C A M D E N
Her vision blurred as she pulled her beat up Toyota one of the few vacant spots available. It took a few moments of rubbing away the tears and grit before she could begin to make out the building’s name. The letters seemed to come to life in the faint flicker of the torches, and after a few long seconds of straining, she was able to piece it together. Lancaster’s. It wasn’t the name of a hotel, as her GPS had lead her to believe, but the black iron that encased the haven seemed to speak of safety. In her exhausted state, where her mind was fighting to erase the memory of scattered clothing and limbs that weren’t her own tangled with her husband’s, a rock beneath a abandoned bridge would appear ‘safe.’ It was a thought quickly erased, however, when a small cry broke through the heavy silence, a cry that soon turned into wail that would make a banshee envious. Shaking her head, she quickly shifted the car into park and unclipped her seatbelt, the door groaning open before she had fully removed the key from the ignition. “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
The words were the first she had spoken in hours and were torn from her throat on a harsh plea. She was at the end of her rope, her sanity frayed, and she knew she was close to snapping. Her stomach was in knots, and her hands shook as she fought with the clasp to the car-seat. All of this, of course, was lost on the red faced newborn, and her heart twisted in defeat at the agony etched on her cherub face. “Come on, angel, its okay… It’s going to be okay, I’ve got you,” she whispered, her trembling hands hoisting her writhing daughter from the harness. “I bet you’re hungry. I know momma’s hungry. What do you say we get some food?” Smoothing her hand down the soft skin of her back, she used her hip to slam the door shut. The sudden explosion had her daughter screaming louder, her cries cutting through the night, and surely alerting the establishment to their approach long before they stepped through the door. In another time, another place, she might have felt shame.
Shame that she couldn’t calm her child, shame that she was dressed in the same crumpled white t-shirt and jeans she’d had on for two days. Shame that her hair was pulled in a loose, messy braid, and that her eyes were swollen and red-lined. Tonight, however, it was just hunger and exhaustion that she felt. It seeped into her bones, causing her body to feel heavy. Dropping a kiss to the top of Annabeth’s head, she struggled for a moment with the door, before the warmth of Lancaster’s enveloped them both. Finding no hostess waiting, she grabbed the nearest table – and with her back tucked into the corner of the booth, she carefully settled her daughter on the bench. One hand opened the menu while the other pulled out her bottle, and within seconds, Annabeth was quieting, her shrill cries no longer bouncing off the walls, though there was still despair in her eyes. Despair she thought she might never erase. Tearing her gaze from the watery sea-green of her daughter’s gaze, she focused on the menu, even as her own eyes threatened to close.
L A N C A S T E R
The nights, now, were not as long as they used to be. The nights now lasted until 2 or 3am when the bar would wind down, quiet, and close. Then, Elliot Lancaster would drag his weary bones up the two flights of stairs, past the backpackers and nodding to any who might still be lurking in the common area, playing games or reading books or watching television or making late night snacks. Up the narrow winding stairs that eventually led to the loft at the top. For months, that loft had sat empty. Dust had settled over every single surface until the very sheets on the bed had gone grey. There were plenty of things that Lancaster rediscovered as he meandered around that loft; he'd pick up random items that would at first seem foreign, but once he touched them and turned them over in his fingers he'd be struck with a memory. He was building upon a past he had forgotten, piece by piece he was sewing it all back together again. There were certain objects that remained foreign; he could not remember where he had got them or who they might have previously belonged to. He put them back where he found them, quite often feeling like he was imposing upon another's space. It was in the past couple of weeks that he'd started to clean the place out; wood was wrenched from windows to allow in the sunlight; windows were cleaned and opened to let in the fresh air, the space in dire need of airflow. The sheets were washed and replaced, the floors vacuumed and polished, every surface wiped and every item cleaned. Soon, the loft was gleaming again. Soon, it was home again -- less like someone else's home and more like his own.
There was rarely a night that Elliot Lancaster's face wasn't seen in that pub, greeting customers with an open smile, polishing glasses or setting up the stage -- a stage that he had not yet taken again, though the music thrummed inside of him, waiting to be let out. The outside world was turbulent, but this pub was sanctuary. There were things Lancaster had to deal with which he'd prefer not to -- violent reminders of his past that he could not forget even if he wanted to. There were no answers, yet, as to whether the 'consequences' of his cure could be dealt with, and so he had to just grin and bear it. Here, however, he was calm. He was content. He was the epitome of a flat ocean, waves gentle and rocking. The harsh cry of the baby did not get on Lancaster's nerves; instead, it inspired concern, the deep blue of his eyes seeking the disturbance. Pubs were not generally places where babies were brought, but one look at the mother and Lancaster knew there was more to her story. She was not some deadbeat who’d never wanted the child to begin with, but who looked after it out of obligation, not truly caring for its wellbeing. She looked… lost. Jessica was on her way over to the table, but Lancaster intercepted. He plucked the pen and pad from his back pocket. He cleared his throat as he reached the table, so as not to startle the woman with his presence. “I recommend the slow braised steak and Guinness pie,” he said, his Australian accented voice low and soothing. “Or the Lincolnshire sausages and mash. Excuse me for saying, but you look like you’re in need of something comforting…”
C A M D E N
For a moment, she dozed. It had only lasted sixty seconds, but it was enough for her fingers to slacken, the bottle shifting just an inch too far to the left. In those sixty seconds, the peace that had overcome her daughter was gone, and she was wailing again. The sudden cry had her jolting, the bottle threatening to tumble from her trembling fingers before she righted it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” How often was she going to repeat those words to the small being at her side? How much longer was her guilt going to choke her until she couldn’t breathe? She hadn’t been enough, but those words wouldn’t make sense to the girl who had only been on the earth for a month, and so she apologized for everything else. The way her clothes started to get too small, or the fact the milk was too warm. She even apologized for the rain she couldn’t control. Shaking her head, she ran her hand through her hair, the sudden absence of pressure against the menu allowing it to snap closed. It was then, when she thought she was going to scream, that a shadow appeared over their table. It was too large to be the woman she had thought was their waitress, and when she lifted her bloodshot eyes, she found herself staring into the calming gaze of a man. His voice was like a lullaby with the effect it had on her, washing over her with the warmth of a summer’s breeze. “Are you always that perceptive?” Those weren't the words she had meant to speak. She had meant to give him her order, to tell him that she was fine, she was just as hungry as her squirming child, but instead, she had questioned him. The spark that had flared in the blue of her eyes was short-lived, though the curve on her lips remained. “The braised steak sounds wonderful,” she continued, her voice suddenly as tired as she knew she looked, “and water, please.”
She was almost about to turn away, to focus on her daughter as the girl began to move, but something stopped her. She paused, her hand resting against the counter-top as she watched him for a second. “Is there… a place I can sleep? My GPS said this was supposed to be a hotel, but…” For some reason, she lifted her hand to raise it at the bar, as if he didn’t work there. Realizing what she had done, she dropped her hand back to the table with a strained – but warm – laugh and shook her head. “I’ve been driving for so long, maybe I read it wrong, but I didn’t see a sign on the way here.”
L A N C A S T E R
Lancaster nodded and then laughed. "Bartenders have special powers, didn't you know?" he asked in jest, though there was a hint of truth to his words. Not all bartenders had special powers, but Elliot Lancaster still retained some aspects from his vampirism. Small things that he was still glad for. Like the inherent ability to know what other people are feeling. The most that he could feel fro this particular customer was a bone-deep exhaustion. She almost looked as if she were running from something, but Lancaster would not be presumptuous.
"Your GPS isn't wrong," he said, pointing to the ceiling. "It's not exactly a hotel but there are beds," he said, though glancing at the child he wasn't sure they had any cribs hidden away. There weren't too many backpackers with babies. He didn't ask the question. "Bunk backpackers. It's mostly young kids traveling who stay, but not always," he added. This woman looked... disheveled but, underneath the dishevelment she looked mature and sophisticated. Not a backpacker, by any means, but if she was after a simple bed then he could provide. "I'll be back with the water," he added, before turning and heading for the bar. The docket was put through to the kitchen for the braised steak pie, and he gathered a glass and a jug of water for her table. He returned two minutes later. "Jessica's going to get a high chair," he said, nodding to the baby. She was adorable, even if she was a little cranky. Babies were allowed to be cranky every now and again, even though Lancaster would tell them to enjoy the ride while they could. Being a grown up was no fun, most of the time. He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans and moved around the table a little. "May I?" he asked, brow arched. Men weren't usually the ones to get clucky over children, but things had changed. Life had changed. Elliot Lancaster, as a human, had never truly thought about children. He'd thought that one day they were a given. But then his humanity was taken from him and he no longer thought about children because they were not a possibility. Now that he was human again, however? The thought of procreation stuck like a burr and would not be dislodged. He wanted to pick the baby girl up and croon at her while she fed, to rock her gently and, perhaps allow her mother a small reprieve.
C A M D E N
“I’ve heard that, but I’ve never seen it up close,” she teased, and the words surprised her. She hadn’t had intelligent, adult conversation since she had slammed the door on Robert. The most she had spoken was to ask for gas, or for directions to the nearest hotel. No one had cared to look at her, to see the way she fought to breathe, the way she struggled to keep herself together as she held her child close. If they had cared to look at her at all, they had looked at her with condemnation or pity. Resting her elbow on the surface of the table, she rested her head in her upturned palm as she allowed herself a good look at the man when he returned. His eyes were kind, his smile warm, and he was handsome – she’d give him that. “Of course, looking like you do, I’m sure the women are all too willing to reveal their dark secrets to you.” She hadn’t meant for it to come out as flirtatious, but once they had been breathed into the air, she couldn’t take them back. She wasn’t a child anymore, a young girl playing with hearts. She was an adult – a woman. A woman had spent the last fifteen years married to the man she thought she’d spend the rest of her lift with. A woman who had a baby – someone that was depending on her, that needed her. She didn’t have the ability to take her words back, to worry over how he would react to what she had said. She could blame it on the exhaustion – and for the most part, it was true. If she had been rested, in her right mind, she might have chosen a different set of words to string together, but the delivery would have been the same. Shaking her head with a laugh, she lifted herself from the table.
“How much would a bed cost? I don’t think I have it in me to get back into that car without some sleep. I need to figure out where I’m headed from here, too. I told myself I would travel until I reached the end of the road, and… I guess this is where I ended up,” she said as she reached for Annabeth. It didn’t even cross her mind that it should be strange he was asking for her child. She was adorable, and she wouldn’t fault a single person for getting lost in the sea-green of her eyes. Lifting her from the booth, she pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, and gently handed her over. “I think she hates the car more than I do. Her name is Annabeth, and I’m Camden,” she smiled, the look brightening her eyes as she watched her daughter stare with wide-eyes at the strange man that now held her, though there was no fear.
L A N C A S T E R
Lancaster had not expected the flirtation but he wasn't averse to it. Something twigged in the back of his mind, almost like remembering something he had to do and then promptly forgetting again. There was no lingering anxiety about it -- he was a single man with assets, and was human and free to do as he pleased. Sure, he had his issues. There were things in his life that could be considered huge deterrents to any who might eventually wish to settle down with him. But he was optimistic, maybe naively so, that these problems could eventually be solved. His laughter was low, light -- a chuckle at his own expense. "A greying loner in a bar who couldn't possibly give their secrets away to anyone else," he said. He'd been given permission to hold the baby and gladly took the living parcel from Camden, who introduced herself, and the baby as Annabeth. She was still so small, still so new to the world and though Lancaster should have been concerned for her safety in his arms, given the mad, ravenous doppelganger that haunted him, he couldn't help himself. There was something so joyous in the newborn, despite how tired she was. "Hello, Annabeth. It's a pleasure to meet you," he crooned, his tone sing-song in the way the pied piper's piper was irresistible to the rats. The baby rested easily in the crook of Lancaster's arm -- the man was six foot six, and well able to accommodate the child. "I'm Elliot Lancaster," he said. "Of Lancaster's fame," he said with a grin, now talking to the mother rather than to the child, who was quiet as he rocked her. Jessica carried over the high chair and gave her boss a smile. What was she thinking? It didn't matter. "Rooms are inexpensive. For you, forty dollars a night," he said. They were usually more expensive. But Lancaster was feeling generous. There was a good chance he wouldn't charge Camden a thing -- but he wasn't going to tell her that. He'd learned long ago that most people were not comfortable with charity.
C A M D E N
“I think it’s more than that,” she responded, though her gaze never traveled from her daughter’s face. She hadn’t seen that happiness in a while. Even as new to the world as she was, she had been affected by the toll her birth had brought on her family. She had witnessed every fight, every tear and every plea. She had cried through the shouting, and smiled when Camden would lift her up. She had never once regretted her child, and the thought to give in to her husband’s demands and give her up never crossed her mind. The bundle that was now held so protectively in a strangers embrace was her entire life – and she would remain to be so, no matter what it took. “I think she likes you.” There was a touch of wonder in her voice as the man spoke, his tone soothing and whimsical. “I wasn’t sure if she would.” The last part was whispered so quietly, she had to wonder if the man had even caught it. It wasn’t something that she had meant to say, but the surprise was evident. Her father had never embraced her. Shaking her head against the dark thoughts that threatened to sweep in, she drummed her fingers against the smooth surface of the counter and straightened her spine. “You have a beautiful establishment,” she complimented, her tired – yet slowly brightening – gaze sweeping the interior of the building. Something about it was comforting and homely, and she found herself feeling a nagging sensation of never wanting to leave. If she could, she would melt into the leather of the booth until she became one with the scenery. Shaking her head at the amusing thought, she motioned to the seat across from her as she dipped her hand into the diaper bag to retrieve her wallet.
“If you’re not too busy, you can join us. I’ve never been out of Florida, so being in Canada is… a pretty severe change. I wouldn’t mind some insight into the town before I decide to settle down here.” As she spoke, she pulled out a couple hundred’s, the bills crisp – and clearly straight from the ATM, as a single receipt fell to the table. Quickly snatching it up, she crumbled the small piece of paper into her palm and shoved it back into the bag at her side. She didn’t need to look at the numbers to be reminded of how little she had left – and as soon as she was done eating, she would put Anna to bed, and find a way to budget a new life into the small chunk of savings she did have. For now, she would focus on the company, the man before her with his kind eyes and warm smile, and figure out her next move.
L A N C A S T E R
It was the strangest sensation to hold the child in his arms. When was the last time Lancaster had held a baby? Not since he'd been a vampire, that was for sure. Not since he was able to oddly pick up the emotions of others, to instinctively know, for dead sure, what they were feeling. Annabeth's aura was as strong as a full grown adults, and the emotion swirling through that small body was unhedged, unbridled, completely raw -- but in a way that children are unhedged and unbridled and completely raw. Inhibitions are things that they grow into, and in this moment Lancaster realised that inhibitions were what dulled the emotions of adults. Adults were wary, clinging to their feelings as if they might reveal themselves too readily -- even though they could now know that anyone could possibly read them. Lancaster was curious, of course, why this woman was unsure whether her baby would like Lancaster. Was it because the baby had been wary of strangers all her short life, or just people in general? Was she a difficult baby, always crying and complaining? Gazing down at that small, wondrous face, Lancaster couldn't imagine it. He held her just that tiny bit closer, taking a deep breath. It was something people said about babies, how that 'new baby smell' is intoxicating -- he'd even read an article about it, how it was actually a biological mechanism. It wasn't just parents who could smell it, who were attached to it.
Laughter bubbled from Lancaster as he caught a whiff of the scent. They weren't wrong! He couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, he could relate the scent to. But it was spectacular. "Sorry. I'm being weird," he said, but failed to explain himself. It was embarrassing, honestly -- he was being as clucky as a hormonal woman in her twenties. He glanced at the bar; they weren't busy. He kicked the spare seat out with his foot and folded down into it, still with the baby in his arms. "Either you're not sure how Canadian bills work or you're planning to stay more than one night..." he said, glancing down at the money Camden had pulled from her wallet. "You don't have to pay up front," he said. Though he was already thinking about the rooms upstairs, and those that had already been booked in. Backpackers weren't known for being quiet -- it might not be the best atmosphere for a grisly child. There were other options, of course -- but he'd wait until he'd spoken to Camden some more before offering them.
Her vision blurred as she pulled her beat up Toyota one of the few vacant spots available. It took a few moments of rubbing away the tears and grit before she could begin to make out the building’s name. The letters seemed to come to life in the faint flicker of the torches, and after a few long seconds of straining, she was able to piece it together. Lancaster’s. It wasn’t the name of a hotel, as her GPS had lead her to believe, but the black iron that encased the haven seemed to speak of safety. In her exhausted state, where her mind was fighting to erase the memory of scattered clothing and limbs that weren’t her own tangled with her husband’s, a rock beneath a abandoned bridge would appear ‘safe.’ It was a thought quickly erased, however, when a small cry broke through the heavy silence, a cry that soon turned into wail that would make a banshee envious. Shaking her head, she quickly shifted the car into park and unclipped her seatbelt, the door groaning open before she had fully removed the key from the ignition. “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
The words were the first she had spoken in hours and were torn from her throat on a harsh plea. She was at the end of her rope, her sanity frayed, and she knew she was close to snapping. Her stomach was in knots, and her hands shook as she fought with the clasp to the car-seat. All of this, of course, was lost on the red faced newborn, and her heart twisted in defeat at the agony etched on her cherub face. “Come on, angel, its okay… It’s going to be okay, I’ve got you,” she whispered, her trembling hands hoisting her writhing daughter from the harness. “I bet you’re hungry. I know momma’s hungry. What do you say we get some food?” Smoothing her hand down the soft skin of her back, she used her hip to slam the door shut. The sudden explosion had her daughter screaming louder, her cries cutting through the night, and surely alerting the establishment to their approach long before they stepped through the door. In another time, another place, she might have felt shame.
Shame that she couldn’t calm her child, shame that she was dressed in the same crumpled white t-shirt and jeans she’d had on for two days. Shame that her hair was pulled in a loose, messy braid, and that her eyes were swollen and red-lined. Tonight, however, it was just hunger and exhaustion that she felt. It seeped into her bones, causing her body to feel heavy. Dropping a kiss to the top of Annabeth’s head, she struggled for a moment with the door, before the warmth of Lancaster’s enveloped them both. Finding no hostess waiting, she grabbed the nearest table – and with her back tucked into the corner of the booth, she carefully settled her daughter on the bench. One hand opened the menu while the other pulled out her bottle, and within seconds, Annabeth was quieting, her shrill cries no longer bouncing off the walls, though there was still despair in her eyes. Despair she thought she might never erase. Tearing her gaze from the watery sea-green of her daughter’s gaze, she focused on the menu, even as her own eyes threatened to close.
L A N C A S T E R
The nights, now, were not as long as they used to be. The nights now lasted until 2 or 3am when the bar would wind down, quiet, and close. Then, Elliot Lancaster would drag his weary bones up the two flights of stairs, past the backpackers and nodding to any who might still be lurking in the common area, playing games or reading books or watching television or making late night snacks. Up the narrow winding stairs that eventually led to the loft at the top. For months, that loft had sat empty. Dust had settled over every single surface until the very sheets on the bed had gone grey. There were plenty of things that Lancaster rediscovered as he meandered around that loft; he'd pick up random items that would at first seem foreign, but once he touched them and turned them over in his fingers he'd be struck with a memory. He was building upon a past he had forgotten, piece by piece he was sewing it all back together again. There were certain objects that remained foreign; he could not remember where he had got them or who they might have previously belonged to. He put them back where he found them, quite often feeling like he was imposing upon another's space. It was in the past couple of weeks that he'd started to clean the place out; wood was wrenched from windows to allow in the sunlight; windows were cleaned and opened to let in the fresh air, the space in dire need of airflow. The sheets were washed and replaced, the floors vacuumed and polished, every surface wiped and every item cleaned. Soon, the loft was gleaming again. Soon, it was home again -- less like someone else's home and more like his own.
There was rarely a night that Elliot Lancaster's face wasn't seen in that pub, greeting customers with an open smile, polishing glasses or setting up the stage -- a stage that he had not yet taken again, though the music thrummed inside of him, waiting to be let out. The outside world was turbulent, but this pub was sanctuary. There were things Lancaster had to deal with which he'd prefer not to -- violent reminders of his past that he could not forget even if he wanted to. There were no answers, yet, as to whether the 'consequences' of his cure could be dealt with, and so he had to just grin and bear it. Here, however, he was calm. He was content. He was the epitome of a flat ocean, waves gentle and rocking. The harsh cry of the baby did not get on Lancaster's nerves; instead, it inspired concern, the deep blue of his eyes seeking the disturbance. Pubs were not generally places where babies were brought, but one look at the mother and Lancaster knew there was more to her story. She was not some deadbeat who’d never wanted the child to begin with, but who looked after it out of obligation, not truly caring for its wellbeing. She looked… lost. Jessica was on her way over to the table, but Lancaster intercepted. He plucked the pen and pad from his back pocket. He cleared his throat as he reached the table, so as not to startle the woman with his presence. “I recommend the slow braised steak and Guinness pie,” he said, his Australian accented voice low and soothing. “Or the Lincolnshire sausages and mash. Excuse me for saying, but you look like you’re in need of something comforting…”
C A M D E N
For a moment, she dozed. It had only lasted sixty seconds, but it was enough for her fingers to slacken, the bottle shifting just an inch too far to the left. In those sixty seconds, the peace that had overcome her daughter was gone, and she was wailing again. The sudden cry had her jolting, the bottle threatening to tumble from her trembling fingers before she righted it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” How often was she going to repeat those words to the small being at her side? How much longer was her guilt going to choke her until she couldn’t breathe? She hadn’t been enough, but those words wouldn’t make sense to the girl who had only been on the earth for a month, and so she apologized for everything else. The way her clothes started to get too small, or the fact the milk was too warm. She even apologized for the rain she couldn’t control. Shaking her head, she ran her hand through her hair, the sudden absence of pressure against the menu allowing it to snap closed. It was then, when she thought she was going to scream, that a shadow appeared over their table. It was too large to be the woman she had thought was their waitress, and when she lifted her bloodshot eyes, she found herself staring into the calming gaze of a man. His voice was like a lullaby with the effect it had on her, washing over her with the warmth of a summer’s breeze. “Are you always that perceptive?” Those weren't the words she had meant to speak. She had meant to give him her order, to tell him that she was fine, she was just as hungry as her squirming child, but instead, she had questioned him. The spark that had flared in the blue of her eyes was short-lived, though the curve on her lips remained. “The braised steak sounds wonderful,” she continued, her voice suddenly as tired as she knew she looked, “and water, please.”
She was almost about to turn away, to focus on her daughter as the girl began to move, but something stopped her. She paused, her hand resting against the counter-top as she watched him for a second. “Is there… a place I can sleep? My GPS said this was supposed to be a hotel, but…” For some reason, she lifted her hand to raise it at the bar, as if he didn’t work there. Realizing what she had done, she dropped her hand back to the table with a strained – but warm – laugh and shook her head. “I’ve been driving for so long, maybe I read it wrong, but I didn’t see a sign on the way here.”
L A N C A S T E R
Lancaster nodded and then laughed. "Bartenders have special powers, didn't you know?" he asked in jest, though there was a hint of truth to his words. Not all bartenders had special powers, but Elliot Lancaster still retained some aspects from his vampirism. Small things that he was still glad for. Like the inherent ability to know what other people are feeling. The most that he could feel fro this particular customer was a bone-deep exhaustion. She almost looked as if she were running from something, but Lancaster would not be presumptuous.
"Your GPS isn't wrong," he said, pointing to the ceiling. "It's not exactly a hotel but there are beds," he said, though glancing at the child he wasn't sure they had any cribs hidden away. There weren't too many backpackers with babies. He didn't ask the question. "Bunk backpackers. It's mostly young kids traveling who stay, but not always," he added. This woman looked... disheveled but, underneath the dishevelment she looked mature and sophisticated. Not a backpacker, by any means, but if she was after a simple bed then he could provide. "I'll be back with the water," he added, before turning and heading for the bar. The docket was put through to the kitchen for the braised steak pie, and he gathered a glass and a jug of water for her table. He returned two minutes later. "Jessica's going to get a high chair," he said, nodding to the baby. She was adorable, even if she was a little cranky. Babies were allowed to be cranky every now and again, even though Lancaster would tell them to enjoy the ride while they could. Being a grown up was no fun, most of the time. He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans and moved around the table a little. "May I?" he asked, brow arched. Men weren't usually the ones to get clucky over children, but things had changed. Life had changed. Elliot Lancaster, as a human, had never truly thought about children. He'd thought that one day they were a given. But then his humanity was taken from him and he no longer thought about children because they were not a possibility. Now that he was human again, however? The thought of procreation stuck like a burr and would not be dislodged. He wanted to pick the baby girl up and croon at her while she fed, to rock her gently and, perhaps allow her mother a small reprieve.
C A M D E N
“I’ve heard that, but I’ve never seen it up close,” she teased, and the words surprised her. She hadn’t had intelligent, adult conversation since she had slammed the door on Robert. The most she had spoken was to ask for gas, or for directions to the nearest hotel. No one had cared to look at her, to see the way she fought to breathe, the way she struggled to keep herself together as she held her child close. If they had cared to look at her at all, they had looked at her with condemnation or pity. Resting her elbow on the surface of the table, she rested her head in her upturned palm as she allowed herself a good look at the man when he returned. His eyes were kind, his smile warm, and he was handsome – she’d give him that. “Of course, looking like you do, I’m sure the women are all too willing to reveal their dark secrets to you.” She hadn’t meant for it to come out as flirtatious, but once they had been breathed into the air, she couldn’t take them back. She wasn’t a child anymore, a young girl playing with hearts. She was an adult – a woman. A woman had spent the last fifteen years married to the man she thought she’d spend the rest of her lift with. A woman who had a baby – someone that was depending on her, that needed her. She didn’t have the ability to take her words back, to worry over how he would react to what she had said. She could blame it on the exhaustion – and for the most part, it was true. If she had been rested, in her right mind, she might have chosen a different set of words to string together, but the delivery would have been the same. Shaking her head with a laugh, she lifted herself from the table.
“How much would a bed cost? I don’t think I have it in me to get back into that car without some sleep. I need to figure out where I’m headed from here, too. I told myself I would travel until I reached the end of the road, and… I guess this is where I ended up,” she said as she reached for Annabeth. It didn’t even cross her mind that it should be strange he was asking for her child. She was adorable, and she wouldn’t fault a single person for getting lost in the sea-green of her eyes. Lifting her from the booth, she pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, and gently handed her over. “I think she hates the car more than I do. Her name is Annabeth, and I’m Camden,” she smiled, the look brightening her eyes as she watched her daughter stare with wide-eyes at the strange man that now held her, though there was no fear.
L A N C A S T E R
Lancaster had not expected the flirtation but he wasn't averse to it. Something twigged in the back of his mind, almost like remembering something he had to do and then promptly forgetting again. There was no lingering anxiety about it -- he was a single man with assets, and was human and free to do as he pleased. Sure, he had his issues. There were things in his life that could be considered huge deterrents to any who might eventually wish to settle down with him. But he was optimistic, maybe naively so, that these problems could eventually be solved. His laughter was low, light -- a chuckle at his own expense. "A greying loner in a bar who couldn't possibly give their secrets away to anyone else," he said. He'd been given permission to hold the baby and gladly took the living parcel from Camden, who introduced herself, and the baby as Annabeth. She was still so small, still so new to the world and though Lancaster should have been concerned for her safety in his arms, given the mad, ravenous doppelganger that haunted him, he couldn't help himself. There was something so joyous in the newborn, despite how tired she was. "Hello, Annabeth. It's a pleasure to meet you," he crooned, his tone sing-song in the way the pied piper's piper was irresistible to the rats. The baby rested easily in the crook of Lancaster's arm -- the man was six foot six, and well able to accommodate the child. "I'm Elliot Lancaster," he said. "Of Lancaster's fame," he said with a grin, now talking to the mother rather than to the child, who was quiet as he rocked her. Jessica carried over the high chair and gave her boss a smile. What was she thinking? It didn't matter. "Rooms are inexpensive. For you, forty dollars a night," he said. They were usually more expensive. But Lancaster was feeling generous. There was a good chance he wouldn't charge Camden a thing -- but he wasn't going to tell her that. He'd learned long ago that most people were not comfortable with charity.
C A M D E N
“I think it’s more than that,” she responded, though her gaze never traveled from her daughter’s face. She hadn’t seen that happiness in a while. Even as new to the world as she was, she had been affected by the toll her birth had brought on her family. She had witnessed every fight, every tear and every plea. She had cried through the shouting, and smiled when Camden would lift her up. She had never once regretted her child, and the thought to give in to her husband’s demands and give her up never crossed her mind. The bundle that was now held so protectively in a strangers embrace was her entire life – and she would remain to be so, no matter what it took. “I think she likes you.” There was a touch of wonder in her voice as the man spoke, his tone soothing and whimsical. “I wasn’t sure if she would.” The last part was whispered so quietly, she had to wonder if the man had even caught it. It wasn’t something that she had meant to say, but the surprise was evident. Her father had never embraced her. Shaking her head against the dark thoughts that threatened to sweep in, she drummed her fingers against the smooth surface of the counter and straightened her spine. “You have a beautiful establishment,” she complimented, her tired – yet slowly brightening – gaze sweeping the interior of the building. Something about it was comforting and homely, and she found herself feeling a nagging sensation of never wanting to leave. If she could, she would melt into the leather of the booth until she became one with the scenery. Shaking her head at the amusing thought, she motioned to the seat across from her as she dipped her hand into the diaper bag to retrieve her wallet.
“If you’re not too busy, you can join us. I’ve never been out of Florida, so being in Canada is… a pretty severe change. I wouldn’t mind some insight into the town before I decide to settle down here.” As she spoke, she pulled out a couple hundred’s, the bills crisp – and clearly straight from the ATM, as a single receipt fell to the table. Quickly snatching it up, she crumbled the small piece of paper into her palm and shoved it back into the bag at her side. She didn’t need to look at the numbers to be reminded of how little she had left – and as soon as she was done eating, she would put Anna to bed, and find a way to budget a new life into the small chunk of savings she did have. For now, she would focus on the company, the man before her with his kind eyes and warm smile, and figure out her next move.
L A N C A S T E R
It was the strangest sensation to hold the child in his arms. When was the last time Lancaster had held a baby? Not since he'd been a vampire, that was for sure. Not since he was able to oddly pick up the emotions of others, to instinctively know, for dead sure, what they were feeling. Annabeth's aura was as strong as a full grown adults, and the emotion swirling through that small body was unhedged, unbridled, completely raw -- but in a way that children are unhedged and unbridled and completely raw. Inhibitions are things that they grow into, and in this moment Lancaster realised that inhibitions were what dulled the emotions of adults. Adults were wary, clinging to their feelings as if they might reveal themselves too readily -- even though they could now know that anyone could possibly read them. Lancaster was curious, of course, why this woman was unsure whether her baby would like Lancaster. Was it because the baby had been wary of strangers all her short life, or just people in general? Was she a difficult baby, always crying and complaining? Gazing down at that small, wondrous face, Lancaster couldn't imagine it. He held her just that tiny bit closer, taking a deep breath. It was something people said about babies, how that 'new baby smell' is intoxicating -- he'd even read an article about it, how it was actually a biological mechanism. It wasn't just parents who could smell it, who were attached to it.
Laughter bubbled from Lancaster as he caught a whiff of the scent. They weren't wrong! He couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, he could relate the scent to. But it was spectacular. "Sorry. I'm being weird," he said, but failed to explain himself. It was embarrassing, honestly -- he was being as clucky as a hormonal woman in her twenties. He glanced at the bar; they weren't busy. He kicked the spare seat out with his foot and folded down into it, still with the baby in his arms. "Either you're not sure how Canadian bills work or you're planning to stay more than one night..." he said, glancing down at the money Camden had pulled from her wallet. "You don't have to pay up front," he said. Though he was already thinking about the rooms upstairs, and those that had already been booked in. Backpackers weren't known for being quiet -- it might not be the best atmosphere for a grisly child. There were other options, of course -- but he'd wait until he'd spoken to Camden some more before offering them.
