight a little differently than the other and as he didn't want to add more scars to his little devil...he was hungry as well.
Making the get up and go a little curt and cold. He didn't even notice how he was watched with warm and hungry eyes as he dressed in clean leathers. Although he did let Ignatius help him get his t-shirt and vest on, and he enjoy the hot hands rubbing every strip of skin they could before covering it. As well as the tender kisses after, and how Ignatius insisted on his wearing the hat—a 'newsboy' Bo insisted but as it was leather as all else the vampire wore Ignatius refused to call it that.
Bo even smiled, ever slight, for how Ignatius chose black for his own outfit of breezy pants and a tight-fitting sleeveless shirt—terribly young for the wrinkles around his eyes and terribly comfortable for the ego wrapped in them.
It was the getting the truck going, getting out of the lot and onto the road, remembering the route and the one at the end of it which put Bo in a more sour mood.
"So, where does not-your-witch live?" Ignatius drawled, admiring a color he rarely wore, and jingling bracelets he chose to add to it—to match rings his sunset wasn't wearing that morning.
"By a lake," Bo shot too sharp and amended when he caught the eyebrows aimed at him, "Canada. We're going to Canada."
Narrowing his eyes, Ignatius chewed his lip to emphasize and when that didn't work he bothered with words, "I know you didn't wake up on the wrong side of me."
The laugh was appreciated if the reason wasn't, "Hungry."
"I told you I'm endless, sunset...you don't have to hold back for me."
"Scars," it came with a finger waving at all the new bitemarks on Ignatius' neck, in the tight round configuration of his teeth. "I've given you enough."
Sumptuous the laughter—truly—before Ignatius unbuckled the belt he absolutely buckled and knelt beside Bo's seat. "And I adore every one...because you put them there."
"Still, I--" He tried to argue, but it proved a terrible idea.
As Ignatius popped up and nibbled the lobe of his ear, removing his hat so he might suckle a pointed tip he knew adored it. "You're not the only hungry thing in this truck..."
"That last stop was the last for a while," Bo said as he stretched his neck to allow those warm lips to tease back down his too-chill skin.
A huff stopped the affection and welcomed confusion as Ignatius stuck his wrist in front of Bo's face. "I'm betting I make less of a scene when starving."
"I'll be fine," he lied, gently shoving the wrist away. "And you should be in your seat."
A breath too similar to a huff, if slower and angrier, blew hot on his head before Ignatius slapped his hat back on it and obeyed—flopping and angrily snapping his belt on but obeyed.
It took but a mile of silence before Bo turned his radio on and found a smile in the soft coo from a curled up demon in his passenger seat.
"A trucker enjoying sax-heavy music is one thing," Ignatius said through a sigh. "But a vampire? I always imagined they listened to operas... something classic anyhow."
"Jazz is classic," Bo corrected, laughing for the eyes he didn't need to see rolling. "And it's kind of in my blood." That earned more interested eyes and, changing lanes while keeping care of signs, he explained, "My mom sang and my dad played sax. I was conceived in a bathroom stall in some hole-in-the-wall club to the sounds of their band warming up before a set."
Ignatius took that in, mixing it with what little he knew of human history, and found the numbers off. "You're younger than you claim."
"Maybe, or the music's older than you know." Bo did not elaborate but held his memories of growing up in early 1900s Chicago, the child of immigrants from very different backgrounds finding one another in a shared love of music close and tight. A blanket he wasn't quite ready to share.
Even if someone were desperate for it.
Someone who refrained from more questions as a throaty hum rose beside him, echoing in a manner he'd only heard in ecstasy... and perfectly in tune to the singer playing from the radio. One he realized, in its similarities, was not from a station but an old tape grinding ever-so-slightly in its player.
His mother? He wondered but, afraid to interrupt, he wouldn't ask. Instead he leaned back in his seat and simply enjoyed the music.
And the views.
Rolling plains rose to lush forests as soft blue skies, hidden still by charcoal clouds, burned to orange...while Ignatius relaxed. Perhaps, he wouldn't bother to consider, for the first time in a very, very long time.
--
*Taglist for 'Hitch' lemme know if you want on/off*
guys i want to make a town. you know, like this nice little place.
It’s got internet and phones, and as much food as local as possible. something cute, sort of skyrim/oblivion (tudour/brick or cottage styled) but functioning.
Ideal aim - mages guild (possibly science guild on the fact that magic is sort or hard to find.... but I'm pretty sure i could make a mages guide so uck), fighters guild that sort of thing
long term aiming to create new laws and sort of a mini country of sorts.
Need help with a name, one that could be a good city name, small village, or even country name as I have yet to choose. Actually forget the country. It’s not like englands called london. Give me some town sounding names ya’ll. something cute that could go on keyrings and shirts
I will probably never stop agonizing over whether or not I should anglicize the clan names in Channelers. On the one hand, I don’t imagine many Americans are going to know how to pronounce Seaghdh, Maighread, or Aodhan. On the other hand, they look so cool.
Going out for St. Patrick’s Day in Boston with my friends, which promises to be a ridiculously Irish-American time. I decided to wear my Irish Citizen Army shirt (the irony of historic leftist chic is not lost on me but w/e), so as to say to drunken revelers, “Sure, you want a 32-county Irish Republic, but why not consider socialism too?”
