Title: Love's Just A Four Letter Word - Never Met A Sick Vampire
Tyn gently shook his head, tipping his head to lean against Edvard, not bothering to drink anymore of his cooling coffee. "I’m just… not thirsty." He muttered, letting the strong arm curl around him, supporting him, holding him tightly against his own meagre warmth, letting Tyn share that heat, and gain comfort from that. "Mama… she confused me. I… I understand less now, then when she started talking…" he managed, between a yawn, and lifted his legs up onto the sofa, curling them beneath his body and laying down with his head on Edvard’s lap. "And you… I don’t know what you said. Something about that guy… from our game…" there was another yawn, and the youth’s fingers curled into Edvard’s shirt, clinging to the fabric there before his mother returned, carefully passing Edvard his cup, not spilling any of the scalding liquid.
"Is he asleep?" Rosa asked in a soft, tender voice, as she slipped back into her chair, the expressions of anger and disgust she had once worn in Edvard’s presence long gone. She had lost the dispute over Tyn, but in the boy they had found some sort of common ground, and from that she had set everything else aside. She had not really lost the boy, she could never lose him, but she had given him up years ago, and could not grudge someone now. Edvard was at least, one of them, and that was a reassurance. "it might be an idea to put him back to bed…And read him a bedtime story." she added in the same tone, and was rewarded with a sleepy grunt from the boy.
Lysander watched as Kris sipped passed him, finishing his own drink at a more leisurely pace, enjoying the warm and easiness that that seeped into his apartment, had been brought there by the singer, and would hopefully stay as long as Kris did, and then a little longer, like a sweet scent drifting on the air. Letting his glass slip into the soapy water he had run into the sink, replacing the cold, mucky water their breakfast things had soaked in, he washed up quickly, setting everything to dry, before moving back into the bedroom to change. Pulling out a T-shirt and changing into it, he noticed, for the first time, how the fabric clung and flattered the muscles in his torso, before falling to his hips, the commercially frayed edges tickling his legs as the towel was dropped, and underwear and jeans pulled on. In these, he noticed, he looked slimmer, his hips a little more shapely, his legs more tailored, and the boot-cut suited him. It was quiet a pleasing look, even if a little rugged. "You might be quick getting your clothes on, but you spend all the extra time on your hair." Lysander said, as he lent around the bathroom door to watch Kris apply the finishing touches. "Whereas, I spend all my time on clothes, and leave my hair to do it’s own thing…"
"But," Kris said, letting the comb tip back onto the white-grey countertop, "I make all those clothes look good. My hair's the only problem." his lips turned from sweet to smirk as his eyes narrowed slightly, looking at the other in the mirror. "Step inside, so I can see you." he instructed, now that he was fully awake his temperament was more demanding. Tender moments and sugar-talk were meant for bedrooms, living rooms, not busy bathrooms. Picking around the other bottles of shampoo, toothpaste, and other garb, he found the cologne he had used earlier, dabbing a tad more of it on. "Nifty glasses, babe. Where did you get them?"
"A bedtime story?" Edvard inquired, one eyebrow cocking as his arms carefully wrapped around the body leaning into his lap. His fingers caught under Tyn's shoulders and beneath his knees to cradle the other up against his body, eyes moving slowly to Rosa as he shifted forwards to the edge of the couch, making to get up. "I don't know any... bedtime stories.." his voice lilted lower with a hint of embarrassment. "Maybe..." the vampire started, his body swinging forwards as he lifted himself and the weight in his arms from their previous resting place. "Maybe you could do it? Or... help me?"
Edvard, know a bedtime story? Did the closet monster know a hymn? She must have thought herself funny. Well, Var didn't, he just felt stupid. Sure, his mother had told him a story or two, he supposed-it was so long ago, how could he have remembered? And.. and.. She would sing to him, sing those sweet, long lullabies with their words all drawn out in archaic French. If he strained every fibre of his mind, he could hear those words again, perhaps... But no, alas, he could only make out the unhurried beat, moving along like the water in a lazy, swollen stream. Var moved to the bedroom and deposited his load gently into the wadded mess of covers, fixing the sheets softly as not to wake his nearly sleeping prince. "I... well, what did you used to tell him? Story-wise, I mean?" he whispered in undertones, looking around at Rosalind as she-no doubt-oversaw the proceedings.
"What any good mother would tell her child. Fairy stories and fables and…" she paused, watching as Tyn’s form curled into the sheets, huddling towards the other man’s body as the pale fingers clutched at the fabric Edvard tucked about him, before moving and shooing the Frenchman way. "And things about the past. He used to love the past. He was born too late, I think…" she muttered in a soft voice as she dropped to her knees, folding her arms on the edge of the mattress and tilting her head to look at him.
"Veni, veni, Emmanuel,
Captivum solve Israel
Qui gemit in exilio,
Privatus Dei Filio.
Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel
Nascetur pro te, Israel."
She turned her head briefly to look back toward Edvard as the soft words faded, and then gently stroked over Tyn’s hair, bringing it away from his face, before standing and moving back towards the door. "He’ll need to feed again soon. As soon as he wakes up would be best, I think." She said, voice retaining that soft, lyrical quality, and she moved passed him, apparently content.
Lysander did as he was told, stepping into the bathroom and giving a small twirl, showing off his chosen apparel before leaning back against a tiled wall. "I scrub up alright don’t I? Or do I still look like a tramp?" He smiled, and gently pushed Kris from infront of the mirror which his hip, scowling at his reflection. "You like them? Really? I thought… well, I thought I looked like some sort of punk." He tugged at the lapels of his jacket, and then sighed. "I suppose I’m never going to look suave and sophisticated in comparison to you, am I?" he muttered, and nudged Kris with his hip again. "Besides, we’re only going around to your place. Do you really need to preen just for that? You’re jaw-droppingly beautiful as it is."
"Veni, O Sapientia,
Quae hic disponis omnia;
Veni, viam prudentiae
Ut doceas et gloria
Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel
Nascetur pro te, Israel."
She began again, sinking back into her chair and curling her legs up beneath herself, and reaching for her tea as she finished the last notes. "Master Edvard? If you’d join me now the child is asleep… " She called, still keeping her voice carefully pitched. "I would like to finish talking to you. Properly this time, if you will. Tell me, you have no… religious morals, leanings whatsoever? Nothing? You believe in no… god or gods or in heaven or hell or something… something else? Just the cold, hard facts?"
Edvard listened, ensnared by the captivating voice, his eyes only for his lover, his ears only for the song. It was... beautiful, and yet, it wasn't his taste. Not that words or rhymes mattered now, only her voice was important, and when it faded, when it moved to the livingroom, he longed for it again; when it ceased, he heaved a sigh, only to hear her calling for him, questioning him. Bowing over the still form, one hand resting upon the headboard, he pressed a kiss to Tyn's cheek, eyes fondly scurrying over the form to make sure the cool body beneath was properly done up in the sheets. With very little zest for the coming conversation, he pushed himself back into the livingroom where he plopped upon the couch, one leg laid out, the other folded over it, his back against the arm rest. He turned his head to look upon the lady before him, eyes moving dazedly from her face to her teacup. "You... sing beautifully." he murmured, trying to gather up his thoughts for a reply.
Kris swayed with the hip bumping, promptly turning and gluing himself to the other man's front, bumping the nose-bridge of the glasses with his nose-tip, a mischievous smile still plastering his face. "Why yes, I do have to get all dolled up to go. That way, when we're properly ready to go out, I won't have to work so hard.... And you do look sophisticated, if anybody else says otherwise, then they're an uncultured fop with no taste." he pressed a quick kiss to Lysander's lips and then rocked back onto his heels, taking another look in the mirror and running his thin hands over his own sides, lips pursed. "Hmm. Well, what else? Anything?" one dark eyebrow lifted, and those fragile hands snaked around the other man's shoulders, playing curiously through the mat of curls. "Here, let me see those." The boy's hand lifted and he pulled the glasses down off the bridge of the other's nose, grinning as he did.
"Well, frankly, what I believe is useless. If I believe in some higher power, to acknowledge it in death is pointless. That is part of the reason you elude me. I cannot seem to figure out why you are so loyal to your 'God'. All in all, he has probably, no offence in any of my ramblings, Madame, but he has probably forgotten your existence. He has long forgotten mine and any other immortal such as us that I have ever been aquatinted with. Why do you continue your constant praise? Don't you see that any God who's standards are like his would have long given up on an immortally damned soul? What are we to him now? Useless, that is what. And no offence to you, for I consider you in high regard, you did bring Tyn up, after all... but really, Madame Rosalind, we are just unsaved souls drifting forever between heaven and hell and life. We cannot be brought into either entity's care, can we? No, for when we die, we most surely perish with the damned. We are nothing more than leeches. Parasites. We take and take and take, and sometimes we give back, but then it is for naught. We are referred to by many a religious man, 'the lost'... But why is it that you ask me these questions?" his eyes had never wavered or blinked and his lips had merely been a pink blur, hands folded delicately together in his lap.
"So then, by your reasoning, Master Edvard, seeing we are already damned, we should do whatever we wish, and fear no punishment? Kill, maim, rape, steal, because we can do whatever we like? We can do ill to whoever, be it mortal or immortal, adult or child, because we have the power to? I don’t think that is right. Why should I quit serving the God I dedicated my life to then, when now I have forever to aid Him? I don’t think, as you do, that we are damned by our very existence. I would willingly have chosen complete death, even before my time, and not this… this halfway house. But this way, I am able to continue doing what I did before. It is my opinion, only mine, however, that we damn ourselves, like mortal men and women do by their actions, we do by ours. Gluttony, lust, hatred, greed; they are sin, Edvard. No matter who commits them. Now, you may be right, and I’m wrong, or I might be right and you are mistaken, I couldn’t rightly answer, but when it comes to the end of our days, who will have lead the better life? Have the cleaner sheet? A happier soul? I don’t know, maybe you will. Maybe you are content enough. But I am not, if I have to watch suffering that could be prevented. It isn’t God, or a place in heaven that drives me, Edvard. It is what is right." She lent back, putting back down the untouched tea, and sighed. "But that wasn’t what I hoped to talk to you about. I am not trying to make a convert out of you if you don’t wished to be steered in that direction; if God wants you, or you want God, that is your own business, non of mine. I wanted to know… if you will take care of Tyn for me."
Lysander gently pulled the fingers out of his hair, letting the hands sit on his shoulders, as the glasses were pushed further up his nose. "Oi, you." He warned, softly, and then softened slightly into the kiss, hands moving to squeeze at Kris’ backside, before slipping off. "Are we going now? Ready? War-paint on, tents packed, milk cancelled? Then let’s go." The brunette teased, and headed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, pulling on the tatty Converse, before motioning to Kris. "We’re leaving now. Come along." He grabbed the keys from the long computer desk in the lounge, and then moved to the door, waiting there for Kris to catch up, and then pulling open the door, and shutting, then locking it, behind them both. "Now then, dear, an you remember what day it is?" Zan asked, as his arm wrapped around the other man. "Because very very soon, I’m going to owe someone some rent, I believe. Which means…" he sighed, "no more giving myself days off."
"I mean to say, Edvard, that Tyn has very obviously chosen you, even if it is against my better judgement, perhaps he will learn by experience, or then again, maybe he will have made a good choice. Either way, while he is with you, I expect the best. He is my only child, and if he gets hurt anymore, has ever any reason to cry, other then his own stupidity, then you will deal with me, and you will answer to me. Do I make that clear? I don’t think you are the type to intentionally hurt him. I don’t think you could, but… he has come to a lot of harm since he has crossed paths with you, wouldn’t you say?"
Edvard figured that, and somehow, he was simply, openly offended; after a few moments of thought, it might be believe that it was from the truth of her statements. "Dear sweet devils, woman. You treat me like some sort of convict on trial. You mark my intelligence with your long-winded speeches, you ask of my beliefs, you don't trust me, you continue to mock my very existence-whether intentionally or not, and you don't think I can take care of one single man. Let me inform you on something; over the years, I have taken care of strays just like you have, the misfortunate, the lonely, the sick, the loathed. I might be wrong on lots of things, as you say, and are probably correct, but that is not it. If your righteous life sends you somehow into the wonderful great beyond, and mine into the fiery pits, I will have known that I helped someone, even if their life was never glorified past the minute of my departure. I am something, I have always been something. Not as bright and shinning as you, for I have not tried to change what I have come across, I have not tried turning it to some higher, better power. No, I merely give what is needed, show the way, and then let them go to do as they can. Sometimes, they fail... Sometimes, they fall, sometimes, they died." at this point, he drew a long, unsteady breath, unearthed by this vile amount of questioning and pursuing that continued. He felt like falling apart, slipping to pieces, melting into the couch, but he could not, so he merely used that breath to fuel more words. "But I can take care of one person, one. I can make them mine, forever, I can keep them from harm. I can love them like no one else can. Believe you me, Madame, I can take care of your Tyn, and I plan on doing so, with or without your consent, until the day we both die."
"It's Sunday... But I... I planned on leaving tomorrow... but I..." he began, somewhat shocked and saddened by the thought of leaving, unsure if that was some sort of reprimand. "I'll leave... in the morning." Kris mumbled with a nod, leaning himself heavily against Lysander, fingers gathering up in the back of the other's jacket where it departed from the curve of his shoulders. Wearily, he pressed his face into the neck of the taller man, eyes shutting as he pulled in a deep breath of him. It had been like a that sudden thought during your best day that reality had checked to see if you knew it was going to end at the stroke of midnight. It had. Reality had checked, cold and nastily. Wanting more, more and more and more of this day, he let those pretty green eyes flutter shut, shamelessly clinging to Zan as they made their way down the hall, only untangling himself as they mounted the stairs.
From there, he felt drab as his body worked, jutted hips balking as he moved awkwardly down the stairs, his hand against the wall seeing as his love was between the railing and him. As they reached the half way point of the stairs, Kris sighed, at a loss for words. He shouldn't be sad! He had just spent all evening, night, morning, and day with Lysander, and tomorrow, tomorrow, after he left, he would see him again. Of his own accord, or Lysander's. He had... never been attached to anyone, anything like this before, and he did not want to lose that wonderful feeling he gained from just standing beside someone else. Besides! Now was not the time to think of impleasantries, was it? No! His face cracked into a grin and he gave a quiet giggle in spite of himself. He had a secret now, a secret that no one he knew could take away from them; and in defiance, the singer was glad.
Taking another quick breath, the vampire looked more ruffled than he had before, fingers lifting to stroke back his curls, his eyes falling from Rosalind's. He wasn't going to gain anything by his constant rambling off in distaste, but... but... He could not help it. He was a man of feelings, strong ones that he could not contain. And when those feelings demanded his attention, his voice, he could do nothing against them. Carefully measuring the silence between them, he licked his lips and began again, wanting everything clarified. "And it is wrong of you to say what I think; for I do not think what you say. I do not believe that to harm another is proper or correct, and I do not do so in any manner under my control; in fact, it hurts me more than you know to see someone else in pain. And, and, how dare you seem to think that I do not care. I merely believe that even if we do commit sins such as these, we will not be judged the same, not that we will not be punished for them in the long run. Indulgence is my sin, Madame, and I openly admit that. For I indulge not only in the pleasures of the flesh, but of the pains of the spirit. If you cannot understand, then it is not my place to school you in my thoughts... I haven't the patience..." for a moment longer, he let the words seep and then, he shifted back to the edge of the couch, throwing his legs off the sofa. "Can I... be so kind as to freshen up your tea? I think we should both have another cup..."
Lysander didn’t interrupt, letting his arm curl about the shorter male until Kris choose to pull away, listening to the quiet noises of their breathing and the soles of their shoes on the concrete steps, and then the soft giggle that spurted so unexpectantly from the lips of the other man. "What’s so amusing?" He asked changing his pace to match and climb down the stairs side-by-side. "You know, you can stay longer, if you want. I wouldn’t mind, I’d like to have you here. But if you want to go back… I mean… I’m not asking you to move in or anything… but…" he let his own voice die as the emerged back into the lobby, now brightened by post-rain sunshine, and looking much different then the shadowy, dark building the had entered… had it only been last night?
It had been, of course, and that was a shocking thought. This time yesterday morning, they had been only a little better then strangers, and now. Now… less then 24 hours later, they we walking the exact same path, out into the fresh, revitalised air, Lysander sneaking closer and letting his arm drop to hook his fingers into Kris’ back pocket, no longer shy. "I don’t want you doing anything you aren’t 100% happy with."
Rosa smiled, passing over the delicate cup and saucer to him. "Thank you very much." She muttered softly, before leaning back and folding her arms loosely about her torso, hugging herself as she replayed his words in her head. Of course, she would have to disagree with anything he said, on principle. What he had said was valid, and worth hearing, she could disagree, but not dismiss. No, she had not been brought up to be that rude. However, in her eyes, the Frenchman remained lacking; never meeting those basic requirements that she would have preferred her son’s lover to possess. Still, his argument was… not convincing, no, but argued with the right about of conviction. Edvard was believable, even if he was not a pillar of society, he was not… not a bad sort as far as that went.
Then again, he was French. And sharing a bed with her son. Those two factors alone left a bad taste in her mouth.
However, she would put that aside. It wasn’t an issue, as long as Tyn was… willingly engaging in whatever blasphemy Edvard contrived. Tyn was a good boy, always had been… if Edvard was right, which for all she knew, he might have been; there was no doctrine on immortals in either New or Old Testament. If Edvard was right, then Tyn would fear no redemption or suffering in the next life, because he was already living it. That said, if he was escaping punishment then, perhaps he was to receive it now. He had certainly come to harm since he had met this other vampire. Perhaps Tyn would be punished now instead of in the here-after.
Tyn curled in his sleep, knees folded up into his chest, and his head bent forwards with his arms bent against his sides, the sheets kicked down to his knees, leaving him shivering in his shirt and jeans. It wasn’t cold, not particularly, but he felt the draft from under the door, and from the balcony windows that had not been shut probably, although to do that task now would expose him to the afternoon light behind the thick curtains. He groaned, curling more tightly in the otherwise empty bed, and let the tiredness hold down his muscles like lead. The sleep the small immortal was escaping from was not pleasant, or restful, although it was not ridden with nightmares, or anything remotely like that. It had merely been uncomfortable, his brain not let ready for however many hours of sleep were ahead of him.
Unable to pull himself up yet, he lay there, still rolled up into himself, arms moving to pillow the side of his head, his eyes closed and his mind still lost in the fog between slumber and wakefulness. Tyn’s body was heavy, hot, and still too tired to move, to unfurl itself and wander, stumble back into Edvard’s arms. But while he wanted that, his mind wouldn’t process it, and so he remained, lifeless as a mannequin in some third-rate department store, the sounds from the other room drifting through the wood of the door, but he could make no sense of it.
"Do you want to walk, or take a cab?" Lysander asked gently, fingers roving over the fabric, and then catching in a belt-loop, holding tightly to that as they walked, which meant that Kris was held close against his side, against his shoulder, as close as they could be, while still walking and still maintaining some measure of public decency. "Or we could walk part of the way, or whatever. It looks like it might turn out to be a passable day…" he smiled then to himself, amused by his own wording, and sank his face down, pressing a kiss against Kris’ hair. "And maybe we can go cheek on our tree, what do you think?"
Rosa sighed, looking about the empty room, sounds of porcelain against the worksurface loud in the silence, and she shifted, moving to at first smooth out the fabric of her skirts. Then she moved to lounge back into the leather cushions, turning her eyes from the blank screen of the television, towards her son’s bedroom door, and then back to the empty sofa, her eyes blinking once, before moving down to the coffee table again. She wasn’t bored, but trying to preoccupy her wandering mind. What would happen when she left? Edvard had said he could look after one person, but his words about falling, failing, dying, that had shaken some of the trust she had been ready to put in him. And although Tyn was far from a child, he certainly needed minding.
Edvard was staring, imploring that the counter give him some strength. But then again, it was just a counter. Cold, lifeless, unfeeling. Something like himself, but of course, he felt. In fact, right now, he felt too much. Too much of something, some undeniably nagging, confused something rearing up its face and thrashing its limbs within him. If flailed, testing him, seeing how much he could bend before he broke-and he was quite sure that the breaking-point was near. Leaning hard against the mentioned counter, his back on the stove cranked up to quickly heat the water, he let his head droop between his shoulders. The blades poked out, peaking like two canvas-covered mountains with heavy plumes of smoke running between them. His curls furled down around his face, cloaking him away from the cold-tile, too-clean kitchen. It felt like a morgue.
A morgue. Yes, that's what it was. He had been thinking, just to set his mind on something, about what this room made him feel like. Pent-up, for certain, and cold.... even with the soft bubbling of water within the metallic tea kettle, he felt frigid, his lips caught between his teeth. He had purposely made such a racket with the china-ware, trying to distract himself from the silence of the apartment and the usual movements and flittering of Rosalind with her skirts. Just the sound of her grated on his nerves; no, not unpleasantly, but just... Well, the woman made him edgy, nervous. All women did, to be honest. To go into the reason would be quite unpleasant, so he avoided the thought, eyes plastering onto the worksurface. He felt nauseated. How crazy, he hadn't felt that way in ages. Maybe, maybe she really was right. Maybe he /couldn't/ take care of one, single, solitary person. But... it was Tyn. Tyn didn't need constant watch like a child. He wasn't a child, no matter how much Rosalind still wanted him to be. And Edvard was not going to treat him that way... But now... Now Tyn was sick.
How long had their little speeches lasted? He blinked around-no clocks; not that he had known the elapsed time anyways. It felt like hours... He jumped, the sharp sound of the whistle blowing on the kettle waking him from his dream-like state, his hands hurrying and almost unseating the fat little thing from the coil. His hands worked fast to pour the water onto the tea bags to steep, hands shivering as he placed the things helter-skelter on the tray, moving back into the den with the look of a most startled man on his face. Tongue moving over his lips, he sat the tray upon the coffee table, pushing it near to Rosalind. "I'm going to check on Tyn... Sorry, I brought sugar, perhaps later I'll go to the store and buy something to have it with properly..." and then he left, melting through the barely cracked door into the inky dark of the bedroom.
Like a shadow, he flowed across the floor, body perching upon the edge of the bed with a certain weightlessness that one would not suppose he possessed. Edvard leaned over, easy as he could, Tyn's body coiled up against itself, fingers entwined with the covers. "My love," he began, breath a dull whisper, his face still taught with a certain anguished surprise. "Are you still sleeping? Are you cold?" The vampire's thin hands had already began pulling the sheets and comforter tighter around the fragile frame, lips pursing fondly at the mere sight of him.
"I think," he murmured slowly, sighing at the cool, fresh air that stole over him. "I think that we should stop by and visit that tree, and then we can catch a cab... My apartment isn't the best place to walk to." And it surely wasn't. It was very... downtown slummish. Of course, when you lived like Kris did, what else could you expect? His hands laid faintly over the curves offered to him, Lysander caring about public decency, him not. Kris didn't mind if they laid over each other, nothing really mattering at all. "What do you think?"
The soft whine was barely audible, Tyn using his hips to shuffle closer and then latch his arms about Var’s hips, murmuring sleepily and non-scenically. He wasn’t cold, even the air of the unheated room during winter was still a few degrees warmer then his own flesh, and he was clothed and wrapped in the blankets. His limbs were still possessed with that heavy, warm, sluggish feeling; making his movements slow and somewhat awkward as he buried his face into Edvard’s chest, breathing deeply against his shirt. He knew, through the haze in his mind, that Edvard and his mother needed to be separated. They were trying, but the only thing they had in common was him, and the feelings they had towards him might both be called love, but they were still fundamentally different forms of that emotion. It was tiring him, making him touchy and his head hurt. He had not heard either of the two private conversations they ha held, but those few minutes he had spent in that coldly polite company had made him feel ill again.
He hadn’t been sick since he was a child. And even then, he had never felt like this, had never voluntarily stumbled back to bed to sleep it off. Hangovers, yes, plenty of them, but those could be cured by slumping over and sleeping anywhere. No, he had never been ill enough to lock himself away. Then again, he’d never been so… unconcerned about the health and condition of whatever human he fed from. The had felt strange since then, a concoction of blood lose, the fight, and whatever had been in that guy’s blood stream, and the light that he must of taken in before his mother found him. It had all effected him, and made him this lethargic, groaning pathetic mass.
"Eddy…" he muttered, and pulled himself up, letting his hands move to hold to the other man’s shirtsleeves, using them to further aid his struggle against the knot of sheets and gravity, before hooking his chin over Edvard’s shoulder, and clinging to him, hiding his face in his lover’s dark hair. He wanted to say something, something to make Edvard feel better, because, pressed so close together, he could feel the tension in the other’s muscles. His mother had said something, then, something else that had unsettled Edvard. Probably something religious. Tyn could remember Rosalind’s passion, her desire to do her duty to her god, but it had not been this fanatical when he was a child. Perhaps, without a child to care for, she had turned to her other interest, and engaged herself fully into that. It was not frightening, to him, at least, but Var clearly didn’t like it, didn’t feel comfortable with her dedication. He could understand that. But it did not make his position any easier. "Eddy… mama will go back home soon. I promise."
Lysander smiled, fingers tapping a light tempo against the protruding hipbone once his hand had slipped around the singer’s waist. "If that is what you want to do, I have no objections, capt’n." They walked a little further, the streets busier now then they ever had been during their other strolls, but then again, it was no longer night, and people were out, shopping, or going to pick up their infants from school, heading home from work or other errands. They got one or two looks, but there was no city in the world where they wouldn’t. "Do you ever remember watching…" Lysander began, and then paused, cheeks colouring slightly, and his mannerisms once again became a little bashful. "Did you ever watch that Disney film of Robin Hood? With all the animals. Robin was a fox, and Little John was Baloo from Jungle Book? Ever watch that? Well… Robin and Marian… " His voice faltered again, and then died completely, his head hanging slightly as they walked on, crossing the street and then turning a corner, the park in sight at the end of the road. "Forget it, it was a stupid idea anyway." He muttered, and carefully gave Kris a gentle squeeze, falling silent again, and letting the bustle of the street fill his mind and clear it. That didn’t last for long though, before his mind moved back to things that had to be done. Taking Kris out was a treat, for both of them, but never-the-less, an expensive one. He could normally eat his fill at one of the restaurants near the apartment for a few dollars, but that wouldn’t be good enough. Not tonight. And then there was the fact he owed rent. Coming up to two months now. Not good, but Tyn was normally quiet good about that sort of thing. Lysander, although really he wasn’t meant to, knew very well that the blue-headed youth had let the family down the hall freeze their payments until the husband found another job, and since then had not reminded them about it. Of course, the youth was likely to forget details like that, which brought up the question of how could he afford it?
Keeping such an old building in order must cost a pretty penny, after all, and then all the other little bits that tagged onto that, the taxes he’d have to pay, the legal documentation, things like that added up. But Tyn never seemed to be too worried about rents being on time, or about lending out cash when things were tight for those who lived within his domain. Without any sort of job, Tyn must have had a very generous benefactor. Lucky sod.
But those ponderings would not help Lysander, oh no. So tomorrow, it looked like he would be up early again, and finish building those motherboards before he could get his systems going again, back onto the open market, back into earning himself some breathing space. Rent needed paying, and he was probably going to be taking a lot out of his bank account tonight. It would be worth it, but the books still had to balance at the end of the month.
"Yes! I've seen it, and remember some of it... it's been forever... and... Nooooo..." the artist grumped, tugging at the grip he had on Lysander's shirt-tail, face turning into a childish pout. "You had best tell me what you were saying, or I'll give those wandering eyes something to really gawk at..." he murmured, more of the last part directed towards the man's ear, lips pursing into a devilish smirk, eyes narrowed. He had never minded the stares or the looks of distaste that he received in his sexuality, because, he'd always been quite comfortable with it. When he was in grade school-the few years that he did attend- he had been picked on, sure, but the word got around that he had a vicious right hook and no self-respecting boy was going to get a bloodied nose by 'the queer', so they finally learned to keep their distance. Plus, Kris usually just sat around in the choir hall by himself or with the teacher, watching her play her old up-right piano shoved against the pink-brick wall. It was his favourite place to be. He'd pick up lunch, grab up his books from his locker, and head over to the classroom... Well, that was until he had to move. Sad how foster systems worked.
Leaning off of the other, he let his arms fall away from him, thin appendages wrapping back over his chest. It was cool and oh-so fresh, even for a city; and as they neared the park, he felt more and more at home. The grass would be damp, and leave droplets to lick at his shoes and pants legs. "Now, mister, you tell me that, and then tell me what the plans are for this evening... I like surprises, but you know, I like knowing things too... Hmm, does that make any sense? Oh! Look, coffeeeeeeee." his face had turned, stuck on the little coffee shop they were passing. A nice little place with the outside tables and pretty little stepping stones set apart from the monotonous grey sidewalk. A few people were having cups of mocha and latte's together at the stocky, cream coloured tables, motioning animatedly about their day. "I think," Casper-Kris stated dazedly, tearing his eyes away from the cafe with its people and steaming cups of joe, "that the only thing I like about that stuff..." he motioned at a frothing coffee, "... has got to be the creamer and the sugar..." he grinned then, and then laid himself back over against the taller man. "What about you?"
Edvard quickly caught Tyn around his middle and pulled the pasty, chilled body against his to cease the struggles he was having. "Here, shh. It doesn't matter, when she leaves... She doesn't... I mean, I don't mind..." the vampire sighed at this point. What a lie. He did mind. Very much, actually; but it was Tyn's mother! He couldn't say he cared... Oh well, he would deal, wouldn't he? He hoped so. "You're so cold, love... Can I... Did you-would you.. What I'm trying to say is," he uttered, gathering his thoughts all at once like marbles running into a tube into a basket. "Is would you like for me to fix you something warm? Coffee? Soup? I could nip down to the store and get you some soup and some cheese and stuff and make you soup and a grilled cheese. And on the way I could bring you back some blood. Would you like that? I mean, it won't be that long, I wouldn't think. I can get those things rather quickly. You look horrible, Tyn... I'm sure you feel even worse... God, this is my fault, I feel awful." Shamed, the immortal buried his face against Tyn's shoulder, both arms hugging him nearer, trying to give some of his warmth to Tyn, some of his comfort, perhaps. Carefully, he tucked one of his legs up onto the bed beneath himself, drawing Tyn closer and into a more comfortable position with his chest against Eddy's, his head laying in the cushion of his curls.
With a soft little whine of inner pain, he laid back down onto the mattress, pulling the other man with him. "You need to sleep. Can you not?" one of those feminine, sheet white hands lifted and stroked back the inky blue of his lover's, lips curving softly against the clammy cheek. "Babe, if there's anything you want, anything you need, tell me, I can go and fetch it..." His arms cradled the other to him, fingers moving over the sheet-cloaked cover of his back in what Edvard hoped to be a soothing stroking.
"I think… I think that might just be a rather unsubtle hint to buy you a coffee." Lysander replied, as the changed course to move towards the little street café, weaving between the white tables and chairs, before stepping inside, Lysander’s arm moving from around Kris’ hip to pull his wallet from his pocket, pulling out a bill and moving with the queue towards the counter, and then leaning towards his love to ghost his lips over the warm cheek. "I suppose you want to sit outside, don’t you dear?" He smiled, and then paused, glancing about. "And I suppose I should tell you. But don’t laugh, alright? I’ve already admitted it was a stupid idea anyway. Do you remember the part of that film where… where Marian takes the children to the tree which… which she and Robin carved their initials on? I always thought that was… I don’t know. Really romantic, I guess. Sweet." He stopped again, his voice having been a low, near-whisper, now fading completely as a couple joined the queue behind them, and in an odd gesture of possessiveness, Lysander pulled Kris back to him, hand curled about that shaped waist, playing with the belt-loops and the hem.
Tyn’s breath came out as a sharp gasp as he was pulled down, and moved closer to Edvard again, his eye closing as he arched into the gentle caress delivered to his back. He would have moaned happily, but his body was already up-in-arms against him, and so, he pressed his lips tightly together, and draped his arms back around Edvard as he shook his head. "No… just stay. If you go, then… then" he didn’t know what, but maybe the fear in his voice portrayed what his brain couldn’t explain. "Don’t want anything, just stay. Please…" and that was the last word, his head pressed against Edvard’s chest, held so safely there, until something else dragged itself up from the back of his mind. "I’m just sick. It’s not… not like I’m dying. Besides." He stopped, and then opened that amber-hued eye, "besides the guy… I fed from… I didn’t… kill him. I need to… finish that." And then he snuggled back down, exhausted by those meagre words and movements, but not sleeping, just laying still, as cold and heavy as a corpse, it’s arms frozen by Riga-mortis to the last creature to ever offer their soul a kind word.
He groaned, pitifully, his cheek pressed into the soft shirt fabric, moving slowly to twist his legs about Edvard’s, entwining their bodies in an attempt to take that offered warmth, to steal away some of that health, although that seemed unlikely to work at all.
Rosalind sighed, taking the cup off the tray and slowly adding the white crystals, stirring them in as Edvard’s muffled voice seeped through the crack in the door. It seemed that, no matter what she said, how strongly she expressed her opinions to both of them, neither male was likely to pay attention. If that was the case, she could do nothing, but keep an eye on her boy, and on Edvard too. Should he leave, run, then Rosa would know, and be able to both comfort her son, and deal with the traitor. That would be… a compromise, but likely the best thing she would be able to do, without both other them breathing down her neck. She couldn’t stay here, that had never been her intention, and that was just as well, seeing the reception she had been given.
Even so, she should make herself useful. The dusk was beginning to gather, and the pair of them did not seem to be emerging soon. She had meant to replenish some of Tyn’s cupboards as it was, and in her tidy up of the pent-house, had thrown out several bottles of unopened clear alcohol, and then washing her hands with distaste. Now, although mortal sustenance would do nothing for them, it was still nice to eat something, to experience flavour and texture, and to have something in your stomach. She stood, taking her cup back to the kitchen, washing the dirty things and leaving them to dry, before moving to the door, pulling on a coat that must have been hers, although she hadn’t brought it with her, and stepped out the door, shutting it silently behind her, and making her way down to the leave of the street.
"I thought…" he continued, lips against Kris’ cheek, just to the side of his ear, "that seeing that is… our tree… maybe… one day, we could do something like that. Although it’s probably against the law; vandalism or something stupid like that… would you want to?"
"Want to?" he asked, letting himself be whisked into the coffee shop. "I would /love/ to." His lips returned the soft nuzzling to Lysander's jaw that the whispers against his ear had caused. He hadn't wanted to actually spend any more of his darling's hard-earned cash, buuuut... A coffee was nice in the cool air, so he didn't refuse the offer, even though he felt kinda bad. Maybe he'd do something about that little situation later. If only Lysander could see his bank account.... but most of that was under another's control... Not that it mattered, Kris had his own stash, in case of... 'emergency'. Yeah. Emergency. That's what he called it, anyways. Nuzzling the beard-frizzled jaw, his eyes cut back over his shoulder, looking at the pair behind him. A woman and a man holding to each other much in the fashion that he and Zan had been posing. With a meek smile from the girl, who's eyes had just met the emerald ones, she blushed and looked off, Kris grinning as he turned his head. "People are fun, you know..." the boy said randomly as they stepped up to the counter and ordered.
He spoke up and quickly got two plain black coffees, letting Lysander pay with some difficulties in fidgeting. His hands ran over his hip pockets and then back over his front ones before the laid onto the two paper cups, feeling kinda mootch-ish. "And yes, I would like to sit outside, unless, you want to walk to the park while we slurp these..." his hand scuttled across the counter, scooping up about twelve sugar packets and four of those little creamers from their container. "Hmmmmmmmm?"
Var winced at the quick sucking of air from the other as he was pulled down, but comforted by the soft sounds he made and the monkey-clinging he was imitating just to lay against Edvard. Almost automatically the vampire began stroking the other's hair away from his eyes, his own eyebrows pulled down, forcing his lids to sag almost sleepily. "I'll stay," he reassured, lips barely moving as his lungs dropped into the slow rhythm that mocked Tyn's sickly breathing, mind fogging tiredly. "But later, I'll take you out... and we'll finish whatever business it is that you have... You don't suppose... that something in his blood made you sicker, did it?" Edvard wanted to ask, wanted to know why his love hadn't just killed the man, made it easier on both of them... but then leaning over that cool table in the darkened corners of the bar came back to him, Ethan's face swimming into view; in an instant, he understood. Pain, the anguish of a life unlike their own and the sadness residing inside them when the pair of immortals had parted, that was probably the reason. Or, at least, that's what he'd like to think. Maybe it had just been close to dawn, or just boredom....
Whatever the cause, now was not the time or the place to ask, or even really care. It isn't as though something so simple mattered. It was just killing another human, nothing all that complicated, nothing all that taxing. Anyone could die if it helped Tyn. Anyone.
Slowly, the man let his head lift from the pillow as the noises of Rosalind died throughout the house. She was gone; maybe not for good, but for now. Thank goodness. A sigh carelessly escaped him as something that felt so much like dread eased off his chest. With a turn of his lips, he let his cheek rest back onto the pillow, his nose touch Tyn's, his body pressing heavily against the sheet-covered form. "Well, it seems like your mother's gone off somewhere... I think the wall was bothering her, she probably went to get something to clean it off with..." he let his hand rove over Tyn's cheek, resisting the urge to once more lavish him with tender kisses. Now that he was here, alone with him, he felt perfect, ecstatic. And this sickenss, this was just temporary. Once Edvard had nursed his love back to health... well, possibilities were endless. The poor sod felt like he was on a grey-silver-lined cloud... And maybe he was.
Tyn groaned again, softly to himself, and then gently shifted, uncomfortable in a position only seconds ago he had been satisfied with. His body was against him, that was the only possible reasoning. It was against him, was trying to fight a civil war against all the organs he still had control over. "Eddy…" he managed again, softer this time, and then again, stronger, as he blinked and shifted. "I…" he pushed his face forwards, in a clumsy Eskimo kiss, before he tipped his head back again. "I’m sorry… mama… she doesn’t mean to be like it, she never used to be… like that. Forgive her, for me, won’t you? She… she probably won’t come back again…" he breathed, and then feel silent, allowing his fingers to curl in Edvard’s lapel, as his eye opened to check the other’s expression.
Lysander followed Kris out, only a step behind him, and close enough to reach out and put a touch to the younger man’s shoulder, and pulled a seat out from one of the tables. "I think it completes the look, don’t you?" he muttered, and sat down in the opposite chair, warming his hands about the cup he’d taken from Kris’ hold. "So… you want to deface a tree with me?" he teased, and the leant forwards to kiss Kris not on the cheek or on the jaw, but mouth on mouth, tenderly, his eyes opening again as he sank back into his seat, ignoring those around them. Perhaps the computer nerd wasn’t as coy as Kris, or Casper, as he had been then, had teased him about. No, not coy, just… careful. Although that public display of affection had certainly thrown caution to the wind. Oh well, Lysander didn’t seem to care, and that was the main thing, he was happy, and content, and there was nothing to take that feeling away.
Tyn shifted again, too hot, and distressed, pulling himself off and beginning to struggle out of his clothes, swearing softly, before managing to get the shirt off, and chucking it onto the floor, before falling back down, whimpering softly in his discomfort, trying back to lay on his side, even though this too was uncomfortable, and to cling to Edvard pitifully, trailing the tip of his nose over the muscles’ in the other’s arm and shoulder. Damn that mortal. Tyn would see him dead, for the pain and the trouble he had caused. But no more of his blood. It wouldn’t be a clean killing, no. Nor would it be particularly pleasant, but as his insides writhed beneath his skin, it was what the blue-haired vampire promised himself.
Sipping at the liquid, Zan smiled, not for a particular reason, but because if felt good. Smiling was what the situation called for, and so that was what would be done. Besides, the air was fresh, and bright, and he was with an amazingly beautiful creature. What reason did he have not to smile? "And after that, to yours, and to get to see this little ensemble you are planning to wear, hm? And are you… going to bring anything else? I mean, if you want to stay a little longer. No… move in yet, but… stay over a little while. It would be fun…"
"Oh, here, honey..." Edvard's fingers helped push away the shirt, eyes dully watching it drop to the floor. Now, the feverish body against him painedly squirmed and thrashed as it tried to find a comfortable position, failing and falling back limply against him, anguished breathing coming in short gasps. Shifting back for a bit of breathing room between them, the older man observed the way in which the other was moving, trying his best to help with anything he could. But it was pointless, Tyn acted as though he were stretched out upon a bed of hot coals. As easy as you liked, he slid from his place on the bed, moving regretfully from the other's arms, and stood, slipping in three strides to the bathroom, his feet slapping the tile in his hurry. The lights clicked on, the cabinets opened and closed, the faucet swooshed to life, a soft cursing, and then the quick movements back into the darkened room, Edvard back at Tyn's side in a moment.
"Here, love, I know you hurt..." a damp, cool rag swept over Tyn's brow, a set of worried eyes looking down upon the most unfortunate figure at his side. "But maybe you can get comfortable for an hour or two, yes?" his eyes shifted, one hand taking Tyn's and patting it softly. "Isn't that nice?" he asked, still slicking the rag over the other's forehead. "And, about your mother, I forgive her... Sometimes, people just don't mesh... It's understandable. There's no harm done."
He smiled too; there was nothing to hold it back. "Yes, defacing trees is one of my favourite all time hobbies... And well, we'll see about the staying over." which was followed by a rather noticeable wink and a twitch of his lips as though he were containing a laugh. "But, I don't know what I'd bring... There isn't much at my apartment... Just clothes, and junk... like a toothbrush and whatever..." the boy shrugged, turning his thought back to the coffee. His hands moved, pushing everything into an assembly line. Sugar on the left of the cup, creamers-tops open-on the right. One hand lifted a creamer and dumped it in, and then the other lifted a sugar packet, ripped open the top, and tipped it in. This was done until the creamers and sugars were equal, and then his small brown and white striped stirrer turned the dark browny-black into carmely-hued liquid. Only then did he lift the drink to his lips and taste it, deciding it needed three more packets of sugar.
When he had finished, he promptly turned his eyes back onto Lysander, tongue roving over his lips to catch the last droplets of his now-perfectly-sweetened coffee. "Ohoh, and what are we doing after we go to my place? Going back to yours? Or... what?" Kris blinked, still grinning, beside himself with pleasure as he looked back over the contents of the day. How splendid it had been. "Or are we going like we are? Well, not me like I am, because I'm changing, but you know what I mean... Or, at least I think I know what you mean... Oooh..." he took another long draw of his drink, tongue twisting back over his lips mechanically. "Want a taste? It's really good... I don't see how you drink that bitter slosh... here, go on..." The paper cup made a funny little 'clunchclunch' sound as the singer pushed it over the table to Zan, eyes still roving over his face to take in his expression, his happiness only increasing with the smile that stood on the brunette’s face.
The cold water made his muscles clench, but forcing himself to relax, the boy took a long, shuddering breath, and seemed a little more comfortable, and the excess droplets that ran down his flushed cheeks, cooling them. Was he fevered? He didn’t know, he only vaguely remember his mother leaning over him in much the same way Edvard was now, tending him as he feel in and out of troubled sleep, until the sickness faded. She would sit by him for days, talking, although very little made it through to his mind, but the voice was comforting, as was the weight of Eddy’s hand, which his own had compulsively tightened around. "I’m just… I don’t know…" he muttered, eye closed.
The streets were pleasantly quiet, without the traffic of people and cars that other days in the week would offer any one on an evening stroll. Rosalind’s pace was relaxed, as was her whole aura, radiating peace and… satisfaction, it seemed. True, things were not exactly how they should be, but how was she meant to know how they should be? Perhaps it was best to carry on, and to accept. She had lived through so many things, kicking up a fuss about it when it touched her own personal empire was childish. No, she would leave things be. After all, she would keep a close eye on them, and be on hand to offer assistance, or rescue Tyn from whatever mess he got himself involved in next time. Things would work out. They always did.
She continued through pools of ribbons of light and dark, under stars and under street lamps, before entering into one of the small cornershops. Now, it was unlikely they would have stocked anything more then the basics, and for the most part, that was what the vampiress wanted. She took a basket from the pile, and made her way up and down the few short aisles. Humming softly under her breath she carefully re-arranged the cans on one shelf, taking a lone pack of fleshly smoked salmon from the back, and with that same attention to detail, placed it next to the bottles of milk, the bag of sugar. Her own personal weakness, a tin of Rich English Tea Tips, (which were much more pleasant then tea bags) that she had, totally by coincidence, discovered among the coffee jars. When finished she approached the girl at the counter with a smug air, and only looked on as the girl struggled to identify items that the tiny store didn’t stock on her till. Rosa might have felt bad, but she had been doing this for far too long to particular worry about it.
After all, she had lived in the world, or rather, existed in it, too long. Her own sire had taught her some trickery, and then she had spent time perfecting it. If Edvard thought her woodenly human, he was wrong. Why cower from what you were, why deny it? Rosalind never had, using her immortality to the best of her advantage; twisting the reality that stretched so thinly in the shadows between buildings, or under trees, or even in open spaces in the pitch black of night to her will. One shadow was just like another, and reality didn’t realise when a shadow in one place was pierced, if the object that penetrated it emerged in another. No, reality was like a blind beggar, to be shaped and moulded as the Elders of her race wished. True, she wasn’t an elder, never would consider herself so, but she could mock a few of their tricks. Stretching the reality within light was harder, and she wondered if it had anything to do with her kind’s weakness to it, whether the medium was not stronger - their power only weaker. But for small things, for short periods of time, she could do that too. Although she would need to feed again soon if she continued to amuse herself by cheating reality.
Shifting his shoulders as he moved his free hand to touch at his own forehead beneath the rag, Tyn sighed, letting his arm flop back to the sheets, and his body shuffle closer to Edvard again, foot sliding over the bed linen to trace the shape of Var’s own leg, comforted by the other male’s presence. "I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to get sick. I’ll be better tomorrow. Then… then we can… go out again? You don’t have to… stay cooped up here… if you get bored…" his words were slow, wits dulled now with the same heavy weight of tiredness, still too uncomfortable to sleep, although now much eased.
Lysander took the cup as it was passed forwards, setting down his own black, unsweetened coffee, a little dubiously, it must be said. However, he took a sip, letting the liquid sit on his tongue before he swallowed, and then handed it back, folding his arms on the table top for a moment, face serious, before he shook his head. "Too sweet." And then took another swallow of his own dark brew, eyes bright as they remained fixed on Kris. "I think at this point I should say something about you being the only sweetness I need, or something like that, right?" He asked, lips turned upwards when he removed the cup from where it was held against his lower lip. "I suppose I just don’t like sugary things. I’ve got no sweet-tooth." He gave an apologetic smile. "But I think… I think we should go climb that tree…" he smirked again, more sensually this time, and allowed one hand to reach across the table, finding Kris’ wrist and stroking circles into the palm. "And… well, I suppose we can go straight from your place, if you want. I mean, it’ll be what, 7 o’clock by the time we get there, and our reservation isn’t until 7:30… so I suppose we can start the evening off with a drink or two, if you’d like." He smiled again, happily, leaning back and finishing his coffee in long gulps, before beginning that same process he had before, on the night they had met, of tearing down the edges until the sides were splayed like petals around the reinforced base.
"Whatever suits you..." the young man shrugged, lifting his empty hand and letting his fingers push through the short black hair before it dropped, laying over the other man's, the tips caressing his knuckles slightly before Lysander pulled back and began flowering his coffee cup. "And I don't think it's possible that coffee can be too sweet, but whatever floats your boat..." both of his hands drew around the intact cup and brought it to his lips, attention turning to the street-life -as subtle as it was. His mouth seeped in the sugary substance as his eyes studied passing faces, snatches of week-long conversations and those of the Sunday sermon and perhaps even of the coming week. The emerald and pearly spheres looked upon each face with a passing curiosity and longing. Everyone was so beautiful, so consuming. With a sigh, he quickly finished his coffee and set his cup down, attentively tipping all his trash into it before standing and pushing his chair back beneath the table. "Are we ready to go and climb a tree, then?"
"I know you didn't mean to get sick, honey, no one does... It isn't your fault." the elder let his fingers trace over Tyn's temple, the cool rag bleeding a few water droplets now and again. His blue bangs were wet, sodden as was his brow, but it didn't seem to matter, as long as he was comfortable and cool,
Edvard was pleased. "And don't talk silly, the only place I want to be is here, with you. What sort of horrid creature would I be if I didn't stay with you? You're sick. I'm going to... take care of you, or, at least, to the best of my abilities." he laughed then and gave a soft smile, his eyebrows drawn down in subtle worry. "Well, you know, if that's the case, maybe I should call back Rosalind to take care of you. I suppose that no one has ever gotten sick in my care... Hm. In fact, I've never even been around a sick vampire..." he thought a moment, and then laughed again, trying to ease the heavy atmosphere as it lulled Tyn into a weak state between sleep and wakefulness.
"You know," he began, getting up slowly and pulling his rag from the other male's forehead. "I could take you into the livingroom, and we could lay on the couch or something if you're uncomfortable..." Edvard strolled to the bathroom again, his body going though the mindless ritual of wetting the rag, wringing it out, and turning around to head back to the bed. One hand pushed back his curls before he took up his seat next to the other once more, fretting with the way the covers were walled around his frail-looking body. Gently as he could, Var placed the rag back upon the other's face, wiping at his cheeks and wetting his dried lips with it. "There now, are you still hot? Or cold? I think that the door to the outside isn't shut properly, do you feel a draft?"