Reprieve [Lorelai]

[Robin Little]

The first statement was out of place when concerning the rest of what Lorelai had to say. That she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, ever feed on Robin. It disappointed him in the worst kind of way, but that was not something that he would voice. He’d drop the subject, now. He wouldn’t push, and nor would he beg.

He laughed when she said that his reasons were more noble than hers. Sure, yes! For the good of the many. Of course—he gave his blood so freely because he believed that vampires ought to have it easier, that they should be able to eat their dinner in peace and without any kind of anxiety. That they should be able to eat something warm and fresh rather than something that was old and cold and stale. He was just being a friend. Definitely. Those were his noble reasons.

Yeah right.

For one, he didn’t just give his blood away. He was paid for it. Paid handsomely, too, with Mora as a buffer in between. Taxes, you know? One liked to avoid them as much as possible. Anyway, he wouldn’t have any idea how to claim taxes for this kind of job. Freelance. Doing what? Selling blood. Was that even legal? Was that even a thing? It would certainly raise a few eyebrows.

Robin nodded. He was happy for Lorelai, that she had found her place. That she had people who would and could take care of her. Robin couldn’t ever assume that he would. He had no place to take Lorelai to—none of his own, anyway. And he hadn’t the resources to protect her or provide her any kind of comfort. Robin could hardly take care of himself, let alone anyone else. She mentioned family and it made it sound as if she had a whole group of people to lean on if she needed to. Which was good.

Robin had to scoff at the last part, however. Monster? Lorelai had her head bowed again as if she were truly ashamed of something, and Robin couldn’t put his finger on it. Had something else changed that she hadn’t told him? Was there something inherent in all vampires that he wasn’t aware of? He knew some of them could be monstrous. He had stumbled into that castle, and it was a place of his nightmares. Still haunted his nightmares. But Lorelai? A monster?

”I don’t believe you. Monster? How are you a monster? How could you ever be? You’re Lorelai. I don’t think it’s even possible…” he said. He turned the conversation onto Lorelai. He changed the subject. She had rejected his proposal and he was guilty for not correcting her. Noble? Pish. Instead, he would help to remind Lorelai who she was. Maybe she’d lost sight of it, somewhere along the way.

[Lorelai]

Lorelai began to walk again. Or perhaps shed never stopped. She couldn't remember. All she knew was that her friend was in the same situation she had found herself in shortly before her death. There was just as much chance of him running into a monster as there was an angel, for under it all they were all monstrous in their own ways.

"Monsters require blood to live Robin. It's a simple fact and one I have had to accept. I was a sorcerer before this. I was alive and vibrant and well... at the end I wasn't happy but I wasn't this either. What I am is unnatural and I wish I could be what I was before."

Prudence didn't like the way she spoke about herself when she got like this, she'd pretty much forbidden Lorelai to ever voice such things in her presence and the blonde had no choice but go along with it. Her connection to her sire was stronger than she'd like and often left her confused.

She'd be annoyed if she could hear you now.
I know. But she only said I shouldn't talk like this in front of her. She didn't say I couldn't talk to others about it.
You make it sound worse than it is though. We're not exactly like everyone else. Robin might enjoy being a vampire.
I... I don't even want to think about that.

Her shoulders dropped and she shrank further into herself at the thought of her friend being turned into a vampire. His life was precious. He was precious. She wasn't sure how or if she would be able to get him to see that but she hoped that in time he would come to realise it either with her help or alone and certainly before the worst could happen.

"I was a part of nature. A part of life and now. Now everything has changed. I wasn't made for the darkness Robin but I have to try and accept the path I now find myself on. It's difficult for me to explain. I'm still sensitive to energy, as much as I always was only now... it's different. I'm different. This life is so noisy. So... complicated."

She tried to find the words to express how she felt but she wasn't even sure if they existed. She wondered if she would ever be able to untie herself from Prudence and hate the woman as a part f her felt she should be hated. She wondered if she was being punished by being forced to wake night after night in the very spot she died. Her senses were sharper and at times that brought a new sort of pain with it. The world around her was nothing like it was before. Before she knew of the darkness, now she was a part of it, and it wasn't something she'd wish on anyone.

'The atmosphere is alive with signals Robin. So much technology. It pollutes the air and I can't always shut it out. I see it. I don't know if that's normal. Or right. I don't know if it's just my minds way of dealing with everything. It might almost be beautiful if there weren't quite so much of it. It's like... It's like walking through webs of light. Everything merges and pulses and the colours. So much colour. So much sound.'

She was looking about her as she spoke, clearly trying to put into words what she was seeing. Wanting to share it with him but not really finding the words to do it justice. She was speaking direct into his mind and she wasn't even aware that she was doing it. One hand reached out and she seemed to pluck at the air. Repeating the action over and over, she spoke with each action.

'A text. The sender is running late.' She plucks the air. 'An email. It's emotional. I think the sender is homesick. A student most likely.' She plucks the air. 'The network belonging to the dry cleaner up ahead. Nothing of interest there.' Her hand dropped to her side. 'It might not be so overwhelming if I didn't see what isn't there. Like the boy outside of the cafe. I can three more right now. Three that I recognise for what they are. Which I can't always do.'

Her eyes fell to the pavement as she tried to avoid looking at the beings that would reach out to her the moment they knew who and what she was. If she were alone, she might not have tried to ignore them, but with Robin at her side she felt it would be rude to drag him further into her dark world. Besides, most spirits lingered, so she was sure she'd find them again when she was ready to deal with them.

'One of them is quite angry. He's screaming at the wall but I'm not really sure what he's saying. He's not speaking a language I recognise.'

She ran a hand over and through her hair, pulling soft strands about her face as if the blonde waves could be used as a shield against what she was seeing, against the darkness.

[Robin Little]

The way Lorelai spoke it was as if she hadn’t had a chance to get any of this off her chest yet. Maybe that’s what Robin could be to her. That was how he could help, in his own way. To just be there; a well into which she could spill her woes. An unbiased outside source who was a part of her life but not an intricate part. Not as intimate as a sire might be, perhaps. With that one thing missing: experience. Robin could not sympathise with Lorelai because he had not been where she now was. And it left him with a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

This was a business he had fallen into, on a whim. He knew a few vampires. Not too many, but if he should wish it—he had already thought about it—if he wanted it, he could ask to become one. Maybe they would say yes. None had offered but nor had he heard any kind of taboo. He hadn’t heard of any kind of rite of passage that he would have to pass in order to be turned. In the future, maybe…

Death was something that Robin feared. Growing old and decrepit, too. He didn’t think about it too much, but he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would never get his **** together. His life would never be a whole thing. He would lose all his money and with age, he would lose his charm. People would become savvy to his leeching ways and everyone would cut him off, in the end. And then what? He would be homeless, destitute. And he didn’t want to be human and homeless and destitute. If he was a vampire, he might be able to survive a little better.

But, he was terrified of death. And to become a vampire was a kind of death, wasn’t it? The process terrified him. Much like someone contemplating a tattoo but who never took the leap because they were afraid of the pain. He kept just offside, thinking. Thinking. Always thinking. And now here was Lorelai talking about it as if it was the worst thing in the world. And truthfully? It did sound quite overwhelming. Robin didn’t quite know what to say—he was too busy trying to imagine what it must be like for her. He started at the beginning.

”I know you were vegetarian, but it’s natural for humans to eat meat, too. Iron is something our bodies need. We’ve been eating paleo since we first came into existence. It might seem … immoral to you, but if you… there’s a food chain, right? I’m not saying you’d have to slaughter the humans whose blood you need. You don’t have to. That’s the beauty of it. There are whole farms of cows and chickens who are bred just for the purpose of feeding the masses but there’s no such cruelty with humans. Is there? So there shouldn’t be the same guilt…” he said. He was trying to apply reason. Trying to find some way to make Lorelai feel like less of a monster. He shook his head.

”You don’t sound like a monster, Lor. You help … well, not people but they were once people. You help them. Monsters don’t help. Monsters aren’t selfless. And you’re the most selfless person I know…” he said. And then it dawned on him. His eyes widened and he turned to face Lorelai.

”So when I was on the computer before… you could…. See what I was doing?” he asked, trying to recall exactly what he had written, wondering whether it was anything he would have liked to have kept private.

[Lorelai]

Was he right? Was there really no need to feel guilty? It was possible to feed without killing a person, supposedly, but wasn't it a crime to take someone's life blood without permission? She certainly thought so, and while she wasn't opposed to a little petty thievery, stealing blood seemed totally incomprehensible. But then Robin was offering the blood, at a price perhaps, but he was offering it nonetheless. Would there be any guilt for taking something that was freely offered?

The blonde shivered and with her free hand, pulled her thick, woollen cardigan tighter around her. Her hair still framed her face and she kept her eyes on the floor as they made their way to her apartment. She couldn't accept her friend's kind offered for several reasons, her conscience being the main one. She'd never fed from the vein and so she wasn't entirely sure if she could trust herself to drink from him without killing him.

You could do it. You wouldn't kill him Lorelai, he's Robin.
I know who he is. But that doesn't matter. I could hurt him.
You wouldn't hurt him. You couldn't. You'd stop yourself. You would.
I don't know that. You don't know that. What if...
All I'm hearing are excuses. And if you take too much, you could bring him back. You'd just need to feed him your blood.
You mean...
Yes. Why not? You like him right?
Of course.
So you'd bring him back. You'd save him.
*sighs* I'm not sure I could call that saving him. I never chose this life. I couldn't force this lifestyle on another.
So talk to him. Give him the choice. Ask what he wants if things go wrong.
You make it sound so easy.
It sounds easy because it is. It really is that simple.

The blonde couldn't bring herself to voice these thoughts. She could barely wrap her head around it all. She'd only just found her friend again and the thought that she could hurt him, possibly kill him even, it was just too much. Thankfully he had introduced a change of subject which meant she could set this one aside for another night. Another time. It was sweet of him to try and dissuade her way of thinking and calm her down. He didn't see her as a monster but she couldn't help but feel like one anyway.

"I..." she blushed behind her blonde shield, "didn't mean to read it. It just happened. I'm a little too used to looking for evidence of... my kind. I remove what I can from the internet. And when you shut your laptop down I caught the signal. My mind found the word it sought and before I could consciously make the decision to read it, I already knew what it said. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't."

Her blonde locks shuddered about her as her head shook from side to side. The arm hooked through his tightened slightly and she pulled him closer as she pressed herself into him. It was her way of apologising. Her physical apology that accompanied her words and hopefully conveyed the sincerity of them.

[Robin Little]

The change of subject wasn’t welcome to Robin, but it wasn’t unwelcome, either. He might have been oblivious to most things, but he wouldn’t purposefully make his friends feel uncomfortable or awkward if she knew that was what they were feeling. If he was unaware, sure, he’d keep going (which usually happened if he was high, or drunk, or both). But He was completely sober here, if a little weary from lack of sleep. His walk was a lumbering shuffle. At least there wasn’t a headache. It was just a numbness that was almost relaxing. He almost laughed. He did, kind of, though it was an odd kind of laugh that echoed mainly in the throat and didn’t really hit the air.

”Are you going to delete my journal from the internet, Lorrie?” he asked. The writing probably wasn’t very good anyway, and it wasn’t proper writing. It wasn’t a novel or a short story or anything. More of a point of reference, in case one day he might want to write it all down into some kind of publishable memoir. Or use it to create some kind of awesome… but no. He never did think he would ever become a science fiction writer, and he wouldn’t start now. Nor would he try to publish a memoir that would only be ridiculed. Like the self-help section in bookshops. That’s where authors go to die. He’d be published only in those weird conspiracy theory magazines. No, that wasn’t the kind of fate he wanted for his writing – if it had any fate at all. Really, he should try to find something else to focus his energies on.

Maybe that was why the idea of immortality and vampirism kind of appealed to me. They all seemed to be a cut above the rest, like they didn’t need jobs or … whatever. They had money in oodles and they had gravitas. They had mystery. Some. Some not so much. He was kind of lost in thought, before he shrugged and shook his head.

”I don’t even remember what I wrote anyway. I’m sure it was nothing too personal…” he said. He clearly couldn’t remember. Maybe another change in topic was required to keep Lorelai from thinking too much, either; from remembering what he may or may not have said. But he couldn’t think of anything. He was stuck. He cleared his throat and lifted his arm, letting it drop over Lorelai’s shoulders. She probably didn’t need his warmth, but he tried to give it to her anyway.

[Lorelai]

Did she want him to delete it? She should have had an answer ready but she didn't.

You're supposed to say yes. Yes. You are going to delete it.
But I can't.
But you can.
No. He's writing for himself. And words are just that. Words. If he had pictures accompanying it, then... well maybe then I'd have to delete them.
When did you become so logical?
When did you stop being so logical.
Touché.

"No," she says giving a slight shake of the head as she leans herself into him. "I don't believe I need to delete what you've written as you write for yourself and not for an audience. There is also no proof that your words are true. If you were to make your journal available for all to read, people would likely dismiss it as fiction and thing you crazy."

She didn't need his arm around her but she liked it. The people she shared her life with now were not physically affectionate naturally. She would have to snuggle up to them, not that she really minded, it was just nice to have someone in her life again that wasn't afraid to touch her. It meant all the more that Robin knew exactly who and what she was and still felt comfortable enough to let her get that close. He smelt good too, not that she'd ever admit it to him. He obviously wasn't taking good care of himself and she wasn't sure if his personal hygiene was what it could be but he was warm and the blood pumping through his veins, weak as it was, was enticing on a level Lorelai tried to ignore. Being physically unable to imbibe the stuff without throwing up the initial few mouthfuls probably made it easier. That and the fact that while she walked among people every night, she rarely got this close to anyone unless she absolutely had to. Strangers were funny about needing their space and so she only invaded it if they required her assistance on a physical level; which was rarely the case.

"Would you like to stay the night Robin? I could make you up a bed on the couch."

I didn't think you wanted him in our home. Then you change your mind. Now you're offering for him to stay?
Yes.
Care to explain that decision? Didn't you want to keep him away from Prudence and Levi?
Yes but... I think they could behave around him. And he isn't a threat to them. And I think he could do with a good nights sleep and a little TLC.
We don't have food in the cupboards. In case you forgot.
I can run to the store. That won't be an issue.
Okay. If you're sure.
I am.

[Robin Little]

Robin shrugged and nodded, narrowing his eyes into the distance. It was true, really. He wrote things down so that he would remember them, so he could keep track of his own sanity. So that if he lost it, maybe he’d be able to track it back down again. Would he ever make it public? Even if he did fictionalise it? Probably not. Why? Because he wanted to be… a Michael Chavon. A.. Salman Rushdie. He wanted to be a literary great. Someone that people would be reading forever. He didn’t want to be some naff speculative fiction author. There’d be no vampires in anything that he wrote. His experiences would be relished for their emotional and physical value, rather than for their actual fact.

He agreed to stay with Lorelai for the night. Why not? It had always been Robin’s way. He didn’t care if he stayed somewhere and had no spare change of clothes. Or a toothbrush. He went where his feet took him, and he accepted any and all invitations. And he wanted to talk to Lorelai, anyway. He wanted to know more about her, and how she lived this life. The things she liked or didn’t like. The people she knew. What had finally convinced her to leave Hoshkosh? Everything.

The apartment was as to be expected; there was some odd altar in the lounge that he would question, too. Lorelai explained the rituals, and Robin asked as many questions as he could, until he had none left, or until he was just too mentally tired to think of anything else. He’d helped Lorelai to make the couch into a sufficient bed, but she had not left him. They’d sat on the makeshift bed and had talked through the night.

Robin had become accustomed to keeping odd hours. He stayed up most of the night and slept through most of the day, waking in the afternoon to enjoy a couple of hours of the sun before it set for the day. He stayed awake until he couldn’t anymore, where he fell asleep sitting up on the couch, in the corner. Lorelai had ended up with her head in Robin’s lap. It hadn’t bothered him. With one hand tangled in her hair and the other resting on her shoulder, Robin’s head had fallen back, mouth slack. It didn’t take much, for sleep to take over.