Bo: Bo looked up from his laptop, glaring behind half-moon glasses. Stocks in neon green rose and fell over a black background on his screen, but his only focus was the ghoul in front of him.
"Where have you been?"
Brett: Brett’s face was set in thoughtful lines as he absently walked through the door. There hadn’t really been a whole lot of time between here and Bronwyn’s house to digest the conversation he’d had, otherwise he probably would’ve been better prepared for facing Bo.
Then again…all things considered, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing. With any luck.
Brett sighed and sank into the nearest chair.
“New Orleans.”
Bo: The mage blinked once, twice, and shut his laptop after a few clicks. Monitoring his finances had been a passive activity waiting for this very moment, and this very moment was as unsettling as he felt.
"Hva i helvete? How? Why?"
Brett: All questions would be answered succinctly and in order. That much he had decided.
“Bronwyn MacAllister’s familiar Vincent teleported me there and back. She wanted to talk to me and wanted to do it face to face.”
Bo: A name, two names, which had Bo on his feet. Yes, those names had saved his life, but those names sent a chill down his spine.
"Why did -" He swallowed. "Why?"
Brett: “She’s pregnant. For the third time it seems. And she wanted to talk to me because she wants to talk to you.”
Bo: If the fact that this was her third had significance had gone over Bo's head. Far from his concern. Evident from the irritation in his eyes. His brilliant quartz greens shadowed by the dim light of the dining room.
"What does she want?"
Brett: Brett sighed again. He didn’t want to approach this with a defeatist attitude but he knew—and had warned Bronwyn—that they had to be realistic about their expectations.
“She wants to talk to you about the collar on Torsten’s neck. She asked me to see her so I could ask you if you would be willing to listen to what she has to say.”
Bo: Shoulders sharply raised, falling as his hands fanned out and slapped back to his thighs.
"And what does she have to say that's so important she had to steal you?"
Brett: “She didn’t steal me, baby. She asked and I agreed to go. As far as what she has to say?”
Brett shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.”
Bo: "How long did you know you were going to New Orleans?"
Brett: “Since I asked for permission to leave the city one hour after sunset.”
Bo: "How long have you kept this from me?"
Brett: “Since lunch today.”
Bo: "You didn't think to tell me? Text me?"
Brett: “I didn’t know what she wanted to discuss or if I’d even be able to see her so I didn’t tell you beforehand. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”
Bo: Bo's fingers softly twitched, before turning away towards the kitchen. Occupying his hands with a glass of whatever wine they had left from celebrating their new home.
His eyes found Brett again as he took a wincing gulp.
Brett: Brett knew murder in a man’s eyes when he saw it. Only question was whether it was directed at him, Vincent, Bronwyn, Torsten, or all of the above. Smart money said all of the above in some combination or another.
At least the wine glass hadn’t made contact with a solid surface. Yet.
“Hva tenker du på?” he asked in an even, calm voice.
Bo: "Det er bare dritt," Bo managed through his teeth.
"She should have come directly to me. Something could have happened to you and I wouldn't know because you didn't tell anyone."
As much as he wanted to scream, he didn't, but the empty glass in his hand did crack. Slammed onto the counter in his irritation. The damage he could fix, but the rage affected his husband no matter how he tempered it.
"Give me her number."
Brett: Aaaaaand there it was. Yep, definitely saw that one coming.
Brett could have said that Bronwyn hadn’t wanted to approach Bo directly because she was afraid he’d refuse to talk to her—she’d admitted as much—but that wouldn’t be productive. Bo was already upset and Brett had a feeling even the hint of a word in her defense would only add fuel to the fire.
Brett took out his phone and sent her information to Bo.
“Are you going to talk to her?”
Bo: Bo took the time while Brett fished for her number to lower himself to eye level of the glass. Despite gritted teeth, whispered an incantation under his breath, taking hold of the stemless cup only to slam it back on the counter once more, sealed to perfection. Not quite as neat and quiet without his wand.
"What do you think I'm going to do?"
Brett: That wine glass wasn’t long for this world. Brett would lay bets it would be broken a couple more times before the night was out.
“Honestly? I think you’re going to call her to yell at her and tell her you’re not interested in whatever she has to say.”
Bo: "Is that all I am? All I do? Just scream when I don't get my way?"
Brett: “No,” Brett said softly. “It isn’t. But I saw how you reacted to just her name. I know what she represents to you, as does she. I also know that despite whatever I say, there’s a not zero chance that it won’t matter and you won’t talk to her.”
Bo: Bo was reminded of the last time her name had been between them. The air had been acrid then. Tears and screaming that day. It had been long and exhausting and excruciating.
A slow breath was taken through his nose.
"Don't... go off like that again. Don't... scare me."
Brett: “I’m sorry. For going off and scaring you and not telling you what was going on. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.”
Bo: One hand remained clenched against his will. He was trying. That's all he could do.
"I know... you'll have to. Someday. Being... with him. I can't stop everything, but this is important."
Brett: Brett could see as much, and he was proud.
“You’re right. It is. And I should’ve told you what was going on after Vincent came to see me.” That he hadn’t could be chalked up to two things: curiosity and a fear similar to the one Bronwyn had shared with him.
Bo: He wanted nothing more than to be angry. To throw his cup across the room and perhaps the bottle along with it. Anger on par with an orgasm, burning his skin from the inside out. But he had magic now. Healthier outlets because he knew how much his anger could frighten the man across the room, and that look of fear he hadn't seen in so long had crept into Brett's eyes, however briefly, and he hated himself for it.
But no matter how he felt, his chest was still hot, and his skin tingled. Adrenaline he couldn't simply wish away.
"I'm going for a walk. Have... dinner delivered. Whatever you want."
Brett: After all these years, Brett no longer had to grapple with the urge to press his company on Bo when he had an outburst. He knew his husband needed to feel what he was feeling, to let it burn itself out. All Brett could do was give Bo the space for that to happen and offer his support afterward.
One thing that hadn’t changed, however, was the way his voice would naturally slip into that gentle, calm tone at the first sign of an outburst.
He nodded. “Okay. Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
Bo: Bo didn't reach for keys or wallet, but his wand and his phone. Slipped into his jacket in the foyer as always, despite the weather, and shut the door behind himself.
Bronwyn's number was punched into his phone, stared at it for a time, standing motionless on the front porch and its newly painted pillars.
No. Not here. A block away would do, where Brett would be unable to hear. So he walked, and by the time he reached the stop sign his phone was to his ear.
Brett/Bronwyn: Brett watched his hand go, holding in his sigh until the door had shut behind him. That hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped, although it hadn't gone as badly as he'd anticipated. It was in moments like these that the progress Bo had made was most obvious. That was something to be proud of.
All of Bo's favorites would be ordered for dinner, but not before Brett gave the kitchen a little clean to occupy his hands.
Across the country, Bronwyn paused the TV and picked up her ringing phone, gasping softly when she saw the number on the display. She didn't recognize it but it had an Edenton area code.
Brett hadn't been home for very long. Could he already...?
Don't get your hopes up.
"Hello?"
Bo: There was so much Bo wanted to say. Scathing, terrible things so she might feel the same consternation he had felt in the silence and absence of his husband. The same rug swept from under him, feeling vulnerable and useless.
But her voice was familiar. Soft. Anticipating. The same woman that had saved his life was the same woman in love with his beast.
That's what this was about.
"The next time you feel the urge to speak with me, don't involve Brett Parker."
Bronwyn: It was him. Even so, she knew that the fact that Bo was calling was no guarantee of anything except maybe an impending argument.
“I was afraid you would refuse if I didn’t. Would you have agreed if I hadn’t asked him?”
Bo: "I should refuse anyway." But what he wanted wouldn't be achieved by salting this ground.
"Have your bird transport me now or you'll never hear from me again."
Bronwyn: “Oh.” She sounded surprised, like she hadn’t been expecting his answer. “You don’t want the plane ticket then?”
Bo: "What are you waiting for? More calculations?"
Bronwyn: “I thought—never mind.” Bronwyn shook her head. Gift horse, mouth. “I’ll send Vincent right over. Where should he collect you?”
Bo: "Where did he collect Brett?"
Bronwyn: “At the police station.”
Bo: "I'll be there in ten minutes."
Bronwyn: “All right. See you in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes. That was precious little time to prepare. She’d expected to have a week at the bare minimum but apparently she’d underestimated how Bo would react to her talking to Brett.
She set her phone aside and eased to her feet. “Vincent!”
Bo/Vincent: Not Bo returning to the house only to walk inside, grab the keys to his Beetle, and walk back out without an explanation. Perhaps later he would say they were even, but much like Brett, his focus was on the next step.
Vincent poked his head through the entryway not a moment after his name.
"Ma'am?"
Brett/Bronwyn: Brett had barely opened his mouth to speak before Bo disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared. So much for dinner.
"I deserved that," he said to himself, nodding in resignation. Since it seemed he'd have some time, might as well cook something instead of ordering, so Bo could have a hot meal when he returned.
Bronwyn went into her closet to select something to wear that wasn't the nightgown she currently had on.
"How's yer energy holdin' up? Do you think you can make a couple more roundtrips to Edenton?"
Vincent: Considering Vincent rarely flew far from the neat that was Bronwyn's home, not even to his own in Maine, there was plenty energy and to spare.
"Whom I getting now?"
Bronwyn: "Bo. He just called. In ten minutes can you pop over and get him?"
Vincent: The familiar blinked and straightened. Surprise surprise.
"Same place?"
Bronwyn: They were two of a kind on that score. Surprise after surprise after surprise.
She nodded. "Aye, he'll meet you at the station. Do you know if Torsten's doin' anythin' right now?"
Vincent: "He's building toys out back." By toys, he meant little wooden swords, sheaths and all.
Bronwyn: Hearing that made her entire chest clench in one breath and reminded her how important this all was in another. Whatever ended up happening this evening, and even if her efforts were already doomed, she had to at least try.
"Can you fetch him for me? I better call Lucien, too. We don't have a lot o' time."
Vincent: "Lucien?" But he was quick to turn around, conserving his energy and running downstairs to the backyard, rather than popping in and out.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn selected a dress from her closet and returned to her bed to straighten the covers. She didn’t want to appear quite as pitiful as she felt.
As she worked, she dialed her eldest son.
Torsten/Lucien: Vincent had given nothing, as usual, which had Torsten upstairs nearly as swiftly as his wolf form. Eyes like a forest stared at the druid expectantly.
Lucien picked up after three rings.
"Hey, Mama B. What's up?" asked her son, out of breath.
Bronwyn: Torsten would find her with her phone between her shoulder and her ear, trying to get her nightgown off.
“Hi, lovey. Are you busy? Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Torsten/Lucien: "Just workin' out. You okay?" His usual question since her pregnancy.
"What? What is it?" Torsten whispered.
Bronwyn: “I’m fine, I promise.” Meant for both Lucien and Torsten. “Do you think you can be done and over here in the next ten minutes?
Torsten/Lucien: "Like, no?" Call it his blond moment. "With Vincent, yeah. What's wrong?"
Torsten crossed his arms and waited for an explanation.
Bronwyn: “Wh—right, Baton Rouge.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. Maybe she wasn’t totally fine and was in fact more frazzled than she thought she was.
“Nothin’s wrong, I just have somethin’ to do and hopin’ you could keep Torsten company while I did it.”
She met her revenant’s eyes. “Someone’s comin’ to see me today.”
Torsten/Lucien: "Someone... So, I gotta distract him or let him play dad?"
The man of subject was rubbing his eyes with two fingers, taking a deep, slow breath.
Bronwyn: “The former. I’ll ask Vincent if he thinks he can go and grab you but if he can’t and you can’t it’s okay.”
Half-undressed, she held her hand out for Torsten’s.
Torsten: "You can hang up the phone on your son and tell me what's going on. I don't need distraction, I need answers."
Bronwyn: “I’ll text you in a bit, darlin’.”
Bronwyn hung up and took a deep breath, resting her hands on Torsten’s crossed arms.
“In ten minutes Bo is comin’ to see me. I want to talk to him in private.”
Torsten: The revenant took another slow breath. Reluctant arms wrapped carefully around her waist.
"He's in North Carolina. He can't do anything to me there, Thistle."
Bronwyn: “I know. But I need to talk to him, and by some miracle he’s agreed to talk to me. There are things I need to say to him, Torsten, things I can only say if we’re alone.”
Torsten: "Not alone." Knowing the man he had once been was not the same as knowing what he had become. That apprehension was as obvious as his irritation.
"Keep Vincent within earshot." Which, he realized, he couldn't be. "Vincent, or I'm not leaving."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. Vincent would have to be around anyway since he’d be taking Bo home after they spoke, but she’d only ask him to remain nearby and willfully deaf.
“All right. Vincent’s going to Edenton to get him and he’ll be the one to take him home so he’ll be here. Do you promise me that you’ll go to a bar or somethin’ and stay until Bo’s gone?”
Torsten: "You're asking about my collar. At some point you'll send for me or you won't."
Torsten stared at the floor between them. His eyes were small and thoughtful, searching for something profound to say.
"He tried to save my sister. For his own academic clout, but he tried. He listened to her stories. Told her about his mother. Let her into his life. Underneath all of that anger and hatred is a terrified child. Terrified things use their claws. Are you certain this is what you want?"
Bronwyn: She knew nothing of Bo’s life prior to meeting him years ago, but just from what little she’d seen since, he had all the reason in the world to be angry, hateful, and afraid. She didn’t hold it against him, how could she?
He was so painfully…painfully human.
“I’m certain that I have to try.” She whispered without meaning to. “Trying is all I can do.”
Torsten: "Put yourself first." His chest caved with a massive sigh. "Don't let him get into your head." By complying, he knew he gave himself away. He wanted the collar removed; this would be their only chance. Still, the concern in his eyes was evident. As were his lingering hands covering her hips.
"This should be me."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "It can't be you, love. It has to be me." It couldn't be a battle or an argument or a struggle for higher ground; it had to be a conversation, one that was entered into with sincerity but no expectations on either side. It would work or it wouldn't.
But she had to try.
"You better get goin'. I need to finish gettin' dressed."
Torsten: Torsten remained like a stone for a time. Her hands were small in his own, and he contemplated their life together, and what would change from this moment forward. Such small hands with such heavy intentions.
"Vincent," he emphasized, waiting patiently to lock eyes. "I'm trusting you to keep your word."
He would be the first to let go. To turn away in search of his boots and leave without another word. Before he could deny himself this window of freedom.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn sighed as she watched Torsten go. She could feel his concern even if he hadn’t voiced it, and she couldn’t deny that she felt some of her own.
But she had to take this risk. She had to try.
Once she finished putting on her dress, she combed her hair and tried to do a little something with her face. Just enough to look put together and not like a pitiful creature that couldn’t go outside.
She studied herself in the mirror. It would do.
Now to go downstairs and start some tea.
“Vincent, is there any o’ my grandmama’s shortbread left?”
Vincent: The familiar sat up from his hunched position over the breakfast nook. Eyes wide as though having been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but it was, in fact, several shortbreads stacked neatly in front of him.
"Ye....yes."
Bronwyn: The sight made her smile and it was a welcome relief. Leave it to Vincent to break any tension.
“Good. You can have two before you go get Bo. The rest are goin’ to be shared once he arrives, provided he doesn’t decide to throw them at me instead.”
Vincent: "He'll think they're poison," he shrugged. "I wander to wondering thoughts, if he was a bad man, before."
Bronwyn: “Judgin’ from what Torsten has told me, I don’t think so. Too ambitious for his own good maybe but no’ bad.”
Vincent: "Torsten said my name a lot. Want me on your shoulder?"
Bronwyn: “I really think I should talk to him alone but Torsten doesn’t want you far from me.”
Vincent: "I don't wanna be far from you."
Bronwyn: “You don’t have to be. Maybe just upstairs or in another room?”
Vincent: He considered for a moment. Realizing the innocuous perception she wished to display didn't sit well with him, but nodded just the same. She was his mistress.
"Another room."
Bronwyn: "Ye're worried about him too, aren't you? You think he might try to hurt me?"
Vincent: "He's just... unfriendly." A man he could marvel, perhaps admire, but from outside the searing area of effect. "He's got glass shards for body armor."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn sighed. “Do you think I’m bein’ naive?”
Vincent: "I'll be in the next room."
Bronwyn: “Would you feel better on my shoulder?”
Vincent: "Think he remembers me?"
Bronwyn: “I’d lay bets that he does, even if it’s only a little. Ye’re a hard one to forget, lovely.”
Vincent: The familiar nodded. "Next room, then."
Bronwyn: “Are you sure?”
Vincent: "Yes, ma'am. Are you not anymore?"
Bronwyn: “I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly confident about this whole thing but I can feel myself waverin’ and wobblin’ regardless.”
Vincent: "Is... Is that what happens to pregnant women?"
Bronwyn: She smiled. “Shaky confidence and emotional wobblin’? Can’t say whether it happens to others but it’s been happenin’ to me for months.”
Vincent: "I'll never let anything happen to you, mistress."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn took his face in her hands and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, wondering if he knew just how much of a lifeline he’d been to her since the day he’d come into her life. Her sweet familiar.
She kissed his forehead. “I know, love. I know.”
Vincent: He had a notion, and not just because they sometimes shared minds, but because of her affection, such as this sweet moment before a storm.
"I'll go get him now?"
Bronwyn: "Aye, I think you'd better," she said with a nod. "Tread lightly, okay? He isn't likely to be as cooperative and polite as the sheriff." Plus, judging from their conversation a few minutes ago, he was already in a less-than-friendly mood.
Vincent/Bo: Not conspicuously hostile, but neither was he polite. Standing beside his car in a tucked away area of the police station parking lot. Bo waited with his eyes to the sky, and then towards the feeling of primal energy.
He said nothing when taking his place beside the familiar, hidden further by the weathered brick wall and out of sight of security cameras. No hellos or needless small talk. Only stiff arms and raised chin, refusing to look his porter in the eyes.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn left the tea to brew and took the seat Vincent had vacated in the breakfast nook to rest for a moment before Bo arrived. Between dressing and coming downstairs, she’d managed to wear herself out.
Such was her new normal.
But, as long as she had a bit, it couldn’t hurt to pray to who or whatever was listening for a little bit of help. Asking for her hopes to be realized was asking too much. Help was enough.
Vincent: Rather than appear in the house, Vincent returned them to the backyard, out of sight. An opportunity for his mistress to prepare herself with a knock on the back door.
Bronwyn: Even if she’d had an hour, Bronwyn doubted it would make a difference. Time wasn’t the deciding factor here. At least, not in the short term.
The woman who opened the door was more or less the woman Bo would remember. Her skin was paler, her face a bit thinner despite the curve of her growing belly, her eyes tired. But it was still Bronwyn MacAllister.
“Come in,” she said softly. “Can I offer you a cup of tea?”
Bo: Her greeting was as much expectation as the situation itself. This was a long time coming, but the bump in her middle had caught him off guard, and it was all he could stare at. Brett had said as much, but seeing her so far along...
The man in front of her was older, of course, but one could hardly tell if not for the updated wardrobe and stronger spine.
"Just... conversation."
Bronwyn: She nodded and gestured to the breakfast nook. "Please sit."
There were three teacups sitting on the table beside a pretty teapot, as well as a plate of shortbread and a sugar bowl. Bronwyn poured tea into two of the cups, leaving one at her seat and offering the other to Vincent along with two pieces of shortbread.
Only then did she take her seat, looking across at Bo with a gentle and inexplicably fond expression. "You look well. I'm glad."
Vincent/Bo: Vincent would keep to his word, taking his tea and shortbread and quietly disappearing into the neighboring room to eat in silence. An ear out, of course, and his mind open for private words.
There was a quiet, hidden part of Bo that was humored only two cups had been filled. She knew him well enough. What had it been, one encounter? No. His memory was hazy, but not that much. It had been days. Years ago, but she had left an impact, and a tingle in his spine.
He didn't know what to do with her compliments. Evident by his lack of eye contact, but he knew what he could do.
"You look sick."
Bronwyn: "Aye." She nodded as she stirred half a spoonful of sugar into her tea. "I'm sure I do. Pregnancies take a toll even in the best of circumstances. In mine, well...it goes without sayin'." But her babies seemed to be healthy, and they were alive. That's all that mattered.
Bo: "It's because of his species, isn't it? Half alive, half dead."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "It is, aye. They're only alive because there's magic keepin' them that way. Otherwise...they'd end up like the others."
Bo: "Clearly they can procreate, so what is the issue?"
Bronwyn: "My species," she said quietly. She'd told herself she would answer anything he asked her as honestly as she could, even if it hurt to do so. He deserved that much.
"If I was like him there wouldn't be an issue. But because I'm no', even though I can get pregnant, my body thinks the baby's already dead and rejects them."
Bo: Some of the venom in his expression seemed to dissolve. His gaze dropped to the table. In a gesture she might have been familiar with, Bo gently rubbed his hands together, only to slowly spread them apart.
"Leslie Issott's been here."
Bronwyn: It did seem familiar but Bronwyn couldn't place exactly why until Leslie's name was mentioned, then it hit her. She could swear she'd seen him do it before.
"Aye. He's the one who provided me the magic to keep my babies alive. Do you know him?"
Bo: There seemed to be conflict behind those lashes. Lips thinned and tight before deciding to breathe.
"He's... useful."
Bronwyn: "He's a good man. A verra good man. He deserves the world and I owe it to him."
Bo: "Not the world."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn sipped her tea again, falling silent for a moment as she looked at her reflection in the teacup.
"This is the third time he and I have been expectin' a child." His name wasn't said, but it didn't have to be. "Losin' the first one was a shock. Losin' the second was a nightmare. Both times, my babies didn't get the chance to be any bigger than the palm of my hand. This is the furthest I've ever been along.
"I can feel them. They have heartbeats. There was a time when I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to hear a heartbeat that wasn't my own comin' from inside me ever again. If I can this time, it's because of Leslie. He does deserve the world."
Bo: "That answers the question of which you'd choose, holding the hands of your child or Torsten, hanging over a cliff."
His empty teacup was pushed aside.
"So then why am I here?"
Bronwyn: She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she felt the gathering moisture in them. "Ye're here because...there's ev'ry chance that that question won't need to be answered.
"My babies are alive. For now. Leslie's magic was a blessin' but it was always meant as a temporary solution. Without his help, I wouldn't be pregnant and without help from someone else, I'll die long before I ever get to meet my babies. I do look sick, ye're right. My body wasn't built to be pregnant for the three years revenant pregnancies last. It's been put in no uncertain terms to me that if a solution isn't found to speed things along, childbirth will probably kill me."
Bo: Bo stared at her, wondering if this was even about the collar anymore. Seemed the conversation had been derailed by grief and unborn babies. Perhaps Brett had been mistaken, or she was very good at manipulating. She didn't seem the type, but he hardly knew her. It had all been a haze buried beneath his curse.
"Life is not my expertise. You didn't bring me here for this."
Bronwyn: It was about all of it. The collar, her grief, the children who had been lost and the children whose lives were hanging by a thread.
Bronwyn shook her head. Her battle was lost, and her tears fell. “No. And if I’m tellin’ you all this it isn’t because I want yer help. It’s because I want you and I need you to understand that I’m no’ askin’ what I’m about to ask lightly. I’m sure Sheriff Parker told you that I want to ask you if you could remove Torsten’s collar but I want you to understand why.”
Bronwyn wiped her face with her hands and found herself resisting the sudden urge to take Bo’s hands.
“It wasn’t just me that felt the pain of losin’ our children. They were his children, too. He wants to be a father so badly and he’s been given hope twice already and had it snatched away. There’s a chance it will be again and if I can’t give him a child, if what I am snatches his hope and his happiness again, then I at least want to try to do this for him. If all I can give him is the sight of the collar bein’ removed from his neck, then I want to try. I have to try. That’s why ye’re here, Bo.”
Bo: All it took was a single tear for him to avert his gaze. The nearest window would suffice. He would listen, but he appeared well determined not to look.
"Why do you talk like that? The self-pity. 'What I am snatches his hope. If I can't give him a child.' You speak like a problem. Did he do this to you? Made you feel this way?"
Bronwyn: He couldn’t even look at her and that spoke volumes. She already knew she was fighting a losing battle; that just sealed it.
Bronwyn took a napkin from the holder on the table and wiped her face, shaking her head.
“No. He’s never once made me feel like it’s my fault. He’s never reproached for me anythin’. He’s been lovin’ and supportive.”
Bo: "Then why do you speak that way?"
Bronwyn: “Wouldn’t you, if yer children kept dyin’ because yer body kept rejectin’ them and a hundred hoops needed to be jumped through for a chance that it wouldn’t happen again?”
Bo: "You're not the undead one."
Bronwyn: “But I’m the one who carried them. People can tell you somethin’ isn’t yer fault a hundred times but that doesn’t mean yer brain will believe them.”
Bo: Eyes closed a second longer than they should have. A bit of his bottom lip was pulled by his teeth.
"They'll hunger for... things. Liver and raw meat. They'll have tempers. Short fuses like their father. They won't age the same. Did he tell you that?"
Bronwyn: She nodded toward her refrigerator. “There’s been liver in this house since the day Torsten first stepped foot in it. I haven’t ever made him a steak that wasn’t rare enough to still be mooin’.”
As for the temper and the aging?
She took another sip of tea to calm herself down. “Ev’ry parent hopes their children will outlive them. If these babies live, they certainly will outlive me. Like their father. I’ve made peace with that. I’m just glad my soul found his again. Short fuse and all. A temper isn’t a reason no’ to love someone.”
Bo: Now Bo was looking at her. His brow slightly knitted. Just barely a wrinkle.
He wanted to be offended. Every petty bone in his body wanted to regenerate the venom he had lost, but there was too much to relate to.
"You think he's your soulmate?"
Bronwyn: “I do,” she said, suddenly aware of her engagement ring and comforted by its presence.
“Have you ever felt a pull toward someone that you couldn’t fight or explain?”
Bo: The window was much more interesting now.
"If you have something to say to me, you say it to me directly. Don't go behind my back like that again. Unless you swear to that, we're finished here."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. “I swear it. You have my word that I won’t go behind yer back ever again.”
Bo: He could look at her again, if only to judge her expression. His ear hadn't tingled once in her presence. Her bird, yes, but not her.
"Call him."
Bronwyn: She was tired and sad and perhaps even desperate, but Bronwyn’s eyes were sincere. She was laying her heart bare to Bo.
Her phone was taken out of her pocket, his number dialed, but still she didn’t dare hope.
“Torsten?”
Torsten/Bo: The phone was answered before a single completed ring. Bo returned to staring out the window, contemplating his life and choosing to ignore the voice on the other end.
"Are you alright?"
Bronwyn: “Yes, I’m all right,” she assured him, holding in a sniffle. If he thought she was crying she just knew he would assume the worst.
“Can you come home?”
Torsten: His question came in slow and deliberate. "Just tell me, you're safe?"
Bronwyn: “I am, I promise. Come back.”
Torsten: "Do you want me to stay on the line?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. “No, you don’t have to. Just drive safely, okay? I’ll see you in a wee.”
Bo: "How long is a wee?" Bo asked once Torsten had hung up.
Bronwyn: She slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Probably just a few minutes.” She doubted Torsten would have gone too far, worried as he was about her seeing Bo.
Bo: Some sugar was slowly brushed off of the table with fingertips.
"Why him? Of all people, you chose a nearly feral half-vampire. Why?"
Bronwyn: “It goes back to what I mentioned earlier about soulmates.” She selected a shortbread from the plate and dunked it in her tea.
“Sometimes you feel a pull toward someone that you can’t fight or explain. I don’t think I consciously chose him but I was drawn to him.”
Bo: "He comes from Vikings. Real Vikings. Killers. Wolves." All from the pages of his journals, but he couldn't bring himself to elaborate. "You're a..." Fingernails tapped on the table. "...You're not like them. They're going to hurt you. When it happens, you shouldn't hesitate to destroy him."
Bronwyn: He’d said when, not if. In Bo’s eyes, her being hurt by Torsten or his family wasn’t merely a possibility, but a foregone conclusion. Was it fear or hatred or bitter experience that made him so certain?
“Nothin’ in this world is set in stone,” she said softly. “What we are doesn’t have to determine who we are and what we do. We make choices ev’ry day that matter more than what we happen to be.”
Bo: "A vampire cannot change their bane any more than they can change the stars in the sky. They're cursed. Do you understand?"
Bronwyn: Fear, hatred, and bitter experience; it wasn’t just one fueling this conversation, but all three.
Bronwyn nodded. She didn’t have a vast knowledge about vampires but curses? “I do, aye.”
Bo: "D'er lettast aa laera av annan manns skade."
No, he would not be translating. Only smoothing his clothes as he stood. Unable to sit still any longer, he pulled out his phone and pulled up Brett's last message to read. Something to do and consider.
Bronwyn/Brett: No translation meant Bronwyn would have to try to remember what he’d said and ask Torsten about it later. Her curiosity wouldn’t rest otherwise.
Brett’s last message wasn’t a message, but a photo of Olek in the kitchen that had been caught mid-yawn.
Torsten/Bo: {Text to Brett} I'll be home soon.
And Torsten had only allowed himself a five-minute distance via drive. Not a whisper nor a scream would be heard from the young mage. Bo had been a dangerous man, but never once to him. Not before. But the man he had known had died with a curse Was this collar that important, he asked himself, stepping into the threshold to find that very mage straightening with his presence, returning his phone to his pocket and raising his chin. There was a level of fear behind those eyes only he knew. That man he thought had been destroyed was in there, somewhere, behind those blond lashes. The tightening of his jaw, the deliberate blinks in twos.
Neither man would speak, as though caught in the gravity of each other's existence.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn felt a lump form in her throat the longer the two of them stared at each other. She couldn’t begin to imagine what either of them were thinking, if they were thinking anything at all.
How many years and how much pain had passed between them?
She got to her feet and moved to stand beside Bo, putting herself in Torsten’s line of sight.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked softly, unable to bear the silence.
Torsten/Bo: Both sets of green eyes found her. Neither said a word. Only the one she had regarded moved, nodding. Something had to be said, but words failed both men.
It took everything in Bo's power not to pull out his wand and materialize a crystal prison around the revenant. Maybe one just too long and sharp in his chest. Perhaps a curious case of bad luck. Perhaps send him back into the ocean again. His chest began to burn to the point of having to touch himself.
He turned away entirely.
Bronwyn/Brett: Shaky hands got another teacup out of the cabinet and filled it. Even if Bo hadn’t wanted tea, it didn’t feel right to give the cup that had been meant for him to Torsten. Just looking at it sitting on the table was enough to threaten tears for reasons she didn’t understand, but that could possibly be attributed to the suffocating tension in the kitchen.
{Text from Brett} Okay, baby. Dinner will be waiting
{Text from Brett} I love you
Torsten/Bo: Bo took a breath and placed his hand over one of his pockets. They didn't need to see what was underneath.
"Jeg bryr meg ikke om hva vi en gang var. Når dette er over, vil jeg aldri høre navnet ditt igjen. Jeg vil aldri tenke på deg igjen."
His voice had remained strong until the last sentence. He managed to swallow and keep his composure. He could have asked for nothing else but the strength to hold his head high.
"Jeg skjønner," Torsten sighed.
Bronwyn: She didn’t understand a word that was being said but it wasn’t yelling and that was reason enough to keep hoping. Everything felt so fragile, including her.
Perhaps she should sit and try to drink more tea. Anything to calm down.
Torsten/Bo: Torsten took a step toward the kitchen and was stopped abruptly by a twitch in Bo's shoulder. A tick he'd seen before, at the mill. One would think the revenant a statue.
"I'm sorry what happened to us. To you."
"I've already agreed. Opening your mouth is not intelligent."
Bronwyn: And up she got once more to stand not between them, but near to Bo’s side.
“Would you rather we all sit?” she asked him. “Or are you more comfortable standin’?”
Torsten/Bo: It was seeing Vincent from the corner of his eye, standing in the entryway watching them both that stuck one of his many nerves. Knuckles cracked with a fist, scoffing.
"Come here."
As though he had never left. Torsten could do nothing but stand directly in front of his long-left master.
"Bend down." A command purely out of intent, for once, to observe the ivory and gold collar. He could feel quintessence like a current running through the antique. Old, old magic. As old as revenants themselves.
This time, Bo's swallow was visible. Hands gently shaking. This felt like forgiveness. Doing away with one more piece of his control.
His hands retreated.
"Say it again. What you promised." Bo looked to Bronwyn.
Bronwyn: The commands were what did it. Seeing Torsten compelled to obey them was what made the dam overflow and had tears streaming down her face again. It was just as painful now as it had been then, back when she realized just how much Torsten meant to her.
She wanted to close her eyes, but then she wouldn’t have been able to meet Bo’s. And she needed to.
“If I have somethin’ to say to you,” she began, turning to face him fully, “I promise I’ll say it to you directly. I will never go behind yer back again. I give you my word.”
Torsten/Bo: A mantra had begun in his head. The only reason he didn't have Torsten picking up a kitchen knife and using it on himself. If he were honest with himself, there were two reasons. This was for Brett. This was absolutely for Brett, but this was to give Bronwyn peace. To dry a mother's tears. He was almost certain she was a sirin.
In one swift movement, the golden circle center of the collar was pushed. With a loud clack, the two metal ends split apart.
The collar was held in a white knuckle grip. He couldn't look at the man that was once his. Refused to note the white tan line around his throat. Only gasped and recoiled when pulled into Torsten's arms. His entire body shook. Cheeks red and eyes moist.
"Jeg gjorde det ikke for deg!" I didn't do it for you!
"I know. Takk. Takk."
Bo managed to retreat, refusing to look at anyone but the familiar watching him in the other room. Straightening his clothes like a lifeline.
"Take me home."
Bronwyn: Words were impossible. All Bronwyn could do was nod and gesture for Vincent to come and take Bo back.
The tears wouldn’t dry for a while yet, but that there was peace, there was no doubt. Peace and a gratitude and relief so profound she could hardly stand. She wanted to say something to Bo but couldn’t begin to find the words to express what she felt. This didn’t feel real.
“One day,” she managed, “I’ll know how to thank you. Get home safely.”
Torsten/Bo: There was a piece of Torsten gone. A nakedness to his throat. He wouldn't dare touch where it had been. Not in Bo's presence. After unwanted affection, he didn't dare move until Vincent neared and disappeared with the mage. Only then did he walk the few steps to the weeping druid and lift her in his arms. Their burden had been lifted.
And Bo's mind felt as though it were unraveling. He didn't want to walk to his car, drive himself home, and face his husband. He didn't want to do anything but process what had happened. No sooner had Vincent disappeared did he bite down on the back of his hand, doubling over just managing to breathe.
Bronwyn/Peabody: If hearing the final commands Torsten would ever be given overflowed the dam, Torsten touching her broke it completely. The release of tension, the realization that this was the very first time she was seeing him without anything but the clothes on his back, it was all just too much.
The only thing she was capable of doing was clinging to the man she loved and sobbing into his shoulder.
Whatever respite the universe decided to grant Bo wouldn’t be nearly as long as he would perhaps desire.
Not long after he returned, a pair of headlights would cut through the darkness as a squad car pulled into the lot. Their light had spotted the mage.
The headlights cut out, the engine shut off, and Jeremy Peabody emerged from the open door.
“…Bo?” he called. “That you over there?”
Torsten/Bo: The blond figure straightened with a deep nostril inhale. The two pieces of the collar were tossed in the passenger seat of his car. He couldn't pretend Peabody didn't exist, but there was nothing he could say without harming one of them. His means of escape was language.
"Jeg har det ikke bra. Du aner ikke hvor mye jeg vil skrike. Jeg vil ikke hjem. Jeg vil bare drepe noe. Jeg ønsker deg..." The mage sniffed again.
I'm not alright. You have no idea how much I want to scream. I don't want to go home. I just want to kill something. I wish you...
I wish you weren't so kind.
In New Orleans, Bronwyn was being carried upstairs to their bedroom. No words spoken. Only to exist with their emotions and allow his beloved to touch the pale line servility had created.
Bronwyn/Peabody: Peabody had heard Bo speaking his native language before, but that wasn’t what gave him pause. It was his tone and the distraught look on his face.
When Bo didn’t feel like talking he had no problem telling him to fuck off; this wasn’t that. This was closer to what some would call a cry for help.
“Do you want me to call Brett?” His tone wasn’t soft and gentle like Bronwyn’s had been. His was calm and reassuring.
Bronwyn didn’t dare to do that yet. She didn’t think she’d be able to handle it.
Right now it felt like she was finally releasing not just the past few months’ worth of tension, but years of it. For so long she’d wanted to see Torsten free of that collar and now that he was, she was nearly hysterical with relief.
Torsten/Bo: Torsten didn't feel anything in regards to his collar. Not with Bronwyn in his arms. His only priority was her comfort and that of their children. If she needed to cry, so be it. If she needed to be held, or a bath, or kissed into her hair, so be it.
His concern was also on the man he would never lay eyes on again. Every conversation they had ever had. From Poland to Iceland. To the comfort of his sister's den, surrounded by dogs and birds and the sweet sound of Flora's voice, filling the room with history and wisdom. To the sound of Bo's quick scratch writing, hanging on her every word. To their first and last kiss in his old bedroom. Where Bo had simply said, "I just wanted to know," before meeting his fate in America. It was done. He was gone. That man, he told himself again and again, was reborn into someone else.
But that someone else was very much the same. Traumas he couldn't remember. Those he wished he could forget. Those he was reliving right before Peabody's eyes.
Bo sat sideways in the driver's seat, wiping his face with just a little too much aggression.
He could manage to say it, but the bite wasn't there.
"Fuck off." But he didn't mean it, and he hated that he didn't mean it.
Bronwyn/Peabody: These days it was hard to say she needed to cry. A more accurate statement was that she couldn’t seem to do anything but cry.
Eventually she would exhaust herself, however. The ragged sobs would quiet until they became sniffles, her shoulders would gradually stop shaking, and she’d become a rag doll in the revenant’s arms.
No, he didn’t mean it. A deaf man in Reno could tell that he didn’t mean it.
How to proceed? It was established that when Bo wanted something, he asked for it. That included Brett. If Brett wasn’t here it was because Bo didn’t want him here, which meant he also probably didn’t want Peabody to call him.
Well. Answer was clear enough.
“…Want a beer?”
Torsten/Bo: She would cry for both of them. With a little encouragement to drink a sip of water, nothing else was said by the revenant. She would remain in his arms, above the sheets, eyes closed, allowing both of their minds to rest, free of at least one more burden.
Bo was watching the grass by his feet. He couldn't bring himself to look at Peabody. He didn't want to make that connection. The deputy already gave him mixed feelings. The obvious response to such nonsense was anger. Anger was exhausting.
"Beer is disgusting."
Peabody: The deputy wasn’t dissuaded. He could spot a situation that needed alcohol a mile off.
“Want a glass of wine? My place is close, and empty.” Bridget was working the night shift all week which worked out great since Bo didn’t like her.
Bo: Bo nearly scoffed at the idea of Peabody with a bottle of one before remembering Bridget. Of course.
He didn't want to go home. He knew what would happen when he did. But, Brett was waiting for him. Perhaps months ago...
"I have to go home." He felt it necessary to add, "Don't tell Brett you saw me."
Peabody: Peabody nodded. “Hey, I just returned from patrol and went in to do my paperwork. Didn’t see anybody.”
Bo: Deep breath. Held. Exhaled. "Thank you."
Peabody: “Don’t mention it.” He gave Bo another nod and walked across the lot to the side entrance of the station.
Bo: He'd forgotten what he'd requested for dinner. Forgotten what shirt Brett had been wearing. Driving back to the house was a blur. He'd managed to stop when required, but he couldn't say which route he had taken.
Walking through the front door, all he had in his hands were the keys and the collar.
Brett: Since the choice had been left to Brett, he’d elected to cook something simple and comforting. He’d made pasta with grilled veggies and some garlic herb toast and had a bottle of wine breathing on the counter.
He was dressed in a comfortable T-shirt and sweatpants and his hair was still wet from his shower.
And when Bo walked in with the collar in his hands, any and all questions he might have had were immediately answered.
“Hungry?” he asked softly.
Bo: Eyes and cheeks were still red. The collar was still in his fist, white-knuckled when he raised both hands to his forehead. Shoulders heavy and shaking. This was exactly what he knew would happen. One look at Brett. Just the softness of his voice, and he was doomed. He had no intention to cry, but such gentleness tore at his walls so expertly.
Brett: “If you want to scream,” he began, “the walls are soundproof. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you want to eat in silence, we will. If you want to throw something, the table is set.”
Brett stepped closer. “If you want comfort, I’m right here.”
The choice was Bo’s to make and would be respected.
Bo: He wanted to hate this man. Wrath was an easy emotion. Cathartic. Rage was an old friend with a hand on his shoulder. Had been since childhood. But this was a man he actually cared about. A man worth the effort.
But by bedding his primary instinct, all that was left was raw and tender. Words he could not articulate.
The lights in the foyer flickered.
"I feel... it. On me. Him." Elaborating would hurt his husband. Hurt himself. Show more vulnerability. He began to pull at his hair.
Brett: Brett didn’t have to ask who ‘he’ was or question the why or the how of Bo being able to feel something on him. Not when Brett himself was so familiar with such a sensation.
The flickering lights didn’t startle him. Not anymore. “I’ll start the shower for you and wash your clothes so you can get clean.”
Bo: All he could manage was a single nod. The two pieces were placed on the foyer table. It took everything in his power not to throw the collar. The catharsis it would bring would pale in comparison to the memory he would harbor of Brett flinching.
Every movement was mindful, shaking just to sustain, not to scream or break.
His wand was placed on the bathroom sink. Arms aching and loose, making his clothes a struggle.
Brett: Brett turned on the shower and got Bo a fresh towel while the water warmed. A bath probably would have been more relaxing but he knew how much better it felt in circumstances like these to feel like you were actively getting clean. Besides, having water gently fall on you felt just as good as sitting in it.
He longed to help Bo, to reassure him in some way, but he wouldn’t. Not unless he was asked.
Bo: "I frighten you, don't I?"
Hands rested on the edge of the sink, staring down the drain so as not to look at his husband.
Brett: He shook his head. “No, baby. You don’t and you never have. I’ve been afraid of blood, my father, the vampires in this town, but never of you.”
Bo: "Not when I scream? Why? Why are you like this?"
Brett: “Screaming’s never been something I’m afraid of.” He’d have a rough time doing the job he did if that were the case.
“Why am I like what?”
Bo: "Why are you complicit with everything I do! You let me do anything! When I throw things! When I scream! I left the house and you let me! You're a doormat!"
You are the balm and the gauze and the cool running water and you save my life again and again and I don't deserve you. I'm not worthy of you, and I will push you away before you hurt me.
Brett: Brett was quiet for a moment. He let himself listen to the shower running, let the echo of Bo’s raised voice fade into it.
“I’d rather be a doormat than a jailer,” he said quietly. “You know what I spent a lot of time wanting when I was a kid? To be allowed to be upset. To be allowed to feel anything really. If something made me sad, I couldn’t show it. If my parents made me angry or hurt my feelings, I couldn’t say anything. I had to swallow it. I made myself learn how to be silent when I cried because if my dad heard me, he’d call me names and slap me. As I got older I told myself that when I became an adult, I was never going to be like him. I wasn’t going to get angry with someone for feeling something. I wouldn’t hurt someone when they were already hurting.
“So if you need to call me a doormat, that’s fine. Maybe I am. But I’m not going to get upset with you for being upset, and I’m not going to keep you chained so you can’t ever leave the house. You’re not a doll. You’re my husband.”
Bo: The more Brett spoke, the heavier his words became. Weighing on his shoulders to the point of bending over the sink, held up solely by his elbows. Hands rested the weight of his face by his forehead. He couldn't remember a single instance of his childhood, but he felt Brett's experiences as though his own. He had seen them upon the pages in ink. A tyrant Catholic and Ventrue dictator for father and uncle cut from the same cloth.
"I'm sorry," Bo sobbed. "Jeg mente det ikke. Jeg burde ikke ha gjort det."
Brett: “I know.” Brett’s voice was so, so soft. He hadn’t been given permission to touch his husband, and he didn’t, but he did step closer so Bo could feel that he wasn’t alone.
None of this was personal. He knew Bo wasn’t lashing out because of him or something he’d done. This was simply a rough situation, and Bo was simply a man with demons trying his absolute best to fight them and keep them from winning.
“I know you didn’t, baby. I know you didn’t mean it. I forgive you.”
Bo: He simply needed to exist. To breathe and allow the tension in his chest to subside. He waited, and it lingered. Only the sobs between broken breaths eased the clench.
Some minutes later, he managed, "Will you... shower with me?"
Brett: That was perfectly fine by him. Bo didn’t have to say or do anything. As long as he was breathing and trying for calm, that was already a victory.
Brett nodded. “Absolutely. Do you want help getting undressed?”
Bo: "No." He'd already dismantled enough of his pride for what remained of the year. The least he could do was remove his clothes.
Brett: “Okay.” In that case, Brett would go grab another towel and start removing his own clothes.
He’d already showered but that hardly mattered. This was about helping Bo to feel clean and safe and calm again.
Vincent: Wherever Brett Parker was at twelve in the afternoon was of no consequence. Vincent first appeared as a magpie in the sheriff's front yard. The home was thick with magic, unlike before. Too long since he'd made an appearance. He would have said it had been years, though that was far from the truth.
The familiar disappeared, reappearing on the rooftop of the police station.
Brett: The only signs of life in the house at this time of day were animal signs. A cat in an upstairs window, a dog napping in the sunroom.
The station was a different story. There were people in the waiting area, behind desks, even a couple in the holding cells. And the sheriff?
Tucked away in his office having lunch.
Vincent: Vincent first felt for a thickening of quintessence. Static related to wards. Nothing so obvious wrapped the exterior of the building, only a distinct warmth from within.
Deemed safe, the bird swooped to the sheriff's window, greeting the ghoul with a thousand and one raps of his beak against the glass
Brett: Brett paused mid-bite and looked around his office, frowning. What was that weirdly insistent noise?
He set his sandwich down and went to poke his head out his office door. Nothing amiss out there. No one was even typing.
He turned back, frown still in place until he noticed the bird in the window.
“Oh,” he exhaled, chuckling at himself. “Just a bird.”
Vincent: A bird could get such a headache this way! At least this particularly relentless bird could. Having caught his intended's attention, he reached his claws for the window latch on the other side. Surely, Brett Parker would understand this body language.
Brett: Brett’s smile didn’t…quite fall, but his face did take on an expression that was somewhere between curious and unsettled.
That little gesture was just slightly too intelligent for a bird for him to feel entirely comfortable but even so, the curiosity won out. He opened the window.
And then put his sandwich away just in case the bird got any funny ideas.
Vincent: A few hops later, Vincent had properly intruded. And a few flaps after that he settled on the sheriff's desk.
Might as well make introductions!
"Hi!" said the bird.
Brett: “Jesus!” Brett very nearly jumped out of his skin, taking a few giant steps back and staring wide-eyed at the bird.
He’d spoken to animals before when he’d been MJ’s ghoul but this was definitely not like that. His communications had been silent, Miss Swiss and Woodstock hadn’t said words aloud.
And besides, he couldn’t even talk to animals anymore!
“Am I dreaming?” he said after a moment.
Vincent: "Dreaming? No dreaming!" What were these papers? Time to move them about with his beak. Maybe that would snap the ghoul out of it.
Brett: Not dreaming. Okay. Okay okay okay.
“Are you a spellll…? Hey, nuh-uh, don’t mess with those.” Brett crossed over to his desk again. “Can’t serve a warrant full of holes.”
Vincent: Ah ha! These precious papers were the key! What was this one? He was going to keep it! Time to hop away!
Brett: "Nononono! Please don't take my credit card bill, birdy, I need that!" Brett looked around for something to give instead. "How about a yogurt pretzel? You want a pretzel?"
Were birds supposed to eat pretzels? Probably not but he couldn't let the bird run amok with his paperwork.
Vincent: An offering was good enough to drop the bill. He awaited his prize with an open beak, purring and clicking with anticipation.
Brett: Okay, good! Good, they were getting somewhere.
“Thank you. Here.” Brett got a pretzel out of the baggie he’d packed in his lunch and broke it in half. One piece was left on the desk, the other offered to the bird.
Vincent: Interesting. The sheriff didn't seem as concerned that the bird understood a word, rather than an extended treat. Maybe he didn't care to realize. This day was just full of entertainment.
The magpie held his head back, breaking the pretzel further before swallowing.
"Crunch!" he croaked, pleased.
Brett: “Yeah, crunch. Okay.” Brett sank into his desk chair and took a deep breath, contemplating the bird.
Talking to animals wasn’t new to him but talking to them this way was, and because he hadn’t had any of MJ’s blood in years, this probably wasn’t related to him being a ghoul. He also wasn’t dreaming, so that could mean only one thing.
“You’re magic. Did Bo send you?”
Vincent: His head began tilting. Nearly upside down before he decided to answer.
"Birds talk!"
Brett: “All animals talk. Not everyone can understand them, though.”
Vincent: "Polly wanna cracker?"
Brett: “Polly’s gonna have to make do with yogurt pretzels.” Brett slid the other piece closer.
“If you’re like other animals, I know you can speak in full sentences.”
Vincent: What? He began tilting his head the other way.
Brett: Maybe he was going about this the wrong way.
“What’s your name?”
Vincent: "Vincent." Maybe that would ring a bell.
Brett: Okay, now they were getting somewhere.
“Nice to meet you, Vincent,” he said with a smile that showed no sign of recognition. “I’m Brett. I’m the sheriff.”
Vincent: Had he ripened him up enough? Well and truly marinated? Hmm.
"Bronwyn!" He would start there.
Brett: Brett frowned. “Bronwyn? MacAllister?” Callum’s cousin? What could she have to do with a bird appearing in his office?
Vincent: "Good boy!" There was a pause, deliberately looking over the sheriff's shoulder. "What's that?"
Should he look, Brett Parker would turn back to find a man sitting on the desk. Brown tunic shirt and slacks, no shoes. Younger than himself; neatly shaven, and all smiles.
Brett: Brett didn’t know how he felt about a bird calling him a good boy. “…Okay…are you gonna tell me what she has to—what’s what?”
He did indeed turn to look, vaguely wondering if there was going to be another bird waiting in the window. Finding nothing made him think that Vincent was messing with him, and turning back?
Well, that got the reaction he probably should have had when a bird knocked on his window and spoke to him:
The surprise had him scrambling away from his desk to put distance between him and the man that had appeared in his office. Although he’d become more accustomed to magic, being caught off guard still caused a panic response.
Vincent: Vincent's smile grew wider by the second, stuttered with a quick laugh. The look of fear was only entertaining. How could he not know? All magic should have been obvious. Yes, he had played to his nature, but this was a ghoul, aware of reality better than most.
"I don't peck!" He assured. "Don't die. We need to have a conversation."
Brett: The fact that talking to a bird was less unsettling than taking to a man who Brett assumed was the bird was a testament to his lingering issues with magic. Seeing Vincent transform probably would’ve put him on edge just as much as being surprised with it.
“We’re already having a conversation.” Brett had yet to move or relax and he didn’t intend to do either until he calmed himself down.
Vincent: "And we're gonna continue a conversation. My mistress is the conversation. That's where the talk was going." Vincent crossed his legs and leaned forward, waiting patiently - seemingly, patiently.
Brett: “Your mistress being Bronwyn MacAllister.” He wondered at that title but wasn’t comfortable enough to ask about it. Maybe this man was Bronwyn’s assistant?
“What about her?”
Vincent: "She needs to have a conversation with you. It's life or death! You'll talk to someone about life and-or death, won't you?"
Brett: “Life or death? Yeah, yes. Of course I’ll talk to her, I’ll give her a call today. Do you have her number?”
Vincent: "Humans and numbers! Might as well write a letter! No. We can have a proper meeting, face to face. You can do face to face?"
Brett: “A call is—face to face? She’s here in Edenton?”
Vincent: "Mmm..." A smile. "You'll see her? Life or death face to face? Won't take long, this conversation. Important conversations can be short!"
Brett: “Uh…” He glanced at the clock on the wall. There were about fifteen minutes left on his lunch break. He’d be cutting it close but he could make it if Bronwyn was close by.
“Is she at Callum’s house?”
Vincent: "I'll take you to her. Come!" Vincent slid from the desk, offering his hand to the ghoul, smile still present and warm.
Brett: Come? Brett wasn’t coming anywhere. What he was doing was regarding Vincent with less fear and more of the no-nonsense stoicism befitting his position.
“You didn’t answer my question. Either of my questions, as a matter of fact. Where is Bronwyn?”
Vincent: Ugh. No, he cannot steal. Cannot... steal.
"She's where we'll go when you take my hand."
Brett: “Uh-uh, I don’t think so.” Brett shook his head and crossed his arms. “I’m a cop, Vincent. When I ask a direct question, I’m looking for a direct answer.”
Vincent: Ah. The familiar's smile faltered. This was his mistress, after all, and she would have her way. He needed this as much as she did. Her happiness was his own. She was lethargic of late. Understandable though it was, her familiar was now on a hair trigger.
"Hello, cop. I'm ancient, world-weary, and playing nice."
Brett: “You can be as ancient, world-weary, and nice as you please but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go with you with zero information about what I’m walking into or where I’m going. Also doesn’t mean you can come into a territory I know for a fact isn’t yours and make off with me willy-nilly. I may be new at this but I do know that. How do I know you’re even here on Bronwyn’s behalf?”
Vincent: His skin became warm to the touch. Warmer than he should be.
"I'm not some human. I don't lie about my mistress. I'm not some vampire or vampire's assistant, either. I don't care about your squabbles."
Brett: “Well I am a vampire’s something and I have rules that I need to follow, and I was also born with a just a little bit of common sense. If Bronwyn needs to talk to me, I am respectfully asking you to please give me her number so I can ascertain that.”
Vincent: A vampire's something almost made the familiar laugh. Had caught him off guard good and proper.
Don't steal. Don't steal. He didn't have to listen to any of this. He could just grab the ghoul by his shoulder and appear in Bronwyn's bedroom. This mortal had better sense than hostility towards one of Callum's own. Knew better for his own skin. All of this power over him... and the gall to make demands. He had to give it to him.
A sharpie was taken from his desk. Hand held out again. Fingers wriggled. Come on, then.
Brett: Brett looked from Vincent’s face to his outstretched hand and back again, stance becoming defensive. The change was barely perceptible, but obvious when observed closely. His arms were still crossed, though held much closer to his body. His shoulders were stiff, expression guarded.
“There are sticky notes by the phone,” he said softly.
Vincent: "I'm complying and you're more afraid than ever." That's what it was, wasn't it? Fear. A human might not have noticed the nuances, but Vincent was far removed, and only had eyes for this ghoul. When having to pay attention, he did just that.
Brett: “I don’t like to be touched by people I don’t know.” A very personal and necessary admission, given the circumstances.
Vincent: "I don't like being told what to do by mortals I don't know." He had half a mind to write on the desk itself, but he could just imagine his mistress' disappointment. A piece of paper would do. This was not at all what he had intended. Sympathy came not only from her voice, but seeing her, swollen belly and tearful eyes. She needed this.
Brett/Bronwyn: From where Brett stood he was the one being told what to do. He wouldn’t say it, however. A credit to that common sense he was born with.
He got his phone out of his pocket and finally approached his desk, close enough to see what was written on the sticky note but being careful not to move within reach of the bird man.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Brett said in that same soft voice, taking his phone out into the hall and hitting ‘send’ on the number he’d just dialed.
It barely took one ring for Bronwyn to answer. As soon as she saw the Edenton area code she all but leapt for her phone.
“Brett, is that you?”
Vincent: Vincent returned to sitting pretty on the desk. His hearing was nowhere near as sharp as other supernatural creatures, but his mistress' voice pierced the relative silence, and he perked.
"Hello, mistress!"
Brett/Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. “Tell him hello.”
“She says hello,” Brett called, feeling a little easier now that he’d confirmed that at the very least, the man in his office knew Bronwyn.
The rest of the call offered much the same; confirmation, reassurance, and the blessed relief of direct answers.
Bronwyn was not, in fact, in Edenton. She was home in New Orleans and very much wanted to speak to him in person. After Brett explained that he would be happy to oblige her but would have to wait until sundown to get permission, she asked to talk to Vincent.
Brett stepped back into his office and set his phone on the desk. “She wants to talk to you. I’ll give you some privacy.” And back into the hall he went.
“Vincent?” said Bronwyn. “You and the sheriff got off on the wrong foot, darlin’.”
Vincent: Vincent waited patiently, only now that he had heard Bronwyn's voice. Hair trigger went both ways. There was a private part of him that wanted to shout and finish the ghoul off with a heart attack. That would probably be his end. Grabbing his chest with a huff.
"He's as tender as a dead pigeon, mistress," he greeted.
Bronwyn: “Come now, that’s no’ nice. The sheriff is a verra sweet man, Callum always speaks highly of him. Our world is just different from the one he lives in. He has rules that we don’t have and he’s verra serious about them.”
Vincent: "As am I of you, ma'am."
Bronwyn: “I know, darlin’. And speakin’ of Callum, this is why I told you to go see him first. He and Brett have been friends for years, he could’ve helped smoothed things between the two of you.”
Vincent: "All he had to do was take my hand. Callum can't mend skittish."
Bronwyn: “Vinceeeent. Didn’t I tell you borrow with permission? I’d be skittish too if someone I didn’t know wanted to take me somewhere and refused to tell me where.”
Vincent: He wouldn't have a forgetful mage if not for me.
"If I told him where, he wouldn't go. I don't tell him where, he won't go."
Bronwyn: "He was ready to go right then if I'd been in town, that's why he asked. Most people can't leave in the middle o' their workday. And with Brett," she sighed. "He isn't able to leave right now anyway. No' until sunset."
Vincent: Vincent wasn't normally one to talk back so much, but with a buildup of quintessence coursing through his system, he was a little on edge. A usual red flag.
"His master wouldn't know five minutes," he sighed.
Bronwyn: “Maybe no’, but this is a big favor I’m wantin’ to ask of him. He’s no’ goin’ to feel like helpin’ me if he gets in trouble for leavin’ town without askin’, even if it isn’t for long.”
Of course, she couldn’t say for sure whether it would be a short conversation or a long one, which is why she needed time and time wasn’t possible without permission.
“It’s only a few hours until sunset. He said he’d let me know once he got the go ahead.”
Vincent: At the end of the day, this was about his mistresses needs. He took a breath and cracked his neck.
"Do you want me to wait here? I'll... be a bird. So he's less skittish."
Bronwyn: “I think it’s probably best if you come home for now. Do you think you’ll be able to make a couple more round trips today? I don’t want you to wear yerself out.”
Vincent: "I can do it." Was in his best interest, actually. "I can do it. I'll come home."
Bronwyn: “All right, love. Give Brett his phone back and try to play nice, okay? I’ll see you soon.”
Vincent: "Brett Parker," Vincent sang. The sooner he handed the phone, the sooner his return.
Brett: Brett stepped back into his office, looking a little calmer but still very much on edge.
“Yes?”
Vincent: The little device was simply tossed his direction.
"I'll be back."
Brett: Brett nodded as he caught the phone. “All right. I’ll let Bronwyn know when, like we agreed.”
Vincent: Without another word, Vincent disappeared with a snap of his fingers. He hadn't a need to make any more at all. Nothing but theatrics for Brett's sake. A lie for the sake of lies.
Brett/Bronwyn: If it had been a quiet afternoon, Brett would’ve had a hard time concentrating on his job. But since he had a warrant to serve and problems to deal with and a patrol to do, keeping his mind on his work wasn’t an issue.
At least until later that evening when he drove to his domitor’s. Brett recounted the events that had transpired during his lunch break with the detail Guildias asked for and once he was finished, asked for permission to go to New Orleans. Given who was asking, he didn’t expect Guildias to say no.
Vaguely hoping for it maybe, but not expecting it.
A couple of hours after sunset, Bronwyn got a notification on her phone.
“He got permission,” she said to Vincent. “He says he’s waitin’ outside Callum’s house.”
Vincent/Guildias: Guildias would have certainly refused had the request come from anyone else. Extended family opened his answers, and without Brett's knowledge, he would inform Callum of this request with his departure.
Vincent perked from the kitchen, mouth full of pumpkin bread and cinnamon butter.
"Yes ma'am!"
Without ceremony, the familiar disappeared across the states, appearing with a blink at Callum MacGillivray's front door.
Brett: Brett, who was sitting on Callum’s porch steps, startled when the bird man appeared out of thin air.
“Jesus,” he hissed under his breath. He’d gotten used to a lot over the years but people appearing out of nothing? That was a new one.
Vincent: "Where's Callum?" Vincent greeted. "Are you having a heart attack?"
Brett: “Putting together a bride’s bouquet,” he said as he got to his feet and brushed himself off. “He told me I could wait here.”
Vincent: "Are you the bride? Your color issss... red."
Brett: “Wrong on both counts. Are we going or not?”
Vincent: Gasp! "What's your color? Why not red? Look at your mean red skin!"
Brett: Brett frowned. “Gee thanks. Can we go, please?”
Vincent: His hand outstretched, waiting for the ghoul's new reaction to the invitation.
Brett: There was only one person whose hands he ever wanted to hold and it was not this bird man’s but he’d been told this was necessary, so he did take hold.
Of his forearm.
Vincent: Perhaps his mistress would call it spite, but there was a reason Vincent sandwiched Brett's hand with his. Intent on keeping hold of the sheriff for a trip he knew would flip his insides, reappearing on Bronwyn MacAllister's back porch.
"Through your nose," he sang, opening the door with a flick of his hand.
Brett: Although Brett flinched at the contact, he didn't try to pull his hand away. He just trusted--tried to trust--that it was for an actual reason and not because Vincent was messing with him again.
Flipping his insides didn't quite cover it.
He'd been warned that teleportation was a lot even for people who were used to it, but the warning fell far short of conveying the actual experience. It felt like his whole body had been put in a blender and his stomach didn't like that one bit, protesting violently as soon as the world stopped moving.
People did this all the time? How?!
The sheriff hunched over, resting his hands on his knees as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through his nose like Vincent said.
Vincent: "But out your mouth!" They didn't have a heap of time. He thought to have appeared in his mistress' bedroom, but the idea of startling his favorite druid cautioned him.
"When you're finished being sick, we're going upstairs. Come on. Come on!"
Brett: Brett shook his head--or tried to. Opening his mouth was asking for disaster and he was not looking for disaster. He was tempted to fly back to North Carolina instead of experiencing this again.
Once the immediate danger of the nausea had passed, he straightened and gestured for Vincent to lead the way.
Vincent: Time was the only thing revolving in Vincent's mind as he ascended the stairs. The door was knocked three times, waiting for a sound from within before opening.
Brett/Bronwyn: Bronwyn released the breath it felt like she’d been holding since Vincent left as the knock sounded at the door.
“Come in, lovely,” she said, sitting up in bed and smiling as soon as they entered the room. “Hi, Brett. Long time no see.”
He nodded shakily. “Very long time.”
“Are you all right? You look a wee green.”
“I’ll live.”
She offered a piece of candied ginger from a little dish on her bedside table. “Eat this, it’ll help.”
Vincent: Vincent walked through the door and held it for the ghoul, waiting for his entrance before shutting the door completely. Anything to save them a second, should Torsten make a sudden appearance.
"Gonna keep an eye out from above." Said Vincent, before shrinking into his smallest feathered form and fluttering from out the window.
Theo: On one of his rare days off, Theo sat nestled into his favorite armchair in the manor. The chair was notably large and a brilliant shade of sapphire blue, and next to it rose an equally large paned window, now propped open to let in the warm summer air. In Theo's hands was a small book of poetry, a rare change from the books he typically used for research.
Vincent: On a nearby window across the room sat Vincent, watching and keeping utterly still with confusion. Had he seen this gentleman before? Was he a gentleman, or some stranger invader in this house he needed to rid Xavier of? Hmm. He should do something, say something and catch the lad off guard.
"Nevermore!" screamed the bird. Remaining perfectly still after his little outburst, all of his will was utilized in not laughing.
Theo: "Ah!" Theo jumped as someone shouted, abruptly disrupting his lazy afternoon.
The book fell to his side and in an instant he was on his feet, drawing a long black scythe from a cloud of smoke summoned from the tips of his fingers.
With his senses on alert he pinpointed the source of the unfamiliar voice and frowned- surprised to find a bird, rather than a person or creature.
"How'd you get into my house?" Theo asked, his grip tightening on the long staff of his weapon. Xavier's defenses were flawless, so either this was someone invited- or someone to be feared.
Vincent: Your house?! I beg to differ! In fact, I'll say it out loud!
No, no. Don't let it ruffle your feathers. Stay still, like a toy. Oh, but boy he had some things to say.
Theo: "Answer me," the iris of Theo’s eyes expanded, enveloping his eyes in darkness for a moment before retreating to their regular size. A second of confusion followed as his brow furrowed, and his suspicion surrounding this little bird only grew.
"I don't know what you are, but I know you aren't human, and we're about to have a problem if you don't speak."
Vincent: This man was going to come into Xavier Atlas' house and boss him around as though the brick and mortar belonged to him? Absolutely not. The raven's breathing came to a sudden halt, its feathers becoming duller and void of life. If Theo were to touch, he would find it made of wood.
Theo: Theo frowned and slowly approached the little bird. This being wasn't a raven, not an ordinary one at least, and after this little display Theo's brown knit further in confusion. He nudged the wooden bird with the blunt end of his scythe, and after a moment it disappeared in another puff of black smoke and he stepped closer still. He was curious now, rather than afraid, and the researcher in him wanted some answers.
"What are you?" He asked as he crouched to examine the little bird more closely, and touched the hardened feathers with the tips of his fingers.
Vincent: What it was, was nothing more than a little wooden figurine with a heavy aura of old magic. The actual creature had reappeared on the other side of the house, human, and very much as ruffled as his raven form. He wanted to know who this was, and was going to find his host for answers.
Theo: {Text to Xavier} So do we have a pet bird that can turn into wood? If not, there's something in the house that should not be.
Theo: Theo picked up the wooden figure and turned it over, examining it curiously as he felt the old magic emanating from it.
Curious....
And Theo was headed to the library to do some research. He'd never heard of a bird like this- so it had to be something else... out of his pocket came a little notebook, and notes of the encounter were quickly scribbled onto a fresh page.
Xavier: Xavier was in the dining room. Photos and other documents of what appeared to be several properties were strewn on the table in front of him, and he was in the middle of examining them when his phone went off.
He stared at Theo's text with a furrowed brow for several long moments before it dawned on him.
{Text} No we don't. I probably should've mentioned we have a houseguest. Sorry, darling
{Text} The bird is Vincent and he is a familiar. Not mine of course. He's a friend
Vincent: No sooner had Xavier sent his message did the familiar appear by his side in a huff. He had some words to say in regard to this creature claiming Xavier's manor as his own!
"And to threaten violence when all I did was speak!" he continued on. "Nothing can get into your house without permission! I watch you add protections and have helped you with new spells! Can I turn him into a coin? I want ice cream."
Theo: {Text} Ah- yeah, that would have helped to avoid the confrontation I had just now, my love. I may have threatened him after he shouted so rudely at me while I was reading!
{Text} A familiar???!!! Like Abel? Or different? You'll have to help me convince him to do an interview- I have so many questions for my book! I've never seen Abel do anything like turn into a wooden bird.
Theo took a break from the books he had splayed over his desk in the library to text Xavier- and then he was back to the shelves, looking for books that would contain info on familiars.
Xavier: Xavier heard his phone go off again but he wouldn't dare look away from or interrupt Vincent's tirade. It was truly a thing to behold, both in its power and truly incredible conclusion.
"Yes, I agree that was quite rude, canary. You'll have to forgive Theo, he's just come off a hunt and is no doubt still tired and a bit stressed. However, I would ask that you refrain from turning him into a coin as he is my fiancé and I rather like him in his current form. I do apologize for not warning you of his presence."
That being said, he got up to fetch Vincent some ice cream from the freezer and respond to Theo's texts.
{Text} Ah yes, so he has told me
{Text} He's a bit different from Abel but I wouldn’t count on him agreeing to an interview any time soon. He's quite distraught
Vincent: His mind was too exposed from his emotions. He felt everything, read everything from Xavier's mind without regard to privacy. "I'm not saying - I'm saying he's the coin I would use to buy the ice cream! I don't need it right now. But I can always eat." Too much of a fuss to notice Xavier's disappearance into the next room, and no realization of how ridiculous he sounded. Weeks without command had created the sudden tantrum. His fingers ached for purpose outside of his free will. The chairs surrounding the long dining table began to float; the candlesticks danced in time with the miscellaneous items in the kitchen.
Theo: {Text} In my defense- I didn't know he was granted permission to be here! If I'd known I would have greeted him like a guest!
And back into the new selection of books, he went.
Xavier: "My dear, you'd be hard pressed to find anywhere that'll sell you ice cream for a coin, magical or not." Maybe he'd crush up some cookies and put them on top of the ice cream, add whipped cream.
According to Devlin, there was very little in life that wasn't improved by cookies and whipped cream.
He returned with his creation, a bit surprised but mostly unfazed by his floating furniture.
"Do be careful, canary, those chairs were a nightmare to find. Come eat your ice cream." He set the bowl on the table and grabbed his phone again.
{Text} The wards take care of any intruders, darling. If anyone is inside, it's safe to assume I tolerate their presence.
{Text} Unless it's my brother in which case his presence is merely accepted.
{Text} In your true defense, however, I should have warned you both. I apologize
Vincent: The chairs were (carefully) placed back. What else had he - oh yes, that too.
"I - Are you not having any?" This won't do. A large shard of cookie was used to scoop whipped cream. An offering to its maker.
Theo: {Text} I know, my love. That's why I was concerned. I'm always worried something bigger and badder is going to show up one day that's somehow managed to get past them. I suppose can't really help that paranoia.
{Text} Are there any treats he likes? I could try to soothe some of the ruffled feathers with a peace offering.
{Text} Your brother is quite the arse
Xavier: Xavier accepted the cookie with a smile. "Thank you, canary. Now, other than the unexpected encounter with my fiancé, what has you so riled up this day?"
He grinned at his phone.
{Text} Are there any? Yes. All of them
{Text} I think a peace offering would go a long way
Vincent: Vincent stared into the bowl while he nibbled. A shrug followed the silence. "I dunno. I need release. It's not that mistress is neglecting me. She's busy. Her little one is growing. She's...in love. That is just - he's just - but then you're a dear friend. Must I judge him? Yes. She deserves great things." Oh dear, he was floating again. A gleam in his eyes, he pulled himself back down. "I'm glad we had this talk. I feel much better."
Theo: Theo set his pen and paper aside, a new set of notes already started and hurriedly scrawled. A few more pages marked, and Theo disappeared from his chair in a puff of black smoke. About 15 minutes later and Theo reappeared just outside the kitchen with two small bags with something in Italian printed on the outside. One had little boxed pastries tied up with a gold ribbon, and the other had series of gourmet chocolates all neatly wrapped in unique, individual gold packages.
He knocked on the door frame to announce himself once he heard a lull in the conversation.
"Sorry to interrupt, but I thought I should come give my apology treats sooner rather than later. Perhaps you two could enjoy some with your ice cream?" he set the bags on top of the kitchen counter and pulled out the delicate little treats so they were all visible to everyone.
"They're from one of Xavier's favorite places in Italy, which I also absolutely love. I hope they'll suffice as an apology for earlier." He turned to give Vincent an apologetic smile. "I didn't know you were a guest, and my job requires a certain level of paranoia. I'm sorry."
He cast a quick glance at Xavier and tried to hold back a proud grin. He hadn't told Xavier he'd attempted travelling a distance like that before, and now was as good a time to surprise him with the reveal as any.
Xavier: He smiled softly at his put upon, floating friend. "Well, I'm certainly glad I could be of service. If you're itching for a task, why don't you help me with this?" He gestured toward the various documents and photographs.
"I'm in the market for a new property. A chateau in the French countryside. Seems a natural next step. What do you think of all these?"
Xavier spent the next few minutes showing Vincent the various properties and listing their attributes, looking over as he sensed Theo's presence.
He was already smiling by the time he knocked. A smile that turned into a full grin at his fiancé’s explanation.
"Well, this is as good a time as any to make proper introductions. "Vincent, this is Theo, my fiancé and Devlin's other father. Theo, this is Vincent, a very dear friend of mine."
Vincent: Vincent looked towards the various papers with mild interest. He missed handmade art. These would be from a device unlike anything from his realm. Interesting, but not beautiful.
"Are your bones becoming brittle?" His smile was unmistakable. A clear tease of his unrelenting power becoming sedentary.
Each chateau was scrutinized. The one with the largest kitchen and handsome windows would win his attention.
The cloud above his head had cleared in time for Theo's arrival. The scent of sugary confections and pastry a welcome interruption.
"No surprise parties for you. You'll kill all the guests!" He pointed to the bags. "Those peace offerings would like to rest on the table. They're telling me."
Theo: "Well, as long as Xavier is among them, I think I'd find it safe to assume he gave them permission to be there," Theo chuckled, and he picked up the sugary confections to place them on the table near where Xavier and Vincent were examining homes, as instructed. He wasn't a fan of surprise parties, (he'd never had one, but they didn't sound like as much fun as people played them up to be) so he was fine with creating a reputation where surprise parties, for him, were probably not wise.
"Then they belong on the table. A wise choice, as now they're closer to what you're working on," he glanced over the papers as he approached Xavier for a kiss, and Theo slipped an arm around his waist to hug to his side. "Looking for a new vacation home?" He asked and inclined his head towards his fiancé.
Xavier: Xavier couldn't help chuckling softly to himself, glad the tension was dissipating. And really it was no surprise; food was always a winner with Vincent.
He gave his fiancé a sweet kiss and pulled him close. "Indeed. Vincent was helping me evaluate my estate agent's offerings. We spend so much time in France it just makes sense to have a place there. Vincent likes this one." He showed Theo the photographs of the chateau with the lavish kitchen and floor to ceiling windows. "What do you think?"
Vincent: Vincent kept to himself, appeased with chocolate, cream, and sugar combinations. Quietly, he returned to his study of this creature. He felt like his master, and yet not. Something he could not quite put his finger on.
Theo: Theo leaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Xavier's waist with a happy hum as he was pulled close.
"That's an excellent choice," Theo nodded, letting go of Xavier's waist with one arm so he could shift the papers around and examine the pictures. "It'd be nice to have a place there."
He glanced at Vincent with a small smile.
"Do you like what I picked out?" He asked, referring to the sweets.
Xavier: "There's quite a bit of land that comes with it as well. Perfect for farming apparently, but that's not an avenue that piques my interest. I'd rather reinstate the forest." For privacy more than anything else.
Vincent: "I love caramel. Whoever discovered its creation should be given sainthood."
He glanced to the papers. "We should see them in person. A photograph isn't enough. Neither is a painting!"
Theo: Theo looked up at Xavier and tilted his head to the side as he gave Xavier a playful grin.
"Can we?" He asked, matching Vincent's level of enthusiasm despite already knowing the answer.
Xavier: "All of them or just the number one contender?" Xavier asked, already reaching for his phone to send a message to the estate agent.
Vincent: "Top...three?" What was a big thing in this world. The podium. The best three to shame all others. "Are you going to take us?"
Theo: Theo looked at Xavier. "He'll definitely have to be the one to- I only had enough juice for the trip to get sweets."
Xavier: "Yes, I'll take you," he chuckled. "I'll even take us for a lovely dinner afterward so we may discuss the many merits and flaws of the properties we see."
Vincent: Gasp! "Where? Where are we going? Are we eating in Italy? France? I'm so hungry!" Despite shoving food in his mouth between questions.
Theo: Theo chuckled and looked at Xavier expectantly.
Xavier: “How does a shellfish tower in Brittany sound?”
Vincent: "How does that sound?" he asked Theo.
Theo: "That sounds lovely," Theo nodded and took Xavier's hand in his.
Xavier: “Seafood in Brittany it is. There’s also a lovely little patisserie there in case you find yourselves in want of some more dessert.” He squeezed Theo’s hand and smiled at Vincent.
“Which property shall we see first?”
Vincent: "The best! No, the worst. Let's see the smallest kitchen."
Theo: "Agreed." Theo piped in with a chuckle.
Xavier: "Is the size of the kitchen really how you would have us make this decision? What else is important?"
Theo: "Xavier, the size of the kitchen is very important!" Theo declared as he gave Xavier a very serious look, as if it were silly for him to treat that as something their decision shouldn't hinge on. It was an attempt to get on Vincent's good side, but also- "you know colleen deserves a properly sized kitchen if she were to stay there."
Vincent: "Nothing is more important. A proper potions room would do you some good! Room for a garden, but not more important!"
Theo: Theo nodded in agreement.
Xavier: Xavier smiled, seeing the attempt for what it was and not faulting it one bit. "I'll grant you that a properly appointed kitchen is important, but I can't say we have need for a potions room. None of my staff or Rohan work with them."
Vincent: "Potions are just as important as spells. Shame on you all."
Theo: Theo nodded, trying to hold back the smile that threatened to give away the laughter in his eyes.
Xavier: He laughed softly. “You know I prefer my spells and enchanted objects. Devlin’s nanny somewhat dabbles in potions, rather like your mistress does. Salves and tinctures and such.”
Vincent: "Then she deserves the best potions room you can afford!"
Theo: "Exactly! So the question still remains, which has the largest kitchen? We should start there."
Xavier: “Colleen doesn’t do her brewing in the kitchen now and I imagine Christine wouldn’t appreciate it if she started. So we shall seek out the larger kitchen, and we shall also seek out an auxiliary kitchen.”
Vincent: "Well," several sweet treats were stuffed in his mouth, "leth go!"
Theo: Theo pressed to Xavier's side and nodded in agreement. He'd leave a few sweets for their return.
Xavier: "What did we say about talking with your mouth full, Vincent?" Xavier chided, gathering the information sheets for all the properties so he could have the addresses at hand. "Everyone take an arm."
Vincent: He took his arm, though he'd debated on riding shoulder as a magpie. Perhaps on their return.
Theo: Theo took the other arm with a chuckle and leaned his head against Xavier's shoulder. "Take us away, my love."
Vincent: "You didn't say anything about talking with my mouth full," he whispered.
Xavier: "I'm almost certain I have at some point." At the very least he'd thought it.
After double checking the address on the paper, Xavier transported them across the sea to....a castle.
The grand, massive villa was surrounded by acres of beautiful countryside. Warm light shone out from massive arched windows, balconies looked out over the drive, and if they listened closely, they'd hear a fountain somewhere on the grounds.
"Stunning," said Xavier, looking up at what could soon be his.
Theo: "Holy shit...." Theo blinked, taking in the site. He squeezed Xavier's arm.
Vincent: Vincent just smiled. Of course Xavier had. Plenty of times he'd been told by multiple people to slow down, swallow, all sorts of manners which meant nothing to him.
Their travel was brief, as it always seemed, but across the world they landed, and the bird was all gasps.
"It's extravagant. Of course it is!" He would expect no less from the demon.
"Does every house have a fountain? Is that something all rich people require?"
Xavier: "Unofficially, yes," Xavier chuckled. "But I also just really enjoy fountains."
The house--if it could even be called that--was absolutely extravagant. It was everything Xavier had dreamed of in his youth. He was in love with it.
"Now, this is by far the largest estate we will potentially look at. It has a sixteen car garage, a huge pool and hot tub, a gym, a spa, a wine cellar that doubles as its own winery, a home theater, an elevator that accesses all three floors, and the considerable amount of land also comes with a barn."
Theo: Theo slipped his hand into Xavier's and squeezed, at a loss for words other than a wide-eyed stare. It was beautiful, and it felt like a fantasy to be a place where they might live. Xavier's current home felt like that for Theo at first, and he was feeling it all over again.
Vincent: "Shall we to the kitchen...s? Was it two? Kitchen and potions room." But he paused only a foot towards the villa. "Are you going to make your own wine? I think you should. You should!"
Xavier: Xavier couldn't help but smile and kiss Theo's hand. It was kind of nice that he could still surprise his soon-to-be husband with his extravagance. And perhaps a little amusing.
"There is an auxiliary kitchen, yes. Perhaps it could become a potions room one day if someone shows interest."
Xavier led them inside, where they were greeted with a massive foyer and double staircase that was just this side of gaudy. "I own stock in several wineries, my dear. It's been very profitable. The kitchen is through here, to the right."
Theo: As they entered Theo could only smile and follow, because the further in they wandered the more it felt like exactly something Xavier would purchase.
"Don't tell my mother that, she'll start expecting wines as gifts on a regular basis," Theo chuckled.
Vincent: Vincent had already disappeared once, having returned in the foyer out of breath. "I dunno about all that, but you should make your own here." He was admiring the ceiling now, arms out in true namesake, doing a little spin to test the castle's energy.
Xavier: "If she wishes them, she'll receive them." Simple as that.
The ceiling was tall and cathedral like, accentuated with a domed skylight in the very center. There were others like it throughout the house, each one beautiful and adorned with stained glass.
No one had enjoyed them in years. This palace had been passed over by many.
"Perhaps a venture for a few years down the line. Making wine takes work."
Theo: "You're going to spoil my mother," Theo laughed, although she definitely deserved it. "Not that she will mind of course." He glanced around the manor, admiring its beauty with a soft smile. "You already have so many ventures, wine making sounds like something for down the road."
Vincent: Vincent would weep at the unused space. Perhaps he would make it his own! Somehow, with something.
"What are these "so many ventures" you have?"
Xavier: "No one minds a little spoiling." Or a lot of spoiling, as Xavier was prone to do with those close to him.
He led them further inside. "I'm a businessman, canary. I deal in art and antiques and wine. I own several investment properties, stocks."
Theo: Theo smiled at that. His mother could use a little spoiling, she deserved it.
"He's very talented," Theo added as he followed at Xavier's side.
Vincent: "I thought you were just a thief!"
Xavier: "You heard, Theo, I'm very talented." He grinned. "At making money, legitimately and non-legitimately."
Theo: "Both are true," Theo grinned and gently squeezed Xavier's hand. He couldn't act like he opposed any of it, as a hunter he'd stollen more credit cards and used more forged IDs than he could count.
Vincent: "Why do you have so many?"
Xavier: "I like money. And stealing. Win-win-win."
Theo: "This place has plenty of space for all the stolen parts of that..."
Vincent: "Just money?" He couldn't decide if that sounded truthful.
"Can you paint?" Asked to the demon while doing another inquisitive spin.
Xavier: "Money, art, wine, magical artifacts. You're not the only magpie," he added with a smile.
Just off the massive kitchen--which boasted five refrigerators--there was a family room, doors to the patio, one of the entrances into the wine cellar, and a glass elevator that led to the other floors.
"I can't, no. Those who cannot paint appreciate those who can."
Theo: "My god..." Theo squinted as they passed and he noticed the 5 fridges, but he didn't linger more than a beat with the rest of them.
"That would be an adorable activity with Devlin though! Painting- finger painting!" Theo smiled, suddenly warmed by the potentially messy idea.
Vincent: "Can you play an instrument? What about sculpt?" The bird squinted. "Can you write a sonnet?" He was crafty with spells, but he realized he didn't know much of Xavier outside of their antics.
Xavier: "No, no, and maybe. I've never tried my hand at it but perhaps I have a hidden talent."
Xavier smiled. "I'm sure Devlin will love that. We'll have to paint-proof the house beforehand to spare the maids the unholy mess."
Vincent: "How many parties will you have here?" As though this were the winner.
Theo: Theo chuckled at that and looked at Xavier expectantly.
Xavier: “I don’t have parties now, canary, I don’t plan to start when I purchase a new property.”
Vincent: "Why would you need five chilling boxes?"
Theo: Again, Theo looked expectantly at Xavier, and he was clearly very amused by the conversation.
Xavier: "There are nine bedrooms in the house not including the servants’ quarters. They all need to be fed and that large amount of food requires adequate storage."
Vincent: "Will there be a garden?"
Theo: "I'd imagine so," Theo replied. "If there isn't one already, I'm sure we'll make one. Devlin would be devastated if we moved somewhere without one."
Xavier: Xavier nodded. "He would indeed. However, there is in fact a garden, along with a large pool."
Vincent: "I think what this land calls a pool is not what I know as a pool."
Theo: "What do you consider a pool?"
Vincent: "Where wood nymphs bathe."
Xavier: “Absolutely no nymphs of any kind. Modern pools only.”
Theo: "I've never met a nymph before. Do they bathe in ponds or something?"
Vincent: "Pools are cleaner."
Xavier: “Pray you never meet one.” Did he sound bitter? Probably a little.
Theo: Theo raised a curious brow in Xavier's direction, detecting the tone in his voice. Then his fingers found Xavier's and he gave them a gentle squeeze.
Vincent: Vincent turned away, distracting himself as easily as breathing.
Xavier: Xavier squeezed back, offering Theo a reassuring smile.
"I'm fine," he mouthed. Nothing to worry about. The past was the past; it happened, it was done.
"So tell me, Vincent. Does the kitchen meet with your approval?"
Theo: Theo nodded slightly, and made a note to inquire further, a little later. For now he leaned his head on Xavier's shoulder, and looked to Vincent and his answer.
Vincent: "And this is not a forever home?" In need of a reminder. He peeked over his shoulder. Was their little intimacy over?
Xavier: The coast was clear; he and Theo were back to their normal level of affection and closeness.
"It's not, no. The estate in California will always be our forever home. This would simply be a holiday home."
Vincent: "It's extravagant. It's perfect," the familiar smiled.
Theo: "Agreed," Theo nodded in approval. "It'll be a lovely getaway."
Xavier: "A perfect for the very first one?" he chuckled. "Who knew the size of kitchen could hold that much power."
Not that he disagreed. The estate was beautiful and very well maintained. It had plenty of space for any luxury they could ever want and then some. And now that it had been endorsed by Theo and Vincent, there wasn't any reason Xavier could see not to buy it.
Still, "I feel we should at least tour it in its entirety, just to get a full picture."
Vincent: "Lead the way, then!" He was tempted for a shoulder ride, but would withhold for the time being. Sooo tempting!
Theo: Theo nodded in agreement. "Lead the way, love."
Xavier: Showing them the entirety of the estate would be an endeavor and a half. It was a never-ending treasure trove of things to explore, from the grander things like the home theater and spa to the small details like the ironwork and stained-glass skylights.
The bedrooms were large and lavish, many of them accompanied by an en suite bathroom and impeccable views.
The master suite was the size of the average single-family home, with various rooms branching off from a small vestibule.
All in all, it was a space far too expansive for even Xavier Atlas. It demanded to be filled with beautiful things and life and voices and chaos. His family and his coterie would do the job very nicely.
Family Matters || Charleson, Xavier, Vincent, & Hamilton
Vincent: Vincent paced back and forth, reading and re-reading the texts between himself and Charles Xavier. Rather than continue with the confounded device, he disappeared, appearing a moment later within the Atlas manor.
He smelled food! A distraction if there ever was one. He headed to the kitchen with a delighted hum.
Xavier: In the kitchen, Vincent would find Xavier idly sipping coffee and reading a newspaper while his chef put the finishing touches on a platter of pastries.
He looked up when he felt Vincent's presence and was already smiling when the little raven entered the room. "Your ability to detect food is getting better and better, canary. Would you like a cream puff?"
Vincent: He smiled at the greeting, eyeing the person between the kitchen island and oven.
"Where's...Hamlecar? Hamlet? Hampton? I thought he was your chef."
A cream puff was taken and inhaled, then stuffed in his mouth whole.
Xavier: "Hamilton, and no, he's not the chef. That honor belongs to Christine. He's my butler."
The petite brunette woman decorating petit fours smiled at Vincent.
Vincent: "What does a butler do, then?" He smiled at the woman, just remembering to cover his mouth before embarrassing himself.
Xavier: "Tends to any guests, answers the door, manages the staff, assists the family. Things like that."
Vincent: "Do you need that? I just pop in. You don't need doors."
Xavier: "You do, most can't and are not allowed to. Most guests get stopped at the security gate--another of Hamilton's responsibilities--and have to get approval to enter my property."
Vincent: "Being evil is hard work," he smiled mischievously.
Xavier: He smiled. "So is protecting one's home. I've got precious things in here."
Vincent: "Have you been lying to me? I'm pretty certain you're a dragon."
Xavier: "I'm almost certain I was in a former life."
Vincent: "Maybe you were my dragon."
Xavier: "Perhaps so." He nodded in thanks when Christine brought a plate with a selection of pastries to the table and motioned for Vincent to join him.
"Have a seat and tell me what brings you here today, canary."
Vincent: "You know I'm not a canary." He took a seat beside the demon and reached for another pastry.
"I want you to meet someone. A special someone."
Xavier: "I know. You're far more powerful than any canary. Would you prefer another nickname?"
He arched a brow as he took another sip of coffee. "Oh? And who is this special someone? A new suitor?"
Vincent: More catlike than bird, he inclined his head curiously. "New suitor?"
Xavier: "Someone who has shown romantic interest in you."
Vincent: "Me?! No! No I - I have someone. I like that someone. No! This is a man named Charles Xavier."
Xavier: "Charles Xavier?" Why did that name sound vaguely familiar? "Who is this Charles Xavier and why do you want me to meet him?"
Vincent: "I think you'll find your interests peaked in each other."
Xavier: “I’m going to need a little more than that, my dear.”
Vincent: "Don't you trust me?" He gave his best pout.
Xavier: “You know I do. But you know I’m picky about the company I keep.”
Vincent: "I'm confident this will be a successful venture."
Xavier: “Vincent....” Xavier squinted. “Who is Charles Xavier?”
Vincent: "Why can no one just take my word? One's word is a thing of honor in my realm."
Xavier: “You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve had less than positive experiences with strangers. But I do trust you.”
Vincent: "I'm gonna bring him here for lunch next week. Maybe, if you'd prefer, lunch can be somewhere public."
Xavier: “I’m fine to do it here. Just warn me before you arrive so my wards don’t melt his insides.”
Vincent: "Alright." Another cream puff for his mouth. "Can we have these next week?"
Xavier: “Mhm. Christine?”
“I’m on it.” She had pulled a notepad from her pocket and was already making a note.
“What else would you like, dear? Actual food, not just pastries.”
Vincent: "But pastries are food," he pointed out matter-of-factly.
Xavier: “Pastries are desserts.”
Vincent: "Not all of em! And desserts are food!"
Xavier: “Cream puffs are most definitely deserts. Savory entree requests, please.”
Vincent: "Pastry! And...steak. All different kinds. And snails."
Xavier: “Christine, beef Wellington. We do not eat garden pests unless we’re in France.”
Vincent: "Garden pests?! They're delicious! They were my favorite before I was brought here!"
Xavier: “As you will. Christine, escargot hor d’oeuvres for Vincent.”
Vincent: "How dare you," he whispered, truly offended for all escargot enthusiasts. "Do you really not like em at all?"
Xavier: “I’ll eat them but I don’t see the mass appeal. They taste like buttery gummy worms.”
Vincent: "I am a bird." In case you needed reminding.
Xavier: Xavier chuckled. “That you are. You have a better reason to like them than most.”
Vincent: "Can a beer go with escargot?"
Xavier: “A beer can go with anything you like.”
Vincent: "I think he likes beer. Or wine. Or coffee? He definitely loves coffee."
Xavier: “We have plenty of all of them. Tea, as well.”
Vincent: "Thank you. I'll find a way to repay you."
Xavier: “Come now, Vincent, you know that isn’t necessary.”
Vincent: "I'm aware. I'm going to anyway."
Xavier: “If you must repay me, repay me with your company.”
Vincent: "Then I'll stay the night!"
Xavier: “By all means. I’ll have a room prepared for you.”
Vincent: A night learning to play chess and teaching Xavier a dialect of Elvish. He had hopes that this would somehow bring peace between brothers. He had a feeling the bridge would be created through the professor.
Next week, Vincent would appear as he always did, landing gracefully at Charles' office window with a chirp.
Charles: Charles glanced over his shoulder at the sound, offering the little bird one of his warm, crinkly-eyed smiles. He wheeled over to the window and opened it wide before turning back to his laptop. "Good afternoon, Vincent. I'm just finishing up a couple of emails. Please, make yourself comfortable. How are you?" His fingers were already flying over the keys.
Vincent: The jackdaw hopped in and ruffled his feathers.
"I'm full of flight and I'm starving." Nothing unusual for the familiar.
"Have you packed your things?" Better yet, "Does...Mason know?"
Charles: "There are snacks in the kitchen, if you're interested," he mumbled, distractedly putting the finishing touches on an email before hitting 'send'. "Pack?" And on to the next. "Exactly how long am I meant to be visiting this person?" He took a sip from his mug and pulled a face. Ugh. Cold tea. "Of course Mason knows. I haven't given him any details, mainly because I don't know them myself, but he knows. I'll have to tell him and the kids I'm going before we leave."
Vincent: "A night! Just in case kind of packing. We don't have to, but it's best to be prepared." He fluttered over to his host and settled himself on Charles' shoulder.
Mason knew only what Charles knew, and that was good. Charles had respected his mind and the secret remained. At least with Mason in the dark he couldn't be hostile.
"I can tell the little ones!"
Charles: He reached up to scratch at Vincent's head, even as one hand continued to type. "Almost... there... done!" He hit send once more and shut the laptop. "I'll tell them. I want to say goodbye." Already, he was making his way toward the door. "I'll throw together an overnight bag, as well. Just in case. It shouldn't take me long."
Vincent: "I'm going to ride your shoulder. Mind if I do? I'll sing to you, if you'd like!"
Charles: He laughed quietly, switching off the light and shutting the door behind them. "I don't mind. Sing, if it pleases you." He reached out for the familiar flares of his children's minds, and twitched a little smile to find them in the reconstructed playroom. When he reached them, Charles watched them play from the doorway for a moment or two, his expression impossibly fond. "Having fun?"
Vincent: He would sing the song of his people! Soft love songs to awaken the heart and unshackle the spirit. Songs which became stronger as he heard the children, wanting to gift them with something he was proud of.
Rory looked up from his argument with Dothan and beamed. "No!" Regardless of his smile! "I told - I said he looks like me!"
"You look like me! I'm older than you!"
Charles: "Gentlemen, please." Charles attempted a stern expression, but his eyes were bright with barely contained amusement. "I think it's fair to say that you resemble each other. And you each very much look like yourselves. No more bickering, please. Have you eaten lunch?"
Vincent: Dothan nodded. "We had pie. That's what the lady said. It was pie with meat and potatoes in it."
"I want a smoothie!" Rory declared. But then Vincent came into his view. The boy could not gasp any louder.
"Can I hold it?!"
The familiar's feathers puffed. I beg your pardon?!
Charles: "Ms. Hazel," he corrected, gently, and smiled. "Sounds delicious." Oh, dear. Charles bit down on a laugh. "Him. He's a... shapeshifter. A little like Aunt Raven. His name is Vincent. You can ask him if that's all right. Vincent?"
Vincent: "You have to be gentle with me."
Rory about lost his mind at the sound of a human voice from the little bird.
"Boy, you know me! I made you fly!"
"But you were tall."
Charles: "Yes, well, he can shapeshift, remember? Isn't that right, Vincent?"
Vincent: "I can become a giant! I can become as small as a mouse. I can turn you into a bird."
Well, now Rory - and a few other children - were looking to Charles with pleading eyes.
Charles: "Erm, no." His eyes had gone wide with the suggestion. He tried to look more understanding as he shook his head. "No, we won't be turning children into birds, today." Or ever. "Actually, Vincent and I need to leave soon. I've just come to say goodbye."
Vincent: Both children and bird wilted. Charles was right. They had much to do.
"Cynthia wants to know how long," Dothan said, his attention to his left by the window. Cynthia looked to the professor expectantly.
Charles: "Just until tonight, sweetheart. Tomorrow, at the latest." He still wasn't planning to stay, but it was far better to prepare the kids than to potentially lie to them. "Mason will be here."
Vincent: That seemed enough to reassure her. Her contentment had not been passed on to Rory.
"I wanna go!"
Charles: That was only to be expected. He quickly lifted the boy into his arms. "Oh, but everyone here will miss you! I won't be gone long, love. We can go swimming tomorrow, if you'd like. Or we can take the paddle boat out on the lake. Or both! Doesn't that sound like fun?"
Vincent: But the logic wasn't sound! "Tomorrow is forever from now!"
Even Dothan had to laugh at that; quick to cover his mouth as to not make it worse.
Charles: Charles, too, had to bite down on a smile. "Tomorrow will be here before you know it. Promise."
Vincent/Mason: Vincent thought this was all sweet, until he realized Rory looked on the verge of tears. Though he had not taken the brunt of trauma from his captivity, months with Mason and Charles in a protective environment had left him with a bit of separation anxiety.
Mason was home, and in tune enough to appear in the doorway at a moment's notice with old world wisdom.
"What is happening to your face? What is that? Ugh! Your face is gonna freeze like that!"
Rory wiped his eyes of non-existent tears. "Na-uh!"
"I've seen it! Frozen solid!"
Rory wriggled his feet. He wanted down. "I want-"
"Do you want to spend time with this old man? Why don't the two of us go play some ball."
A glance was given to Charles.
Charles: Instinctively, Charles held the boy closer to his chest. It was unhealthy, however natural, for the boy to be unable to stand even a few hours apart from his psuedo-parents. But that didn't stop him from wanting to protect Rory from the world. His sigh of relief at Mason's appearance was nearly audible. He returned the demon's look meaningfully. They'd need to discuss potential solutions, later. For now, he set a squirming Rory onto his feet and smiled tightly. "That sounds like fun!" Charles brushed gently alongside Mason's mind. 'Thank you. I won't be long.'
Vincent/Mason: Vincent wanted to widen the gap between himself and Mason, but remained silent and statuesque. Perhaps if he kept utterly to himself, the demon would not question the creature on his companion's shoulder.
'Is it not obvious where he's taking you?'
Charles: 'It's meant to be a surprise, Mason.' He nudged Rory gently in the demon's direction. "No more tears. There's a good boy. Go, play, and have fun."
Vincent: 'Hardly a surprise, except that you've been invited in the first place.' Rory traded one pseudo father for the other, tugging Mason with both hands towards the backyard.
'Do not forget your ring, should anything happen. Please, feel free to obliterate anyone's mind should they get too close.'
Charles: He rolled his eyes, but nevertheless spilt affectionate warmth into Mason's mind. 'Yes, yes. I'll be careful. I'll defend myself, if I must. And I always have my ring.' His fingers were given a pointed wiggle, the gold glinting bright in the afternoon light pouring through the window. 'I love you. Stop worrying.'
Mason: 'Don't you 'yes yes' me.'
Rory was placed on his shoulders. He was given a quick kiss to his forehead. Rory wanted to do the same, and Mason leaned forward to oblige.
'I love ya.'
Charles: He smiled at those three little words, as well as the kisses from two of his favourite people on the planet. He almost didn't want to leave. Almost. Curiosity and excitement churned into a heady mixture, and he was quick to hug the rest of the children before slipping out of the playroom. "Just going to pack a bag. It won't take five minutes."
Vincent: Vincent finally breathed when those demonic eyes disappeared around the corner. His weight would deaden on Charles' shoulder.
'How did you meet him?'
Charles: He made his way quickly to his bedroom, shutting the door behind them as he entered. "Make yourself comfortable wherever." Charles might not be the best perch, what with the way he had to dig through the closet for his duffle bag. The brown leather was soft and supple with age. "We met at a bar. He borrowed a cigarette. Took an interest in me." That was one way of putting it. He tossed his bag haphazardly onto the bed and grabbed a pair of trousers along with a black, summer-weight sweater. Was that his or Mason's? No matter. "And the rest is history, or however the cliché goes."
Vincent: No, of course he would not move! He was perfectly fine - maybe not with the leather bag. Maybe not with that thick wool sweater. Why? It was much too warm for such clothes!
The little bird coughed, leapt onto Charles' head, tangled in his hair, and hopped onto the comforter. What an ordeal!
"You smoke?" Never mind. He thought on his own relationship. "Four years ago, I fell in love with a giant bear, and slept in his fur. I will never love another.”
Charles: Ow. Well, that was uncomfortable. He gave the familiar a wry smile and ran a hand through his mussed hair. "Occasionally. Less than I used to." Socks and underwear joined the rest of his clothing in short order. An eyebrow rose at Vincent's confession. Never-ending bear love. Intense. "How lovely. I'm assuming this bear can transform into a person?" He disappeared into the en suite bathroom and returned a minute later with a small handful of toiletries. These, he dropped into a side pocket of his bag and zipped the lot shut. "All set."
Vincent: "The most handsome person," he emphasized with great pride. He was still caught up with the fact that Charles smoked. He could not smell tobacco on him, so it must have been rare indeed. The demon, on the other hand. He could still trace his scent across the mansion.
Unceremoniously, Vincent fluttered to the hard wood floor, reshaping in the instant into his human form. Much care was taken in stretching his muscles, especially his arms.
"Moving with me isn't as jarring as a demon, but you might get dizzy. There's more... gyration." It seemed the best word to describe what Charles was about to experience. As his hand was taken, the bedroom begun to spin, as though pirouetting. The direction twisted in reverse, then again, yet Vincent remained gyroscopically sound. He then stepped forward, into the sudden grass. The swirling kaleidoscope of reality righted itself in front of a dark chestnut and wheat mansion. A modest size in comparison to the school. A large fountain surrounded by roses blocked the sight of the double doors.
"We're here!"
Xavier: Xavier felt the new presence the moment Vincent and his guest slipped into the protective ward. He’d given his permission, of course, otherwise there would be quite the bloody mess to wash off the drive.
He adjusted his jacket in the mirror and sighed.
“Hamilton, the doorbell will be ringing in a moment,” he called to his butler.
Charles: Less jarring for whom, precisely? Though Charles nodded and smiled, he still braced himself for the lurch. He was forced to shut his eyes against the spinning, grateful when the world around him went still once again. Well. At least he hadn't gone faintly green, as was usually the case. He still preferred more human means of travel.
His gaze swept over the large house with its neatly manicured grounds. A far cry from Mason's Burtonesque aesthetic, the younger Atlas' home seemed almost welcoming in its familiarity. His mother would have approved. Hitching his bag more securely onto his shoulder, he looked at Vincent with a faint smile. "Lead the way."
Vincent/Mason: Mason would have taken feigned offense. His opinion was understandable. The house had been a safe haven; though the interior had been modified, the exterior left something to be desired. He'd never bothered to upgrade, and Lawrence found it charming. Perhaps the demon did as well, subconsciously.
Vincent smiled warmly, feeling right at home before ever knocking on the door. Though he could have appeared in the foyer, he thought the best impression would be made by ringing the bell and standing outside like gentlemen.
Hamilton/Lydia: The door was opened promptly, revealing an impeccably dressed butler and a lavish interior behind him.
“Good afternoon, Master Vincent, the lord has been expecting you.”
Hamilton stepped aside so they could enter. He offered Charles a pleasant smile just as a pretty and equally pristine maid appeared at his back. “May I take your bag, sir?”
Charles: Correction: his mother would have been overjoyed. Charles returned the smile kindly and slipped the strap from his shoulder. "Yes. Thank you." Too well-bred to gawk at opulence, he glanced politely from one costly furnishing to the next. If the rest of the house wasn't a veritable museum of wealth, he'd eat his bloody hat.
His heart ticked up ever-so-slightly in tempo. What if the man didn't like him? He felt like a teenage boy, meeting his girlfriend's parents for the first time. Absurd. He needed to relax. Still, he found himself smoothing his hair, and straightening the lapels of his grey linen suit, before they were taken to meet their host.
Vincent: Always one to try and shake Hamilton up, the little familiar stood on his toes to kiss the human's cheek. He and MJ Calloway had been scheming as of late. Both believed Fabian was in for a little pampering.
"Where is my demon!" he called, disappearing without his shoes left behind not-so-accidentally. Xavier would suddenly feel strong arms around his waist, a face buried between his shoulder blades. Were those legs around his thighs? Yes. He'd been caught.
Xavier/Hamilton: Hamilton took Charles’ bag, fully intending on telling him and Vincent that Xavier was waiting in the living room when the kiss to his cheek made him blush furiously and clear his throat.
This caused the maid behind him to smile to herself and step in. "Lord Atlas is waiting for you in the living room. Please, follow me."
This last was said only to Charles; Lydia was unfazed and unsurprised by Vincent's departure and abandonment of his shoes. She simply gathered them up and led Charles through a pair of heavy French doors just off the foyer and into the living room where Xavier was busy being attack-hugged by Vincent.
It was a far sillier first impression than the imposing one he usually went with, but even so it would quickly be painfully obvious that this man could not be more different from Mason.
Xavier Atlas stood tall and proud, clad head to toe in Armani, and reflected the extreme wealth that surrounded him. He spared no expense on his home or his appearance.
"My lord, your guest has arrived," Lydia said to him, setting down Vincent's shoes beside one of the couches.
"Thank you, Lydia." Another difference made itself known as Xavier spoke. His accent was polished and cultured, more indicative of having grown up in the poshest areas of London than in a working-class town in Yorkshire. "Tea service, please."
"Yes, my lord."
Charles: Oh. Oh. That flush was adorable. Charles was going to have fun with that one. He smiled, perhaps more brightly than was strictly polite, and thanked the butler. He turned the same grin on the maid and dipped his head. "Certainly."
Whatever he'd been expecting, it certainly wasn't Vincent clinging to a tree of a man like a spider monkey. Leave it to the familiar to help loosen some of the tension in his shoulders. He muffled a small laugh with his forearm, feigning a cough. Xavier was tall and broad, and certainly would have cut an intimidating figure, if not for his new accessory.
Still, Charles' dazzling grin from earlier had faded into a smile that was almost shy. Was Vincent going to make an introduction? He could only stand there awkwardly in someone's parlor for so long.
Vincent: Vincent slowly climbed his way to the peak of this magnificent mountain of demon. What made one more significant than the other was purely selfish. He was aware of what this man had done to his mistress. Long ago he'd forgiven what he doubted Bronwyn MacAllister could. He made no excuses for the creature he clung to. He was wicked, but never was he boring. What's more, he believed in love, the same which resonated with the familiar. As much as he admired Charles Xavier, he could not comprehend why he resisted fate.
No matter! The two would find each other interesting, or they would kill each other.
"You smell good today. What is th - Professor! This," which he rested his chin on, arms now around his shoulders in a piggyback ride, "is Xavier Atlas. How old are you now? A thousand? Anyway. This is Charles Xavier. Isn't that humorous? You two should have met years ago."
Xavier: Much as Xavier wanted to smile at Vincent's antics, he refrained. Not that he stood frowning at his guest, his smile was simply not as easy as it would've been had he and Vincent been alone. It was polite and interested.
At least until he heard the name, and the scent clinging to the man finally registered. Then the interest turned to something he couldn't quite name. Trepidation? Anxiety? An impending sense of doom? Probably a combination.
"A gentleman doesn't speak of such matters, Vincent," he said, gathering himself and regally inclining his head toward Charles. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Xavier Atlas. Please, sit."
Charles: Charles' smile was big enough for the both of them, the sort of smile good manners forced out of him, when nerves threatened his careful composure. When he spoke, it was in an accent that rivaled the demon's, all gentle, Oxfordian refinement. "I assure you, Mr. Atlas, the pleasure is all mine."
His hand twitched at his side, itching to extend, but he did as he was bid, folding into an armchair with a frankly surprising amount of grace. "Thank you, for inviting me into your home. Or, rather, for allowing Vincent to invite me." A smile, softer, as his eyes met the familiar's. "I appreciate the introduction." Clearly, he was never going to get one from the elder Atlas. "I do hope it isn't too much of an imposition."
Vincent: With some reluctance, Vincent forced himself to his own two feet. He had no intention of leaving the two men alone in this room. Whatever would happen, he would play his median role to the best of his abilities. Hamilton and tea would also be used as balm.
"I have not planned past this moment. Spontaneity, I think, is the most honest method to learn someone." The bird took to perching on the back of the nearest chair with ease.
Xavier: "Not at all." Xavier took his usual chair by the fireplace. And it was true, having a guest was no imposition. Having this guest however...
"Well, in the spirit of honesty, may I ask how long we have until my brother arrives on his pale horse to rain Armageddon on me? I'd like to know if I have time for tea."
Charles: "Rain...? No." Charles shook his head, a mite too emphatically. "No, no, no. Mason won't be bothering you on my account. Not if I have any say in the matter. He knows where I am. Moreover, he's rather... preoccupied, presently. We've plenty of time for tea." Good lord, Mason. "I must say, I've wanted to meet you for quite a while, now. To put a face to the name, so to speak. "
Xavier: Xavier's brow arched. "Mason knows you're here? You're telling me my brother is fully aware of where you were going and still allowed you to come here?"
Hamilton entered the living room silently, making himself invisible as he poured tea.
"You'll have to forgive me, Charles, but I find it difficult to believe that one, your presence here isn't courting Mason's wrath and two, that the no doubt charming things he's probably told you about me made you want to meet me."
Charles: Charles laughed, though not unkindly. It was a bright, somewhat startled sound. "I think you've misunderstood the nature of my relationship with your brother. He does not allow me to do anything." Outside of the bedroom, anyway, but that was certainly an inappropriate topic of conversation. "I'm a grown man, perfectly capable of looking after myself. And a schoolful of children, for that matter."
He looked into Xavier's eyes, searching, though he didn't know the man well enough to read them as he did Mason's. "I can't speak to his present mood, but he seemed calm enough when I left him. In any case, I believe his respect for me runs deeper than... temper tantrums. You couldn't possibly know this, of course, but I'm not the sort of man who casts judgment a person I've never met. I don't form opinions based on someone else's beliefs. Even someone I love as deeply as I do your brother."
The corner of his mouth twitched up in a private smile. "Not that I've been given much to consider, regardless. He's my family. And you're his. That's reason enough for me."
Xavier: "I don't doubt that you are, Charles." Xavier accepted his tea from Hamilton. "And I do not doubt that he cares deeply for you and affords you respect. I'm simply extremely well-versed in my brother's opinion of me and I was under the impression that he'd rather chew on broken glass and rusted nails than accept my being near anyone he's close to or them being near me."
He waited while Hamilton handed cups to both Charles and Vincent.
"All that being said, I appreciate that you're not here with a torch and pitchfork." Although calling him and Mason a family was probably a stretch. At best they were grudging sharers of DNA.
Vincent: Vincent looked between the two men. Waited on bated breath for the very brother to appear in the middle of the living room. He knew he was allowed, as he'd seen him before, but as the subject continued to be revolved, the more he grew concerned.
"He might just fry me when neither of you are looking. Cook me in duck fat and serve me to unsuspecting - probably you," to Xavier.
Charles: He smiled warmly at the handsome one as he accepted his cup, scooping a few spoons of sugar into the steaming liquid and finishing the lot with a splash of milk.
"I do what I can." He took a small sip and hummed his appreciation. "I suppose only time will truly tell. I hope you won't fault my having a bit of faith in him."
Charles chuckled softly, looking to Vincent with a shrug. "Now, that, I'd consider a possibility. I don't think he's forgiven you for the library incident. Though, you're one of the handful of friends I have that isn't pubescent, so I think I can plead your case."
Xavier: "No, I don't fault you." He couldn't relate to the impulse, but he definitely couldn't fault Charles for it. That's what love was, after all.
"Mason wouldn't dare do such a thing, canary," said Xavier, smiling softly at Vincent. "To harm a single hair on your head would be to court the wrath of someone whose amulets you wear even now."
Vincent: "I don't know about that. They're-" he glanced to Charles. His penchant for gossip was weighted by his respect for the mutant. He bowed his head to him. Had the flight of a child really caused so much damage?
"I think my mistress would eventually forgive his sin. My master... probably not."
Charles: He smiled, warm and faintly amused. "I'm only teasing, my friend. If you think Bronwyn would ever forgive him, I'll take your word. I certainly wouldn't. He'd steal the moon for her."
Xavier: Steal the moon and commit arson. Probably best not to bring that up. Wouldn't want to taint the miraculously untainted opinion of him Charles somehow had.
"Indeed he would. Cake?"
Hamilton had seemingly produced a cake out of thin air and was already cutting Vincent a generous portion.
Vincent: His eyes brightened at the thought of sweets. More than just an expression; try were quite literally illuminated for a heartbeat.
"Hamilton, did you make this yourself? You beautiful man."
Charles: "Beautiful, indeed." His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "I have a ruthless sweet tooth. I'd love a slice." He took another sip of tea while he watched Hamilton work. "You have a lovely home, Xavier," he began, apropos of nothing. Small talk seemed safer than pushing more on the subject of the estranged siblings. For the moment, anyway. "May I ask why you chose California? It seems a sharp contrast to England's grey skies."
Xavier: Hamilton smiled and shook his head. His cheeks flushed again but this time he did not deviate from his task. He just kept his head down and served. "No, Master Vincent, I did not. Christine made it." The it in question was chiffon cake filled with summer berries and chantilly cream.
"Thank you, Charles," said Xavier, giving his guest a more sincere smile as Hamilton worked. "I chose it for the weather. I don't really spend much time in England these days. My time is split between here, Italy, and France."
Vincent: "I like France best. Their pastries are worth more than gold."
So far, the atmosphere had remained pleasant. He didn't suspect a shift in tone, not with cake and tea. For now, his muscles had lost their tension.
Charles: Any cake with fresh strawberries was a ticket directly to the professor's heart. He accepted the plate graciously, but tucked in with a mite too much enthusiasm to be considered truly polite.
"Oh," he began, once he'd swallowed a large forkful. "How lovely. I think I'd miss the clouds. Nothing like an overcast day to calm the mind. It's been too long since I visited France. Mason and I have only just gotten back from Positano. It was a wonderful holiday, aside from a mild sunburn. Where in Italy do you live?"
Xavier: Xavier chuckled into his teacup, and not just because he couldn't imagine his brother vacationing in Italy.
"Positano," he said. How was that for an extraordinary coincidence? "In a villa on the coast." Time to up the wards on his vacation home, just in case.
Charles: His eyes widened slightly. Wow. The world was vanishingly small. "You don't say," he laughed, low and genuinely amused, not holding an ounce of a suspicion at the coincidence. "We stayed on the coast. Booked a hotel overlooking the ocean. I wouldn't be surprised if we walked right past your place without knowing. It's certainly a beautiful place. I might've entertained a fantasy or two of moving the school there." Not that he ever would.
Vincent: While Charles held no suspicion, Vincent's carried skepticism enough for all of the men in the house. Of course Mason must have known. How could he not?
"Spain in spring. All of the food and flowers. The children would love it. Most of them."
Xavier: Unless Mason had been doing reconnaissance on him, there was no way he’d know of Xavier’s Italian home. They didn’t exactly talk very often or chit chat about their lives and real estate choices.
“Oh you’d know. Or Mason would. Wards give off energy signatures.” He smiled at Vincent. “Anyone would enjoy Spain in spring. I personally favor Granada.”
Charles: "Do they? Fascinating." Charles had never felt them, though he'd been told that Mason's home was quite well-warded. He turned to Vincent with a twitch of a smile. "You may be right. Though, the lovely weather might distract them from their work. I think we'll stay put, for now."
Vincent: "Children? Work?" The familiar made a face. "Children shouldn't work until their twelfth year."
Charles: He chuckled softly and lifted a shoulder. "You'll have to take that up with the United States education system. Most children start kindergarten at five or six. Then there's preschool, for the ambitious parents."
Vincent: The bird was absolutely mortified! He looked to Xavier for confirmation.
Xavier: Xavier chuckled into his tea. "Yes, my dear, it's true. Small children attend school."
Vincent: "But they learn on their own in the woods and clearings and swimming! They must learn from nature and observation at home!"
Xavier: "Most are taught by underpaid public servants in public schools."
Vincent: "There is nothing to learn from strangers in a cold building."
Xavier: "I agree. Colleen will teach Devlin."
Charles: "I think there's something to be said for group schooling. Children develop social skills. They learn cooperation and independence from their parents." He took a small sip from his cup. "I do agree that the present system can use some improving. Public school teachers don't have the resources to do as much good as they could. Class sizes are entirely too large. That's to say absolutely nothing of mutants who manifest early," He paused. Smiled. It was a subject he was passionate about. "Anyway, we have our kids on a homeschool curriculum, for the time being."
Xavier: Well then. What a noble and dedicated man his brother had managed to find.
"For the time being? Do you have plans to change the curriculum?"
Vincent: Wasn't he just? Vincent liked him, regardless of this realm's obsession with brick and mortar buildings and lack of natural education. Charles was cut from a different cloth.
Now it was his turn to be quiet.
Charles: He took a bite of cake and chewed thoroughly, mainly to give himself time to think. It was a long story, but he'd be succinct. "Most likely. We offer classes for mutant children from seventh through twelfth grade. A little more advanced than public school, but we cover everything we need to. We've recently... taken on a group of elementary aged kids who have manifested early. We're not really equipped to handle their needs, so we're looking into other placements." And failing. Charles was particular. "In the meantime, it's a strain on our resources. Mainly staff."
Xavier: "Do you not have enough teachers to go around or are your teachers not experienced in working with younger children?"
Charles: "Bit of both. Our staff is the lifeblood of the school. They're remarkable, but they're overworked as it is. And teaching elementary aged kids... it's another world. They require much more direct engagement and supervision."
Xavier: "You should hire a nanny to help with the supervision portion of things. And the engagement."
Vincent: Vincent perked up, but only for a moment. He was back to stuffing his face in no time.
Charles: "It's an option. It would certainly do on a temporary basis. Ideally, I want each of them adopted into loving homes. Mason and I are in the process of adopting our two youngest. I'm acting as guardian for the others, in the meantime." He'd had nannies growing up. He'd loved each of them. But he had no intention of being a parent that even vaguely resembled his own.
Vincent: Wait... "You're adopting...with him?"
Xavier: Xavier slowly lowered his cup. Charles had successfully stunned him into (temporary) silence.
Charles: "That's the plan." His smile was warm, if somewhat amused by their reactions. "You've met Rory and Cynthia, Vincent. They're already ours, it's just a matter of paperwork. These things can take years, if you want everything above board." Which he did. No clever contracts, no greased palms. "We both knew it was what we wanted for a while, but it was Mason who finally voiced it."
Vincent: Well, now it was Vincent stunned into silence. He and the demon would have to take turns speaking up.
Xavier: "My goodness, that's...I'm astonished. In a good way, of course." Mostly. Perhaps. He never, ever thought Mason would want to go down that road again so to hear it was his idea to go through with an above board adoption of not one, but two small mutant children....
"How wonderful for you both."
Charles: "Thank you. We're both very happy with the decision. Rory and Cee are... they're great kids." He steadfastly refused to get emotional about the situation. He shoved a forkful of cake into his mouth. Classy.
Vincent: Well, he was happy for Charles, that much was true. "You should see them," he finally said to Xavier. "The boy has such a colorful power!" he laughed.
Xavier: Xavier caught Vincent’s eye while Charles wasn’t looking and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Not only was that not a good idea, Mason wouldn’t allow it in a million years.
But rather than allude to that in any way he said, “Does he indeed? Well let’s hope he reaches his fullest potential.”
Charles: "He does," Charles agreed, gaze flitting sparrow-like between the pair of them. "And you're right, Vincent. That's an excellent idea. I should've considered it myself."
Vincent: Oh. Well there. He didn't have to feel guilty now! He smiled at the demon and took another bite. He wanted to share Charles with everyone, and if this was the way to do it, so be it.
Xavier: "Mm." Xavier sipped his tea. These two were being entirely too optimistic about how that potential situation would go. "Perhaps one day. More tea?" Right after the sun exploded and it snowed in Hell.
Charles: Charles smiled sunnily. Did Xavier realize how like his brother he actually was? The telepath knew that dubious expression. He'd seen it a hundred times if he'd seen it once, albeit on a scruffier and more beloved face. Xavier wasn't yet familiar with Charles, however. His single-minded determination was something to behold, and his hooks were already buried deep within the idea. "One day soon. I'd love some, thanks."
Xavier/Hamilton: Hamilton appeared seemingly from thin air as soon as Charles said the word and refreshed his cup, then Vincent's and Xavier's.
"Let's see what the future holds," he said with a somewhat tight smile. Although he already knew what his future held and that was a great deal of unpleasantness.
Vincent: "Is Devlin old enough to play with Rory?" Vincent asked as Hamilton left the room. Was that man on the other side of the door listening? Vincent peeked over his shoulder.
Charles: He didn't flinch, but it was impressive. Was the handsome butler's readiness from fear? Loyalty? Or was the man simply good at his job? It was something to consider. He looked to Xavier with earnest curiosity. "Your son, yes?" Mason had mentioned a nephew in passing, but Charles had chosen not the press, at the time. "Rory will be six, soon."
Xavier/Hamilton: Not outside the door, but standing at attention just inside it, ready for any order Xavier might give. Hamilton took great pride in his work.
The tight smile remained in place as Xavier nodded. "Yes, Devlin is my son and as yet a bit too young to play with older children." Never mind that Devlin had recently turned five and was perfectly able to and frequently did play with older children from Colleen's village.
Vincent: Vincent looked between the two fathers. "He's quite big now," he muttered. He was not oblivious to what Xavier was trying to do. This was just a bird pecking at a lion.
Charles: Charles believed Vincent's mumbling, but he wouldn't push where the child was concerned. He was just as protective of his own kids. Trust had to be earned. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't extend an olive branch. "Ah. Fair enough. Well, my children love meeting new people. Rory most especially. Cynthia is... shy, but kind. I'm sure they'll be very curious about Mason's brother."
Xavier: Vincent could peck all he liked, Xavier would not be moved from his position. He was being reasonably cautious.
"Do they know he has one?"
Charles: "Not yet. I wanted to meet you, first." Said simply. He took a sip from his tea.
Vincent: Oh. Oh. Eyes darted between them, then back to Hamilton, then back to the men. "And you do now." Pause. "Yay..."
Charles: Charles snorted softly into his cup, quickly attempting to cover the sound by clearing his throat. "I have, yes. And I feel comfortable enough to let them know. Of course, I still need to speak with Mason." Just another hurdle to jump.
Xavier: "I'll be astonished if he admits it aloud," Xavier muttered, not bothering to hide his pessimism. If Charles was determined to have this happen then he might as well know what he was up against.
Vincent: More frantic eyes between them. It wasn't Charles he was concerned with now. Let's be honest. Most of his concern began and ended with the Atlas brothers.
"Maybe a middle ground? What if...what if the children met...where I live?"
Charles: "He's admitted it to me." The patented Atlas pessimism was nothing new. Charles was patient enough to wade through it. "It's kind of you to offer, my friend. If we come to that point, I may take you up on it. None of these decisions can be made without Mason."
Xavier: “Yes, I suppose he did. That makes one time then. Suppose that’s something.”
Nothing had been decided and Xavier was already beginning to brood; Vincent was right to be concerned.
Vincent: "Great! So now we talk to big-little brother, then."
Xavier: Xavier snorted. Big-little brother. Mason would hate that description and for that very reason Xavier loved it.
Charles: Charles bit his lip. It wasn't funny. All right, it was. Xavier was a bloody giant. But he was too loyal to chuckle. A sip of tea to collect himself and he pulled out his mobile. "I'll call him."
Xavier: “Lucifer help us all,” came another mutter.
Charles: He hummed quietly as he unlocked his phone. In for a penny. If there was going to be bloodshed, he'd rather it happen while the children weren't present. Baby steps. He pulled up Mason's number and sent the call.
Mason: He would be answered after a single ring. "Everything alright?"
Charles: Not surprising. He suspected Mason had been watching the time, phone in hand. The thought was exasperating, but it made him smile. "Better than, darling. We're having tea and cake. Vincent had a wonderful idea, and I thought we could discuss it."
Mason: Oh he did, did he? "N'what's that?" His tone was gentle; the kind of gentle Charles might recognize as his attempt at levelheadedness.
Charles: Oh, lovely. This was going to be so enjoyable. Pessimism from both sides. Not a surprise, but it had him turning up the cheer to practically exhausting levels. "He... we were thinking that Xavier ought to have a chance to meet Rory and Cee." He held his breath, braced for impact. Perhaps this was a conversation better held outside. He mumbled a quick 'pardon me' and started for the door.
Mason: Charles might want to reconsider roaming about. "Would Rory n'Cynthia have a chance t'meet their cousin?" A question asked after one second from Charles' suggestion.
Charles: "Mm." He paused, glanced back to where Vincent and Xavier still sat. "There's been some hesitation, in that regard." Charles couldn't say if it was himself, Mason, or the children that Xavier was worried about. Most likely some combination of the three. "I thought perhaps if their... uncle had a chance to meet them, that might change. I'm not in any rush, there."
Mason: "Seems a bit one-sided t'me. He gets my whole family. That's what he wants? I wanna hear him say it."
Charles: "He is your family, Mason. Someone has to take the first step. I think it can be us. But, fine." He crossed back to his chair, putting the phone on speaker with a quick swipe. "Ask him yourself. He can hear you."
Vincent/Mason: Well, fuck.
Vincent bit back a smile. Oh, he liked Charles very much.
By now Mason was pacing Charles' bedroom. He was angry. Not at Charles, but rather the situation itself. "Ya wanna meet my children, Xavier, or not?"
Xavier: This was a terrible idea. That was all Xavier could think as Charles walked off to talk to Mason and he thought it again when Charles returned and put the phone on speaker for some godforsaken reason.
“Hello to you, too,” Xavier deadpanned. “I am well, thank you. To answer your question, not if doing so is going to involve damage to my person.”
Mason: "Ya wouldn't dare hurt a child. Would ya, Xavier?" The deadpan was as much an Atlas trait as their snide and tense shoulders. There was no difference between their original bodies to these Deidrich men.
Xavier: Xavier’s jaw clenched. “That you would even ask that is insulting.”
Charles: Rolling his eyes, Charles cut in before anyone could further fan the embers already being stirred between them. "For the love of all that is good in this world. Mason is not going to hurt you for spending time with the children that are your niece and nephew, in all the ways that matter. And Xavier isn't going to hurt them, either. How long have I been here, hm? Have I been so much as threatened? Has Mason stormed in guns blazing? No. And clearly that isn't going to happen."
Vincent/Mason: Silence on the phone. Silence from the bird, now sitting on the edge of his seat like this was prime time television. Or in his simpler point-of-view, watching a dragon rage war with a town.
Xavier: He already had stormed in guns blazing, years ago. And no matter what Charles said or how much he reassured, Xavier would always believe that his brother was just waiting for an excuse to do it again.
And quite frankly, he’d just about had enough of this today.
If anyone was expecting him to be the bigger man, they would be sorely disappointed. His library was calling him and that was precisely where he was going.
Charles: Blue eyes narrowed at Xavier's retreating back. He could call it a battle lost, try again some other time. But something inside of him worried that he'd never have a similar opportunity. Jaw set and shoulders back, Charles followed in the demon's wake. Pride and temper had him wanting to lash out, but there was enough of that between the brothers without him adding his own fuel. "Xavier, wait." A deep, measured breath.
"Please." It was a level of politeness that Charles hadn't been shown, but he offered it regardless. "Clearly, a promise from me means nothing. Will you accept one from your brother? His word that he won't harm you?" Someone had to swallow their god-damned pride. "Mason, please."
Mason: He walked off, didn't he? He damn near asked but knew better. What froze his pace was hearing that Charles had followed. Was the man he loved in danger? Someone would have the good fucking sense to do something. He felt helpless, holding a goddamn phone to his ear.
"The...children...have a right t'know one another. I don't want violence 'round my babies. Of course not."
Xavier: It was just as well that Mason hadn't voiced that concern aloud; it absolutely wouldn't have helped the situation.
Charles was in no danger and wouldn't be, not today or any other day. Xavier just wanted some peace in his own goddamn house, was that so much to ask?
Apparently.
"I do not doubt that your promises are made with full confidence and the best of intentions, Charles, and they are appreciated. But you just heard precisely what my brother thinks of me. Even absent violence, there is open and palpable hostility. My son has the right to know his family, but I won't subject him to that. And I don't think you want to subject your children to that either. This will only work if Mason in his infinite wisdom can find it in himself to pretend he doesn't want my head on a pike and act like he actually tolerates my presence."
Charles: Far too much to ask from Charles Francis Xavier. "I could say the same for you." His tone was clipped, but controlled. Good breeding was all that he had in the face of his rising frustration. "From my vantage, if he wanted your head on a pike, it would be there. Trust isn't going to materialize from nothing, and you can't expect all ground to be ceded on his end. The hostility here isn't only coming from Mason, Xavier. You know your brother. Do you truly believe that he would behave like a brute in front of his own children? I know that if I believed that of him, we'd never have gotten this far."
He ran the hand not gripping his phone like a vice through his hair. "We're all adults, perfectly capable of civility."
Mason: "Fuckin' pot t'kettle." Charles was trying so hard. This was just going to be another reason he'd find him drinking in the study, or in their bedroom, or in the kitchen with a spare moment. He couldn't have that.
He would wait for a beat after Charles, waiting for something. When that something didn't come he said, "The children will never know a thing." Perhaps Rory would see a change in aura, but nothing outwardly.
Xavier: He had never longed for peace and quiet more than he did in this moment. This was meant to be his sanctuary, and barring divine intervention, there mere mention of Mason would always cause discord.
"Oh, I've extended my share of olive branches so believe me, I'm not the one who has trouble ceding ground or whose first instinct is to make insulting remarks."
Xavier took a careful, measured breath. He would not give either of them the satisfaction of making him lose his composure completely. "If the two of you would be so kind as to extend me the courtesy of allowing me to consider the matter, you'll have my answer in a fortnight. And Charles, because I am capable of civility, you may finish out your visit as planned. My staff will see to your needs. Now, you'll excuse me."
Xavier was going to his library and the door would be locked behind him.
Charles: His mouth tightened, at that, but he knew well enough to keep biting remarks to himself. Charles was not one to let his temper rule him. "Of course. Thank you." Consideration was far better than an outright 'no.' He'd take it.
For someone so confident in his own courtesy, Xavier seemed quick to shut the door in a guest's face. Another remark the telepath would keep private. He wouldn't stay. Clearly, his welcome had run its course, no matter what the demon had said. He'd be grateful for the mere inches they'd progressed, this afternoon, and return home to his children. He turned away from the door and started back the way he'd come, switching the mobile off of speaker and pressing it to his ear. "That went well, I think," he murmured to Mason, on the verge of bursting into inappropriate laughter. "I'll be home in a bit."
Vincent/Mason: Mason finally blew a breath and slumped against the wall. Holy Hell. That could have been a lot worse. As far as conversations went, Charles wouldn't have known how relatively peaceful that had been.
"Have the bird bring ya home already."
Vincent was following Hamilton around, buzzing his ear with questions of Leon and when, when was Hamilton going to learn magic?
"You're more than a pretty, pretty face. Come on. You need a cauldron!"
Hamilton: Hamilton didn’t mind, answering Vincent’s questions as he cleared up and made his way to the kitchen. “I don’t need a cauldron, Master Vincent,” he chuckled. “I have no magic.”
Charles: "Relax. I'm going to go find him. I love you. Bye."
With that, he'd return to the sitting room they'd been in earlier, searching for Vincent or anyone who might direct Charles to him.
Lydia: Charles would find Lydia at the foot of the stairs, where Hamilton had told her to wait. “Is there anything I can assist you with, Mr. Xavier?”
Charles: How convenient. Charles didn't miss his upbringing, but he could admit that having someone available to assist at any time was lovely.
"Yes, actually. Have you seen Vincent? I believe my visit is over, for today."
Lydia: The slender blonde maid nodded. “Yes, I believe he is in the kitchen. If you’d like to return to the drawing room, I’ll fetch him for you.”
Charles: "Of course. Thank you." Most convenient. He'd do as she suggested and return to the room, reclaim his previous seat and silently speculate on the likelihood of this ever getting any easier.
Hamilton/Lydia: Lydia nodded and went to the kitchen.
Hamilton saw her first. “What is it, Lydia?”
“Mr. Xavier is looking for Master Vincent. He would like to return home. He’s waiting in the drawing room.”
Vincent: Vincent turned to Lydia and pointed. "Do you know magic?" Seemingly ignoring everything said.
Lydia: She smiled. “No, Master Vincent, I don’t.”
Vincent: "You live with a demon!" exclaimed to both.
Hamilton: “He does all the magic,” said Hamilton. “Master Rohan does also.”
Vincent: Sigh. The familiar frowned to both mortals. He wanted more outlets. His finger raised, mouth open - he walked out of the room.
"Charles?" he called before entering the room. "You okay, friend?"
Charles: Charles grunted to his feet, smoothing down his clothes as he did.
"Perfectly well. Thank you, Vincent. But, if we can locate where my bag has been stowed, I'd like to go home."
Vincent: "I'll get it." He would only be a moment. "I've heard they can be worse," he said upon return. Not so much heard as he had seen via memories.
Charles: He nodded, taking his duffle from Vincent and slinging it over his shoulder. "That went better than I expected, honestly. Can't expect to tear down a century's worth of walls in a single afternoon. We might get somewhere, provided they don't kill each other first. Shall we?"
Vincent: "I don't think they will? They're a lot of bark with all gums." He hoped Xavier couldn't hear that; he liked visiting here.
"Ready?" After a beat, and a hand on Charles' wrist, both were transported back to New York, exactly where they had disappeared from.
Vincent placed his hand on the professor's chest as though to brace him from the zero gravity experience.
Charles: He laughed, the sound only ceasing when they were defying the laws of physics.
A smile, when he was on solid ground once more. "Thank you. For the introduction and bringing me home. Give Xavier my thanks and apologies for cutting the afternoon short, when you next see him." There was no reason he couldn't be polite. "I should go and find my demon."
Vincent: "And I'll go console my demon," he smiled. "Hey, maybe you should bring candied ginger with you on these trips. With anyone. Mistress says it helps stomachs."
Charles: "I'll give it a try. Whatever helps."
He gave the familiar's shoulder a pat, and would wait for him to leave before heading inside. "I'll see you."
Torsten: "Yes. How do you feel about Iceland in Autumn?"
Bronwyn: "Verra favorable. Is it a thing that's goin' to happen?"
Torsten: "Yes. That's what's going to happen, Thistle."
Bronwyn: -surprise! you now have an armful of scot-
Torsten: "How are your boys?"
Bronwyn: "They're lovely. I still can't believe Lucien's married. He was seventeen five minutes ago."
Torsten: "Still a baby," he said.
Bronwyn: "No' that much of one. He's matured so much."
Torsten: "I'm five hundred years old, love."
Bronwyn: "Well from yer perspective, yes," she chuckled. "We're all babes in yer eyes. Even us nearly middle-aged folk."
Torsten: "Yes, but you're an old soul."
Bronwyn: "I definitely feel like one."
Torsten: "I would know." He wondered what her past incarnations must have been like. Goddesses of their time.
Bronwyn: "Ye would indeed." She smiled up at him. "So ye're takin' me to Iceland this fall?"
Torsten: "Yes. I'm going home for... some time. My sister is lonely. I'm thinking September. Will that be something you can do?"
Bronwyn: She nodded. "Aye, I can definitely do that. How long are ye goin' to stay?"
Torsten: "I don't know yet."
Bronwyn: "What's Flora's favorite color?"
Torsten: "It's not a color. Not really. Ice. Crystals. Diamonds. Clear and shimmering."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "I can definitely work with that."
Torsten: "What are you going to do?"
Bronwyn: "Science. Of the gift givin' variety."
Torsten: "Going to tell me?"
Bronwyn: "Eventually."
Torsten: "Fine. Be sisterly and secretive with Flora."
Bronwyn: "I need to figure out what I'm gettin' her before I let ye weigh in."
Torsten: "You haven't even seen her," he chuckled.
Bronwyn: "Which is why ye get to weigh in."
Bronwyn: "Speakin' of, what's her favorite flower?"
Torsten: "She's more interested in herbs, but... The flowers that come from fruit enchant her."
Bronwyn: "Herbs, ye say? Which ones? I've got all of them."
Torsten: "Something about dill calms her. Hmm. Rosemary, fennel...Warm...things."
Bronwyn: "I know what I'm givin' her."
Torsten: "If it's any help, she always makes her ghoul a rose cake."
Bronwyn: "It is indeed. I'm goin' to make her some bath products."
Torsten: "Bath products for a vampire. I love you dearly, Thistle."
Bronwyn: "Ev'ryone likes pretty soap. And I make the prettiest soap."
Torsten: Torsten was doing his best to bed his smile. "A rosemary and rose with a crystal inside?"
Bronwyn: "The crystals are goin' to be for somethin' else, but aye, there's goin' to be rosemary and rose."
Torsten: "Turn around. Let me tend to your hair."
Bronwyn: "As ye will then," she said, turning around.
Torsten: Torsten took his time parting the hair from her shoulders. There was no point in doing so yet he did it anyway. He went so far as to haphazardly braid her hair, something he'd done for his sisters over the centuries.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn tilted her head back, letting him do as he pleased. She loved when he played with her hair. It was...soothing. "How are my ends? Time for a trim?"
Torsten: "Have your hair as long as you like. I don't understand women with short hair. I don't see the appeal."
Bronwyn: "I haven't had short hair for years and the only reason I cut it then was a rather unexpected incident with my stove. My kitchen smelled like burnt hair for weeks."
Torsten: "I used to have long hair," he explained. "Down past my shoulders it was. Fauna insisted on letting it lock."
Bronwyn: She tilted her head back even further so she could study him. "Verra fittin' for a Vikin'. Can't imagine it though."
Torsten: "Don't attempt. It only lasted for fifty years before I shaved my head."
Bronwyn: "Now that I can imagine. I like yer hair. It's soft and it smells good."
Torsten: "You've smelled my hair?" he laughed.
Bronwyn: "Of course! I've smelled yer hair, yer skin, and I stare at yer ass and yer muscles when ye move. I'm a big fan o' the arms."
Torsten: "You sound like an enthusiastic fan. I've felt your hand on my ass in the shower. You're not as subtle as you think." With her braid finished, the comb was placed center, the crown of leaves following.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "I don't usually try to be. Sometimes in public I do but when we're alone, no' so much."
Bronwyn: "And it's such a lovely ass."
Torsten: "Well, you could end a war with your breasts. We're both quite shallow, aren't we?"
Bronwyn: "Now that is by far the best compliment anyone's ever given me."
She beamed. "We are. Delightful, isn't it?"
Torsten: "A breath of fresh air, it is." Gently, she was spun. "You're a princess now."
Bronwyn: The moment she was she made a beeline for the nearest mirror, smiling at her reflection. "Ye've done a lovely job. Thank ye for the gift."
Torsten: "Thank you for... " existing.
Bronwyn: She turned and wrapped him in a hug.
Torsten: By this point, Torsten had stopped asking for permission. She was lifted into his arms and cradled. "So, when can I meet your baby?"
Bronwyn: Permission was well established and permanent; Torsten could pick her up any time he wanted.
"As soon as ye like."
Torsten: "Whenever you're ready."
Bronwyn: "How quickly can ye pack?"
Torsten: "I live in a hotel. Give me thirty minutes."
Bronwyn: "Then step lively, love."
Torsten: "Going to help me? You got here by your bird, didn't you?"
Bronwyn: "I did indeed. But if ye need to mentally prepare I can book us a flight."
Torsten: "That won't be necessary, Thistle." Said Thistle was placed on the bed, stomach kissed. This was his stepping lively.
Bronwyn: "Then we shall be travelin' by the grace o' Vincent. He'll need a cupcake."
Bronwyn hummed at the kiss, petting Torsten's hair. "Careful no' to ruin yer handiwork."
Torsten: "I can just brush and braid your hair again," he said, kissing up her ribs to her breasts, kissing despite the irritating clothing.
Bronwyn: "Mmm, quite so," she said thoughtfully. Still, she carefully slipped the comb out of her hair before laying back. The braid should be redone, but the gift was special.
More hums followed in the wake of his lips, serene and quietly delighted. Even with the clothes in the way she knew the texture of his lips against her skin; she'd memorized it.
"Takin' a detour, Mr. Glockner?"
Torsten: The revenant smiled up at the druid. "I do prefer the scenic route. Are you going to be impatient with me?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled back. "Only if ye don't kiss me."
Torsten: Of course he wouldn't deny her. Crawling up her body, clothes were made loose, untucked and unbuttoned along his path to her lips.
Bronwyn: So efficient, she thought, wrapping around him the moment he was close enough. Her kiss was everything gentle and loving and soft, a reminder to both herself and him that they were here together despite everything they'd endured.
Torsten: "You should allot more time for us, Thistle." His kisses were becoming dangerously long. The more entwined they became the more lavishing and attentive the osculation escalated. He could feel her words in her passion.
Bronwyn: "Just wait until we get to New Orleans," she whispered in between kisses. Her breath was becoming labored, her hold tighter. Of all the days to wear jeans. "I'm goin' to spoil ye rotten in a thousand diff'rent ways."
Starting with kissing him senseless while trying to get that shirt off. It was in her way.
Torsten: Her lavishing kiss was broken in order to give her what she wanted, letting her do with his shirt what she pleased. Their minimal gap was closed with a nuzzle, a soft bite, and lips pressed with hunger. "Spoil me here."
Bronwyn: After slipping Torsten's shirt off, Bronwyn let her legs fall from his waist so she could gain the leverage to flip them over, a move she'd perfected over the course of their relationship.
"Oh I will," she murmured, leaving a trail of kisses that started at his lips and moved across his jaw, neck, and chest.
Torsten: Softly, the beastly revenant growled with need, body firm and wanting. This was their default state of being. It was a wonder they ever managed to escape a bedroom.
Bronwyn: A soft, lilting laugh spilled from her lips at the growl. She would never, ever tire of hearing it, just like she would never tire of Torsten's smile or the storm of emotion in his eyes when he looked at her.
"Who's the impatient one now?" she asked the air, kissing her way up and down both his arms.
Torsten: "I find your spoiling to be torturous. Spoil me with haste!" he laughed.
Bronwyn: That laugh made her heart grow three sizes. "Torturous for ye maybe, but positively delightful for me." From his arms back to his chest, across his collar bones, his abdomen, that wonderful little area just below his navel.
When her lips reached the waist of his jeans, she eased back to unfasten them and continue her exploration.
Torsten: His hands were not lazy enough to be wasted resting at his sides. He wanted to touch her, and so he did. Her braid was slowly coming undone with his greedy petting, pulling apart inch by inch until her hair was freed. Whatever plan she had formulated, his body was ready, flush and throbbing eagerly.
Bronwyn: "Lift yer hips for me." Once he had, his jeans and underwear would be taken off and tossed in the same general direction as his shirt. On any other occasion she would've taken her time undressing him but today it was just a necessary step in accessing all that lovely skin.
His lower half was lavished with the same loving attention she'd given his torso. Her hair trailed in the wake of her lips, teasing him while she focused everywhere but where he wanted her most.
Torsten: All of the build up was trying his patience. How had she grown so skillful in this aspect of their relationship? She was calculating and rude in the best possible way.
"Sit on my face." Almost a beg. "I need you."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled against Torsten's thigh. She hadn't nearly had her fill of slowly devouring him alive, but his other side could wait until they'd both gotten some relief. "I'm all yers, love."
She eased up again, doing away with her top and bra as she went. She undressed herself with a bit more ceremony than she had him, but it was strictly for his enjoyment.
One more kiss was stolen from his lips before she settled over him.
Torsten: It was a wonder they made it to the shower after such an ordeal. Here they were supposed to make ready for the next step in their relationship, and the current step seemed reluctant to release them. Their shower fared no better. The revenant was more inclined to clean her with his tongue rather than soap.
Bronwyn: "I'm goin' to have to wash that shoulder eventually ye know," Bronwyn said with a chuckle. She felt loose and happy and very, very satisfied.
"Keep that up and I'll cover that ass o' yers in love bites."
Torsten: "Count your blessings that I've made it away from your pussy," he smiled.
Bronwyn: She laughed. "I'll wager ye'll find yer way back there by the end o' the day. I've more devourin' to do and that's bound to get ye goin' again."
Torsten: "You know it will. You know my weakness began with your face and followed with your thighs."
Bronwyn: "Oh, I know, love. I know." She moved her hair so it was over her shoulder. "Get my back?"
Torsten: Skál, he thought, kissing his way to the back of her neck. He supposed he might as well use the soap. They were running so far behind in their schedule, after all.
Bronwyn: "Imagine," she began, looking around the shower and the bathroom beyond. "Tomorrow mornin' we'll be doin' this in my shower."
Torsten: "Not for long, mind you, as your little babe will need much attention."
Bronwyn: "Aye." Her face softened. "I can't wait for ye to meet him."
Torsten: "How old is he now?"
Bronwyn: "He just turned two."
Torsten: "Such an age is almost unfathomable to me."
Bronwyn: "My granddaughter's even younger. She's with her parents today."
Torsten: With her back finished, Torsten continued down the back of her thighs, her ass, around her waist until he pulled her close. "How is that going?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn leaned against him. "All three o' them are verra lucky. Lucien and Salem each found someone that loved and supported them and they're raisin' that wee lassie with so much love. They're doin' just fine."
Torsten: "Military just isn't the same, but I'm sure he's doing as well as he can for the century."
Bronwyn: "He's puttin' his all into it. He's wanted it for a long time." She smiled. "It's funny. For Christmas one year I gave him a lighter I found in an antique store that belonged to a soldier that fought in Vietnam. The military found him a long time ago."
Torsten: Hmm. Her explanation spoke to him. "Is it adventure, an old soul, or something...perhaps darker?" A tender subject should it be the final.
Bronwyn: "He's got the aura of an old soul but...I think it's more than that. I think he wants to...be somethin' better. Do somethin' noble and honorable."
Torsten: "Hmm." His way of not continuing a conversation. "I see. Well... I can't wait to meet your little babe."
Bronwyn: She gave him a nuzzle. "Guess we better pack yer bags."
Torsten: "Are you clean? I'm not sure yet." Hands began a descent towards her thighs.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled and wiggled out of reach. "We already managed to distract ourselves once, we'll be here all evenin' if we don't get a move on!"
Torsten: "Ugh, of all the saints and sinners, how can you deny me so?" He was terrible with the American Southern accent.
Bronwyn: He was, which was both amusing and sweet. "Only with great power o' will, I assure ye. Ye're a hard man to resist, Torsten Glockner."
Torsten: "I've tried to be since night one."
Bronwyn: "Ye've succeeded. Otherwise we wouldn't be here right now."
Torsten: "Obviously." Torsten stepped out of the shower and into the bedroom. Time to dress and prepare.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled to herself. Maybe she'd just take a couple extra seconds to rinse off and enjoy the view.
She had a whole world of plans for that man.
Torsten: Underneath the bed was checked for wandering shoes and socks. He was unsurprised to find one of Bronwyn's high heels. Seemed to be a curse of hers. A curse or good fortune and excuse to return. One or the other.
"Where would be easier for your bird?" he asked, throwing one of his satchels over shoulder.
Bronwyn: Meanwhile, Bronwyn was both surprised /and/ delighted by the return of her beloved shoe. "I've been lookin' for this one for ages!" she exclaimed, hugging it to her chest like it was made of gold.
"Since he's already at Callum's, I say we depart from there. Plus we have to stop by the bakery for his cupcake. And a wee one for Aedan. And maybe one for us."
Torsten: The revenant arched a brow. "Cupcakes are his reward for a job well done?"
Bronwyn: "Aye, and a wee energy boost for the journey."
Torsten: "Powerful little thing he is, isn't he?"
Bronwyn: "Aye. I'm verra lucky to have him."
Torsten: "I'd say it's the other way around."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "Then we're a verra lucky pair. Will yer sister mind if he comes with us to Iceland?"
Torsten: "If she wants to see us without touching our money, she'll have to accept it."
Bronwyn: "All the more reason for me to get her a really lovely hostess gift."
She made quick work of getting dressed, looking around the room once she finished. "Have ev'rythin'?"
Torsten: His laptop placed in the last satchel, the room was given a final sweep. "It's time to check out."
Bronwyn: "Ye goin' to miss this place?" she asked, reaching for his hand.
Torsten: "No," he said, taking her hand. "It's just a room. I miss Iceland; I miss you. That's all this room offered was you."
Bronwyn: "Then it's definitely time for ye to come home with me, and for me to come home with ye."
Torsten: There was no need to second guess their plan. He would not ask if she was certain. The door was shut behind them, his key given to the front desk. It was time to move forward.
Bronwyn: It might've been just a room, but leaving it felt very much like the end of an era. In a few hours they would no longer be making hotel guests jealous with their antics or eating in the inn's dining room; they'd be home.
Once the key had been returned, Bronwyn drove them to the bakery for cupcakes and then toward Callum's house.
Torsten: "Is Callum home?" he asked as they pulled in.
Bronwyn: "He's at his shop right now and he's got a weddin' after."
Torsten: "Alright." No drama then. "Ready?"
Bronwyn: "Aye. Ye grab yer stuff, I'll grab Vincent."
Vincent: Vincent was perched on the kitchen counter, lining a set of twenty rocks he had collected over the past week. He smiled tiredly to his mistress upon seeing her. "Evening, ma'am."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn returned Vincent's smile as she approached to greet him. "Evenin', love. Organizin' yer treasures?"
Vincent: "I found blue ones," he explained. "They're ripe for eating."
Bronwyn: She chuckled softly. No matter what she did, she'd never been able to talk her familiar out of eating gem stones and other rocks. "Just make sure they're clean, okay? In the meantime..."
Bronwyn held up a baggie from Laura's bakery. "How does a cupcake and sleepin' in yer own bed sound?"
Vincent: "We're going home?" he perked. "What kinda cupcake? Does it have that pretty gel icing?"
Bronwyn: "We are indeed. And someone's comin' with us." She handed him the baggie. "It's chocolate with orange fillin' and yes it does."
Vincent: "Oh you know me so well!" he beamed. Anything that resembled a gem was a treasure. "The giant man's coming? Does Master Callum know?"
Bronwyn: It was impossible not to smile when he looked so utterly delighted.
"Aye," she said with a nod. "To both. I told Callum that Torsten and I were goin' to visit each other's homes but I didn't tell him when since I didn't know at the time. Grumblin' was surprisin'ly minimal."
Vincent: "I thought he'd threaten to kill him, seeing how he was that fight night. I guess that first night was intense for everyone though." This was all said, of course, with a mouthful of cupcake.
Bronwyn: "Apparently seein' me happy has mellowed him out. No' to mention the fact that Torsten always stops by his shop to buy me flowers."
Vincent: "I thought he didn't like him because he's a revenant."
Bronwyn: "Nope, it's pretty much because he knew Torsten liked me and then because I liked him back. Callum's verra protective."
Vincent: "Because you liked him back?"
Bronwyn: "Aye. He didn't approve of Torsten as a person and me likin' him didn't really help. But after several very long and loud conversations, he's startin' to come around."
Vincent: "Why haven't I got to watch these discussions? Arguments are the most interesting things you humanoids do."
Bronwyn: "We don't usually plan them," she chuckled. "They tend to erupt randomly. But if we ever do, I'll tell ye, promise."
Vincent: "Do they ever get physical?"
Bronwyn: "I poke him a lot. That's about as far as it goes."
Torsten/Vincent: He sighed. He knew why he wanted violence. "Where is he now?" The man in question was standing on the doorstep having a conversation with his sister.
Bronwyn: "Callum's at work, Torsten's waitin' outside." Bronwyn studied him for a moment. "Ever tasted star light?"
Vincent: "I can't say I have, ma'am."
Bronwyn: She smiled. "Fancy some spell work tonight, love?"
Vincent: "I'd love that."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn leaned over to kiss her familiar's cheek. "I'll teach ye how to make star candy."
Vincent: Her bird smiled and leaned into the kiss. "Are you ready for travel, miss?"
Bronwyn: "I just need to pop upstairs for my bag. What about ye? Need somethin' to put yer rocks in?"
Vincent: "Uhm..." He'd planned on eating them, but for now, he began to stuff them in his jeans. "I'm fine!"
Bronwyn: She chuckled again before kissing his cheek. "Go ahead and have yer snack. I'll be back in just a wee."
Torsten/Vincent: "Yes, ma'am."
Torsten eventually came inside, leaving his things on the porch. "Ready?" the question the men seemed to favor.
Bronwyn: It took a bit longer than a wee thanks to Prospero deciding to take a nap on her nightgown but soon enough Bronwyn was descending the staircase with bag in hand.
"Ready. Let's go home."
Torsten/Vincent: Vincent peeked from the kitchen, as though he'd never seen the two of them together in his life. His mistress was happy; that seemed to make everyone else happy.
"Ready?" he asked.
The revenant chuckled and shook his head. "I think it's been established, yes."
Bronwyn: "We're all set to go, darlin'."
Once out on the porch, Bronwyn made sure all belongings were secure before taking Torsten and Vincent's hands. Her familiar was given the go ahead to transport them.
Vincent: "Ever had motion sickness before?" Vincent asked, looking past Bronwyn's shoulders to her lover. the question was given without any consideration for the answer, for the next second they were across a thousand miles and onto another porch, wherein the familiar fell on his ass with a gasp.
Bronwyn: The feeling of being transported instantaneously through a vacuum was never pleasant but it sure beat having to fly.
"Easy, darlin'," Bronwyn said after taking a moment to catch her breath. crouching so she was eye-level with her familiar. "Ye okay?" She looked up at Torsten. "Are ye?"
Torsten/Vincent: Torsten was like a statue, intent on keeping his sickness to himself. Vincent smiled despite the sudden exhaustion.
"I'm fine, ma'am. You know me. I just need to rest. He's a handful!"
Bronwyn: She chuckled softly. "He is a Vikin'."
"Torsten? It's okay if ye throw up, we won't judge ye. Do ye need some candied ginger? Blink if ye do, movin' yer head will make the nausea worse."
Torsten: "I'm fine," he said, finally blinking. "I just needed a moment." That, and he'd swallowed down whatever was going to happen. He would be damned to ever show such weakness.
Bronwyn: She was going to take that blink as an invitation to reach into her purse for a piece of candied ginger and hold it up to his lips.
Bronwyn: "Humor me."
Torsten/Vincent: "I'll humor you," he said, taking it from her fingers to nibble. "I'm gonna go sleep in a tree," said Vincent, shrinking down to his smallest form.
Bronwyn: There we go, Bronwyn thought, smiling to herself.
She turned to Vincent. "All right, love. Avoid the one with the woodpecker nest, he's got a vendetta."
Torsten/Vincent: "Yes, ma'am!" Off he fluttered away, leaving the two of them alone once more.
"How do you enjoy the flavor of this?" Torsten frowned.
Bronwyn: "It took some gettin' used to but when ye're nauseous ev'ry wakin' moment of ev'ry day for weeks on end ye'd be surprised what tastes ye acquire."
She spread her arms, indicating her porch, the front lawn, the trees, and all the flowers she'd planted in the front yard. "Welcome to my house."
Torsten: Torsten looked around, swallowing the piece of ginger whole. "I didn't take you for a woman of New Orleans, but what you've done very much suits you."
Bronwyn: She beamed with pride. "This place was nothin' but grass and patches of weeds when we bought it. I like to think I've done well with it."
She opened the door. "Come on."
Torsten: "Who has been watching over your baby? The biological father?" he asked, dropping his bags at the door.
Bronwyn: "Aye. I'm supposed to pick him up today. We trade off like that."
Torsten: "Are you comfortable with that arrangement?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled, nodded. "Over the moon, if ye can believe it. Gettin' to raise him alongside a friend I love verra much is one o' the great joys o' my life."
Torsten: "Is this what you imagined motherhood to be? Sharing your baby with someone you're not in love with?"
Bronwyn: "No' exactly, but then my first experience with motherhood was adoptin' a troubled teenage boy after I accidentally hit him with my car. Ye could say I've had...a wonderfully strange journey with it so far."
Torsten: Gently, he reached for her, pulled her closer. "Do you want more babies?"
Bronwyn: Her face went soft and wistful as she settled in Torsten's arms. She nodded.
Torsten: "Have I asked you this before?" His smile was as soft as her features.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "No, I don't think ye have."
Torsten: "How many babies do you want?"
Bronwyn: "As many as Fate sees fit to give me."
Torsten: "How about five?"
Bronwyn: She just smiled. "I always did like the number five."
Torsten: "What about eight babies? Ten babies?"
Bronwyn: "Ten's a nice round number, so's eight. And it's lucky in Chinese mythology."
Torsten: "You might be a druid, but can your body handle something like that?"
Bronwyn: "Aye," she said with a nod. "Our bodies heal completely. Even my doctor said she'd never guess I'd had a baby."
Torsten: "That would be a human doctor?"
Bronwyn: "Aye. She looked after me when I was pregnant with Aedan along with my friend Avalbane, who's also a Druid."
Torsten: "Why would you trust a human with your life like that?"
Bronwyn: "Because she has over twenty years' experience and excellent credentials and she has access to the tests and equipment that would ensure Aedan and I were healthy. She didn't deliver him though, Avalbane did that. She delivered me, too."
Torsten: Well, he didn't expect that much of an explanation. He'd counted on a simple yes.
"Would you want to use a human again?"
Bronwyn: "Aye, her specifically. She was verra good to me."
Torsten: They were planning a future together, weren't they? They were certainly planning something. There was no need to be coy. She had, after all, brought him here with the intent of meeting her son.
"Well, shall we go see to your Aedan now?"
Bronwyn: They were planning a future, and it made Bronwyn happier than she could ever express.
"Let's shall." She nodded toward the stairs. "Come on. We'll just go leave our things in my bedroom."
Torsten: "You're so patient," he said. He'd left his belongings by the door with the purpose of leaving immediately. He knew they were masters of stalling. Still, he followed behind, grabbing her the moment he'd made it into the bedroom.
Bronwyn: "Ye wouldn't say that if ye could feel the battalion o' butterflies in my stomach right now."
Her bedroom was a reflection of her in every way possible. Mauve walls, lots of flowers, antique furniture, lace curtains, pictures, the soft scent of her perfume permeating everything.
And given their penchant for getting distracted, it came as no surprise that Torsten would take her into his arms.
"No more goin' down detours," she said with a laugh. "We've got places to be."
Torsten: "I'm five hundred years old, my lady. I must live every moment as though it will be my last!"
Bronwyn: "Then come down here and give me a kiss! Ye're allowed five kisses and then we have to get goin'."
Torsten: "Five, but you haven't specified how long each will be." So, he pulled her closer, picked her up and sat on the edge of her bed. Their lips would linger together for as long as she allowed.
Bronwyn: "Ye let me worry about that," she chuckled, winding her arms around his neck.
Though there was something unbelievably satisfying about kissing Torsten here in her home surrounded by all her things with no one around to bother them, she managed to pull herself away after about five minutes. Any longer and they wouldn't make it out of the house.
She gave him one last peck. "And that's yer lot."
Torsten: Torsten sighed and held her fast. "That was two. I swear that was just two. You haven't given me five and that's what I demand."
Bronwyn: How could she refuse him? "Fit them all into the next five minutes," she murmured, running her hands through his hair. "I promise I won't be out o' yer arms for long."
Torsten: Another five minutes of bliss. Paradise had to be this. His after life would be war and a druid. Where was she in his life all these years? He tried to think while tasting and cupping and all at once felt too sloppy, so he forfeited to pull her on top, sprawling on her sheets.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn didn't miss a beat, keeping her lips fused to Torsten's as she propped herself on her elbow. It was a miracle to her how they ever managed to get out of bed when they could both happily remain joined together for an eternity in one form or another.
I love you so very much, she thought, caressing his cheek with her thumb.
Torsten: Torsten smiled as though he had heard her romantic declaration. "I think you gave me three kisses in there," he stated, nuzzling.
Bronwyn: "I did, didn't I?" She nuzzled him back, giving one more just because.
Torsten: "I suppose we should some day get out of bed." Someday.
Bronwyn: "Ye and I only take breaks from bed," she chuckled. "We never really leave it."
Torsten: "You only love me for my body."
Bronwyn: "Yer body is only one o' the things I love ye for."
Torsten: "You loved it first, though."
Bronwyn: "I did. Then, like a flower, my love blossomed."
Torsten: "Your love blossomed?" he grinned.
Bronwyn: "Into a big, lovely flower."
Torsten: "You're such a druid."
Bronwyn: "To the verra core, love." One last peck. "Come on. Ye have a little boy to meet."
Torsten: "I do," he sighed. Up he sat, holding her along the way. "Where are we going?"
Bronwyn: "Lirim's house. Are ye nervous?"
Torsten: "Only if your son is going to approve of me."
Bronwyn: "He's a happy, lovin' baby and ye make his mama happy. I'm confident he will."
Torsten: "He has werewolf in him. We'll have to wait and see."
Bronwyn: "I'm still confident." Bronwyn eased off his lap to grab her keys and purse, holding out a hand to lead him downstairs.
Torsten: Torsten took her hand and stood. "There were three of you, yes? The werewolf which contributed... You never speak of him."
Bronwyn: "Aye, there were," Bronwyn said softly. "It's....become habit no' to speak of him. I guess a part o' me is still angry with him."
Torsten: "You wouldn't just have any reason. Did he harm the child?"
Bronwyn: She shook her head. "No, nothin' like that. He um...he left. He got sick and...and he left."
Torsten: "Was he born a wolf?"
Bronwyn: "Turned, and verra much against his will."
Torsten: "His nature seems in tune with what he's become."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave Torsten a sad smile. "He was so excited to be a father. They both were. And now Aedan won't even remember what he looked like."
Torsten: "Do you have photographs?"
Bronwyn: "We do. After Lirim told me he was gone I gathered up all the ones I had around the house and put in a box in the closet."
Torsten: "It is a gift of modern man. How alike is he to the wolf? Your son, I mean."
Bronwyn: "He's a near perfect blend o' the three of us but he's startin' to get a little bit of a curl in his hair. Ailbe had curly hair."
Torsten: "Mm. And his wolf?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "The sweetest wee little ears ev'ry full moon and that's pretty much all."
Torsten: "Ears," he laughed warmly. "He'll be a pacifist wolf!"
Bronwyn: "And a snuggly one. He's snuggly all the time but especially durin' the full moon."
Torsten: Torsten stretched his arms once outside. "So, which way?"
Bronwyn: She gestured at the red Jeep parked under a tree. "That way, to my car. And then to Lirim's townhouse."
There was currently a stuffed rabbit occupying the passenger's seat, along with a blanket and a sippy cup. All were tossed into the back seat.
Torsten: "Your son’s?" he looked the Jeep over. "I smell another child. You didn't mention - a play date?"
Bronwyn: "Aye and aye. My granddaughter Leilani. When I have them both I take them out sometimes. The extra car seat's in the back, I only install it when they're both in the car."
Torsten: "A grandmother..." Oh, the child she adopted. Not her actual blood. He'd never met a grandmother so young. Well, not in the recent century. "The most beautiful," he concluded.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled at him over her shoulder. "Why thank ye, love. Although I rather think ye're a wee bit biased."
With the seats clear, she made her way around the car to get into the driver's side.
Torsten: "I am biased. Where's the lie?" As impressed as he was with modern transportation, he missed horses. He missed one particular horse, but that was so long ago he'd forgotten her name. Just the memory of a painted beauty with a braided mane.
Bronwyn: "Well, no' to sound arrogant but it is nice to know all the work I put into lookin' good pays off."
The car was switched on and they were on their way. "Do ye know how to drive?"
Torsten: "Not really a choice. I had to learn for my sisters though to admit, they have better advantage than me."
Bronwyn: "Why's that? Because they're smaller?"
Torsten: "Because they're vampires."
Bronwyn: "Vampires have an advantage in drivin'?" she asked, chuckling softly.
Torsten: "Ha, no. Neither approve. But they have advantage in that they can either possess or transform into whatever they require."
Bronwyn: "Now that's a hell of an advantage. One o' the things I hate most about this country is havin' to drive ev'rywhere. Back home in Scotland I'd walk or ride my horse."
Torsten: "Mm. I love horses. I miss the time in which it was the only option."
Bronwyn: "I've been thinkin' about buildin' a stable. I miss Dante."
Torsten: Given the subject, he didn't have to ask. "How long did you have him?"
Bronwyn: "I still do. I got him when I was 19."
Torsten: "How often do you see him?"
Bronwyn: "Once a year. I go to New York to shop and then to Scotland for a couple of weeks for my birthday."
Torsten: "You should utilize your bird more."
Bronwyn: "I've only had him for about a couple years, before that it was all plane and car rides for me."
Torsten: "Does he love you?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled and nodded. "Aye, and I love him. It's all platonic, of course."
Torsten: "You're certain of that?"
Bronwyn: She nodded again. "Completely sure. We've a verra special and often psychic bond because of him bein' my familiar but there's nothin' romantic to it."
Torsten: "I've never met a familiar that can feel romantically."
Bronwyn: "Vincent is...unique. I'd wager there's no other familiar like him in this world."
Torsten: "You're very confident in him."
Bronwyn: "We've been together through some rough times."
Torsten: "Stories to tell me while we lie naked in bed on a warm night?"
Bronwyn: "If ye're a fan o' horror stories then aye."
Torsten: "I don't mind them one bit."
Bronwyn: "Then I'll definitely have to tell ye one o' these days."
Torsten: Torsten made his way around to the driver's side door once Bronwyn had thrown the vehicle into park. "This neighborhood feels old," he said. "Something from Europe."
Bronwyn: "It does, doesn't it?" Bronwyn mused as she got out of the car, tugging him down for a cheek kiss of thanks. "I've loved this neighborhood since the first time I came here and I'd have bought a house here if there had been any for sale when I was lookin'. I like bein' near the woods though."
She locked the car. "Ready?"
Torsten: "Of course," he sighed. More than ready to move this along. He wasn't all that interested in meeting Aedan's biological father, however.
Bronwyn: She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "It'll be fine," she whispered, ringing the doorbell.
Torsten/Lirim: The man answering the door wasn't at all what Torsten had expected. Considering the woman he loved, he'd expected her taste in men not to stray. This man was soft in features, warm skin kissed by the sun, and that hair - well, it was the most familiar feature.
Lirim was staring as well, but his arms were full of the distraction both needed.
"I didn't think I'd be seein' ya this soon," Lirim said. Aedan was already making grabby hands for his mother.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn's expression lit with warmth and joy when Lirim and Aedan appeared in the doorway. "What can I say, I was eager to make introductions. Hello, my lovely!" Bronwyn took her baby boy, greeting him with a barrage of kisses before giving some to his daddy's cheek. "And hello to ye, my other lovely."
Once Aedan was settled on her hip, she took a deep breath. "Lirim, this is Torsten, the man I'm seeing. Torsten, this is Lirim, Aedan's da and my verra good friend. And this Aedan."
Torsten/Lirim: Torsten couldn't feel brush of Lirim's empathic magic over his psyche, not in the same manner in which he could telepathy. There was, however, a sense of stillness between them. Two men significant to Bronwyn in vastly different ways trying to understand one another without direct interrogation.
"Good t'put a face with a name." Lirim offered his hand, which Torsten took.
"I feel the same," he said.
Bronwyn: Okay, so far so good. Nothing other than the expected caution between two people meeting for the first time.
Bronwyn smiled at them, hoping to set them at ease. "Torsten's goin' to be stayin' with me for a wee. We're finally meetin' each other's families and seein' each other's homes."
Lirim: "Well, that's nice." He should probably invite them inside. Of course he would. If Bronwyn trusted him then why not? So far his aura had appeared amiable.
"Y'all like some tea? C'mon in!"
Bronwyn: "Ye know I never say no to tea." Torsten's hand was taken and squeezed again, both to comfort and reassure.
Torsten/Lirim: He took the squeeze for what it was and followed Bronwyn inside. His attention turned to the child in her arms, the one who'd been staring at him for some time now.
"Hello, little one."
There was just something about him, and Lirim knew what it was that was bothering their son. He had nephilim blood in him, after all. Druid as well. Things which recognized darkness and wasn't interested in having it near.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn noticed her son's unusual stillness, and it was partly because of it that she continued to hold Torsten's hand even after they sat down, letting Aedan see that Torsten was safe.
"This is Torsten, baby," she said gently, kissing her son's temple. "He's mama's boyfriend."
Lirim: Normally upon meeting strangers he was unsure of, Aedan hid his face in his mama or daddy's chest. Something like this the little hybrid would not hide from. He would face the strange thing head on.
"It'll take him a good minute, probably more," said Lirim.
Torsten: "It's fine. I expect as much."
Bronwyn: However long it took, she'd make sure there were plenty of bolstering kisses to go around, for both Aedan and Torsten. The fact that Aedan wasn't screaming or crying was taken as a very positive sign.
"So what have ye been up to today?" she asked Lirim. "Fun things?"
Lirim: "We've been runnin' errands today. Groceries, bills, goin' to the gallery, all that while he wants to walk everywhere. Needless to say, I didn't get as much done as I would have liked, but he's just about exhausted."
Bronwyn: "Now that sounds like a verra productive day." She nuzzled Aedan. "He's still at the age where walkin' is verra excitin'. Won't let me strap him in the shawl anymore."
Torsten/Lirim: "Wants to walk everywhere but doesn't want shoes."
Torsten smiled. "I remember that age, but pavement wasn't a hot commodity."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "I still don't want to wear shoes half the time. He might've gotten that from me."
Torsten/Lirim: "Might be the animal in him, too."
To that, Lirim stiffened. "Excuse me?"
Bronwyn: "The wolf," Bronwyn said evenly. "His wee baby wolf."
Torsten/Lirim: "I know what he's indicatin'."
"I meant nothing degrading."
Bronwyn: She nodded, confirming and attempting to reassure Lirim with only her smile and her eyes. "Aye, he didn't."
Lirim: Another moment to study the man by Bronwyn's side and he nodded, still incredulous but finding nothing in his empathetic waves to charge him.
"Maybe. Ailbe liked his boots, though."
Bronwyn: "That he did." Bronwyn nuzzled Aedan again. "Maybe once the novelty o' walkin' wears off, this wee one will too."
Torsten/Lirim: "Do you let him walk around barefoot?"
The question caught Lirim off guard. He felt a sense of defense because of it. "In the house, yeah."
Bronwyn: "And when he's gardenin' with me. Or rather playin' in the dirt."
Torsten/Lirim: "I don't really have a yard," Lirim said, as though explaining himself to Torsten.
"He'll have good strong feet, then," he smiled.
Bronwyn: The smile had Bronwyn relaxing by the slimmest margin. "He will indeed. Won't ye, love?"
Aedan: "Big man go bye-bye?" Aedan asked.
Bronwyn: "No, love, Torsten's comin' home with us."
Lirim/Aedan: Hmm. He didn't seem to understand the sentence. Lirim looked Bronwyn in the eyes, not sure how to approach as well as he had with Seth.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn wasn't too sure how to do it either, but simple terms seemed like the right way to go.
"Torsten is mama's boyfriend, baby, just like Seth is daddy's boyfriend. Mama loves him so much that she wanted him to meet ye."
Aedan: Seth! He knew that word. "Papa?"
Bronwyn: She nodded. "That's right, baby. Daddy loves Papa and mama loves Torsten." To demonstrate, she gave Torsten a kiss.
Lirim: Love? Lirim could feel it, but he wasn't used to having to share. This must have been what separated families felt like. Aedan had to experience death and separation and renewal before true cognitive awareness.
"All the love for baby. Are you two staying for dinner?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn turned to Torsten. "What do ye say? Ye hungry?"
Torsten/Lirim: "What are you making?"
"I was thinking some kinda meat pie and potatoes. Caprese salad?"
"I'll help you."
Bronwyn: Was she grinning? She was definitely grinning. And making zero effort to hide it.
"Looks like we're stayin' for dinner."
Torsten/Lirim: Torsten stood, reminding Lirim of their height difference, and the gap between Aedan's mother and the beast of a man.
"Alright. Make yourself useful. Wash up. We'll be cooks while mama watches."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn arranged herself and Aedan in prime watching position. "I'll watch, ye provide commentary," she told him, kissing the top of his head. "What's Daddy doin'?"
Lirim/Aedan: "Cookie time?"
"Cook, baby. It's cook time!"
That's what he said! "Cookie!"
Fifty years of childhood living with villagers was plenty enough to relate to what Torsten was witnessing. He smiled pleasantly and set to work on building up the dough needed for the pastry.
Bronwyn: "We'll save the cookies for after dinner," Bronwyn said with a laugh. "Want some juice?"
Lirim/Aedan: "Cookie means both to him. He can't shake the difference."
Aedan heard another key word and pointed to the fridge. "Apple. Apple juice, Mama."
Bronwyn: "Apple? Okay." Aedan was settled on her hip again as she went to the fridge and poured the juice into the sippy cup of his choice and some tea into the mug of her choice.
Torsten: "May I have some of that tea?" Torsten asked.
Bronwyn: "Ye certainly may." She filled another mug and brought it over to Torsten. "Here ye go, love."
Torsten/Lirim: "You a sugar man?" Lirim asked.
Torsten smiled. "I prefer it naturally if I can help it."
Bronwyn: "Which makes us the perfect pair," Bronwyn said fondly.
Torsten: "I can't recall a time when you've used artificial sweeteners or refined sugar."
Bronwyn: "Sweeteners scare me. It's all brown sugar for me in all things."
Torsten: "More natural than that if I can help it," Torsten continued, shaping the pastry dough.
Bronwyn: "I had a great-aunt who used to sweeten ev'rythin' with flower nectar. Interestin'ly enough her Mark was a hummin' bird."
Torsten/Lirim: "Now that's beautiful," Lirim smiled. Torsten smiled as well, though said nothing.
Bronwyn: "She was. When I was little she taught me how to make flowers bloom out o' season. I'd done it accidentally but she taught me how to control it, which is how fields and fields o' heather ended up bloomin' one fateful January."
Torsten: "Does that damage their natural cycle?" the revenant asked.
Bronwyn: "Only if ye enchant them so the blooms never die. Otherwise they just last for a few days before the frost takes them again."
Torsten/Aedan: "Big man," chimed their little boy. His greeting was responded to, Torsten turning and wiping his hands to inquire.
"Big man, up?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn's face lit with hope as she held Aedan closer to Torsten. "He wants ye to take him."
Torsten/Lirim/Aedan: Lirim watched carefully as Torsten lifted his son in his arms and rested him near his chest. He trusted a man like Stan Norman, yet this made him nervous.
"Hello, Aedan."
The toddler set to work on sculpting the revenant's face with tiny curious hands.
Bronwyn: Without even realizing it Bronwyn was reaching for Lirim's hand, squeezing it. This might have seemed like an ordinary moment for some, but for her it was tremendous.
The man she loved was meeting her baby, and the quiet joy of it was enough to make her teary.
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim wanted to offer his affection much as he would in their secluded days and nights without Seth. Their moments were platonically intimate and innocent for a couple sharing custody. His arm would have been around her waist, but instead he squeezed her hand, allowed her tears to fall should they grow too heavy.
"Seems we're off to a good start."
Torsten nodded in agreement. "Though trust is still to be gained." From both man and child.
Bronwyn: They very nearly did, but Lirim's presence and comfort helped keep them at bay. She did sniffle a few times though.
She gave her men a shaky smile. "A verra good start. Trust will come with time, as with most things."
Torsten/Lirim: "If it never develops I don't blame him," said Torsten.
"Why is that?" Lirim asked.
"I have a very old scent."
Bronwyn: "So does Vincent. He's gotten used to him. I daresay he even likes him." Aedan's cheek was kissed. "Do ye like my birdy, love?"
Torsten/Lirim: "Nevermore!" A word Vincent had taught him weeks ago. The parroting made both men laugh.
Bronwyn: "I'll take that as a yes," Bronwyn chuckled. "Vincent would be proud."
Torsten/Lirim: "Where is he, anyway? Guessin' that's how ya got here."
"He flew away," Torsten answered.
Bronwyn: "Aye. He brought us and now he's nappin' in a tree in our yard."
Torsten/Lirim: "An eagle is gonna come and ruin his afternoon."
Bronwyn: "A woodpecker used to live in a tree near my herb bed. I suggested Vincent use its nest a while back but I don't know if he ever did."
Torsten/Lirim: "He's sleeping undisturbed."
"How d'ya know?"
Aedan was adjusted in Torsten's arms. "I can hear his breathing."
Bronwyn: "That's no' an exaggeration either. He really can actually hear him."
Torsten/Lirim: "Sweet Jesus. Don't ya get headaches?"
"Constantly." The baby was offered back to his mother.
Bronwyn: "Which reminds me," Bronwyn said as she took Aedan, "I have five tonics for ye to try."
Torsten/Lirim: "You and Flora both," he shook his head.
Bronwyn: "I'm a healer, I can't help it. Ye should see me when Lirim has a cold."
Torsten/Lirim: "She's what we call a mother duck."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "It runs in my family."
Torsten/Lirim: Torsten smiled. "Aedan will be a protective wolf. I see it now."
Again, Lirim wasn't sure how to feel.
Bronwyn: She turned to Lirim. "He's got plenty o' role models to draw from."
Torsten/Lirim: "Mm. He'll be just like his mother."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed softly. "And here I was about to say he'll be just like his da."
Bronwyn: "One thing's for sure though. He'll definitely have the fussin' gene."
Torsten/Lirim: "And I wonder who he got that from," he smirked.
Bronwyn: "Ye have it too!"
Torsten/Lirim: "Fuss being motherly or fuss being...?"
"I'm a right drama queen," Lirim grinned.
Bronwyn: "That's what makes it so fun to do things with ye." Bronwyn smiled at him. "Never a dull moment, especially with this wee one around."
Torsten/Lirim: "You're a beautiful family." Words said straight to Bronwyn. "On another note, the pastry is finished. Shall we pre-bake?"
"Oh! Right. Yeah. Let's do that."
Bronwyn: When Bronwyn turned her smile on Torsten, it was nothing but love and warmth and hopeful joy. 'I love you,' she mouthed to him. If the gods smiled on them, they'd make that family grow.
"What's the fillin' goin' to be?" she asked Lirim.
Torsten/Lirim: While Torsten mouthed back, Lirim continued on with the conversation. "I think maybe beef and lamb with potato, maybe? I don't have anything real fancy like hare. Lamb is as fancy as we get in this house. Duck, too."
Torsten smiled, to what was not obvious. "Turtle is delicious."
"Oh my gawd, no."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn hummed. It'd been ages since she had a good meat pie. "That sounds so good. Forget hare, lamb is all the fancy we need."
She laughed. "I haven't had turtle soup since I was a wee lassie."
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim gasped! "Blasphemy!"
Bronwyn: "My grandda likes it!"
Torsten/Lirim: "It's a poor defenseless turtle!"
"And the lamb isn't?"
"That's different."
Bronwyn: "Those turtles were definitely no' defenseless." She slipped off one of her heels and pointed at her third toe. "See that wee scar? Turtle."
Torsten/Lirim: "Well, ya were tryin' t'kill it," Lirim grinned.
Bronwyn: "I was tryin' to pet a duck, thank ye verra much."
Torsten/Lirim: "Not eat it for soup?"
Bronwyn: "Nope. I walked into the pond because a really cute duck was swimmin' in it and I was ambushed."
Torsten/Lirim: Both men laughed this time, and Aedan followed as it seemed contagious.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn squinted at them. "Aye, laugh it up. Ye don't know pain until a mean turtle bites yer toe. But I still managed to heroically pet that duck and pick it up and bring it home."
Torsten/Lirim: "To eat?" Torsten was now grinning as well. The entire story was just so very Bronwyn.
Bronwyn: "To keep! I named him Billy and fed him raisins and he lived in my room for nearly two weeks until my da heard him quackin'."
Torsten/Lirim: "I've been meanin' t'ask. How is it you're not a vegan, what with bein' a druid and lovin' all animals?"
Bronwyn: "Well, I come from ranchers on one side and hunters on the other and all o' them are haggis-lovin' Scots."
Torsten/Lirim: "It surprises me as well," said Torsten. "Druids I knew in Iceland only ate fish and vegetation. No land animals or the sky."
Of course, his father had a few things to say about that, but that was neither here nor there.
Bronwyn: "Plenty still do. I've always thought that part of it was family tradition and culture. My grandda would be heartbroken if any of us hunted an animal and let any part of it go to waste and my Aunt Maeve would be equally heartbroken if we weren't nice to our chickens."
Torsten/Lirim: "A man in our village skinned animals and left the carcass to rot. Long ago when it truly was criminal. People's lives depended on every inch, every ounce. The amount of meat he took was only for himself. You'd think he would have sold everything, traded. His punishment was...severe."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "That's just wasteful, and disrespectful to the animal hunted. Our council's punishment for the same is still severe."
Torsten/Lirim: "Yet we're eating lamb," Lirim mused. "We condemn one thing but not the other. Still, I love me a mid-rare ribeye."
Bronwyn: "Speakin' of ribeye, did ye see that new steakhouse that just opened?"
Torsten/Lirim: "They have the best honey butter!" A sentence which made Torsten smile again. Something about Lirim's femininity made it so.
Bronwyn: "We should take Torsten." She smiled at her beautiful Viking. "Ye'd love it."
Torsten/Lirim: "A rare steak with good bread cannot be denied," he smiled again, something mellowed and thoughtful. His memories were there to remind him of his best meals, always hand-in-hand with celebration. He missed home. He missed his family.
Lirim wanted to make excuses to leave them alone, yet in the same instant wanted no reason for Torsten to be out of his sight. So, he occupied his time by making a new batch of sweet tea for the fridge.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn took his hand and squeezed it. He had that same look in his eyes her grandda Liam got when he was remembering something.
"Especially if the steak and the bread are covered in butter. We're definitely goin' to go. We're also goin' to go get beignets."
Torsten/Lirim: "This area is famous for chicory coffee, yes?"
Lirim's eyes lit up. "Yes! It's the best!"
"I can't recall ever having it."
"And how old are you?!"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "That needs to be remedied immediately, it's so good. Ye can't no' have it. And paired with beignets? Hail Mary Full o' Grace."
Torsten/Lirim: "Perhaps after meat pies we could go. If it's within walking distance for you?" He could walk for miles, a hundred if he had to. He doubted the same for them.
Bronwyn: "It's no' too far away," she said, turning to Lirim. "What do ye think? We could take Aedan in his stroller."
Torsten/Lirim: "He's very anti-stroller lately. He wants to be on his two feet, but then he can't even make it from the living room to the kitchen without demanding to be picked up."
"The spoiled age has arrived, hmm?"
Bronwyn: "He knows he can get away with it. He loves to be held and we love holdin' him." Aedan was given a squeeze and a kiss. "We'll take the stroller just in case."
Torsten/Lirim: Torsten wanted to question discipline, but kept his curiosity to himself. Lirim was already on edge with his presence, and he felt no desire to worsen it.
"Alright, we need to pop this in the oven. What d'ya wanna do until it's done?"
Bronwyn: "Help ye clean up since ye're bein' so lovely and makin' dinner for us all."
Torsten/Lirim: "That ain't a problem." Not when sullied dishes began to rise and float their way to the sink.
"My sister would love you."
Bronwyn: "I love him for that, too, among other things. At least let me pick up ev'rythin' else."
Torsten/Lirim: "You're not here to clean, honey. Let's let Aedan stretch his legs in the living room."
Bronwyn: "All right, if ye're sure. Come on, lovely boy," she added to Aedan, getting to her feet. "Let's practice walkin'."
She held a hand out to Torsten.
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim watched as Torsten took her hand and followed behind. He turned back to the kitchen as more items began to tidy themselves. He couldn't keep a constant eye on her, no matter how much he worried. There had been men before Torsten, and perhaps there might be after. All he could do was threaten those he felt were suspicious.
"He's two, yes? His walking strong?" Torsten asked.
Bronwyn: "His will is strong but those little legs tend to get tired sooner than he'd like." Bronwyn put Aedan down beside the couch, placing him in close proximity to something to grab onto should he start to wobble.
"When he was first startin' to walk he'd ease himself along the cabinets in the kitchen while I cooked."
Torsten/Lirim: "Sounds familiar. Holding while standing, standing independently, walking with handicaps, and short bursts. I remember-"
"You remember?"
"Well, my species, I suppose. You don't recall your birth?"
Bronwyn: "The only birth I recall is his," said Bronwyn, nodding to Aedan. "I think my earliest memory is from age....four? Maybe three. Can ye really remember yer own birth?"
Torsten/Lirim: "I remember being removed from a safe, warm place. I remember my first steps and how they frustrated me. If you recall my telling you, I age very differently."
Bronwyn: "Aye, I remember," said Bronwyn, trying to imagine what it would be like having those kinds of memories. She could barely remember half her childhood.
"What was yer first word?"
Torsten/Lirim: "My primary caretaker asked if I wanted milk. I told her yes. My first word was an affirmation."
Bronwyn: She smiled. That was very sweet in a very unexpected way. His first word had been him making a decision.
"I bet ye gave her a surprise. What was yers, Lirim?"
Torsten/Lirim: "I think I'm old fashioned. I think my first word was Mama. My dad liked to say it was the other way around, and it was Dada. They couldn't ever agree."
Bronwyn: "Aww," she chuckled. "Mine was either 'Da' or 'daisy'. I'm told I said them both on the same day and no one could agree on which came first."
Torsten/Lirim: Aedan walked himself between his mother and Torsten, holding to the couch for dear life. He still wasn't a hundred percent on this new creature in his home, but so far he was gentle. Gentle was taken for its worth.
Lirim wanted to hear about Iceland, having never been. He sat in the adjacent chair and listened to stories of lone mountains and barren winters with complete fascination.
Bronwyn: At some point during Torsten's storytelling, Bronwyn abandoned the couch and sat cross-legged on the rug, arms out and ready to catch Aedan in case he stumbled and beaming at him all the while. There was something so fun about watching your child just...be and grow and learn.
And getting to do what while the man you loved spun beautiful stories about his homeland? Amazing.
"Ye've the voice of a bard," she told him between stories. "It just carries ye away."
Torsten/Lirim: The sudden statement made both men blink. "I wasn't aware," he said. "In my many years, I have to say that's a first."
Bronwyn: "Really? Anyone who's ever heard one o' yer stories has done ye a great disservice by no' tellin' ye how good ye are at tellin' them."
Torsten/Lirim: "I think you're biased."
Lirim had to agree. He turned his attention back to their baby.
"C'mere, angel baby. You can do it!"
Aedan turned from his mother to his daddy and beamed. Nope. Daddy would have to chase. All three feet away from the couch before he collapsed in defeat.
Bronwyn: "Me? Biased?" She waved a hand. "Impossible. I'm the queen of unbiased opinions."
Bronwyn watched Aedan with all the pride of a parent watching their child graduate from high school, smiling softly when he stumbled.
"Aw, love," she said, physically fighting the urge to pick him up. "That's okay. Come on, get up and go to daddy, baby. Ye can do it."
Torsten/Lirim: But he didn't want to go to daddy. He wanted to be chased!
"What was his first word?" Torsten asked.
Bronwyn: A giant smile plastered itself on her face. "Birdy. We were on a walk and he spotted a black bird that looked a lot like Vincent and he was very confused when it didn't talk to him so he just called out to it."
Torsten/Lirim: "Recognition for a family member." Family servant, he corrected mentally. "Interesting."
Bronwyn: "And verra fittin' as we're all about family, extended and traditional."
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim noticed Torsten's staring. When their eyes locked, the revenant smiled.
"How does he consider your... companion? Good favor?"
"Um... He calls him Papa."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn cast a brief glance at Torsten, wanting to gauge his reaction. This was such a unique, precarious situation they were all in; she didn't want any of it to go wrong. But if it did, she was more than prepared to comfort and reassure where necessary.
Torsten/Lirim: "Forgive me. I'm only curious," said Torsten. "But how many fathers does Aedan have?"
Lirim frowned. "Well, ya know the sayin'. 'It takes a village to raise a child.'"
"Oh, yes I do. I'm quite familiar with it. An entire village did raise me."
Bronwyn: "He has more parents than he probably knows what to do with," Bronwyn said lightly, stretching out her arms to Aedan and giving him an encouraging smile. Though she was trying to radiate positive energy, a part of her wished she had telekinetic bonds with Torsten and Lirim so she could ascertain what kind of headspace they were in.
Torsten/Lirim: At the moment, Lirim was feeling his parenting skills were being threatened. He wasn't used to sharing Bronwyn with someone so intimidating. The man radiated masculinity. Previous gentlemen callers had felt distant. They had felt equal or below his radar, save for a certain unmentionable demon. This was different. This was a man in his house holding his favorite druid and asserting his judgements.
Torsten, on the other hand, had little thought of the gently offended nephilim. His regard was for Bronwyn and for Bronwyn's son, nothing else.
Aedan waddled to his mother and made himself comfortable in her lap. Nothing mattered except for her warmth and comfort.
Bronwyn: Aedan was immediately gathered close and cradled in loving arms, face covered with kisses. "There's my beautiful boy," Bronwyn chuckled. "Ye're really gettin' yer sea legs, aren't ye? Goin' to be runnin' circles around us before long."
She smiled at Torsten and Lirim. Everything's going to be okay, her eyes said, to both of them.
Torsten/Lirim: "He's going to have quite a unique accent soon enough. Catch everyone's attention."
Bronwyn: She laughed. "Aye, that he is. I swear I've heard him say 'wee' once or twice. He's goin' to have a unique accent and the vocabulary to match."
Torsten/Lirim: "Going to start him early on Garlic?"
Bronwyn: "I'd like to. Scottish and Irish Gaelic so he has all sides o' his heritage. I've taught Lirim a few words and phrases here and there."
Torsten/Lirim: There was something in his emotions that was itching Lirim's neck.
"You're Irish, aren't you? Don't you know your own language?"
"Excuse me?"
Bronwyn: "Lirim was born state-side," Bronwyn told Torsten. "Here in Louisiana. It's hard to learn a language without wide exposure to it and there aren't many here who speak it."
Torsten/Lirim: "I've heard interesting stories of the language when I was young. I can't say much, given my own. They are both an arduous mouthful."
Lirim huffed and flipped through his phone.
Bronwyn: "I'll grant ye that it is hard to learn if ye didn't grow up speakin' it and even in Scotland and Ireland there aren't many that do. I only speak the various dialects because I'm a Druid. My da only knew how to swear in Gaelic before he met my mama."
Bronwyn mentally promised herself to set up a date to smooth Lirim's feathers and touch base with him. She knew Torsten wasn't setting out to offend him, but he didn't know that. This was all a big change.
Torsten/Lirim: May Lirim never meet Botan, he thought. Or Botan see Bronwyn ever again.
"My parents spoke fluently. Half my life my Mema only spoke Irish around me, tryin' t'immerse me. Parents didn't."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave Lirim's leg a squeeze. Not for the Gaelic, but for his parents.
"Speakin' o' yer Mema, do ye think she'd be willin' to test some things for me?"
Torsten/Lirim: Her hand was taken in his. "Test what, exactly?"
Bronwyn: His hand was squeezed as well. "Well, I've a confession to make. I've been holdin' out on ye. On ye, too, Torsten. And even ye, love," she added to Aedan.
Torsten/Lirim: "Are ya on the run from the law because of your illegal clinic for hunters?" Like Ailbe.
Bronwyn: "I'm no' cool enough to be on the run from the law."
Bronwyn: "I may have bought a thing."
Torsten/Lirim: "Are you being vague on purpose?" asked Torsten.
Bronwyn: "Yes. It's a big thing, ye see." She took a deep breath. "I bought a buildin'."
Torsten/Lirim: "Oh, you're uh, you're finally goin' through with that? Been a while. Figured ya were just stickin' to the ranch and what have ya."
Bronwyn: "I wasn't plannin' to but I noticed it was for sale and it spoke to me. Deirdre's doin' a wonderful job with the ranch and I'm verra comfortable bein' a mostly silent partner. Plus it'd give me somethin' to occupy my time. I'm also talkin' to a contractor about buildin' me a stable."
Torsten/Lirim: "At your house? In your backyard?"
Torsten perked at the idea.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye, I miss my horse. I know it's no' exactly an estate but it's a decent bit o' land. The woods add even more space."
Bronwyn: "And it's somethin' else to do."
Torsten/Lirim: "Think they'll say yes? I could ask Alice. She might know the law, the land requirement."
Bronwyn: "I hope so. Lydia suggested I bribe them." Now it was Bronwyn who perked. "Could ye? I'd be grateful. I don't want to get my hopes up too high in case it can't be done but I really really miss Dante."
Torsten/Lirim: "If not here, perhaps he could call Iceland home."
Bronwyn: Her face softened. "As long as he has fields and hills to run in he's happy."
Torsten/Lirim: "I'm sure with your familiar, bringing him to Iceland secretly should be of little consequence."
Bronwyn: "He does make travel much easier. I've been workin' on a tonic for him so crossin' long distances doesn't take so much of a toll on him."
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim felt himself fading from the conversation. He didn't mean to, but he felt a need to distance himself from the person beside the mother of his child.
Out came the phone again.
"What are you making the tonic from?" asked Torsten.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave Lirim's leg another squeeze.
"Well, he has a great fondness for eatin' crystals and stones so I've been experimentin' with stones with restorative properties and teas made from restorative plants."
Torsten/Lirim: "He keeps that up we'll have a shortage of beautiful jewels," said Lirim.
"I have to agree. Does it actually benefit him?"
Bronwyn: "A few of the ones with pronounced properties do seem to have an affect. Mostly the ones that bring peace or sleep or somethin' similar. Most he just eats them because they're pretty," she added with a chuckle. "Like watermelon tourmaline."
Torsten/Lirim: "Are ya serious?" he laughed. "And does he think rose quartz tastes like actual rose?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned, sending Vincent fond thoughts. "Curiosity will always prompt him to find out."
Torsten/Lirim: Vincent returned warmth to his mistress' skin in response to her affection.
"So, what d'ya wanna do until diner is done?" asked Lirim.
Bronwyn: "The two o' ye could give me store ideas. Or design ideas. What color scheme says 'hi, I sell soap and also charms'?"
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim considered. "Mauve," was his answer. "Mauve and wood. Maybe a hint of green? Nothing too rustic or ya might look gimmicky, but too clean would also look like ya belong to a corporation."
"You would need a balance," Torsten agreed.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn considered. "I like mauve. My favorite roses are the mauve ones. I like balance too. It's a verra Druid thing. And it would be nice to set myself apart from all the hoodoo and voodoo shops around here."
Torsten/Lirim: "Best way to do that is white."
Lirim arched a brow at Torsten.
"It's clean," the revenant continued. "Keep the colors and wood to a minimalist standard and let the products speak for themselves."
Bronwyn: "Maybe I could section off the magic stuff from the soap and bath stuff somehow and paint the areas diff'rent colors. Mauve for the magic and white for the soap? Or a warmer shade o' white."
Torsten/Lirim: "Are ya gonna curtain off the magic stuff for those ya approve of?"
Bronwyn: "No' exactly. The place used to be a dress shop so there's a decent space in the back where the dressin' rooms are that I want to turn into the main bath product area and I want to see if I can close it off a wee and have a big beautiful arch separatin' it from the other part o' the store."
Bronwyn: "It's definitely goin' to cater to both openly though."
Torsten/Lirim: "So, you're going to have the magic up front and the soap products at the back of the store?"
Bronwyn: "That's the current vision. It's open to change."
Torsten/Lirim: "It's very bold." The men seemed to be taking turns speaking. "I mean, you're puttin' the magic first n'the soaps second. The first impression is gonna be magic shop. I dunno how that might register, as a tourist attraction or to get the locals n'the serious Wiccans?"
Bronwyn: "Do ye think I should mix them a wee more? Or have certain areas designated to things that sort o' relate?"
Torsten/Lirim: "I like the idea of relationship - relation. Pardon." His English was getting muddled, distracted by Lirim's on again off again staring.
Bronwyn: "It's all right, love." She mulled that over for a minute. "I can see that workin'. Like puttin' bubble bath and bath salts near essential oils and candles."
Torsten/Lirim: "And if the salts go along with the spells, well, it's all mixed together because it's all natural, yeah?"
Bronwyn: "Och, aye. Ye'd be surprised how many spells use soap. And bath salts."
Torsten/Lirim: "So perhaps it's categorized by genre, use, rather than actual product? Or would you rather all soap in one area, and so forth?"
Bronwyn: "Maybe I could do both. Spread the bath stuff around the store to entice people into a larger area?"
Torsten/Lirim: "Oh!" Lirim's eyes brightened. "Cards! Ya could put all soap on a shelf, salts and bath bombs n'all, but each are labeled or got cards that say what goes best with em, like... "These salts are for aches and pains. Try these candles with this book, these oils" n'so on."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn's face brightened as well. "I could sell people more things! And they would actually be useful because that's my thought process when I make them!"
Torsten/Lirim: "And still your shop could be color coded with that in mind," chimed Torsten.
Bronwyn: "It could indeed. Just imagine some really lovely floatin' shelves in maybe a honey-toned wood. That would look good against white and mauve."
Torsten/Lirim: "It would," he continued. "Say you have salts that pair with four other products. Those products could all have the same blue labels on their bottles. You have your colors standing out against the white without clashing with the walls. The products themselves are the theme. Your shop logo also on the label."
Torsten/Lirim: "That bein' said, are ya gonna make everything? I mean, are ya about to be your own company, the shop only your items?"
Bronwyn: She nodded. "I like that idea. Makes the process simpler if ye already know what ye want and what ye're lookin' for. Maybe I could design some pamphlets, too. People always want to know more about what they're buyin'."
Another nod. "Mostly ev'rythin', aye. I've been makin' and sellin' the bath products since I lived in Montana, I just never had my own space. The only thing I might get from an outside vendor are the oils and some o' the candles."
Torsten/Lirim: "Candles are quite easy to make, and so many spells and be added to them. You have Vincent to help. Oils, perhaps. Spell books as well. How many are you going to hire on to help? Witches and druids only? Those capable, knowledgeable hands?"
Bronwyn: "Aye, and I have made them before. I think I'm goin' to make that kind and order the non-magical candles. The books too. As for employees, I think I just need one and they just need to be decent and open-minded. I can teach them what they need to know."
Torsten/Lirim: Torsten didn't want to disagree on a mere kine as an employee, and Vincent seemed to be of a like-mind, a chirp in her thoughts.
"I'll be your employee, ma'am."
Bronwyn: 'I appreciate that, love,' she thought back to her familiar. To Torsten and Lirim she said, "They wouldn't really be helpin' me do magic. They'd mostly mind the shop when I'm no' there, clean and organize, and help me make my products. Don't need to know magic to make soap."
Torsten/Lirim: "If you're certain. I can have someone from my old village here next month if you'd prefer." Torsten was perfectly serious.
Bronwyn: The fact that he was touched Bronwyn's heart. This man. "That's a verra kind offer and if I can't find anyone who seriously wants to work for me I might take ye up on it."
Torsten/Lirim: "One day our son is gonna be your employee. M'already predictin' this. Gonna be his summer job, then his part-time while goin' t'school. Gonna learn where his magic comes from."
Magic! A word Aedan knew. He looked to his mother.
Bronwyn: Imagining their baby boy being old enough to work made Bronwyn cuddle him close. She wasn't ready for him to grow up. She wanted him to stay this big forever. "I hope that day takes a verra, verra long time to come, but aye, yer prediction will come to pass."
She smiled at Aedan. Time to borrow some light from a lamp and make him a ball.
Torsten/Lirim: Yes! He loved when his mother played tricks on the house. That's what they were, in his toddler opinion.
Torsten considered her words. Should she age similarly to him, their child would take 50 years to reach a teenage equivalent. Would that please her?
"Being a druid... I wonder..." If you're going to be gifted with immortality...
Bronwyn: Bronwyn basked in her son's delight for a few moments before looking up at Torsten, her smile rivaling the light ball for brightness. "What's that, love?"
Torsten/Lirim: "What is your stance on immortality?"
Bronwyn: "Some o' my favorite people are immortal. Never really thought about it, though. It's a rare thing for a Druid to be offered immortality."
Torsten/Lirim: "If you could, would you?"
Lirim sat up, looked to the mother of his child.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn watched Aedan play with the light for a moment, considering. Then, "Before I became a mother I would've said no. There was a time when the thought o' dyin' someday was comfortin' and I...tried to make the day come sooner. But when I became a mother, when I adopted Lucien and had Aedan the thought o' no' bein' there to watch them grow up and be part o' their lives as they got older broke my heart. So if a Fae were to offer me immortality now, offer me the chance to stay with my family always, I think I'd accept."
Torsten/Lirim: Torsten nodded, seemingly satisfied by her answer. Then he would have to help her with her dream.
"Seth is tryin' t'help me with my hope," Lirim said quietly. "Thinkin' along the same lines." Except that I don't want to die. I never have. "I dunno how long I have, but... The only option I've found so far is vampirism and I don't want that."
"Rightly so," said Torsten. "I don't think you'd be able to handle it."
Bronwyn: She smiled over at Lirim, squeezing his leg again. It was very fitting that they'd both want to stick around for the beautiful baby they'd made.
"I don't think anyone can," she said to Torsten. "No' really. They survive for a time because their strength or their will holds out but eventually...they lose themselves and become somethin' entirely diff'rent."
Torsten/Lirim: "It's an evolutionary process. Like a child to adulthood, to age and then to die. They grow, mature, ripen...and then..." Torsten cleared his throat. "I understand why any, aside from demons and select witches, would be offended by it."
Bronwyn: "Perhaps that's why the Fae offer it to so few and so rarely. There's a legend among our kind that there exists a man who is over two-thousand years old, and that he's the only one o' his tribe to ever be offered the gift."
Torsten/Lirim: "That's an impressive age. How did he manage to keep his sanity, I wonder. Lost humanity is for a reason, after all. It is a way to maintain sanity and not destroy the world."
Bronwyn: "I'm no' even sure if it's true, but if it is then I'd wager he's the strongest person to ever live."
Torsten/Lirim: "Wouldn't low humanity make ya destroy the world?"
"Makes you care less about everyone but yourself and your own personal gains. It's more complicated than that, of course, and there are those that twist the cogs in the world's machinery. However, I can't recall a single vampire I've met that wants to watch it burn."
Bronwyn: "All those I've met who wanted that were human. Except for poor Kieran Lamont." The Druid who'd made a deal with a demon and then been slaughtered by the same.
Torsten/Lirim: "There are a few way in which you can both achieve this, for you, Bronwyn, should you never be asked what you seek."
"You'd help me?"
"Yes. I'd help you."
Bronwyn: Perhaps it was because she'd never really looked into it, but Bronwyn was surprised to hear there were multiple ways to achieve immortality.
"What sorts o' ways?" she asked.
Torsten/Lirim: "Spells, of course. Plenty of spells from multiple sources. If anything, you could prolong your life with vampiric blood."
Bronwyn: "As a ghoul or--no, it doesn't matter. That's no' an option I'd ever consider."
Torsten/Lirim: "Because you'd have to rely on others?"
Bronwyn: "That and it doesn't sit right with me. Takin' blood to survive is one thing, takin' it to prolong yer life goes against what and who I am."
Torsten/Lirim: "So, what I am upsets you?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "No, it doesn't. There's a diff'rence between bein' born with a need for it--between it bein' an integral part o' yer composition--and usin' blood to stay young or for some form of immortality."
Torsten/Lirim: "If I were to cease in my use of it, I would not look like this, Bronwyn. In truth, I look as a man would in his fifties. Some two hundred years ago I began to pamper myself for vanity's sake. I'm not immortal without it."
Bronwyn: "Then it's a need." Because you need to live, and I need you.
Torsten/Lirim: "Tellin' us ya wouldn't wanna date a fifty year-old?" Lirim smirked.
Bronwyn: She smiled. "I have. And I am, in a manner o' speakin'."
Torsten/Lirim: "And you're alright with that?" asked Torsten.
Bronwyn: "Yes." Short, sweet, and perfect truth.
Torsten/Lirim: "I'm gonna check on dinner," Lirim said, standing and heading back to the kitchen.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "All right, darlin'."
Torsten/Lirim: "Alone at last," Torsten whispered.
Bronwyn: "Just us, Aedan, and a light ball," she whispered back, holding out a hand so he could join her on the floor.
Torsten/Lirim: "Must I?" he smiled.
Bronwyn: "Aye. Ye're too far away and I have to kiss ye."
Torsten/Lirim: "What did I do to deserve such love?"
Bronwyn: "Ye've had it for quite a while. This is just a wee reminder."
Torsten/Lirim: "Mm, well," he took a seat on the floor beside her, pulled her closer. "How many kisses?"
Bronwyn: She snuggled into him, made sure they weren't squishing the baby. "All o' them."
Torsten/Lirim: "Take as many as you like." Here, he would start with one on her lips, nuzzling into her hair afterwards.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn planned to do just that. She kissed Torsten's lips, his chin, his cheeks. Everywhere that could be reached was given loving attention.
"I do love ye, ye know," she said softly, nuzzling him back. "I don't care if ye're five hundred or five thousand. I love ye."
Torsten/Lirim: "I assure you, you would not want to be with a five thousand year-old anything, love. At any rate, there's a reason I mention your mortality before. I think...we should discuss it later, though."
Bronwyn: "I'd like to think we'd make it work. But I'd much rather think about the here and now." She gave Torsten another kiss and resumed her nuzzling.
Bronwyn nodded, taking 'later' to mean 'when we're really alone'. "Then it shall be so."
Torsten/Lirim: "Excellent." Yet another blissful kiss. "How are we doing, your men?"
Bronwyn: She smiled. "Considerin' neither o' ye are used to sharin' me and ye're no' used to each other yet, pretty well."
Torsten/Lirim: "He seems easily offended."
Bronwyn: "He's no' used to seein' me with giant handsome Vikin' men."
Torsten/Lirim: "So, not that we don't see eye-to-eye?"
Bronwyn: "That might be part of it but I don't think it's all of it. We're in a pretty unique situation. Some tension is to be expected."
Torsten/Lirim: "Should I speak with him alone?"
Bronwyn: "I think it might be good for both o' ye if did. Doesn't have to be tonight, though. We've got nothin' but time."
Torsten/Lirim: "The next time, then." He kissed her hand, turned his attention back to Aedan. "Hello, little man."
Bronwyn: She kissed his cheek in return before kissing the top of Aedan's head. "Want to show Torsten yer light ball, lovely?" she asked him.
Torsten/Lirim: He did, but he didn't want anyone else to touch it. His reluctance made the revenant smile. "He'll be a charming man."
Bronwyn: "He certainly will," Bronwyn chuckled, borrowing light from another lamp to make a ball for Torsten.
"My sister and Callum and I used to play football with these when we were kids."
Torsten/Lirim: "They're that tangible?" He tested in inquiry for himself.
Bronwyn: "Aye. They can feel like anythin' from marshmallows to those wee moss balls from Japan."
Torsten/Lirim: "Had he been caught in public using his magic?"
Bronwyn: "Callum or Lirim?"
Torsten/Lirim: "Aedan, I mean."
Bronwyn: "A few people have noticed things float but they usually write it off. Ye can almost see them convince themselves it was nothin'."
Torsten/Lirim: "That's the power of real magic. Humans are cursed to disbelieve."
Bronwyn: "Och, aye. I saw a lot o' that when I lived in Montana. They will do ev'rythin' possible to maintain their version o' reality. I spent about a week makin' this woman's yard grow waist-high weeds and ev'ry day she'd cut them down and nearly give herself an aneurysm with how hard she tried to find a rational explanation for it."
Torsten/Lirim: His eyes filled with humor. "What was her crime for waist high weeds?"
Bronwyn: "I was datin' her son and he sold me a plot o' land she apparently didn't want sold. After he got the money, he left me and she started spreadin' rumors and gossip about me while makin' me out to be the town harlot."
Torsten/Lirim: "Then she was most deserving. Is that why you no longer live in Montana?"
Bronwyn: "Oh no, that awful old hag wasn't enough to drive me away. I came down here when I was pregnant with Aedan and just never left."
Torsten/Lirim: "And the land you purchased?"
Bronwyn: "My sister's lookin' over it now, like my house and my ranch."
Bronwyn: "I planted as many trees as I possibly could on it."
Torsten/Lirim: "Should have planted the most obnoxious species around her house."
Bronwyn: "I thought about it but her neighbors were really nice and I didn't want them gettin' sap on their cars. And makin' what will one day be a small forest that will outlive her? Verra satisfyin'."
Torsten/Lirim: "I'd like to see this home, if it is still technically yours. You haven't passed it on to your sister?"
Bronwyn: "Legally it's both of ours but she still considers it mine. I'd love to show it to ye someday. I turned the garden into an absolute Eden."
Torsten/Lirim: "Let's hope she maintains what you've put such work into. It sounds like you're very proud."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled. "She always claimed no' to be the gardener type but bein' a Druid, she's grown to love it over the years."
Torsten/Lirim: "Your kind seem to only have two speeds. Healing and botany."
Bronwyn: "Well, there's no' much call for warriors these days, or seers."
Torsten/Lirim: "Seers, now that I doubt. Like death and taxes, as humans say, it is a need that will always be."
Bronwyn: "Perhaps," said Bronwyn, nodding. "But no' in the same sense. 'Seers' these days tend to just be ordinary people tellin' other people what they want to hear for money."
Torsten/Lirim: "Are you going to do that in your shop?"
Bronwyn: "Oh no, I've absolutely no gift for it."
Torsten/Lirim: "What about your bird?"
Bronwyn: "I'm no' sure if he does but even if he did, I don't know if I'd feel comfortable havin' people come into the shop for that. They want their future and predictions o' blessin' and doom, the French Quarter's crawlin' with hoodoo priests."
Torsten/Lirim: "You're protective of him."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Of course. He's my familiar."
Torsten/Lirim: "Sometimes it feels...ambiguous. Something deeper but...it's complicated to put into words. I can only imagine what it feels for you."
He looked to her hands. "You feel it too, yes?"
Bronwyn: She smiled, nodded again. "Aye. It's like...two parts o' the same spirit residin' in two bodies. We're connected. It's platonic, familial almost and sometimes it feels like it's far beyond that but it never approaches anythin' romantic. One day I'll find the right word to describe it."
Torsten/Lirim: "Sometimes I wonder if I should feel jealousy, but you're in my bed, not his. Though, I believe if you asked it of him, he would. I think he loves you that much."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn leaned over and kissed Torsten's cheek. "I am indeed. And though I love Vincent verra much, I don't think o' him that way." She kissed him again. "Only you."
Torsten/Lirim: "Not at all?" he smiled, placed his hand to her stomach, lower, below her navel. A child...someday. Perhaps not, but he would continue with his prediction.
"Almost done!" Lirim called from the kitchen.
Bronwyn: "No' at all," she repeated, smiling softly as she felt his hand on her abdomen. Gods willing, a part of both of them would grow in there someday.
Bronwyn inhaled, hummed at the aroma. "It smells amazin'!" she called back. "Does it look amazin'?"
Torsten/Lirim: "It'll be done soon!" Lirim called. "I don't think the center's done."
Torsten glanced to the kitchen and back to the druid. "Want to let Aedan stretch his legs outside before dinner?"
Bronwyn: "Okay! Tell me if ye need any help!"
She smiled and nodded as she turned back to Torsten. "That sounds like a lovely idea. What do ye say, love? Want to go out in the garden?"
Torsten/Lirim: Torsten got to his feet, reminding the little one of his great height. Aedan tilted back in an attempt to admire from head to toe. The result being the toddler flopping back on the rug.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed softly, helping Aedan to his feet before following suit. "Easy there, laddie. Let's take yer ball outside."
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim listened quietly from the kitchen. There was something ominous about Bronwyn's lover's aura that rubbed him the wrong way. It was most likely his distaste for the vampiric species as a whole. He knew his weaknesses and swore he'd keep his sinister desires to himself. This man wooing his family reminded him of his past, and of the demon he hadn't seen in so long. None of which was appreciated.
As soon as they were outside, Aedan was lifted and gently tossed in the air. The little boy squealed with surprise.
Bronwyn: Had Bronwyn known the lay of Lirim's thoughts she would've said something to reassure him, but even if she had, there was only so much she could do. He and Torsten needed to form their own opinions of each other, find their own common ground.
They were going to be a part of each other's lives, after all.
Aedan's delight had a matching smile spreading across Bronwyn's face as she reached for her phone. She needed to record this.
Torsten/Lirim: Torsten growled at her son with every catch, a noise which escaped the depths of his chest like thunder from caliginous clouds. The sound should have frightened, but instead delighted the boy, fingers sitting between teeth and gums as he giggled loudly.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn made sure to capture every single moment of their interaction, sending videos and pictures to her mother, her sister, Lucien, Lydia, Marie. Everyone had to see the preciousness that was Torsten playing with Aedan.
Including her, which is why after the pictures were sent out, she put her phone away and just enjoyed the moment.
Torsten/Lirim: "What was that?" he asked, holding Aedan to his chest. The toddler tucked his knees up, sitting comfortably against him.
Bronwyn: It was impossible not to smile. If they kept this up much longer her face was going to be sore. "Hm? What was what?"
Torsten/Lirim: "Your mobile. Were you taking a picture?"
Bronwyn: "Oh! Aye, I was. And some videos."
Torsten/Lirim: "Video? Will you send it to me?"
Bronwyn: "Of course. Want the pictures as well? I took quite a few."
Torsten/Lirim: "That's fine. It will be for Flora, if that's alright."
Bronwyn: "That's perfectly fine," she said, melting a little inside.
Torsten/Lirim: "You have that look in your eyes again."
Bronwyn: "What look?"
Torsten/Lirim: "That look as though you're going to weep of happiness."
Bronwyn: "I am happy. No' weepy though."
Torsten/Lirim: "Do you want him back?" He offered the giggling boy at arm's length.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn kissed Aedan's face and blew a raspberry on his tummy. "Ye two keep playin'." And bonding.
Torsten/Lirim: "What games does he like so far?"
Bronwyn: "He's a big fan of anythin' involvin' light, makin' a mess, and the airplane game."
Torsten/Lirim: "Ah. So you do like to be up high." Up into the air he went again! His squeal was all but a scream with delight.
Bronwyn: Laughing, Bronwyn went to the back door and poked her head in.
"Lirim, come look!"
Torsten/Lirim: Wiping his hands, Lirim stared out the window and frowned. "He ain't gonna drop our baby, is he?"
Bronwyn: "No, he's no' goin' to drop him." She stepped in further and gave him a very noisy, enthusiastic kiss on the cheek.
Torsten/Lirim: "Oh gawd, my face is under attack!" A kiss was given to her as well. "So, you gonna marry this man?"
Bronwyn: She leaned her head against his shoulder, watching the man she loved play with her baby.
"Aye," she said softly. "I think I am."
Torsten/Lirim: His own rested against her as well. "That's really gonna be a thing. Elaborate for me. He's a vampire?"
Bronwyn: "No' exactly. He's a revenant, which from what I've read is sort o' the halfway point between human and vampire. We're alike in that way, now that I think about it. I'm halfway between human and Fae."
Torsten/Lirim: "So, he needs blood to survive? He can die but he'll live forever?" How safe was this man around his son and the mother of his child? It hadn't occurred to him that Bronwyn had equal share for concern when it first came to Seth Jenkins. Often Lirim regarded him without recognition of his species.
Bronwyn: "Revenants are born with the ability to produce it, so they don't have to get it from someone else. As for livin' forever, no' really. He'll just live a verra long time. He's as mortal as I am, just with a longer lifespan."
Torsten/Lirim: "He said something about fifty?"
Bronwyn: "Aye. Without the measures he's taken to keep himself lookin' young, he'd look like he was in his fifties."
Torsten/Lirim: "So...right now he is...mortal but Dorian Gray?"
Bronwyn: "Minus the creepy paintin'."
Torsten/Lirim: "You're sure this is what you want? This... His lifestyle might be dangerous." The "might be" had been added for her benefit. He was almost certain of it.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "I'm sure. I haven't exactly been lucky in this particular department. Ye've seen some o' the men I've dated." None of them had exactly been high points for her.
"I know ye're worried, and ye've ev'ry right to be. But he's a good man, Lirim. Hard as that might be to believe, he's a good man. He loves me and I love him. All I ask is that ye give him a chance."
Torsten/Lirim: Bronwyn was clearly smitten by him. He needed a little more convincing.
"So he and his vampire clan won't try to sacrifice our son on the equinox or somethin', right? I'm - We're good on that front? You're sure? M'not afraid of vampires like I used to be. Haven't been for years."
Bronwyn: "There is no clan," she chuckled. "It's just him and his sister, who apparently loves flowers and all things light and soft. No sacrifices or anythin' of the sort. They're antique dealers."
Torsten/Lirim: "She still has to drink blood. Vampire, right? Where does she get it from? Has he ever killed anyone? How much d'ya know 'bout em, sweetie?"
Bronwyn: "Aye, she is and I imagine she either gets her sustenance from animal blood or a blood bank but I don't know the particulars. Has he killed anyone, probably so since he is a warrior in his own right. So has my sister."
Bronwyn kissed his cheek again. "He won't hurt me, Lirim. And he won't hurt Aedan. Please trust me."
Torsten/Lirim: "Someone," something, "that up there in age has t'have different views on parentin' than us. Seth's never struck our baby n'he's a reaper. What's he gonna do? Have ya talked about that?"
Bronwyn: "I'm sure he does and we have talked about his childhood before and how diff'rent it was to mine but he's no' goin' to just try to override the decisions we've made with Aedan and will make in the future. He's certainly no' goin' to hit him, ye know I won't let that happen."
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim didn't bother to hide his incredulousness, but he remained quiet on his skepticism. Nodding was probably the best answer he could give.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn's face fell. She'd known that it wasn't going to be smooth sailing right out the gate for them, but there was always that hope.
"Ye really don't like him, do ye?" she asked softly, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.
Torsten/Lirim: "M'just...apprehensive?" He stood with his back to their guest so as to keep his lips from being read, though the revenant wasn't paying them any mind. "His age, his species. It's a lot t'take in."
Bronwyn: "Aye, I know. Even with ev'rythin' we've seen and all the things that have happened I know it's a lot. I just...I want ye to like him. I want him to like ye. I want us all to be one big happy family and I know it'll take time and it might no' match the vision in my head, but..."
Torsten/Lirim: "N'I want ya t'be happy, sweetie. I really do. I just don't want there t'be unhappy surprises down the road for ya. I can't stop the world from hurtin' ya, but I'll kick its ass."
Bronwyn: She smiled. "I know. And I don't want there to be those kinds o' things either. That's why we're meetin' each other's families and talkin' through things. I want to marry him someday but he hasn't asked. We're still figurin' things out and learnin' about each other."
Torsten/Lirim: "If he uh...never asks, are ya still gonna be with him, just...let that slide?"
Bronwyn: "Well, at the risk of jumpin' the gun, from some of our conversations I think things are headin' that way. But when and if the time comes when I'm ready to be married and he hasn't proposed, or even the other way around, then he and I will have to have a conversation about it."
Bronwyn: "We're startin' to head into more serious waters. We're still gettin' our sea legs."
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim still wasn't entirely convinced, all save the fact that Bronwyn believed what she was saying. She loved the man in the backyard playing with their son, getting their little boy to chase him in tight circles widening out. Eventually, quite unceremoniously, Aedan fell on his rump and decided it was time for a nap.
Bronwyn: Another kiss was given to Lirim's cheek. She could tell he wasn't sold, but she didn't hold that against him. He and Torsten had only just met; they were still getting their sea legs with each other too.
She popped outside, smiling at the sight that greeted her. "He tucker himself out?"
Torsten/Lirim: "Chasing me to no avail tuckered him out, yes." The toddler was lifted and held with one arm, making his way back to the porch.
Bronwyn: "Those wee legs are goin' to be stronger before he knows it." Bronwyn held the door open, smiling at Torsten with that so-happy-she-could-cry look.
"We can set him down in his room."
Torsten/Lirim: "How often does he nap? You schedule it?" This might one day be his own. Information was wise to accumulate. Not that it would win him points with Lirim, but the nephilim was the last on his mind.
Bronwyn: "Usually only once a day, in the afternoon. If he's really tired or gets tuckered out like now, he'll take another in the evenin'. Ever since he was born we've been able to set a clock by his sleepin' habits."
Torsten/Lirim: "I can't recall the beginning of my childhood in great detail, but...I had nearly fifty years of it."
Bronwyn: "Fifty years....." A lifetime in and of itself. "I hope despite ev'rythin' there were many happy moments."
Torsten/Lirim: "We can talk about that later, that number." Because it was the elephant in the room.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded as she opened the door to Aedan's room. "Aye. We'll talk later." Once her baby was safely in his bed, his forehead was kissed and the nearest stuffed animal tucked in close to him.
Torsten/Lirim: A quick moment had to be taken to wrap his arms around her waist, sway with her, kiss her, live in the moment for a breath or ten.
Bronwyn: "Oh!" Bronwyn chuckled softly, surprised by the sudden affection and returning it twofold.
"Hello to ye, too," she whispered, nuzzling against him and squeezing him tight.
Torsten/Lirim: "Suppose we must go socialize again. A little friendly chat over game pie and scrutiny."
Bronwyn: "Aye." She tugged him down so she could kiss his cheek. "I promise he's just lookin' out for me."
Torsten/Lirim: "I know he is. I would be equally critical for Flora's sake."
Bronwyn: She kissed him again, just because. "Ye're a good man, Torsten Glockner."
Torsten/Lirim: "Lying is a sin, Ms. Bronwyn," he smiled.
Bronwyn: "Is it?" she asked, smiling back. "I'll have to keep that in mind should I find myself with the desire to lie." She took his hand and led him back to the kitchen.
Torsten/Lirim: "You harbor such desires? Who have you become? You're not my little thistle." She could still lead him any which way and he would follow along.
Lirim had set the table for three. Seeing them emerge from upstairs, Aedan's little plastic plate was put away.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "I don't, and yer verra wise words will surely deter me from it.
Lirim was greeted with a smile. "Baby boy's out like a light. Verra big day on the walkin' front."
Torsten/Lirim: "So I saw. Big days mean fussy baths on par with Leilani's tantrums."
"You have another child?"
"Oh, no. God, no. No that's...uh..."
Bronwyn: "My granddaughter. My son Lucien's daughter."
Torsten/Lirim: "The married one. Where is she now?"
Bronwyn: "She's with her new da."
Torsten/Lirim: "Oh, the marriage. Is that nearby? Another visit today?"
Is that all I am, a visit? Lirim sighed, taking a seat keeping quiet.
Bronwyn: "No' in the immediate area but fairly close. We can go see them tomorrow or later this week."
Bronwyn situated herself between Torsten and Lirim, squeezing both their hands.
Torsten/Lirim: Torsten took his seat and smiled. Something smug was in the air around him and Lirim wasn't sure why until he opened his mouth and asked, "Do you want us to say grace? Being...what you are."
"Nope. I'm good."
Bronwyn: Another squeeze was given to both their hands.
"Well, I was right. This looks ev'ry bit as good as it smells."
Torsten/Lirim: The silence continued as Lirim sliced into the pastry, filling their plates with a sudden aversion for conversation.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn got his attention with yet another squeeze to his hand, silently asking if he was okay while also not drawing attention to it and saying, "Thanks for dinner, darlin'."
She took a bite and beamed at him. "Perfect."
Torsten/Lirim: His answer was a subtle nod and a sigh. Torsten didn't mind the silence. After centuries of living, silence wasn't a luxury to question. Still, he gave his thanks.
"Okay, so," Lirim took a breath, "how did the two or ya meet? Ain't really heard the full story."
Bronwyn: How to put that mess at the mill in truthful turns that also didn't send Lirim into a protective rage?
"Vincent brought him to me and Callum," she said. "He and a friend o' his had been injured by some awful people who have since been dealt with. We healed them."
Torsten/Lirim: "Awful people? What did they want?"
Torsten looked to Bronwyn, gauging how she wanted to continue this.
Bronwyn: "It was a gang that rolled through the town. It's full o' tourists most o' the year, I guess that makes for a lot o' people to rob. They even trashed the mill."
Torsten/Lirim: "The mill?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye. There's an old mill on the edge o' town, hasn't been functional for a while."
Torsten/Lirim: "What we're they that they could take someone like you down?"
Torsten took a bite and swallowed. "Vampires."
Bronwyn: "Dead ones, thanks to the local hunters."
Torsten/Lirim: But not the very old thing next to you.
"Hmm. Well, how's Callum?" Subject change for the better.
Bronwyn: "He's doin' good! More relaxed now that he has extra, extra help in his shop."
Torsten/Lirim: "He's gettin' too big for him t'handle," he chuckled. "A florist shop, of all things."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "He is. Once people get a taste o' what a Druid can do with flowers--even if they don't know it's a Druid--they can never be satisfied with anythin' else."
Torsten/Lirim: "I haven't seen him in some time. How is he?" asked Torsten.
Bronwyn: "Happy and in love," she said fondly. "And apparently thinkin' about buildin' himself a new garden shed."
Torsten/Lirim: "Would he be offended by assistance?"
Bronwyn: "Ye know, I think he'd welcome it."
Torsten/Lirim: "Would the vampire be offended?"
Bronwyn: "That I don't know. I don't see why he should be though. It's no' as though ye have designs on Callum."
Torsten/Lirim: "You've never flirted with Callum, have ya?"
"No. In fact, he threatened my well-being on more than one occasion."
Lirim blinked.
Bronwyn: "Callum hasn't exactly been thrilled that we're datin'. He's startin' to come around though. Slowly, but he is."
Torsten/Lirim: "What was his issue?"
Bronwyn: "That I'm his cousin and Torsten's a boy I like."
Torsten/Lirim: "So he's hated all of them?"
Bronwyn: "I wouldn't say he's hated them--although he did hate a couple. Mostly he squints and broods and reminds them he knows ev'ry poison known to man and grows most of them."
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim leaned in, interested. "Who was the most loathed?"
"I don't want to take away from the experiences of others, but having a vampire at his side, I want to say it's me. Curses are not something to take lightly."
Bronwyn: "Actually, love, ye're no'. Compared to how he felt about Travis Reynolds he positively adores ye. Had he the power and the means at the time I sincerely believe he would've had him drawn and quartered then put back together and done it again."
Torsten/Lirim: "What did he do t'ya?"
Torsten frowned. The nephilim seemed excited. "Watched as the vampire cursed me to scrub my skin off with my finger nails."
The gleam in his eyes faded as he looked to Bronwyn. "Callum is no joke."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded, confirming Torsten's words. "No he is no', and his protectiveness knows no bounds. Needless to say, he and I had words after that nasty little incident."
Torsten/Lirim: "N'he's got nothin' t'say 'bout me bein' the father of Aedan?"
Bronwyn: "He was curious about it but since ye are I weren't datin' he was able to digest it more easily. We still haven't told him about my mama and the butcher."
Torsten/Lirim: "He's always been like this? Really? Just... almost feels antiquated."
"To an extent," said Torsten. "Though I've had my moments."
Bronwyn: "It started when his mama died. After that if my mama or grandmama or one of our aunts ever took a nap he'd sneak into wherever they were sleepin' just to make sure they were breathin'. If they left, he'd hover near the window until they returned."
Torsten/Lirim: "Well, when ya put it like that, it's..."
"pitiable," Torsten finished.
Bronwyn: "No one was surprised. His mama left one day and never came back. Made sense that people leavin' would scare him. He got better as time wore on but he was never the same."
Torsten/Lirim: "I still feel justified in laying a hand on him, but really I don't want the headache of a confrontation with my blood bag."
Bronwyn: "I don't want that confrontation either. I want ev'rythin' to be peaceful on that front, even if I have to stand on a chair to yell at ye giants."
Torsten/Lirim: "Of course you'll get what you want," Torsten smirked. "You have a knack for yelling."
Bronwyn: "I'm Scottish. It's what we do."
Torsten/Lirim: "By that logic I should be louder than you."
Bronwyn: "Ye might verra well be," she chuckled. "We'll have to check one day."
Torsten/Lirim: "Fights between the two or ya are gonna be epic," Lirim smirked.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "They certainly will be. Verra loud and verra epic." Hell, they'd already had their share of intense moments.
Torsten/Lirim: "Just don't pick fights with vampires and whatever else, please."
"I highly doubt Flora would have any interest in an argument. Unless a Glockner is endangered, she's quite passive."
Bronwyn: "I promise," she told Lirim. She wouldn't pick any fights but she would definitely finish a couple if they reached her family.
"Do the two o' ye ever fight?"
Torsten/Lirim: Both men looked up. "My sister? I don't know if you would call them fights. That's not something you do with the eldest of a...tribe."
Bronwyn: "Well no, no' proper fights. Just siblin' things like throwin' each other's boots in a lake."
Torsten/Lirim: "That's more of a sisterly disagreement. Fauna would do something like that."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled to herself. "My teenage self and Fauna would've gotten along verra well."
Torsten/Lirim: "Or complete opposite. I'm almost certain," he smiled.
Bronwyn: She chuckled softly. "Well, then we either would've thrown each other's boots in the lake or I'd fuss over her. Lirim can tell ye how good I am at that."
Torsten/Lirim: "Properly carry a sword, then it would have been more than thrown boots." He missed his sister. Lirim could feel it palpably.
"So, y'all stayin' the night?" For once attempting to be a positive distraction.
Bronwyn: "It got close a few times but our Da made us keep all our weapons peace-tied. Didn't apply to our bows, though, or stop Deirdre from usin' the hay to make a strawman for target practice."
Bronwyn looked between the two men for a moment. "We wouldn't want to put you out if ye have somethin' planned for this evenin'."
Torsten/Lirim: "No. Got nothin' planned except t'take Aedan on a walk to the park and back. Ya know, exercise and a little socializin' 'fore bed." He too looked between them. "Maybe y'all can do it...?"
Bronwyn: "What do ye think?" she asked, turning to Torsten and squeezing his hand under the table. "Want to spend the night?"
Torsten/Lirim: "If you're comfortable with that...?"
Lirim nodded. More time to learn about this man, he supposed.
"...Then alright."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "All right then. Looks like we're stayin'. My nightgown still in the guest room? I swear I have clothes spread out over several houses."
Torsten/Lirim: "That doesn't surprise me," Torsten smiled. The way she constantly left clothes behind in his hotel room, the dots were connectable.
Bronwyn: "It's the side o' teleportation no one warns ye about," she laughed. "With travel bein' so easy half yer things end up bein' in other places."
Torsten/Lirim: "And your bird never complains?"
Bronwyn: "Never, bless him, and I know it takes its toll. I try to do whatever I can to help him recover after ev'ry trip, especially the longer ones."
Torsten/Lirim: "He's saved us literally thousands of dollars," Lirim chuckled.
"He will be quite useful for our trip to Iceland."
Bronwyn: "He really has. I should make him a cake to thank him." A cake decorated with pretty stones and fruit.
She smiled and nodded. "He really will. Just goin' to have to make sure he's fortified first. And well fed."
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim continued to eat as Bronwyn gushed. Torsten mused over the familiar and the price he would fetch on the market. Not that he would, of course, but it was knowledge to have.
"It'll be soon, hopefully." A throwaway word he didn't care for, but used anyway.
Bronwyn: "We can plan it out sometime this week if ye want. Never hurts to be prepared ahead of time." And it would also give her a chance to pick his brain about things his sister might like, along with an idea of what to expect when they got there.
Torsten/Lirim: "Wait, how soon are y'all goin'?"
Bronwyn: "We agreed on sometime durin' the autumn. So a little while yet."
Torsten/Lirim: "Oh. Makin' it sound like y'all are leavin' t'morrow."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "Oh no, we still have a ways to go before we leave. I have to show him New Orleans first."
Torsten/Lirim: "What about Montana?"
Bronwyn: "Would ye want to see my old home?" she asked Torsten.
Torsten/Lirim: "Of course I would. Isn't that where your horse is?"
Bronwyn: "No, he's in Scotland with my mama. My chickens are there though. Along with my old house and my ranch."
Torsten/Lirim: "I've been mistaken. Why did I think there were horses in Montana?"
Bronwyn: "There are horses at the ranch. I breed them."
Torsten/Lirim: "Not /the/ horse," Lirim chuckled, "but a horse."
Bronwyn: "Yes indeed. Interestin'ly named horses I might add. One o' my foremen let his pre-teen girl name the newest batch o' foals."
Torsten/Lirim: "Be grateful it's not Icelandic," Torsten smiled.
Bronwyn: "I'd much rather it be Icelandic than have horses named 'Oceansong' and 'Spice'."
Torsten/Lirim: Lirim's brow wrinkled. "I thought horses had them weird sentence for names?"
Bronwyn: "Racin' horses usually do. I wonder how that started."
Torsten/Lirim: "It's insulting to the animal," said Torsten.
Bronwyn: "Insultin', pretentious, and verra annoyin'. But then racin' horses are used more for boostin' their owner's ego than anythin' else."
Torsten/Lirim: So, I shouldn't ask whether or not you've ever eaten one, he thought.
"Do you have any equestrian skill?" eyes on Lirim.
"My grandmother, my parents, they used to teach children how t'ride."
Bronwyn: "I should buy ye a horse for Christmas," Bronwyn mused, smiling at Lirim. "It can live in my stable. And I'll get ye a billowy shirt for when ye go ridin' with me."
Torsten/Lirim: "Oh I don't ride." All he could think about was the last day he'd seen Rory alive. "They've always looked like mythical monsters t'me."
Bronwyn: "Can't blame ye for that. Havin' seen their teeth I can say with certainty that they do look like mythical beasts."
Torsten/Lirim: "Yeah, imagine through the eyes of a child. Maybe ya can. Maybe ya both can," he scoffed, shook his head at the terrible memory of looking up at what he'd believed was a demonic animal the size of their house. He had been three years old at the time.
"My grandmother did have ponies, too. Those weren't so bad."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded and said, "I can. I was afraid o' the cows until I was about ten." And she had a memory very similar to Lirim's that had sprung that fear.
"Oh, I've always loved ponies. We should get one for Aedan."
Torsten/Lirim: So nonchalant in their discussion, in giving the child such a considerable responsibility. Not that Torsten was offended by their parenting. No, it was similar to his own upbringing. He had a horse of his own, and he had to take care of it or else it would die.
They probably hadn't that level of demand to their child.
So, he wouldn't say anything. He would finish his meal quietly as Lirim continued on about letting Aedan name it, letting it live in Montana where it could be safely taken care of.
Bronwyn: "It would have plenty o' company," said Bronwyn regarding letting the pony live in Montana. "I have a lot o' them on the ranch. The ranch hands' children help look after them in exchange for the privilege to ride. And the bunnies."
Torsten/Lirim: "Oh my gawd, that's a perfect exchange. I'm excited for his first day of chores. Is that weird?"
"No," said Torsten. "Children need to see responsibility and consequences."
Bronwyn: "It's a verra good system. Ev'ryone wins, includin' the ponies. I've never seen cleaner stalls anywhere."
Bronwyn shook her head. "No' at all," she agreed. "I feel like he's goin' to be the type that really enjoys chores. He loves the wee little broom we got him."
Torsten: Torsten smiled. "He has a wee broom? Really?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded with a grin. "Really really. He likes to help sweep, which is more like him beatin' the floor with his broom while we sweep."
Torsten: "That's...very sweet. It's also very smart. Learn from mimicry."
Bronwyn: "That's pretty much how I learned how to cook. By watchin' my mama."
Torsten: "The majority of how I learned hand-to-hand combat."
Bronwyn: "It's a good way to learn." Bronwyn smiled at Lirim. "Maybe Aedan will learn how to paint that way."
Lirim: "Only time will tell." Lirim smiled politely and took his plate to the sink.
Bronwyn: "Hands off those dishes. He who cooks does no' clean up."
Lirim: "I - It's my house!" he laughed.
Bronwyn: "Rules are rules," Bronwyn told him, nodding sagely. "Sit now. I'll do the dishes."
Torsten/Lirim: "Fine, but I'm puttin' the rest away for leftovers."
Torsten excused himself upstairs to check on the baby, having heard the uneven breaths of a wakeful child attempting to climb out of bed.
Lirim watched and turned to Aedan's mother, confusion obvious.
Bronwyn: "I suppose we can allow that. Just don't work too hard."
She smiled and squeezed Lirim's arm. "Probably heard Aedan stir. He's got superhuman hearin'."
Lirim: "That's...that's okay with you?"
Bronwyn: "It led to a couple of embarrassin' moments when we first met but I've gotten used to it."
Lirim: "Embarrassin' moments?" He was staring at the path Torsten had taken with a frown.
Bronwyn: "He heard me and Vincent talkin' about how attractive he is."
Lirim: "He really just went up there without permission." One track mind.
Bronwyn: "He's just checkin' on the baby, Lirim," Bronwyn said gently.
Lirim: "Yeah but guests usually ask."
Bronwyn: She squeezed his arm again, unable to help feeling a little defeated. "I'll make sure he does from here on out."
Lirim: "Is Aedan gonna -" No, he couldn't be that selfish. After all, Seth had taken over the title of papa, which had belonged to another.
Bronwyn: "Is he goin' to what, darlin'?"
Lirim: "Be called...papa or daddy or some Icelandic version of it or..."
Bronwyn: "Oh...well...he wouldn't force Aedan to call him anythin'."
Torsten/Lirim: As Torsten returned, their baby in arms, Lirim looked away and began to busy himself.
"I apologize," said the revenant. "I'm accustomed to the village-to-raise method.
Lirim swallowed. There was that hearing he'd been warned of.
Bronwyn: Hoping to lighten the mood, Bronwyn smiled and went to Aedan.
"There he is! Did ye have a good sleep, love? We all sure missed ye a lot. Didn't we, Lirim?"
Torsten/Lirim: With a blink and a swallow, Aedan's father nodded.
"Hey, little man."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nuzzled Aedan and kissed all over his face. "Are ye hungry, love? Do ye want food?"
Lirim: "Grapes," their son muttered in his mother's arms.
Bronwyn: "I'll get ye some grapes, baby." She kissed his cheek. "Want some juice?"
Lirim: "Grape milk."
Lirim chuckled. "Grape juice, baby boy."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "Grape juice it is. And some o' the lovely pie that Daddy made, with lots o' crust."
Torsten/Lirim: "So many grapes," their son continued on. It must have been that commercial he liked. See, this was why Lirim forbade television. It was cute, but already he'd had a nightmare over a movie trailer.
Torsten leaned some of his weight against the druid and smiled at the child.
"Hello again, little man."
Bronwyn: "Aye, love, so many." Even more kisses, followed by a chuckle. "It's a good job that commercial doesn't have a jingle. I'd hate for that to be the first thing ye learn to sing along to. And we're still aimin' for The Beatles, aren't we?"
Bronwyn leaned against Torsten and smiled at all her lovely men. She loved them all so much.
Torsten/Lirim: They looked... wholesome together, but still, that was his son. He had to wonder if Bronwyn felt the same sense of protectiveness when Seth first joined their family. Surely something. This felt like torture and he begged his mind to stop.
"You'll be teaching him Gaelic too, yes?" Torsten asked.
Bronwyn: She had, and not just over Aedan. Over Lirim as well. They were her family; anyone new that came near them was fair game for suspicion until she got to know them and trusted they weren't a threat.
But even though she understood Lirim's reservations, she still wished there was something she could do or say to reassure him that Torsten wouldn't hurt her or their child.
"I sure will," she said, kissing Aedan's cheek. "I know some Latin, too. The more languages the merrier."
Torsten/Lirim: "Will you be teaching him Irish?"
Lirim blinked.
"Your accent," the revenant continued, "it's slight."
"I-I'm not fluent. My parents... It was my father's first language. I...should probably brush up on it."
Bronwyn: "We could brush up together," Bronwyn offered, smiling hopefully at Lirim. "I'm rusty on non-ancient Irish."
Lirim: "I thought you only spoke the uh, Scottish Gaelic."
Bronwyn: "I learned ev'ry variation of Gaelic there is. Ancient and modern, Irish and Scottish. Part of learnin' magic."
Torsten: "Some spells can only be achieved in the language they originated in."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye. I think I knew Middle English at one point for that exact reason."
Torsten/Lirim: "Those are very old spells," Torsten nodded.
"Guess I should learn more," said Lirim.
Bronwyn: "Maybe Avalbane could teach us. She's been wantin' to practice teleportin'."
Torsten: "Hopefully it's a light magic spell," said Torsten.
Bronwyn: "Apparently she took a whole ritual and condensed it into a fairly simple spell. She's verra bored, no one in town is currently pregnant."
Torsten/Lirim: Torsten only smiled and kept his thoughts to himself. That look in his eyes, though, was anything but innocent. Lirim didn't like the emotions he was obtaining. He had to look away and force the subject away.
"Anyway, baby boy wants his grapes."
"Graaaapes!" Let the fussing begin.
Bronwyn: "Yes, grapes!" In an effort to bypass the fussing before it got too bad, Bronwyn made quick work of getting Aedan his grapes and juice and a toddler-sized slice of pie with extra crust.
"Now, what do we say, love?" she asked Aedan as she sat him at the table.
Lirim: "Go rai - tapadh leat."
Lirim rubbed his face. "We're teaching him too many at once," he laughed.
Bronwyn: "Juuuust a wee," Bronwyn chuckled, kissing the top of Aedan's head. "And he's such a clever laddie for rememberin' them all. Mostly."
Torsten/Lirim: "Who he got it from is a mystery," said Torsten.
"One of the other ones. My memory is shit."
Bronwyn: She smiled and shook her head. "He might even have picked up a wee bit o' French. He's goin' to be multi-lingual before we even know what hit us."
Torsten/Lirim: "You have someone? A Seth?"
"...Yes."
"How many languages does he speak?"
"I don't know... He might have spoken something about Aedan."
Bronwyn: "I could swear he told me once but I can't remember. I do, however, distinctly remember teachin' him ancient Gaelic curse words."
Lirim: "You taught my boyfriend curse words?"
Bronwyn: "I might have. There might also have been whiskey behind that decision."
Lirim: "What the hell! I haven't heard any of this!"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "Ye were paintin'!"
Lirim: "I was home?!"
Bronwyn: She laughed again, nodding. "Ye were right in the middle of a restoration and in the cone of concentration."
Lirim: "Well now I have a conversation piece for Seth."
"Graaaapes!"
Bronwyn: "Yes, love, grapes! Ask him if he remembers any of them," she added, placing another little cluster of grapes on Aedan's plate.
Torsten: Torsten offered one of the grapes to the little boy. It was easy to slip back into a cultural norm he was used to.
"Can you say, 'Góðan daginn'? It means 'Good day'."
"Goo-an!"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn beamed at the pair of them. "He really does have a good ear for languages." She was suddenly having visions of Aedan growing up to be a linguist or a professor.
Torsten: "I met a man once, Spanish-Japanese, young, early twenties kind of young. Fluent in four languages, but his issue was consistency. In mid-sentence he would switch to Spanish, to a Japanese word, back to English."
Bronwyn: "I used to do that a lot when I was learnin' English and my brain forgot to switch gears. What was the fourth language?"
Torsten: Torsten shrugged. "I want to say French."
Bronwyn: "Verra impressive. He could travel practically ev'rywhere and never need a translator."
Lirim: "He would need t'add Portuguese and Chinese to that list, I think," said Lirim, idly wiping at the kitchen counter.
Bronwyn: "Oh aye, good call. Maybe Hindi, too, since India and China have the biggest populations."
Torsten/Lirim: "So, um...stayin', right?" Just needed that confirmation. "Like...in town, I mean."
Torsten nodded. "For as long as Bronwyn wants."
Bronwyn: "Bronwyn wants ye to stay for a long, long time. Or until we go to Iceland."
Torsten: "Which will be soon, I hope. I haven't been gone from Iceland in so long in many a year."
Bronwyn: "Verra soon. I'm excited to see yer home and meet yer sister."
Lirim: "So, takin' our little man on a walk?" He didn't want to hear about her leaving.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye, I think we are. It'll give him a chance to stretch his legs and give Torsten a chance to see the neighborhood."
Lirim: Lirim leaned in when a moment of privacy was spared. Softly, he asked, "Are we all goin', or d'ya want some time alone?"
Bronwyn: "I'd love that, but it's up to ye," she said just as softly.
Lirim: "I uh...I get a lot of time to myself with Seth and Aedan. I still don't - but you're his mama. Y'all... go ahead."
Bronwyn: "All right, darlin'." Bronwyn kissed his cheek. "Thanks for givin' him a chance."
Lirim: "Meh," he chuckled. "Still watchin' him like a hawk."
Bronwyn: She smiled. "I know ye are. I love ye, Lirim Vivaldi."
Torsten/Lirim: "Love ya too, Bronwyn." A quick kiss was given to her cheek, and he turned when he remembered Torsten's superior hearing.
You're for forever, aren't you? he thought.
The revenant simply smiled politely.
Yeah...that's a forever smile.
"They'll be back in one piece, I promise."
Bronwyn: "In one excellent piece," Bronwyn added, giving Lirim a reassuring smile. She put some more grapes into a baggie and went to prepare the stroller for their walk.
Nothing but Dead Ends || Bronwyn, Vincent, & Charles
Charles: He paced the floor of his study, inexplicably nervous. It hadn't taken him very long to talk himself down from his panic after the encounter he privately dubbed 'The Atlas Fiasco'. Charles Xavier was a man of action; wallowing did not become him.
Still, one's boyfriend changing species and losing his memory was a bear of a problem to tackle. He'd scoured a mate's preternatural library for answers and, finding none, had immediately sought out the next course of action. Who knew real life had a phone-a-friend option?
He'd been quick to scrounge up the number Mason'd had the foresight to give him, but actually making the call was proving to be a mite more difficult. "Nothing for it but to take the plunge, old man," he muttered to himself, pressing 'call' before his fear could get the better of him. He would exhaust all resources.
Bronwyn: "Ye need to move them, the sunflowers are castin' too much shade, stealin' all the light," said Bronwyn, adjusting the hat on her head. She and Callum had spent a lovely morning playing in the dirt, and her cousin's garden was all the more beautiful for it.
Eden had nothing on a Druid's garden.
Callum contemplated his nasturtiums. "I've been meanin' to but I can't decide where to put them."
Bronwyn looked around. "How about.....there?" She pointed at a bed lined with begonias just as her phone rang. One glance at the display had lead pooling in her stomach. There was only one reason she would be receiving this call. "Mind if I take this?"
"No' at all."
Bronwyn stepped into the house before she answered. "Charles? What's wrong?"
Charles: "Hello to you as well, Bronwyn. Lovely to hear your voice," he teased, though anyone that knew him could detect the thread of anxiety weaved into his charm. It was possible that the restless clacking of pen against desk was audible as well. Charles was not in a good place, but manners make the man.
"I must confess, I did phone for something more pressing than small talk. I'm... When was the last time you heard from Mason?"
Bronwyn: Under normal circumstances she would've gone through the motions and made small talk with Charles, but under normal circumstances she also wouldn't have this bad feeling in her gut.
"When he texted me and told me he was about to do somethin' extreme and asked me to understand."
Charles: "Well." How to best to share what he knew? Charles was already taking meddling to its extreme by calling on Mason's friends for help. Did he have any right at all to share the would-be demon's secrets?
The answer may have been 'no', but the ache in his chest would not be soothed until a solution was found. Best to spill the truth quickly and efficiently. They'd officially reached Band-Aid territory.
"Extreme is putting it lightly," he began, grave despite his earlier efforts to be otherwise. "I don't know how much he told you about his plans, but the goal was to erase all memory of his so- of his past, so that he could have a slightly more bearable eternity. I told him it was a terrible idea, but those eyes. I couldn't deny him the right to pursue happiness. Needless to say, it did not go well. I hadn't heard from him in too long, so I popped by for a visit."
He needed to stop babbling and get to the point.
"Mason is human and remembers nothing of his past life."
There. Band-Aid.
"There must be something we can do. I'm... I can't lose him this way."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn's only thought when Charles finished speaking was, 'Oh, Mason.'
Mason, Mason, Mason, what on earth have you done? How could you have been so breathtakingly reckless messing with something as fragile and fickle as memory?
She sank into the nearest chair and was silent for a long time. Charles might think the call had cut off except for the sighing that could be heard clearly over the line.
Charles: Charles was ever so grateful for the limits of phone calls as his lip began to wobble, careful composure cracking for the second time since he'd met that stranger. He kept himself quiet. A calm façade that only distance allowed.
"I'm so sorry," he breathed, when he was certain his voice would crack. "I'm so, so sorry."
Bronwyn: "I'm sorry, too," Bronwyn said softly. "The loss isn't only mine or only his." Or only Callum's. "It's yers as well. Ye love him."
Charles: "More than I can say," he agreed. A wave of exhaustion days in the making crashed over him and he collapsed into the chair behind his desk, rubbing at his eyes. "Is there anything to be done?"
Bronwyn: "I don't know. I'd have to do some diggin', find out exactly what he did or who he went to and dig some more. But whatever happened here, I think it's safe to say this wasn't the intended result. From what ye're tellin' me, he wanted to strike a few things from the slate, no' wipe it clean."
Charles: "That's what he told me. I trust that he wouldn't want me gone completely; it's why I felt justified in calling in reinforcements." A brief pause. "Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?"
If there was one thing Charles Francis Xavier hated, it was feeling useless.
Bronwyn: "If ye hadn't, I would have. When he sent me that text he told me to contact ye if somethin' went wrong. I didn't want to believe somethin' had but here we are..."
Bronwyn heaved a long sigh. "I don't know. I hate that that's the only answer I have."
Charles: "Oh." Full of surprises, that demon of his. The chunk of ice lodged where his heart should be thawed the smallest bit at the knowledge. "I don't know how he believed I might help the situation."
There was that pen again, tapping thoughtfully away at polished mahogany. "I suppose I could do more reading on my own end. I haven't found anything thus far, but I can't imagine sitting idly by while he's... Anything you think you might need, yeah? I'll be there. Nothing is too large or small."
Bronwyn: "He probably thought that between the two of us we could resolve whatever it was he was worried would go wrong." Bronwyn could only hope Mason's faith hadn't been misplaced. How ever many amazing things she was able to do, her power had limits, and those limits tended to rear their heads at the most inconvenient of times.
"Actually, I do need somethin'. I need ye to tell me ev'ry detail ye can remember about this new Mason. Ev'ry single one, even the ones that don't feel important in the grand scheme."
Charles: "Oh." A beat. "Oh, all right."
Charles had never once been more grateful for his eidetic memory. Pen still tapping out a jittery little samba, he dragged the incident to the forefront of his mind.
"From what I could tell, the house remained unchanged. I wasn't given free rein to go exploring, of course, but nothing I could see was out of the ordinary. Mason..."
He inhaled shakily. As far as memories to relive went, this one was hardly going to make the highlight reel.
"He looked enough like himself for me to believe that he was himself, but there were subtle differences. He'd shaved, for one, and he'd gotten his hair cut. That should have been a red flag, though I thought he only wanted a change of pace... He wasn't as impeccably dressed as he usually is, either. That may have had more to do with the fact that he'd obviously been sleeping, but I can't be certain of anything in this situation.
He mentioned parents. Both dead. His mother more recently. He told me that was why he was in North Carolina to begin with; he'd inherited the house. He said that he'd grown up there, but he'd been living in Louisiana, which is where most of his friends were. Are? I didn't catch any names."
He swallowed past a viscous lump of bile and plowed on. God, why couldn't he let this go.
"He'd been to see someone.... And apparently his visit and inspired a similar reaction to my own. Someone named Callum? What else? What. Else. Oh! And he was sporting a tattoo that I'd never seen before. Just below his neck. Some-- some sort of symbol. It wasn't one I recognized, but I could probably draw a rough sketch of it from memory. I was a bit too preoccupied to ask him anything about it."
That was all he had. He could only hope something would be of use. "His name was Lawrence. Lawrence Atlas."
Bronwyn: Rather than clear things up a little, Charles' tale just confused and concerned her more. It was one thing to have no memories of your life. After all, hundreds of people got amnesia every year. It wasn't an ideal condition but at least it had a name and a cause.
But having entirely different memories to replace the ones you'd lived through and suddenly changing species? Suddenly having a different first name but the same surname?
That was a horse of a different color.
Bronwyn rubbed her forehead. She could feel a perfectly vicious headache coming on.
"I haven't seen him shirtless all that often but I don't remember him havin' a tattoo. Might be somethin' there. As for the visit with Callum..." She sighed. "I heard about it. Callum's my cousin. I'm actually visitin' him at the moment."
Charles: "It's new," he assured, before he could reflect on the implication of such a hasty response. All at once, he was grateful for their distance. She couldn't see how red his face had gotten from... wherever she was.
"Oh." Cousins? Had Mason mentioned that? Not as far as Charles could recall, and he wasn't in the habit of memory suppression. He couldn't be sure just what this new scrap of information made him feel. "I see. Well, I hope he's all right. I know that seeing him was difficult for me. I can only imagine..."
Bronwyn: The implication flew right over Bronwyn's head; it was taken with more pressing matters than why Charles was able to clarify that point with such certainty.
"Maybe I'm graspin' at straws here, but I think this new Mason havin' a tattoo that our Mason doesn't means somethin'. Draw me that sketch. I'll see if I can dig anythin' up."
"He's fine now," Bronwyn said carefully. She didn't know if Charles knew about the soulmate thing, so she thought it best to proceed with caution and be as casual as possible. "It was a shock, though. It's hard to prepare for somethin' like that."
Charles: Charles knew. Of course he knew. But he wasn't about to broach the subject now. Or ever, most likely. He couldn't quite manage to be in denial about Mason's cosmic life-partner, but he'd keep it under lock and key until he was forced to face it. "Good. Good, I'm glad to hear it."
A soft rustle of paper accompanied his pleasantries, the professor digging about for a scrap of paper to begin his sketch. The sooner they sorted this mess out, the better. "Anyway, you're probably right about the tattoo bit. I'll draw up a likeness right this very moment."
Bronwyn: "I appreciate that, thank ye. It might be nothin', but we have to turn over all the rocks." After a few moments she added, very gently, "How are ye doin', Charles? Really, how are ye doin'?"
As she'd said before, it wasn't just her loss. It was his, too, and in a lot of ways it cut him more deeply. He was in love with Mason, after all.
Charles: "I've been better, Bronwyn, I must admit," he sighed, dragging his free hand through his hair and leaving it as disarranged as he felt. "I miss him. Terribly, awfully, dreadfully. I just want him back."
With gentle clearing of his throat, he collected himself and put the final touches on his sketch. "There. I think that's it, more or less. God, I hope it's of use." Now how was he going to get it to her?
"I could bring it by yours? Perhaps sending a photo would be easier? Whichever you'd prefer."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn's heart hurt for him. She knew what it was to lose someone you were deeply in love with, but her loss wasn't the same as his. Ian MacGregor was still himself even if he wasn't with her. "We'll get him back, Charles. I don't know how we're goin' to do it or how long it's goin' to take, but we'll get him back. I promise."
"It has to be. I'd like to think it wouldn't have appeared on his skin otherwise." She glanced out the window, saw Callum gently digging up plants. "I leave that entirely up to ye. Whatever would be easiest and make ye the most comfortable."
Charles: Charles allowed that gentle promise to soothe him. The man was nothing if not optimistic, and if Bronwyn was confident, he was more than happy to feed off of that.
"I'll pop over, then." His enthusiasm had little to do with necessity. He only wanted to feel useful. As if he was doing something. A concrete plan set in motion to reach a goal. Even with Bronwyn's assurances, Charles would go mad if he was forced to sit and stew in his own worries. "I've got a free moment. Where do you live?"
Distance was no object when one housed mutants that could travel hundreds of miles in an instant.
Bronwyn: Since she was going to be staying there for the next little while, Bronwyn gave Charles Callum's address. It wasn't the most ideal situation, but she could hardly ask Vincent to teleport her to New Orleans just so Mason's boyfriend wouldn't meet the reincarnation of his dead wife. It would only delay the inevitable.
"My cousin's out working in the garden at the moment. If you don't feel comfortable with him here, I know somewhere where we can go to talk this out."
Charles: "Oh, no, no, no, darling. That's perfectly all right." Of course, Charles couldn't possibly know that the cousin in question was none other than the infamous soul mate. Mason hadn't been particularly forthcoming with that scrap of information.
"I'll see you soon," he promised, bright with this newfound purpose, before clicking off.
It was the work of ten minutes to type the address into Google Maps and have Kurt examine the area. Thank heaven for satellites. In no time at all, he was waving away a cloud of sulfur, nodding to the handsome fellow in the front garden, and tidying himself as best as possible.
His rap on the door was quick and efficient.
Bronwyn: Just as oblivious as Charles was, Callum felt only mild curiosity as he watched the strange man go up to his front door, smiling and waving in greeting before continuing with his work. Guy was probably a guest of Bronwyn's. It never ceased to amaze him how many acquaintances his cousin could make.
Bronwyn, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves. She really wished she knew how much Mason had told Charles about Callum and vice versa. She could ask them herself, but she didn't want to bring them up to each other in that sense. It would only make this whole situation worse.
Better to avoid soulmate talk altogether, she thought as she went to answer the door.
"Well hello there, Charles. Come in."
Charles: Charles' greeting smile was broad and charming, masking a fair bit of worry. There was something uniquely satisfying about being active however.
He crossed the threshold, giving the space a politely curious once-over before offering Bronwyn the full force of that smile. "Bronwyn. It's so very lovely to see you again."
To his merit, this was true enough. He admittedly wished that they were meeting under better circumstances, but he'd been nothing short of charmed by their last interaction.
"Beautiful home you've got here. The garden is spectacular. Did you want my sketch straight off?"
Regardless of her answer, he was already slipping a hand into his jacket to retrieve it.
Bronwyn: "It's lovely to see ye as well," she said, offering him a smile in return. The smile hid enough that if she didn't know better, she would never have guessed something was wrong. That would probably work to their advantage what with Callum so close by.
"It's my cousin's place, but yes it is. He's put his blood, sweat, and tears into makin' this house what it is." Bronwyn nodded. "Might as well. There's no pressin' danger but I'd still feel better if we got this mess figured out as quickly as possible."
Charles: "Oh?" Charles tossed a quick glance through the doorway, but he couldn't see Handsome Waving Fellow from his vantage.
"Was that him I saw toiling away in the garden? His work's certainly paid off. It puts the Institute's to shame. I only hope he doesn't mind that I invited myself over."
The corners of his mouth tilted up in a weak little smile. Charles was in total agreement. The man that would be Mason seemed in perfectly good health, but the matter still felt pressing to the telepath. Ah, love.
"Well, here you are," he nodded, holding out a bit of school stationary folded neatly in two. "Is the symbol one you recognize? I've never seen anything like it before."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye, that's him. He's doin' some maintenance and rearrangin' out there. Some of the flowers aren't as happy as they could be."
He won't mind as long as he has no idea who you are, she thought before waving the matter aside. "He won't. He'll be out there for hours putterin' away."
Bronwyn took the paper and studied the symbol Charles had drawn, brow furrowed. "I can't say that I do. And yet..." She rotated the paper left and right, studying it for a few long moments. Had she seen this before? Surely not. She'd have done research if she had. "I could swear it looks vaguely familiar but I can't for the life o' me figure out why. Ye said this was tattooed on him?"
Charles: "Admirable dedication." He caught wind of that last thought, however unintentionally, and his eyebrow quirked in curiosity. He thought it better not to ask, though. Now wasn't the time. "Good. I'm glad to hear it."
"Mm," he agreed, studying her expression rather than the drawing itself. "Just here." His fingers brushed lightly over his own clavicle, where it was hidden beneath pressed cotton. "The human mind is a remarkable thing. It recalls more than we can consciously know. Perhaps you've seen it in passing? A book?"
Bronwyn: "Aye, perhaps. It looks similar to some ancient Irish Celtic symbols I've seen." Bronwyn studied it for a few more moments before nodding to herself. "I suppose that's as good a start as any. Come, we'll comb through my cousin's library, see what we can find." If they couldn't find anything (Callum's books dealt mostly with plants and growing), she'd ask Vincent to pop over to her library in New Orleans and maybe the one back in Montana too.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to offer ye somethin'. Would ye like somethin' to eat or drink?"
Charles: Finally. Something to do. Steps to take that would lead to a solution, or at the very least rule out certain possibilities. He grinned broadly, something grateful glinting in his eyes, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides with renewed energy. "Brilliant. Lead the way." Scouring through old texts was something he was good at.
"Oh, thank you, no." He declined the offer with a smile and a brief shake of the head. Charles doubted he could eat anything, at the moment. "I'm quite all right."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn couldn't help but smile back; he just looked so relieved. It made her wonder just how much time he'd spent trying to figure out a way to fix it and how frustrated he must have been to keep coming up with nothing. She knew the feeling well.
She nodded as she led him into the small room tucked away at the back of the house's second floor, where there were as many books on the floor and table as there were on the shelves. "Sorry about the mess. I've been workin' on somethin' of a side project and haven't had much luck yet. Now let's see..."
After careful scanning, Bronwyn selected four books as starting points, all dealing with Irish Celtic lore. She handed two to Charles. "Based on what I know, there are two reasons he'd have the mark; a spell or a creature."
Charles: "Oh, no, no. Please don't apologise. At least not until you've seen the disaster area that is my study." His gently self-deprecating chuckle was well earned. He'd really only been mildly hyperbolic. He did his best thinking when everything to consider was spread out before him.
The telepath fell to immediately, peeling open the topmost book with an almost reverent sort of care. He divided his attention neatly in two, eyes scanning the first page and ears still pricked to all Bronwyn was saying. Spell-work he was passingly familiar with, but... "Creature? What sort of creature?"
Bronwyn: "The ancient and powerful sort," said Bronwyn, cracking open her own book. "There are some creatures whose magic is so powerful that it leaves a physical mark on whoever is affected by it. It can be a burn, a scar, or in some cases, a tattoo. Sometimes it can even be a sort o' bond."
Charles: "Ah." Charles had a muddy sort of understanding. There was so much about this world just beyond his world that was inconceivable. Now, apparently, there were ancient powerful beings that could alter the very fabric of someone's reality. Fantastic. He continued to flip through pages, hoping that the gravity of all that he didn't know or understand wasn't plain in his face.
"A bond between the creature and the person? Or the person and another person?"
Bronwyn: "Between the creature and the person. No' a romantic one mind ye--although I'm sure that happens ev'ry now and then. A bond of servitude, of debt, of any number of unpleasant things. And as long as that mark remains, so too does the bond."
Charles: At those words something ice cold and unpleasantly slick worked its way down his spine. He shuddered, swallowed hard, and turned a page with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. His voice, surprisingly enough, was steady when he spoke next. "Debt... Is there any way to remove the mark without harming the host? Aside from the general unpleasantness that would be laser-surgery, I mean."
Bronwyn: "I'm no' sure," said Bronwyn, scanning through a list of ancient symbols. "Magic can only be altered or overridden with more magic, but there are some types that are stronger than others. But even if we could remove the mark, I don't know if that would sever any potential bond. We'd have to know exactly what the mark is to know if it's just a symbol or if is the bond, if that makes sense."
Charles: "It does." Frustration tugged at the corners of his mouth. It did not dampen his determination, however, and he scanned through pages with a stiff efficiency. He'd finished off the first, the second, with nothing to show for it. He was nearly through the third before he spoke again. "Are there any more that might be useful?"
Bronwyn: Having come up just as empty-handed as Charles, Bronwyn went back to the bookshelf and got them some more material. There hadn't been anything in any of the books on Irish Celtic lore, so she branched out into other regions and religions.
"Whatever else has changed, the fact that he lived in New Orleans has stayed the same," she said as she handed Charles a small stack of books. "That makes me wonder if whatever happened to him could've happened there. Lots o' voodoo and hoodoo in those parts."
Charles: "Mm. That's certainly a possibility." It seemed to Charles that nearly anything was a possibility in this hidden world of demons and curses. With nothing off-limits, they had a hell of a lot to sift through. It was not a comforting thought.
He smiled, faint but grateful, and set the pile of books nearby to continue his scouring. "I have a necromancer friend who lives in New Orleans. She owns a bookstore. I certainly wouldn't say no to a trip. Just to see what there is to dig up." After this, of course. After he'd exhausted every page of every suitable book in the place.
Bronwyn: Times like these, Bronwyn really missed her library back in Ronan. That house and pretty much everything in it had been designed with one goal in mind: to help hunters. It hadn't started out that way, but that was the way it had ended up.
Hell, she'd even managed to find a medical supply company that would sell to her!
"Definitely an option for us to keep in mind. I actually have a friend down there who's a hoodoo priestess. She might be willin' to help us out, too."
Charles: "Perhaps we should plan a trip in the immediate future." His tone was gently amused, but Charles put a mental pin in the idea to examine later. For the time being, it was best to exhaust all possibilities here. Plan A before Plan B, and all that.
He paused in his flipping, finger poised on a swirling, black mark that resembled Lawrence's tattoo. It wasn't the same mark --Charles' memory was photo-accurate-- but it did bear a slight resemblance. It was probably nothing, but there was no harm in trying.
"Does this mean anything to you?" he asked, tapping at the illustration in question.
Bronwyn: "Ye're more than welcome to visit," said Bronwyn, smile matching Charles' tone. "I live there, remember? I already have a pretty good idea of where all the places that might help us are."
She leaned over to get a look at the page Charles was pointing at. "Huh. That looks vaguely familiar. Does it say what creature or spell it belongs to?"
Charles: "Mm. Djinn." He chewed on the unfamiliar word, tapping out the syllables against thin paper. "Dee-jin? Die-jin? Jin? Whatever it is I've never heard of it." With the admission, he pushed the book across for Bronwyn to get a better look. And though it wasn't his intention, his eyes were faintly pleading when he finally tore them away from the pages. "Have you?"
Bronwyn: "Jin," Bronwyn confirmed, studying the page more closely. Maybe they were finally starting to get somewhere.
"As a matter of fact, I have. My brothers ran into one a few years ago. Djinn are basically genies. They grant yer dearest wishes but never the way ye think they are. Some species of djinn send ye into a perfect dream state while they drain ye of blood. Others are more trickster-like, givin' ye what ye want but havin' it bite ye in the ass."
Charles: There was nothing to be done for it; his pulse began to hammer, like his heart was trying to slam its way out of his ribcage. Hope is a dangerous weapon. "Yeah?" he breathed, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Do you think that warrants further exploration?"
A shudder ran through him, unbidden, as the truth of Bronwyn's explanation settled over him. "Your brothers... did they-- What was the outcome of their experience? Is there any way to stop it? If we're even dealing with a djinn, I mean."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn looked between the symbol on the page and the one Charles had drawn and considered. They were incredibly similar. "I think we would be remiss no' to."
"Things turned out verra well for them, and aye. Djinn can be killed."
Charles: Charles paled, if only slightly, casting his gaze down toward the swirling symbols. Killed. A dangerous word, to be sure. It filled him with a sense of dread that he quickly buried. Perhaps murder wasn't the only way to rescue his Mason. He'd consider his options once they'd formulated a plan. "Good. Good. That's a relief to hear. So... where do we start?"
Bronwyn: "Ideally by goin' to Mason and askin' him if he's been associatin' with any suspicious characters but in lieu of that, we need to go down to New Orleans. Even if it is a djinn and no' some sort of curse, my friend Marie's input could be verra valuable."
Charles: "Sounds reasonable." Charles nodded, trying not to seem as eager as he was. He was ready to leave right that very instant, no preparation necessary. But there was a scrap of sanity left in him yet, and he knew better than to assume a grown person could drop everything to go on a man hunt. Monster hunt? "When would you like to go?"
Bronwyn: "As soon as ye're ready," said Bronwyn. This entire situation made her uneasy; she didn't want to be without answers any longer than she had to be.
Whatever had cast that curse, Mason was soon going to be free of it. She and Charles would make sure of it.
Charles: "I'm ready, now." Perhaps he sounded a mite overeager, but Charles wanted answers just as badly and a solution most of all. He'd shoot a text message to one of the teachers before too long, but he was as ready as he'd ever be. He carried his greatest weapon with him wherever he went. "How are we traveling?"
Bronwyn: The man certainly didn't waste any time. Definitely an asset in a situation like this. "All right, then. I have tons of frequent flier miles so I can get us on the first flight out, or we could go with a more....magical, non-traditional method o' transportation."
Charles: One corner of his mouth twitched into a wry grin. Charles was good with non-traditional. After all, he'd arrived by teleporter and his best friend specialized in wormholes. "Non-traditional is all right with me. The less time we waste, the better, as far as I'm concerned."
Bronwyn: "Verra well then, give me just one moment." Rather than make a phone call or go fetch someone, Bronwyn merely closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
She was concentrating on her connection with her familiar, calling him to her side with her thoughts.
Vincent: It was as instantaneous as always, appearing in a blink on his mistress' shoulder in his jackdaw form. His feathers ruffled, eyes on the man in front of his druid.
"Ma'am?"
Bronwyn: Vincent was given a nuzzle in greeting. "Hello, love." She turned to Charles. "Charles, this is Vincent. He's my familiar. Vincent, this is Charles. He's a friend. We're undertakin' a task we could use yer help with."
Vincent: "Pleasure, Sir Charles." He would have smiled if he could. His feathers began to smooth. "How can I be of service?"
Charles: For all that he considered himself well-prepared for the strange and preternatural, Charles started when the bird made its appearance, a burst of feathers from one blink of blue eyes to the next. If time with Wynter and Mason had taught him nothing else, however, it was composure. He quickly regained his and offered the creature a smile, not a hint of bemusement at its ability to speak. "I assure you, Vincent, the pleasure is all mine. I believe that Bronwyn here can explain our predicament best."
Bronwyn: "Do ye think ye could transport us both home to New Orleans? A friend of ours is in some kind o' trouble and we need to find information on how to save him."
Vincent: "Yes, ma'am, of course. One moment." The bird fluttered from his mistress' shoulder. Standing pretty to her right, the avian creature began to enlarge; what was a sharp and tiny beak elongated and curved to a prominent nose. Near five feet and six inches the feathers sank into his skin and faded altogether, replaced by clothing. It was what distinguished him from Fera, his ability to return to human form bereft of the hassle of nudity. He had been in his true form for days, which was why his transformation took seconds rather than a blink.
"Ah!" The familiar cracked his back and neck. "Hi!" he waved.
Charles: Transformations, at least, were something he was intimately familiar with, given his upbringing. Any reminder of his sister and her gift still brought a wistful smile to his face. He waved back, friendly despite his brief trip down memory lane. "Well! Hello there."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn always enjoyed seeing people's reactions to Vincent's transformation. For some it was wonder, others curiosity, and in some cases--like now--there was fondness.
"There he is," she said, smiling as she smoothed Vincent's hair. "Have ye eaten, love? Don't want ye makin' this journey with an empty stomach."
Vincent: "Just seeds and - and things." Bugs. Delicious bugs! That wasn't a proper dinner in this form. In fact, his stomach suddenly felt empty. "Do we need to go now, ma'am?"
Bronwyn: "I do believe we have enough time for ye to eat somethin'. Both o' ye," she added, looking to Charles. "We all need to be well-nourished for what lies ahead and it just so happens I made chicken earlier."
Vincent: "I'm...I'm fine. Really. I can make it for a trip." Perhaps, but his stomach did grumble in protest to this, loudly enough for the familiar to hug his torso to silence it.
Bronwyn: "Nonsense, ye're goin' to eat. If ye don't want chicken I can make somethin' else."
Charles: He hadn't so much as considered his own stomach since he'd arrived. They'd been working for quite some time, but he'd been... preoccupied. Perhaps it was better to adventure on a full stomach than an empty one. "Chicken sounds lovely," he smiled, nodding to Vincent in an effort to assure him that he did not mind the delay. "We have to keep up our strength, after all."
Vincent: "If it's alright by you, then it's alright by me," said the familiar. "I'll help in the kitchen!"
Bronwyn: "Excellent," said Bronwyn, gesturing for them to follow her to the kitchen. "I can make some lovely sandwiches or I can heat up the chicken and accompany it with some salad."
Vincent: "Sandwiches, please!" chimed her bird.
Charles: "Sandwiches are perfectly fine," Charles agreed, chuckling. "Can I help you with anything?" To say that the telepath was hopeless in the kitchen was a gross understatement, but sandwiches even he could manage.
Bronwyn: "Sandwiches it'll be then. And wouldn't ye know, I do believe I have some fries we can pop in the oven."
"Charles, I'll put ye in charge o' washin' and slicin' some tomatoes. Vincent, ye can butter and toast some bread. Sound good?"
Vincent: "Yes! This I can do - and I won't eat all of it, promise." Once in the kitchen, the familiar looked between the two. "So, what are we doing afterwards?"
Charles: The corner of his mouth tilted up in an amused little smirk. Charles had never had the self-restraint to make such a hefty promise. "I think I can manage that." He trailed behind to the kitchen and awaited further direction. "Straight to New Orleans?"
Bronwyn: "Good," Bronwyn chuckled, taking over the task of slicing the chicken. "Lightly buttered, mind ye."
She nodded. "Aye, straight to New Orleans. Once this is done I'll call Marie and tell her we're comin'. Wouldn't want to catch her completely unawares."
Vincent: "Will I need to do anything else for this person we're going to see? More spells?"
Bronwyn: "I don't think so. Although now that ye're here, I wonder if ye might recognize the symbol we're tryin' to decipher."
Charles: "Oh!" He hadn't even considered asking. Without a word, he scuttled off in search of the sketch and returned with paper outstretched. "Here it is. Bronwyn, where do you keep your knives?"
Vincent: "A symbol?" The sketch was taken from their guest and given a once-over. "It's very old, and...I feel like it's something from both worlds. My old one and this one."
Bronwyn: "They're in the drawer underneath the coffee maker. I keep tellin' Callum to get one o' those magnetic strips that mounts on the wall but he refuses to listen."
Bronwyn moved to stand beside her familiar, looking down at the symbol on the paper. "Have ye seen it’s like before? In this world or yer old one?"
Vincent: "Only near dry lands. Drawn on rocks, painted or etched on glass. Never actually seen the owner of it."
Bronwyn: "We're startin' to suspect it might belong to a djinn of some sort."
Vincent: "Well, djinn plus dry lands would fit the profile."
Charles: Charles listened intently as he rummaged through the drawer for what he hoped was a suitable knife. Dry land? Rocks? Glass? Did any of it hold any significance? The telepath couldn't begin to guess, but he trusted the experience of his new companions where his own fell short. In the meantime, he busied himself with washing and slicing the tomato. "Do djinn not like water?"
Vincent: "That's the rumor," Vincent smiled.
Charles: "Huh." He supposed it was true that you learned something new every day.
Bronwyn: "Well if that's really the case then New Orleans is an odd place for one o' them to set up shop. Then again," she sighed, going back to the chicken. "I suppose that isn't too much of a problem as long as he avoids the river."
Vincent: "And the hurricanes, and the normal rain...and the misty days."
Charles: "Not to mention the humidity. Spending a summer day in the French Quarter feels a bit like drowning."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled. "This djinn chose a verra poor place indeed to avoid water. What else do the two o' ye want on these sandwiches? Cheese, lettuce, pesto, mayo? Request to yer heart's content."
Vincent: "All of that and some tomato," said her familiar.
Charles: "That sounds brilliant," he beamed, proudly sliding a cutting board of nearly-evenly sliced tomato across the counter.
Bronwyn: "Ask and ye shall receive." Fries went in the oven and the rest of the sandwich components were taken from their respective homes.
Charles: "Is there anything else I can do?"
Bronwyn: "Keep an eye on the fries to make sure they don't burn. Callum's oven has a bit of an attitude."
Charles: "I think I can manage that." He flashed another smile and nodded before taking a seat.
Vincent: "So what are you?" Because his childlike curiosity trumped his filter.
Charles: "I--" Charles blinked. His skin was far too thick for such a question to bother him, but it had been quite some time since he'd been asked so boldly. "I'm a mutant. Telepath."
Vincent: Vincent looked to his mistress then. A mutant? What?
Bronwyn: "There's somethin' in mutant DNA that gives them abilities most don't have. Some read thoughts, some manipulate matter, some can shapeshift. Endless possibilities."
Vincent: "So humans that can do magic all the time?"
Charles: "Oh." It hadn't even occurred to him that someone might not know who they were. "Essentially, I suppose. Though perhaps we're more like magical creatures... It isn't something that we do, it's something that we are. It's in our blood."
Vincent: "Sounds like a magical creature. Sounds like me, and vampires, and - well, I guess no demons."
Charles: "Mm. Every one of us is different, has different abilities, but we're a community, more or less. I run a school, you know."
Vincent: "A community, the very thing humans don't normally like in this realm," Vincent mused.
Bronwyn: "They'd be beside themselves if they knew how many communities exist right under their noses."
Charles: "It took quite a bit of adjusting for me to come to terms with that as well," he laughed, dragging fingers through the chaos of his hair. "But I must say that I'm glad to have met all of the people that I have, yourselves included." A beat. "And Mason, of course."
Vincent: "Mason, the demon? Have I met him?"
Bronwyn: "I don't believe so, but I'm sure I've mentioned him to ye before."
Vincent: "Mhm. Some days just blend together."
Charles: "He's.... a uniquely brilliant individual. I only hope that you get a chance to meet him." He lost himself to his thoughts, for a time, fiddling with a loose thread of his jumper before the distinct smell of potato caught his attention. "I think the chips are done?"
Bronwyn: "He will," said Bronwyn, smiling reassuringly for all their benefits. "We're goin' to go to New Orleans and get some answers and restore Mason to himself. He'll be okay."
She nodded an handed him a pair of oven mits. "Aye, it smells like it. Just set the tray on the stove there."
Charles: Charles nodded, trying for a smile, and did as he was told. The chips smells delicious, but he no longer felt the least bit hungry. Still, he set the oven mitts aside and took a seat while the fries cooled. He'd eat for strength and courtesy, if nothing else.
Vincent: "So," the tension was bothering the bird, "what are we going to be doing in New Orleans to find whatever?"
Bronwyn: "We're goin' to be visitin' a friend of mine. Marie Lanoue. She's a hoodoo priestess and one o' the only people I can think of that would have detailed information about djinn. What's more, she'll know if that symbol can be found anywhere in New Orleans."
Vincent: "Good! We should be able to solve this before the weekend is out, right?"
Charles: "I certainly hope so," Charles nodded, letting Vincent's optimism fuel his own. Already, they'd gotten leagues beyond anything he could have discovered researching on his own. It paid to have friends in strange places. "What do you think, Bronwyn?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn wished she could share their optimism. But since she couldn't, she was going to have to fake it until she did.
"I think Marie's our best shot at makin' it so. And if no' her, I know lots of other people that could give us answers. We're lousy with resources and we will figure this out and solve this."
Charles: "Not himself," Charles echoed, nicking a chip from the tray mostly for something to occupy his restless hands. It scalded his mouth as he popped it in, but he didn't so much as flinch. Certainly felt like life or death.
Vincent: "I've never heard of a situation like this before. How could it even happen?"
Bronwyn: "Djinn are verra powerful creatures. Some have the power to manipulate reality and I'm assumin' in Mason's case, people."
Charles: "And how does one go about defeating one of these very powerful creatures?"
Vincent: "Throw a bucket of water at them?"
Bronwyn: "I wish to god it was that simple. Maybe it will be and they'll melt like the witch in The Wizard of Oz, who knows."
Charles: "I wouldn't be surprised, honestly." He actually managed a laugh, and popped another fry into his mouth. "It seems to me that all the old fairy tales are true."
Vincent: "Did you think none of this existed before?"
Charles: "A long time ago, yes. Or what feels like a long time ago. It's all still very new to me."
Vincent: "Well, you're new to me," Vincent smiled.
Charles: "So I am," he chuckled. "I only hope I can make a good first impression. You know, for mutant-kind everywhere."
Vincent: "You're you, not the entirety," Vincent smiled.
Bronwyn: "If it makes ye feel any better, there are things that are new to us too," Bronwyn said to Charles, offering him a smile. "Human or non-human, none of us ever stop learnin'."
Charles: Charles returned the smile, eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. "How right you are."
Vincent: Vincent would have to be reminded to eat slower, wolfing down lunch in his excitement to begin their search for whatever information was going to lead them to success. Unless the conversation was food related, then he was staying out of it.
Bronwyn: "Can I get ye somethin' to drink, Charles?"
"Slowly, Vincent," said Bronwyn, turning to her familiar. "And smaller bites. I'd hate to break our streak of days gone without chokin'."
Charles: "A glass of water, please?" He smiled around a mouthful of tomato, keeping his lips closed in an attempt at being polite. His appetite was still nowhere to be found, but it was probably best not to leave on an empty stomach. "The sandwiches are delicious, Bronwyn. Thank you."
Vincent: "Sorry!" Vincent gasped. "Done." He was picking up crumbs at this point. "I'm ready when you guys are!" Excited to get this moving forward. Anytime there was a mystery to solve he was ecstatic.
Charles: Charles cocked an eyebrow at the man, lips twitching faintly with amusement. "Do you want to finish my chips?" he asked, plucking up the second half of his sandwich and sliding the mostly-full plate across the table. "I've been ready for weeks, my friend. I only wished I'd come to you sooner, Bronwyn. We've achieved more in a few hours than I have in a month on my own."
Bronwyn: Charles' water was fetched, her own meal attended to. She wasn't all that hungry either but as she'd told Charles and Vincent, it was best to undertake things like this on a full stomach.
Bronwyn shook her head fondly at her familiar before giving Charles a smile. "What's important is that ye're here now. We'll figure this out, whatever this is." She took a deep breath. "So we better go see what New Orleans has to offer."
Vincent: The familiar perked, several of Charles' chips crammed in his mouth. "Yesh!" crumbs making a break for it.
Bronwyn: "Vincent, we've talked about this too," said Bronwyn, getting up to clear their plates. "No talkin' with yer mouth full."
Vincent: "Sorry!" Yet he was still doing it, only now covering his mouth as he wolfed it down. "Ready when you two are."
Bronwyn: "I'm ready. Charles?"
Charles: He exhaled sharply and nodded, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his sweater. It was now or never, he supposed. "Ready as I'll ever be." A wry little smile and he was pulling back from the table to stand beside his companions.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "All right. Take us away, Vincent."
Vincent: With a smile, the familiar offered his hands to his mistress and the professor. This would drain him, as always, but at least now there was fuel to burn through.
New Orleans was unexpectedly chilly on arrival; it was the kind of frigid cold that bit through skin to bone. The thunderstorm was to blame, and immediately Bronwyn's bird was whining.
"I don't like this!"
Charles: Years. Years of instantaneous travel and Charles found it no less unpleasant. Still, he was upright and mostly steady when the world swam into view again. His brow furrowed with concern when he registered Vincent's complaints. "Are you all right? Is there something I can do?"
Bronwyn: After a few days in the pleasantly chilly weather of Edenton, coming home to bitterly cold wind was like a slap in the face. "Och, Jesus bloody Christ it's freezin'."
She wrapped an arm around Vincent to give them both some warmth. "Come on ye two, let's get inside."
Vincent: Like a bird - or in this case, a dog - Vincent was shaking off the wet as soon as they were in the foyer. "Storms are only nice to watch, not be a part of!" Time to strip out of his jacket and hoodie.
Charles: "I don't know," Charles chuckled, peeling out of his sweater and resisting the urge to wring the entire mess out onto the floor. "I enjoy this weather when I dress for it. Perhaps we should have checked today's forecast before we left."
Bronwyn: "Or teleported into the house," Bronwyn mused, following suit and shrugging out of her wet jacket. "Give me all those wet things, I'll throw them into the dryer and then call Marie to let her know we're comin'."
Vincent: "Well, excuse me," Vincent grinned. "I'm not perfect!" Now, to the kitchen for milk! "Yes, ma'am!"
Charles: Charles chuckled, and gratefully handed over his sweater for drying. "Thanks."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned back. "Ye're forgiven."
Clothes were put into the dryer, fresh ones distributed, towels offered. And of course, Marie was called.
A few minutes later everything was ready to go.
"All right, ye two, into my car. We're goin' on an adventure."
Vincent: "Yes ma'am," chimed the familiar again, mouth full of gingersnaps.
Charles: "Excelsior," Charles mumbled, tipping a nod in Bronwyn's direction even has he ducked into the car. He tugged nervously at his borrowed sweatshirt and braced himself for whatever was coming.
Bronwyn: The visit to Marie didn't provide any concrete answers, but it did assure them that they were headed in the right direction.
Marie explained that there were a couple of hoodoo rituals that could achieve the effects they described, but the symbol on Lawrence proved it was not hoodoo and did in fact belong to a djinn. She also told them that there were many different species of djinn, one for every culture in the world and all with varying degrees of power.
"And I guarantee," she had said, "That this is not what your Mason intended to be the result of his dealings with this creature."
Charles: Something loosened in Charles' chest. Reluctant as he was to admit it, even to himself, a part of him had wondered if all of this wasn't what Mason wanted-- a fresh start, free of all the chains of his former life... including Charles. The relief was almost painful. He dropped his head into his hands and heaved a trembling sigh, heedless of his audience. When he'd managed to collect himself, he spoke clearly, though he did not lift his head. "What are our options? How do we proceed?"
Bronwyn: "Only two options, Mr. Charles. You kill or you negotiate."
Charles: His face went ashen, and he was oh-so glad that no one could see it. Of. Fucking. Course. "Well. I'd prefer to negotiate, but I'll do what I must to save my... to save Mason. How do I find this djinn creature? And how do I kill it?"
Bronwyn: "Djinn cannot be summoned like demons. You have to go out and look. And until they in front of you, no way to tell which species it is. Once you know species, then you can find way to kill."
Charles: "Oh." It was never simple, was it?
Vincent: "So...what do we need to do now?"
Bronwyn: Marie gave Charles' hand a pat. "Go out and look, little raven. Good chance Mason knows the djinn."
Charles: Charles nodded and raised his head, managing to pull a smile out of somewhere. "That's... all right. Thank you. This has been very enlightening."
Vincent: Vincent just looked to his mistress and sighed. He felt bad for Charles, but what could he do?
Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave her familiar the same look he gave her. Short of snapping their fingers and setting the world to rights, there was no immediate fix for this.
Marie patted Charles' hand again. "You're welcome, Mr. Charles."
"Hey Marie?"
Their hostess turned to Bronwyn. "Yes?"
"Do ye know of any djinn around here?"
She nodded. "Hooker in the French quarter. Name is Lila."
"Would she know of any other djinn?"
Marie shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to ask."
Charles: Charles' smile brightened ever so slightly. At least it was something to work with. He cast an appreciative glance at Bronwyn for staying level-headed when he was so obviously distraught. "Lead the way. Thank you again, Marie. Truly."
Vincent: The word "hooker" brought a blush to the familiar's cheeks. "Well, this is about to be an experience." Vincent bowed to their hostess and fell into step beside Bronwyn.
Bronwyn: "Aye, thank ye, Marie."
"No problem, sweeties." She kissed Bronwyn's cheek. "Go see your mama, she went shopping for you." The mama Marie was referring to was Lydia, an old mutual friend that saw Bronwyn as the daughter she never had.
"I will."
Once they were out in the car, Bronwyn sighed. "How the hell are we goin' to find a hooker in the daytime in a storm?"
Charles: "A brothel would be my best guess." Charles shrugged, pulling down the hood of his borrowed jacket and watching the rapidly-flooding streets with little interest. "But I don't suppose they would openly advertise what they're selling, even in a city like this one. We could always wait until tonight. After the storm's passed?"
Vincent: "We've come to a strange pothole in this path towards victory," said the familiar.
Bronwyn: "We have," Bronwyn said with a nod. "And aye, I think we're goin' to have to wait for tonight." She peeked up at the sky. "Hopefully the storm lets up by then. I don't think hookers work in the rain."
Charles: "Tonight, then." Waiting would be torture, but at least they had a game plan.
Vincent: "That word hits the ear wrong when you say it, ma'am," the familiar laughed. He just couldn't sympathize with the druid and mutant in this situation, as he didn't know Mason Atlas intimately. This was just another adventure.
Bronwyn: Leave it to Vincent to find some levity in all this.
Bronwyn chuckled softly. "How about we call them workin' girls?" She didn't like the word whore. It was so....aggressive.
Vincent: "Working girls. I like. Sounds progressive. It's their body, their business. Literal business! Cha-ching!"
Bronwyn: She laughed again. "I'm sure Lila will appreciate the progressive attitude if we manage to find her."
Charles: Despite himself, and the entire situation, Charles snorted out a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. "Indeed. What'll we do until then?"
Vincent: "Oh! There is an ice cream parlor nearby!" chimed the black hole.
Bronwyn: "Ice cream sounds good right now." Never mind that it was freezing outside. "What do ye say I buy us some banana splits?"
Charles: Charles was always, always dfs (down for sweets). His distant expression brightened considerably despite the cold, and he tossed a smile in Bronwyn's direction. "Make mine a sundae and you've got yourself a deal."
Vincent: "Perfect." They were in such a rush to get this done, obviously. Vincent should have been more mature about this, but ice cream was important!
Bronwyn: "Sundae it is." Rush or not, the rain was halting their progress. Might as well spend the time doing--and eating--something enjoyable.
Bronwyn parked in front of the ice cream parlor.
Charles: Charles didn't hesitate to brave the torrent. There was never a bad time for ice cream, and he planned to take full advantage of the down time. If he couldn't have Mason just now, at least he could have strawberry syrup.
Vincent: As usual, Vincent was the first to finish eating and the first to get brain freeze. He would have to be scolded, as usual, and an hour into the train the familiar was growing frustrated.
Bronwyn: He had been scolded; gently, but scolded nonetheless. And he definitely wasn't the only one getting frustrated and antsy.
"Do ye think people would notice if I suddenly made the storm disappear?"
Charles: Charles was still picking over a bowl of peanuts, restless and eager to make a move. Any idea that would help that along was a good one, in his opinion. "Possibly. But I could make sure that they don't." His telepathic range was well over three hundred miles, and this was an emergency. Or at least as far as he was concerned.
Vincent: "Maybe just a - maybe we could - I mean this is an emergency to you two."
Bronwyn: "I don't think it'll come to that if I do it gradually. Like so." Bronwyn took a deep breath, making sure to keep her now-glowing eyes turned away from the rest of the people in the parlor as she slowly made the rain taper off.
Charles: Charles grinned. Positively beamed. It was probably the brightest smile he'd shown since learning of Mason's predicament. If there was one thing that never failed to capture (and keep) Charles Xavier's interest, it was a display of fantastic power. Too bad Bronwyn was a fully grown druid, and not a young mutant. He would have offered a place at his school on the spot. "That's incredible." he whispered, studiously arranging a handful of nuts into an umbrella on the tabletop to remain inconspicuous even through his excitement.
Vincent: "Best I can do is make it rain like a bucket of water over someone's head," Vincent grumbled. "Never going to be that amazing." Mist was his favorite type of rain, so at least he could smile at that.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled, though her focus remained on the clouds in the sky. "I could try to teach ye if ye want," she said to Vincent. "I'm pretty sure ye have enough magic to pull it off."
Charles: Their relationship was a unique one, and Charles couldn't quite liken it to anything else. Charming as he found it, however, his mind drifted elsewhere. "How long do you suppose we should wait?"
Vincent: "How long does it take hookers to come out of hiding?" Wait... "Was that insensitive?"
Bronwyn: She chuckled. "I have no idea. We can ask Lila once we find her. And I'm guessin' we better go now. We know the rain won't come back, but the hookers don't. They'll want to get some business while they can."
And off to the seediest street in the French Quarter.
Charles: He was probably not as uncomfortable as he should have been, with the proceedings. Hands shoved deep into pockets, Charles scanned the block, even as it began to come to life. He flitted easily from mind to mind. It was like finding a needle in a bloody haystack, of course. He didn't even know what the person he was searching for looked like, let alone who her friends and confidants might be. He wasn't without hope, however. Best way to find a needle in a haystack? Bring a magnet. With a glance toward Bronwyn for unspoken support, he crossed the street to greet a woman with blonde curls piled high atop her head and a half-burned cigarette hanging from her lips.
Vincent: "What's he doing?" Vincent asked. "Just going to ask around for her? Should I?"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded as she followed Charles. "Aye. That's the only way I can think to find her. And no, stay close, love." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I don't like the way some o' these men are lookin' at ye."
She gave the woman what she hoped was a pleasant, unthreatening smile. "Hello, miss. Could we ask ye a question?"
Charles: The blonde smiled pleasantly as the man hailed her, shoulders straightening and fingers tucking an errant curl back into her knot. He was pretty, had a kind face and, by the look of him, money to blow. Such a combination was always an indicator of a good night to come. She'd hit the jackpot. Of course, she'd never been particularly lucky. It really should have come as no surprise that the chick and her sidekick sidled up as well. Groups were always a bad idea. Her face went stony as she prepared for a firm rebuff.
Charles reached the woman first, and, undeterred by her cold demeanor, offered her the warmest smile he could muster. "We're looking for someone," he began after Bronwyn. "A woman by the name of Lila. We were told we could find her, here." He winced inwardly as her expression shuttered further.
"Who's askin'?"
Vincent: "The men?" Vincent looked around. Men were looking at him? It hadn't come to his attention. "I thought women were the ones to be cautious with around here," he whispered, slipping into silence as Charles began his interrogation.
Bronwyn: "Looks like ev'ryone should be cautious," she whispered back.
And sure enough, there were men looking at Vincent; some were merely curious, others were sizing him up in every sense of the phrase while they did the same to Bronwyn.
Why did the prospective djinn have to be a hooker?
Bronwyn noticed the woman withdrawing as well, which was why she reached into her purse.
"Benjamin Franklin," she said smoothly, holding up a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
Charles: Well, that was the type of motivation that she lived for. She reached to try and pluck the bill from the woman's hand before she could take it away and tuck it into her bustier. Still, all the money in the world couldn't make her rat out another girl. Strangers didn't come around looking for pros by name unless there was trouble. "Look, Lila don't work down here no more. She cleaned herself up, got a real nice apartment with some rich fella down in Laplace. That's all I know." It was a good lie, and she'd be long gone before they figured it out.
Charles smiled, seeming grateful for the bullshit information. He hadn't reached out to the woman with the intention of her telling them anything. He only wanted to mention Lila's name. Once he got a person thinking about another, it was child's play to pluck information out of their heads. "Thanks. Enjoy the rest of your evening, ma'am. Shall we?" He turned to his companions, wanting to get out of earshot before he told them anything.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn squinted at the woman, not entirely certain if she believed her. People usually parted with information quite easily if there was profit to be made but usually it took more than a hundred dollars. She was about to offer another bill when Charles gave the woman his thanks.
She smiled. Who needed money when there was a telepath around?
"We shall. Come on, Vincent." Bronwyn squeezed her familiar's hand and followed Charles. "So where is Lila really?" she asked when there was no one in earshot.
Charles: Charles grinned. It was refreshing to have friends (?) not put off by the casual use of his ability. He'd have to spend more time with Druids and the like. "She works out of a hotel not far from here." He hadn't caught a name, but he knew what the building looked like and its general location. "This way. How best to approach the situation, do you think?"
Vincent: "Do you have a gun? Would a gun hurt a djinn?" Vincent smiled, lacing his fingers with his mistress'. "I know. A squirt gun."
Bronwyn: "Well, I have more money and a knife. Guns are at home, but I don't know if they'd do any damage." Bronwyn chuckled. "Now one o' those might. Maybe we should just talk to her and offer to pay for her time?"
Charles: Charles winced slightly, shoved his hands into his pockets and ducked his head low as they walked. "Fresh out of weapons, I'm afraid." Well, aside from his own mind. "I think payment and a simple conversation would be best, yes. Agreed." The walk was a short one, and soon enough a grand, old building loomed into view. "Here we are."
Vincent: "Well, she has taste in hotels, that's for sure," Vincent admired. "I'll just...stay behind you two."
Bronwyn: "Ye can say that again." The blond woman might not have been telling the entire truth, but Lila had definitely moved up in life.
Well, as much as a prostitute could while still remaining a prostitute.
Bronwyn gave Vincent's hand a reassuring squeeze. "That's fine, love. I think Charles should take the lead."
Charles: "Me?" Charles paled, which was remarkable given his complexion. He was good in a pinch, but he didn't know the first thing about djinn outside of how to pronounce their name. Still, he didn't want to let anyone down, Mason least of all. "All right." He squared his shoulders and strolled through the double doors with all the grace of a born and raised blue-blood. Lila would be at the hotel bar finding clients, if his hunch was sound.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye. It's always hard to know how one supernatural creature will react to another. Most tend to be hostile. The fact that ye're human despite yer ability might work in our favor."
Once again she followed Charles, high-heeled boots echoing on the marble floor. She was trying to give off a non-threatening aura. Druids weren't exactly known to be unfriendly and threatening but it couldn't hurt to try to give some reassurance. She was a Druid on a mission, after all.
Charles: One could hope so. He found his way to the bar easily enough, most businesses such as this made their layout as uncomplicated as possible for the customer. Charles scanned the patrons as casually as he could before taking a seat next to a woman in a form-fitting cocktail dress. Her hair was long and dark, but he couldn't see any obvious signs of her being... other. Still, she matched the memories that he'd plucked from the mind of the other woman. Taking a deep breath, he ordered a strong drink, keeping maybe-Lila in his periphery. I think this may be her? Do djinn look different from humans in any way? Just to be sure... He chanced dropping the inquiry into Bronwyn's mind, hoping she was not bothered by the intrusion. They hadn't discussed boundaries in any way, but this was an urgent matter.
Vincent: Vincent wasn't usually this quiet, but without command he felt no need to say or do anything but cling to Bronwyn's side. Not quite a bodyguard, not quite a servant. Something almost child-like.
Bronwyn: Other than her own, there was only one other voice Bronwyn was accustomed to hearing in her head, and that voice was her familiar's. Hearing Charles' without any warning gave her a bit of a start that hopefully no one besides Vincent noticed.
'It is,' she thought back, rubbing the spot on her hip where her Mark lay. It was prickling something awful. 'Most djinn can pass as human, especially if they're using a glamour. That's Lila.'
"Want a drink, love?" she asked Vincent, giving him a reassuring smile.
Charles: Charles drained his drink, then another, before he gathered the courage to take action. This was it. Another path that could lead to his beloved, or another dead end. Turning to face the woman full-on, he offered her his brightest smile. Was it better to dive right in with the true motivation behind this conversation, or beat around the bush? He didn't know, but he could feel himself losing nerve. "Erm. Hello. I was wondering if I might borrow a moment of your time..."
Vincent: "No thanks," he whispered. "I'm fine." If he had one thing he'd want another, and another, and this was meant to be important, more important than his bottomless pit of greed.
Bronwyn: The woman that called herself Lila slid Charles a sidelong glance before devoting her attention on her drink again.
"Your face is earnest," she said by way of reply. Her voice was cool and crisp and ever so slightly accented. What the origins of that accent were, only she knew. "And your eyes are kind. Have they served you well?"
Charles: His charm failed him. There was something slightly disconcerting about the woman. Something otherworldly. Charles supposed he knew what, but knowing and experiencing were two different beasts. When he spoke, it was with all of his barriers down. "My... eyes?"
Bronwyn: She gave a single nod. "In your profession. Has your kindness and earnestness served you well?"
Charles: "I..." He had to give it a moment's consideration, but the answer was obvious when it came. "Yes. Yes, I believe that it has."
Bronwyn: "Do you believe it will serve you well here?"
Charles: He blinked. Well, shit. "I suppose that's up to you." Another long, pregnant pause. Charles wasn't prepared to be on this side of the interrogation. It was throwing him for a loop. "...does this mean you know why I'm here?"
Bronwyn: "Hmm." Lila looked from the man to his companions. She could only detect that vaguely Faerie-like aura from one of them, but they both smelled of the forest. Perhaps that was why they clung to each other.
She sipped her cosmopolitan. "You are here for the same reason as all the others before you. You want something."
Charles: "I do," he admitted, not bothering with coy evasion. Charles was out of his depth. "I'm... we're looking for information. I'd be willing to pay for it."
Bronwyn: She looked at his companions. The woman immediately ducked her head, which made Lila's lips curve in a barely there smile. Druids would never lose the respect their Faerie forefathers had bred into them.
"How did you come to find yourself in league with a little Faerie and her...." Lila inhaled. "...raven?"
Charles: He hesitated, briefly, unsure of how much to tell her. Or how much she already knew. "Friends of a friend," he said finally, which was true enough. "That friend is why I came to you, actually. He's in a spot of trouble." Understatement of the century.
Bronwyn: "If he were in merely a spot of trouble, your Faerie and her raven would've been all the help you needed."
Charles: "Fair enough." It was true, after all. His hands twitched slightly where they wrapped around his glass. "The friend in question got involved with a djinn. I don't know any of the details, but I know that he lives here. Do you know of him?" Charles didn't have a name. He didn't know if these creatures ran in similar circles. He was throwing his hopes blindly at the woman's feet.
Bronwyn: "We are not social beings. This is a very large city with an aura that attracts many kinds. Knowing that, perhaps your friend should have exercised caution."
Charles: Charles turned to face her full-on. "Perhaps, but the time for regret has passed. You haven't answered my question, ma'am."
Bronwyn: "Save your money. I do not know of another. They might well exist, but they are not known to me."
Charles: "Please." A hint of panic threaded his voice; he sounded desperate enough to have turned a few heads. Everything. Everything he'd been through. This couldn't be another dead end. He couldn't stomach it. "Please, Lila. You must know something! A rumour? A guess?" Anything to avoid starting from scratch.
Bronwyn: Lila's only reaction to the emotional plea was a curious tilt of her head. "You have my sympathies, professor, but I do not have the information you seek."
A tall man in a dark suit appeared at the entrance to the bar. He smiled at Lila; she gave him her almost smile in return.
She finished her cosmo and slid off her stool. Before walking over to meet her client, she trailed a single finger across Charles' cheek.
"Do not fear, Charles of the house of Xavier. You already have the information you require."
Charles: No. No, he very much did not have the information he required. Charles didn't bother to watch her leave. His head sank to the sticky bar-top as the crippling pain consumed him. For a moment, at least, Bronwyn and Vincent were forgotten. What was he going to do? So distraught was he, he did not question how the woman had known his name.
Bronwyn: A few moments passed before Charles would feel a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We'll find him," Bronwyn said softly, resting her head on his shoulder as she gave him a one-armed hug. "Come hell or high water, we'll find Mason."
Charles: His eyes were damp and red-rimmed, but he accepted the offered comfort. It was easy to forget that Bronwyn loved Mason, as well. He returned her embrace with a fleeting flicker of a smile. "Yes," he agreed. "Yes." He had to believe it was true, no matter how tired he was of disappointment. "We should go? I don't want to be here any longer."
Bronwyn: She nodded. "Aye. Let's go home."
Holding one of Charles' and Vincent's hands in each of her own, Bronwyn led them out of the hotel. They'd go home, they'd regroup, and they would bring Mason back.
