Shopping Troubles [Jesse Fforde]

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

Instead of taking some time after her shift at Auto Doc, Grey had moved on to a twenty four hour open convenience store. But, it wasn't like the typical mom and pop gas station store. No, this store was huge. She had recently discovered the large chain store with a little bit of glee. It had everything from groceries to basic car necessities and electronics to prophylactics. Not used prophylactics either, because Grey had gagged when she saw those floating around the sewers.

Her hair had been pulled up into a messy bun, pieces of the milky dark chocolate sticking out everywhere. With a deep breath, she blinked at the rows and rows of sheets in front of her. There was everything from standard cotton which claimed easy care and best value to luxury brand of four hundred plus thread count. The last couple sheet sets they had unfortunately seemed to be in a state of disrepair, too many blood stains and wound memories to care to keep.

There were fabric samples to touch, and Grey had taken her time to feel them all. Of course, the more expensive was the softest. But, she didn't want to sleep on silky sheets, either. She didn't want to slip or slide right out of bed when she wasn't intending too. Such a thing might make getting up for work easier, but she was reluctant to leave Jesse's side too soon. The time she had with him in the beginning of their morning seemed to be all to precious when she'd wake and still find him sleeping.

It was a time that she had been grateful for. To know that he was still there. It was silly, perhaps, to have that little fear at the back of her throat scratching itself against her voice. She knew Jesse hated when she sought reassurance that he was happy with her. He had warned her a time or two that he would kindly take her over his knee and beat it into her instead of the loving caress she had teased him about. The vivid memory caused a smile on her face. If she had enough blood in her system, she might have even blushed.

Picking her iPhone out of her pocket, she tapped the screen until she got his number. His favorite color. Did she know? Did she assume? Was it black? Or red? Or green? Had he told her before and she just wasn't listening? She looked along the packages of sheets, knowing very well she needed the King size. She thought. Their bed was so big. However, she didn't know for sure. She didn't know what size their bed really was. And because she felt so very inept, her eyes blistered.

No tears fell. There was no wetness that launched itself down her face. There were no feelings of remorse or guilt. It was just anger. Pure, unadulterated anger that had she been home - she could take a measuring tape to personally assess what size their bed was. The Internet, after all, had a lot of information on it. She didn't want to abandon her cart that she had already dropped some items into it just to go back to their bedroom and take a measurement or two. Someone might put her things back. Someone might touch what she now so gladly was considering hers.

So, she stood there with her cart, waiting for the man to pick up the phone. Biting her lower lip. She stood their trying, too, to decide which color she liked. Black was always the easiest answer for everything. But now she was seeing colors like coral, and Caribbean blue, forest green, and charcoal gray. All these different colors to pick from, and she was just waiting to see what she could pick out for him.

[Jesse Fforde]

Another competition. This one for Tytonidae. They were to find items needed for rituals, which were performed for the benefit of the faction. The first thing Jesse does is rifle through the crap that he himself had accumulated already – three lockers full, mostly overflowing. He’d need to buy another one, soon. He takes stock of what he has and compares it to the list given to them all by Micah. After he is finished, however, he realises that he’s only wasted time. There are quite a few things that he needs himself for the benefit of Fforde, and though he considers Tytonidae family too, he is certain that neither Velveteen or Micah will begrudge him the desire to keep some things for his own gains.

And besides which, to use the things that he’d already gathered before the competition had started felt like cheating – even though the majority of the crafting items on the list that he had found in his travels, he’d already given to Velveteen. All this stuff he would freely give anyway. He doesn’t need a competition to get him moving.

The options vary. Soon enough, after a few minutes of serious deliberation, he decides that he’ll hunt ferals; he can get the black feral blood, and the fadeling corpses from them. Of course, he could spend his time at the ritual table to hunt down the Sorcerers for the sorcerer blood, but his deliberations are somewhat selfish. The pros and cons all slip and slide around his head, and fall into place.

Ferals are easy.

Ferals are found in the Quarantine Zone.

Grey is most often in the Quarantine Zone.

It’s almost like a perpetual honeymoon period with Grey, even though they’d been together for… how long has it been? He doesn’t keep tabs on the dates, but it feels like a long time. Perhaps because of all that they have been through, it feels as if they have weathered the woes that most couples might only encounter within years of dating, rather than months or weeks. And he and Grey had survived the hurdles and the thunderstorms that had been thrown at them. And yet, he still cannot keep his hands off her. It’s the first time ever in his life that he has felt so ******* possessive of another living person. Like he feels broken when he’s away from her; like there’s a piece missing and it slips into place as soon as she is by his side.

Perhaps he should go after Sorcerers. It’s the rarest item. But he can do that after the competition, he reasons. He can do that whenever he likes. Perhaps it’s letting the team down, but…

…and almost as if on cue, as if she can feel him, thinking about her, the phone starts ringing. He grins as he sees who it is. He swipes at the screen and answers; he’s standing in the middle of his hut in the Eyrie, ritual items spread out in neat piles around him, ready to be stacked back into the lockers.

“I was just about to return to our corner, my love. Are you waiting for me?”

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

"Jesse." He can no doubt here the smile in her voice. Her greeting to him. His name. It was something that was constant with her. The way that she always looked forward to him answering her call. She had long ago vowed to not be the perpetually clingy woman. Who nicknamed everything and spat out corny pet names like 'honeybun' and 'sugarlips.' As she held the phone to her ear, she ignored the associate that wandered along stocking the aisles that were no longer filled with the evening, after work rush of those people hell bent on getting a case of beer and chocolate to make up for a stressful day.

She did wonder what he was doing. She did wonder where he was. She did, in that moment, wonder exactly what he was doing since he had so suggested that he was not at their new favorite place - their corner in Corvidae Flats. She had gone back there from Cherrydale's sewers because she had been disappointed in herself. She was gaining in strength, but perhaps becoming too hopeful and wanton to keep training. She had been getting frustrated by the Ancients that seemed to be a little overpowering to her at times.

She had wanted to make him proud. She wanted to get strong for him as fast as she could while holding down her current job at Auto Doc and managing to meet members of Jesse's family, both Fforde and Andras alike. It had been a bit of a rough start for her. Still, she felt a little frustrated with her current abilities. New. Young. Just turned. A Childe. A newbie. She hated those terms.

Even if they were true, even if she was weak and her arms shook after taking a couple of hits from those Ancients, she was frustrated that one too many times she knew better than to get up and keep trying to take down that worthy opponent. A deep breath was gathered, the flash of red out of the corner of her eye meant that she was still at the store and the employee's shirt had passed by - again.

She didn't have any plans on stealing anything that night! Feeling like she was being watched, she pulled a package of sheets from the shelf and plopped the heavy bundle in the front part of the cart. Where a young child might sit, truth be told. Her eyebrows knit together. She shook her head.

"I am not in the Zone yet, Jesse. I'm shopping. I thought that... We could use a new pair of sheets. I mean, because the others are pretty stained up. I wanted to get something you would like." She exhaled. It was a whoosh of air past the phone's receiver as she fingered the tiny little zipper that teased her nails to grab hold and yank it open. "I wanted to know what was your favorite color. Is there a particular set you'd like?"

It was something a girlfriend might know. It was something a wife would already have knowledge of. It kind of was like, in her mind, knowing how her husband took his coffee. Biting once again into her lower lip, she inhaled. Faking that ability to breathe was no hardship for her. As the air conditioning unit kicked on within the store and let out another blast of chilly air above her head, she shuddered once. It really wasn't because she was cold. No, it was because she waited for his answer.

Nerves. Her voice was a little tight, a little clipped, but she tried to reason with herself that she was still ... learning everything too.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse laughs. Sheets. Favourite colours. It’s a good thing that he’s laughing. He even catches himself off guard with the laughter; given how he’d tended to avoid Grey a lot in the beginning, and had even stayed away more than usual the week after he’d first told her that he loved her, it surprised him that this conversation about sheets and favourite colours didn’t have him immediately changing the subject, or replying with something vague and sharp and giving some excuse to hang up the phone.

It’s the small things that make a relationship, he’s realised. The small things like letting each other know where they’re going to be or whether they’re going to be home or not, or at what time. Consideration for the fact that there’s someone else in your life that cares about you more than you care about yourself; keeping them informed, so as not to worry them unnecessarily. Making sacrifices, small and large.

Though, Jesse isn’t as worried about the fact that he doesn’t know what Grey’s favourite colour is. These are things to be learned in time. Because for all the small things he might not know, there are plenty of larger things that he does. He knows that she’s largely independent and stubborn. He knows that she can be spontaneous, that she doesn’t shy away from a challenge, and that public displays of affection do not bother her. He knows that she can lead just as well as she can submit. He knows that she can be very self-conscious, that she is as fragile as she is strong. There are things that they learn just by being in each other’s company. The longer they spend together, the more they will learn.

Favourite colours are not important.

And anyway, he’s not sure that he has one – thus why he is laughing. And because he is attuned to the finer details. Because he can hear the subtle hint of anxiety in Grey’s tone. He knows her well enough, at least, to be able to tell that something is bothering her, even if he doesn’t know exactly what it is.

He saunters over to the door and retrieves his wallet and keys from the table there. He pushes his wallet into his back pocket, and is still talking to Grey even as he walks out the door and toward the elevator. She might be able to hear the whip of wind as he steps out into the open night – it is a tree house, after all, and there are walkways that lead from the huts to the central elevator. The leaves will rustle. The sound of the wilderness.

“Perhaps we should get a few sets. And some towels too? I could use the old ones for rags…” he says. He needs rags sometimes, to clean his brushes.

“I don’t think I have a favourite colour,” he adds. He’s an artist. He likes them all. He tries to think about which one he uses most in his art – mainly reds and oranges, these days, but that’s just a phase. It changes all the time.

“I suppose maybe blue. Green? Maybe something in between. I don’t know. What do you think suits me? If I were a colour, what would I be?” he asks. He’s tempted to question whether she’s angry at him because he doesn’t have a favourite colour. But he thinks perhaps it’s best not to assume she’s angry. That might just make her angrier.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

He's laughing. He was laughing in Grey's ear. She heard the rumble of his deep voice and it caused her a moment of mixed emotions. From anxiety, to grief, to pleasure, to frustration as to why he was laughing at her! Or, maybe he was laughing at something else. It was, in retrospect, an absurd question in the very moment to call and interrupt him to just blurt of a demand of a question to his favorite color.

Still, she bit her lower lip. Though she could have smiled at his very laugh, she didn't. It lightened her worry that she interrupted his work or his time. She never dared interrupt her mother. No, she never dared to antagonize the beast and just knowing that she could call Jesse sometimes was enough to let her be bold out in the tiny world of this new city to her.

She knew, for all intents and purposes, that Jesse was just a phone call away if she got turned around, injured, or had a concern that could not be told to anyone else. She clutched the phone yet, her eyes moving along the shelf as she heard him rustle around wherever he was. Why, she didn't even know what her own favorite was when looking at this panel of colors, how could she ask it of him? Because she wanted to please him. Because she wanted to make him happy. Because she wanted his very input on the situation. He was going to be sleeping on the sheets sometimes, too. These sheets would end up at Larch Court, probably. She didn't spend too much time in the apartment in the Towers at the moment. She chalked that up to the ease of the Larch being easier to access the Quarantine Zone. These sheets would be on that bed.

This is what two people in a relationship due. They ask each other their opinions and preferences. They ask each other their likes and dislikes. It's not like a heated quickie in the corner of some club where all that is needed is protection and the ounce of stimulation to spark a one moment encounter. This was a constant. This was something that was long lasting. This was something that deserved an ounce of respect so that there was not an altercation later down the line.

Of course, that was not because she didn't like to have her disagreements with Jesse. In fact, she enjoyed them. She didn't enjoy the way he teased her, demanding a response from her that might have ended up with her deeper into trouble. His heated kisses were just as blissful as his gentle ones and she drove herself to enjoy every moment. He never lifted a hand to her in anger. He never touched her with cruelty on his mind. She had always been watchful for that look. For that cruel spark in his eye to come to light, but she had only seen that specific glare in her mother's stare.

"Caribbean blue." She said to him. It was a quiet whisper after he had asked her. Her mind seemed to wander to the towels. In fact, she looked over her shoulders because they were behind her. They were on sale too. And there was so much more of a selection of them. Tons of color. He liked all colors. And she bit her lower lip in the thought of his words about not having a favorite. She smiled into the phone again.

"Because it is a dark color. It reminds me of something royal, but not too hoity. It has a richness to it that gray or green doesn't. Unless, the green would be a rich color too. Like a forest green instead of an olive green. It's masculine. I like coral, Jesse. It's bright. But, it isn't too pink. And even if it isn't dark to hide the blood, it's something that is cheerful in a way." That all came out with one breath. In fact, she sounded almost breathless upon the phone as it whistled into her ear at the sound of the breeze outside. She seemed to let her anger go. He made it okay. Just his questions to her over the telephone made it okay that this conversation was real. That this conversation wouldn't ensue in some sort of hesitant reason to get off the line. She was standing there in the aisle, tucking the phone in between her ear and her shoulder as she grabbed the Carribean blue sheet set next, and the coral set, and put them both into the cart with the rich charcoal gray she already had set down.

"How many towels should I get? There are all different size towels too, Jesse. Size. Oh! Our bed... What size is it?" She bit her lips, curious again. Sputtering out as she actually pointed to the King sheets in the cart. "Because I don't want to get the wrong size. It says Queen, King, or California King on the labels here. I'm not sure which one our bed it. Beds. Well, you know..." She whispered, her voice trailing off.

[Jesse Fforde]

He could laugh again but he doesn’t. He likes the way her words rush at him, not in a jumbled mess but concise, almost as if she’d thought about it before, what colour he would be. Or perhaps, favourite colour aside, she knows him more than she thinks she does, to be able to pull those kinds of assessments from her brain without a moment’s notice. Inside the elevator, Jesse leans against the wall just listening to her as she speaks, imagining that he’s right there beside her, staring at the wall of offerings.

He can fully admit that he’s never bought sheets with a woman before. Or towels. Or any of the household goods. The sheets that he has gathered are probably in need of replacements; the ones at Veil were probably Felicity’s doing, though of course he won’t tell Grey that. And if any of the sheets that he himself had bought were of good quality it’s because whoever sold them to him only gave him what he asked for. That’s how he used to do it. He doesn’t relish shopping of any kind, and so he would write a note in advance. The note would ask for specifics. And by specifics, mainly just the size of the bed that he needed sheets for, and whether he wanted summer or winter weights. On the note, he’d have written ‘I trust your judgment’. Most of the time, the sales women (as it was mainly women who sold sheets) would, without fuss or hesitation, get him what he needed. If they asked questions, he’d just stare at them, stonily. They’d get the picture, sooner or later, that he really didn’t give two sweet tosses about what kind of sheets he has, so long as they did their job.

He says the exact same thing to Grey, now; there’s no irritation in his voice. Only amusement, lingering from his recent laughter.

“I trust your judgement. Get whatever you like – blue, coral, whatever. I leave all the decorating to you, because I don’t really care, so long as they do their job,” he says. And, because he’d had to write the size of the sheets down so many times for the shop assistants, he knew what size without having to think about it too much.

“King size. Fit for a king, you know?” he says, chuckling again because, sometimes, he just likes to crack himself up with his own damned ego. Not that he thought he could ever be a King – he’s far too maniacal for that kind of responsibility. As a kid he always imagined himself a pirate. Or a ninja. Or the evil dark sorcerer. Like Rumpelstiltskin. She’s the one who brought up royalty, however. Maybe he could tease her about being a Queen, later. Queen of the sea creatures, with her coral sheets…

… he’s getting ahead of himself, he realises, as the doors of the elevator swing open and he begins to make his way toward the exit, toward where his bike is waiting for him.

“Where are you? Should I join you? Should I pick you up?” he asks. Sometimes he wonders whether he should invest in a car, too – for all their nifty powers as creatures of the night, one still needs transportation for the mundane things. Like shopping – and the many parcels that might result from shopping. In so many ways they were all still so very human.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

With three brand new, beautifully colored sheet sets in the cart, Grey took a step back and aimed her direction for the towels. They were just an aisle over, and she figured that three was a decent enough number to have something of. Grey never before could barely hang onto one of something, let alone three. The number made her feel more secure. It made her feel that no matter which way she turned, she was covered. So many nights she craved warmth and someplace dry to sleep. She craved to have the comforts of a real home, like her father had always ensured she had.

Once the man was gone, though, Grey had steadily grown out of her clothes. She was always given second hand clothes, doing without proper shoes until she had to be back in school. Sometimes then, she'd go through two pairs in a year due to the hated growth spurts. Mentally, though, Grey had grown up quickly, realizing how hard of a toll the death of her father took upon her mother's frail mind. She didn't make it to the aisle with the towels. Instead, she stopped just shy of the other side of the end aisle. Comforters and bed spreads. While she was talking to Jesse upon the phone, she was staring at all the offered warmth for just a price tag.

"I got a few sets, like you said. Can't have too much of something, right?" That is especially if they changed their sheets every day instead of every week depending on who has what wound where and how long it looked like it was going to bleed for. Biting her lower lip, she zoned in upon the offered comforters and felt like her bank account would get a couple hundred dollars smaller that day. There was a beautiful black comforter with a watercolor-like drawing of a bird in bright colors across one corner of the spread. She looked at the almost empty cart and knew that she had plenty of room.

Oh, but if Jesse had his bike, there wouldn't be any room at all for him to pick her up. She would have a bunch of items that would weigh her arms down and the walk to Larch Court was much longer in her eyes now. But that didn't stop her from checking to see if the material of that luxury comforter was as soft as the luxury sheets in her cart were. She bent down, holding the phone still between the crux of her shoulder. Jesse very well might have been able to here the Zzppt of the packages zipper as she opened it. "Are you busy? I don't want to bother you. I mean, it is just that I know some guys don't like this sort of thing."

At least, that was what her romance novels depicted. Most men groaning at the idea of the woman out shopping. Only, Grey didn't seem to be shopping for herself really. Sheets were a necessity less one wants to sleep upon the scratchy surface of a mattress. And, the surfaces were mostly scratchy. She knew this for a fact because she had a bare mattress for a few years before leaving her house of hell. Biting her lower lip, she squeezed that comforter in her hands, pleased to feel that it wasn't a stiff cotton or too felt-like of a feel on her dry hands.

"I will be a little while yet. I will probably have to call a taxi. I walked here. I didn't really intend to shop, but once I started looking a few things have ended up in my cart. And they're awkward and heavy. I don't think walking home with all these packages would be wise. Can't have someone mistaking me for a poor, defenseless woman in the middle of the night." She almost said human, but managed to mind her mouth. And if Jesse came, that meant she couldn't wander in the grocery section - looking at all the food she couldn't have anymore.

They didn't really have to worry about any new kitchen equipment. That area was pretty bare already except the blood packets in their refrigerators. Her eyes had roved over knick-knacks and paintings, little desktop trinkets and she had fallen in love with a tiny little owl paperweight. It seemed fitting. The hand carved glass-blown owl was green and white, speckled in a way with indents for feathers. It sat carefully tucked between a clearance sweater she had found earlier in her travels of the big box store.

"I feel like a kid in a candy store." She said to him, finally. There was a hint of excitement in her voice as she put that bed spread into her cart and started pushing herself towards the towel section once again.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse shrugs – a habit that he hasn’t quite shucked. Every now and again he forgets that he has a voice, regardless of whether or not he is on the phone. Subconsciously he knows that Grey cannot see him, and she cannot decipher his shrug. Nor can she know what he is thinking – that he has somehow accumulated a fortune, and that if Grey wants more than what they need then he will cover the cost. Because he would do that for Grey. It’s something that he will do, however, rather than something that he thinks deserves voicing. Actions speak louder than words, and all that jazz. He himself has never been used to excess, and even now, when he knows he might be able to afford excess, he hasn’t quite got into the habit yet.

“I’m not busy,” he says. Again, he could have shrugged. The former shrug could have been answer to both statements – his non busy-ness, and his lack of care about how many sets she might want to buy. Again, he doesn’t see any reason to explain why he’ll come to find her; he doesn’t have to explain that she’s right. He is in fact a male who doesn’t particularly relish that kind of shopping, she sounds happy. And it’s something normal, and easy. Something comforting for her, in this new life he’d thrust her into. Quite literally. And besides, it’s like a blossoming warmth in his chest, spreading through his limbs. The need to be by Grey’s side, regardless of what it is that she is doing. He will no doubt act like a child in a candy store – not that he would grab all and sundry and throw it into the cart, but he would act like a child high on too much sugar. Perhaps, after this trip, Grey won’t tell him when she’s shopping again. He won’t be around to her annoy her, then.

All of a sudden the prospect of ‘shopping’ is all the more exciting.

Perhaps she’ll hear the grin in his voice.

“I’m on my way – but, you didn’t tell me where you are,” he says. A man of few words. He’ll probably hang up, as soon as she tells him; rather than take the bike, he’ll walk, or catch the train, or…whatever. No point taking the bike if she’ll be taking a cab home separate to him. He can already see the night stretching out in front of him, all the different paths that it could take. In the end, though, he knows that whatever he does, however he goes about it, he’ll do whatever he can to reduce the amount of time that he is away from Grey.

If he stops to think about it, maybe he’d laugh at himself. Maybe he’d feel ashamed, by how much of a damned puppy he is being. But, as per usual, he doesn’t quite care. His actions are his own, and people can think whatever the **** they like. He feels justified in his own self.

He pauses, just outside. The wind isn’t cold. It’s rather nice, actually, the weather. His gaze slides out over the wilderness, and hitches on the glimmering lights of the city through the trees, and the path that’ll take him there. Jesse Fforde is a man with an ego, but sometimes, sometimes…

“…unless you want to keep going on your own,” he says. Perfectly reasonable. Perfectly fine, if that’s what she wants. Some women don’t like their men to see how much they spend, right? Or they want to buy things for themselves. Or they want their shopping time to be their time, like something sacred. He stays right where he is, waiting for the verdict.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

His words that he was not busy were like music to her ears. She knew that he often was busy with their family and his faction. Theirs. That realization that she was so much a part of his fold hit her dead center in the chest in the middle of the large store while she was looking at towels of every color. Her breath hitched, almost like she had stubbed her toe or taken a bullet to the thigh or shoulder. Except, she was not struggling with a zombie or an Ancient at the moment. No, she was standing there looking at the sale prices of the towels and realized that she belonged.

She was now part of something. Not only was she Jesse's, but she was also a Fforde and an Andras member. Though she knows that is a rite of passage all on its own, she also had a job and money built up in her bank account. She could afford the cart full of items that she would check out with eventually that night. Her hands shook a little bit as she snatched a light pink, perhaps more coral color from the bunch and unfolded the hand towel. She squeezed it in her grip. As her eyes watched the fabric and the way her knuckles whitened, she swallowed hard and tried not to sound too dirty to the man on the other end of the line. She liked the way that the towel felt in her dry hands. She desperately needed some lotion, most of the oils rubbed away from her skin over the course of her shift at Auto Doc's shop. She shook her head, the fly away hair teased her cheek and a strand flopped down to tickle over the top of her left ear. "No, Jesse. I want you to come. Please?"

Her voice still sounded hopeful, as if she was waiting for his agreement over the line. She was still clutching the hand towel in her grip. She let her thumbs run over the lightly grooved end, where there was a band-like pattern to what one could consider the front side of the towel that would hang from the hook in their bathroom at Veil Tower. Maybe she would move the towels that they had now to Larch Court. That is, she wanted something nice. She wanted something new.

Yes! That's what she would do. She would move the items at their apartment to the Court, slowly putting her own touch upon that bit of a modern apartment Jesse had offered her so many months ago. She couldn't think about it now. She couldn't think about his kindness. Or his worry. She couldn't think about what would have happened to her had she never ran into Jesse that snowy, cold night. Finally exhaling, the name of the store she was in came out with the intersecting streets. Biting her lower lip, she pulled another hand towel that was more expensive down. She started to go over the same process of squeezing it and checking the softness of the cotton material it was made out of. The labels alone were a bit overwhelming. Some read they were organic. Some read they dried quickly. Some read that they were non-allergenic. "I want you here. Come pick out some new towels for yourself, Jesse. Come pick out some you'd like to take off of me."

It felt so domestic. It felt so eerily cementing of their relationship. Together. They had each other for eternity. She had agreed to finally let him take her. There was no hesitation to her last breath. There was no resentment within her as she stood there, wondering what set of towels he preferred better. They both liked to touch. They both seemed to have that textual need to ensure it was what they preferred. Hell, even most of Grey's clothes were soft or pre-worn, stolen from Jesse's stash when she was too tired to wash her own meager amounts of clothing. She couldn't really stand the scratch of lace or anything too tight upon her flesh. She had grown up with too tight. She couldn't do that now.

This was how people did it. This was how they made their homes their own. By shopping, by adding their own personal touches. By wanting and enjoying and having items. She was so very much not used to that. She didn't even know what her own style was, let alone just knowing that she seemed to have a fetish with sheet sets already. "I'm in the bathroom section. There are labels hanging from the ceiling. You can find me that way, love."

She hung up the phone. There was nothing else to say. There wasn't even an 'I'll see you in a few minutes' that came out of her mouth. No. It was the fact that she needed both hands now. She wanted him to come to her. Talking with him almost made it a little worse, knowing that he was just on the other line and she couldn't touch him. That yearning to have him close started for her, antagonizing her. So, she blew out that held breath and put her mind to the task of which towel brand she liked more as she waited for him.

[Jesse Fforde]

If she wasn’t careful, towels weren’t the only thing he’d take off her. And he wouldn’t wait until they got home to do so, either. The wind rustles through the leaves and runs its tantalising fingers across Jesse’s skin. There’s something bereft in that breeze; it’s perfectly nice, but there’s still something missing. A piece of something that he knows he’ll find when he has Grey by his side. It’s not a conscious thought, or a conscious knowledge. Instead, it’s a subconscious thing. Like a program always running in the background that he doesn’t have to control or focus on. It keeps him going, and sometimes dictates what he does and does not do.

Like now. There are other things he could be doing; other things that he should be starting, and focusing on. Instead, he’s going to go shopping for towels and sheets, because that’s where the missing piece of his soul is. It hurts to be away from it. An itch that cannot be scratched. A burn that is only soothed when she is with him; he is a fire that she choose to either stoke, or put out. She has the power to do both. She is his fuel, but simultaneously, she is the torrential rain.

No other conversation is required. Jesse knows where she is and how to find her. All that he needs to do is get on the bike and go. So that’s what he does. He tucks the phone into his pocket and begins the walk toward the city. It’s not a long walk. His boots crunch in the dirt and, the next time the breeze tickles through the trees he lifts his face to enjoy it; the moment that he closes his eyes, he rises on that wind. Not physically, but as if his soul has left his body. It lifts up, up into the air, like soaring on the wings of an eagle. From up there, there’s a bird’s eye view of the city.

He used to be afraid of heights. Not so much, anymore.

When he reaches the roadside, he glances left, and right. It’s only as he fingers his phone in his pocket to call for a cab that he realises he doesn’t need to. No, there’s an ability that he has that he always forgets about. He prefers to walk, or ride his bike. He likes the feel of the grunt between his thighs. But he doesn’t need to, because he can run – and he can run really fast. Faster than the human eye can detect. Celerity, they call it.

With a wide grin on his face he focuses; he recalls the shopping centre that Grey had mentioned. He imagines the route in his mind – he doesn’t want to change his mind half way there and smack into a wall, or some such thing. And, when he has the destination and the route set, like cement, he takes a deep breath and draws on the power from deep inside. Or is it from somewhere outside of him? Maybe it’s drawn up from his connection to the Earth. He doesn’t quite know, nor does he care. As soon as he feels as if he is brimming with power, he runs. The ball of his right foot pushes off, and in an instant he is a blur. Time seems to slow. Wind whips at his clothing.

The walk through the wilderness had taken five minutes, maybe. The run through the city, perhaps under a minute. Half a minute, maybe. He finds himself suddenly on the pavement in the bright bathing glow of the shopping centre; a castle of fluorescent materialism. He girds his loins and steps through the whooshing doors.

The heavily tattooed man gets a few wary looks. He doesn’t look like he belongs. There’s one woman pushing a trolley and texting away on her phone. She doesn’t look up to see him until he’s nearly right beside her; he could swear she screams, just a little. A gurgled scream caught in the back of her throat. He has that effect, sometimes. He’s certain his skin probably looks like a death under these bright lights. He can blame it on illness.

His hands are shoved deep into his pockets and he circles the aisles until he finds Grey. He sidles up beside her, quietly. He leans down, mouth near her ear.

“Let’s make like fabric softener, and snuggle…” he whispers in his best creep voice.