Won't You Come Home? [Ishaq]

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse’s been waiting for this day. One can’t go about choosing who to sire on a whim, without their consent, and never expect any adverse reactions. Thus far, Jesse’s relationships with all his progeny have been smooth – at least as far as the turning is concerned. At least with those who chose to stick around. Axel had accepted, without any qualms, the fate that Jesse had dealt to him. Abigail, too. If there’s problems between Abigail and Jesse, it’s not because of the fact that he stole her mortality and recreated her as a bloodsucking fiend, it’s because he chose to sleep with her and leave before she woke up. And then not acknowledge the coupling afterwards. Felicity, Jesse’s first sired vampire, is the same – though he’d got so far as moving in with Felicity, before the blonde disappeared. Assuming fright, or disinterest, Jesse had moved on. Now? Again, if there are problems, it’s not because he’d made her vampire, but because in her opinion, he moved on a bit too swiftly.

He’d never really known love until Grey. His lack of care is something that the women should be furious with. Jesse knows this – he won’t defend himself. Instead, he can only urge them to move on.

The only progeny that Jesse has had any violent trouble with due to the turning is Aria. Aria, who could in the end be called his saving grace. The one whose creation veered Jesse away from his suicidal tendencies. The one snatched from the streets by Velveteen and Micah, with no care in choice, in order to save Jesse from his own self. He hasn’t seen much of Aria since – but so be it. She was not one that he chose. Yes, he feels that connection and every now and again has the urge to seek her out. But somehow, she is less important than the others.

Ishaq, for example.

There should be guilt. The accusations that are flung at Jesse should be knives, to twist in his soul, to cause regret for what he has done to this man – stolen from him, changed his life forever without consent. But there is no guilt. Jesse cannot regret a thing that he is proud of. Regardless of Ishaq’s current shortcomings, there’s still power there. In the man’s lithe movements, Jesse can see the vampirism. He recognises it as something that he had done – something that had been created from his own blood. Yes, he chooses his progeny on a whim, but it’s normally because he sees something in them. He had been drawn to Felicity’s innocence, Axel’s depth, Abigail’s feistiness, and Grey… Grey, just all around. Grey’s the first person from whom he’d sought permission – who had made him wait so long, before she’d finally said take me. He’d been drawn to Ishaq’s intensity – a trait that is, even now, still shining through.

He doesn’t respond, to begin with. He knows that Ishaq isn’t stupid. What he does or does not do within the confines of Larch Court does not matter just yet. The way the man paces, the way he seems to be struggling with some internal battle – Jesse knows there are other things that will need to be addressed first.

And still, Jesse does not respond immediately. He remains calm, considering Ishaq’s accusations. Weighing them within his mind and rolling the response upon his tongue before speaking – he doesn’t want to speak wrongly. He is aware that his communication skills are lacking, and thus takes his time to figure out how best to address Ishaq’s losses.

His shoulders straighten, his arms cross over his chest, his cigarette having similarly been smashed out on the ground, as soon as he realised this conversation was not going to be an easy one. There’s a fire in his eyes, and though his lips want to smile, he remains passive.

“You didn’t reach out to me, Ishaq. I reached out to you,” he says, simply. Though, he does wonder: maybe Ishaq, agreeing to meet with Jesse, is a thing that he would not normally have agreed to. It is a step in the right direction.

“I took your life away. Yes. I gave you a new one in return,” he admits. Again, he pauses. He is, on a very basic level, a ‘concerned parent’. Jesse won’t admit to that kind of softness, however, and so he lets it hang. Actions speak louder than words, anyway.

“You have not yet experienced everything that this life can offer. I took your life – I picked you – because I saw in you something indefinable. I saw in you the ability to handle this existence, and take to it brilliant ******* glory,” he says. And it’s not wrong – the way Ishaq was on that stage, the way the music filled him to the brim, almost to the point that he could not harbour the raw emotion – there’s something godlike in it.

“I gave you something and then I did not show you how to use it. For that I am sorry – I left you to your independence and realise now that I shouldn’t have. You can go home. It’s just not the one you’re accustomed to. Larch Court is your home if you want it. What kind of question have I asked? The kind to make you consider your existence as it is now, so that you might realise your unhappiness and do something to make it better. You do not have to be lonely. There’s a whole bloodline of others like us, waiting to meet you,” he says. And as he speaks, a new strength fuels his broken voice. A revived confidence in what it is that he has to offer. No, he had not intended for this to be in intervention, but he knows now that’s exactly what it is.

“Me and her? Turn that ‘her’ into an actual female thing. There’s one at home I think you might take a shining to…” he says, and only now does that glimmer of a smile twitch at the corners of his lips.

[Ishaq (DELETED 4744)]

This was complete and utter ********. He had it half in him to just tell the other man to **** off, to keep his ******* attempts to get into his head to himself, and shove it up his ***. The other half...well, the other half knew he needed to go where ever Jesse would go from here on out. That half, the logical half, pissed him off because nine times out of ten, he always went with it. Yet the emotional half wanted nothing more just to shake Jesse as he sat there so calmly even has he ranted and raved about how he took his life away. He just sat there and it bugged Ishaq to no end at first. But then, he began to see how he was acting like a child, a true child, throwing a tantrum because life wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair and he knew that, but he didn't want to accept it previously.

Deciding acting on his anger wasn't the best approach to this situation, he crouched down and rested his elbows on his knees. His hands balled together as he pressed his forehead against them, closing his eyes. God, this man pissed him off. He snorted as the man found himself 'correcting' him with who reached out to who first.

"********, Jes," he called out plainly, "Had I not responded to...whatever the hell I responded to, you wouldn't have known I was even around." It was the truth...for the most part. Perhaps Jesse could have came to him if he knew he was around but Ishaq hadn't made himself very available for a very long time. He had been angry for a while. Scared for the most part and definitely a bit unsure.

But now he was here and he wasn't entirely sure what good was going to come out of this meeting. Yet, he knew something was going to come out of it. He bounced in his position for a moment, listening to the man continue to go on about how he gave him a new life. Yes, Jesse had given him a new life but Ishaq had been perfectly comfortable with his old one...for the most part. Probably why he was unsure about going head first into this new life with Jesse and the gang. Though he knew he was loved by those in his past, the young man had a feeling he was overstaying his welcome. He knew the band was still together because there had not been a more charismatic vocalist as Ishaq and there would be none afterward. At least none who was willing to take over if Ishaq chose not to come back for his sabbatical. If it wasn't for that, he knew all his friends would have left him by now. Dizzy may stuck it out a little longer but eventually, the Asian male would have moved on. The sex was good but he wouldn't dare assume it was good enough to expect the male not to get tired of dealing with a junkie. Especially since he would be dealing with Ishaq, a junkie who had no desire to get clean in the first place.

Which was why the first intervention and his checking into rehab in result hadn't worked. He had no desire to get clean from the very start but went to please his family and his friends. He thought about that for a second even as Jesse continued his whole spill. The best was yet to come. And the best part of the whole spill? Jesse had chose him. That, that Ishaq hadn't known. He always figured he was just in the wrong place in the wrong time. No, Jesse had chose him. He wanted him to join him and the band of vampires. And what Jesse wanted he apparently got, evidence being Ishaq now being like him. He wrinkled his nose as he mulled it over in his mind, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a cigarette for himself.

"Who are you?" Ishaq questioned, shaking his head while slipping the cigarette between his lips, " Allah? Muhammad the prophet? Jesus Christ, maybe? Are you going to make me into a brilliant follower? Where I could use my gifts to expand our bloodline?" A bit condescending? Yes. He should feel bad. If his father was here, he'd have a fit. He'd probably have a heart attack and died over his son's blatant lack of care. Yet, Ishaq didn't feel any guilt over his questioning of Jesse's identity. Well, the man had sounded like some god. Like he should be in debited to him for giving him a new life and for seeing greatness in him. But all Ishaq could think about is how sick to his stomach he felt every time he had to look in the mirror, only to see a rotting corpse staring back at him.

Or how he was starting to enjoy slaughtering gangsters in the slums because he felt like he was doing the community a little act of service. Plus, it meant he didn't have to pay to get Snow Queen. If that was the greatness Jesse was seeing in him, then he was in for a rude awakening, he felt.

The cigarette hung from his lips unlit. Truth be told, he had forgot all about it and his intentions to smoke it. Plucking it from his lips, he tucked it behind his right ear and once again clasped his hands together. He glanced at Jesse and bit back the scoff which threatened to erupt for him. He didn't want his ******* apology. He didn't want his psychology ********. He didn't want any of that. All it was was **** he was trying to put inti his head to make him feel some type of way. Ishaq wasn't buying the ********. How did he know if this was going to be his home? How can living with a bunch of strangers be home to him? It wasn't even a guarantee he was even going to get along with these people. Yet, he should consider it a home? Who thinks that way?

" I don't give a **** about your apology. I've done...considerably better than expected on my own, obviously, because I'm sitting right here," he explained, "And it's not my home. It's your home. You want me to live in your home. Plain and simple. Home is a term you use when you're living with your family. You guys are still ******* strangers to me. That's a fact. It's not home to me. It's going to be a place to stay. That's it; a place to stay."

Then he added," And I can't believe you're already trying to set me up with someone. What the ****. You don't even know what my type is." His type was someone who could walk and talk. Breathing was optional now, obviously. "Besides, I'm not into dating ********. I can see you are though." Dating guys were always trying to set up their single guys.

[Jesse Fforde]

It is clear that Ishaq will not accept Jesse’s invitation, or his intervention, easily. This is, of course, the very reason why Ishaq had appealed to Jesse to begin with. Reasons are not things that Jesse dwells upon, though his mind touches upon them now. There is a fire in Ishaq, evident now in his every movement; in the skewed and abandoned milk crate now located on the other side of the room, in the way that he crouched, fists curled as if he is a volcano about ready to erupt. Perhaps it wasn’t such a great idea to bring such a wild force into immortality, to give it new power and strength. There are no regrets, however. For all his wild force, Ishaq has done nothing just yet to bring any attention to himself. He has not ended up on the bounty list, he had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared.

But now he is back. And, it is true – upon Ishaq’s return, gears had shifted in Jesse’s heart and mind. In that moment he had realised, whether he would admit to it or not, that he should not have waited for Ishaq to make his presence known. He should have sought have sought him out earlier. It was Ishaq’s presence on the Crownet which had fuelled Jesse’s desire to text him – to text the musician, as well as the rest of them. To seek to know the well-being of those he had, by force and by extension, brought into this world.

The majority had replied quickly and with ease. They were all fine; some were lonely, some were not, but none would give him this kind of grief. But is it grief that he feels? Irritation at Ishaq’s condescension? He’s not entirely certain. No, this is life. This is what it feels like to be alive. To have this kind of contradiction. Glorious ******* chaos. Maybe this is why Jesse does it to begin with. Not only the addiction to the bond created between himself and his progeny, the strength in it, but the chaos that force inspires.

Jesse laughs. It’s not derisive. It’s not angry or bitter. Maybe it’s masochistic, the enjoyment he gets from Ishaq’s fury, the way it beats against him. He ignores the crack about setting him up with someone; that’s not something that needs to be discussed right now, but the idea lingers in the back of his mind. Another night, maybe. There are other things to focus on.

Jesse stands. He approaches Ishaq and looks down at him.

“Yes, it is a place to stay. I agree – you can’t call strangers family, and you can’t call their home, yours. Which is why you should come and stay. If you do, you’ll get to know the others. You’ll get to know the house. Maybe they can soon be called family, and the house can be called your home,” he shrugs. It’s basics. The words thread from Jesse’s throat as if they are a bore to him – a common sense theory that any person should be able to figure out. He calls it home as a future reference. A hope, maybe.

The vampire drops to his haunches in front of his childe, lithely keeping balance as a hand slaps Ishaq’s shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh just slightly. Ishaq was the one who’d come out of hiding; the one who had made his presence known. Jesse forges on, now, with a little more force, bolstered by the confidence that somewhere, deep down, Ishaq is listening – or, maybe, he wants to listen.

“Can’t you feel it, man?” he asks, fingers digging just a little tighter.

“Life. We take it, we consume it in the blood that we drink but goddamnit, we are not dead. We are so alive. The power, it grows from deep within,” he says, his own fingers clawing at his own chest, as if to pull that power out and show it to Ishaq, throbbing and thriving. Of course he can’t. But the passion is there regardless, his violent blue eyes not once leaving Ishaq’s face. “You are so consumed with this addiction of yours that you can’t feel anything but your desire to sate it. Get out. Live some more. Help me to help you to discover just what else you can feel – there’s so much more that you can have, you’re just blind to it,” he says, jaw tense.

He’s sitting so close, getting all up in Ishaq’s face. It could be a mistake. But maybe it’s the kind of jolt that the man requires.

[Ishaq (DELETED 4744)]

He felt as if the conversation was going in circles as he gazed up at Jesse, who was now closer than he had been a moment before. No, not circles. Instead it being an intervention, Ishaq found the conversation, this meeting, turning into a therapy session. He didn't understand why Jesse felt he needed to give him a pep talk about strangers becoming family. How about strangers becoming friends first? That logic was easier to comprehend and work towards then thinking they could jump to being family to him. Yes, they were connected through blood, and he guessed through the connection, they were family to him. He didn't want to take it too far that quick, to make things official that quick. But what annoyed him the most about the session was the fact he already agreed to stay there. It may have been an indirect agreement on his end, but it was still it was an agreement nonetheless.

Ishaq opened his mouth to clarify, but, he instead put his hands up, pressing his lips together into a firm line while just waving his hands. He was going to let it go. He was going to let the man feel like he was getting somewhere with him. No bullshitting him. No ******* protest. He'll let him have that for now. The longer he was in his presence, the more...he couldn't put his finger on it. He was angry but he was in awe of him. He was disgusted, yet enchanted. He wasn't more of one than the other either; it was just this ball of emotion knotted in his stomach and he couldn't stand it. So, he'd let him win the argument with his silence this time if it meant he'd let him. It was what he truly desired, for Jesse to let up and back the **** off him.

Feelings of anxiousness were beginning to crept beneath his skin and he shifted in his crouched stance, running his fingers through his hair. His finger tips brushed against the cancer stick, making his mouth itch for its presence once more. Plucking it from his ear, he shoved it between his lips and lifted up slightly on his heels so he could better access his matches. And just has his fingers gripped the tiny box, he felt a sudden movement in front of him, causing him to pause in his actions. A hand..er, Jesse's hand slapped down on his shoulder and gripped it. Ishaq froze.

If a good looking man invaded his space any other time, he would have went for it. To him it was an open invitation. Yet, this wasn't the time, the place, nor even the person he would even think of indulging. Well, that was two thirds of the truth, but he wasn't about to take this moment to dwell on it. No, he just kept his body still as Jesse asked if he could feel it, fingers digging into his shoulder more. Ishaq knew what he was asking him. He knew what life felt like the moment he sank his fangs into an unsuspecting addict's neck. How it coursed through his veins on its own personal journey. How it scared him yet empowered him. The young man found himself unable to look Jesse in the eyes, but felt the intensity of his gaze upon him.

And he almost let his wall down. Almost. Almost until that pep talk ******** came back. Until, he started to speak of his drug habit as a crippling aspect of his existence. As if Ishaq was some blubbering fool, who laid around in a drug induced slumber, letting life pass him back. As if desiring to satisfy his cravings were wrong. Pregnant women did it all the time! Whatever they wanted, they got it some way some how. No one saw them crippled by their desires and no one assumed they weren't living their lives. No, no. ********. Complete and utter ********. The cigarette dropped from his lips onto the ground as he....

"I know what life fuckin' life feels like, Jesse..." he grunted out, slowly raising into a standing position, "I know what it feels like in my veins. I know its despair. Its happiness. Its chaos. Its peace. I know what life feels like when it escapes from the grip of your hands." He shook his hands in the other's face. "I know what it feels like to have it returned to you for reasons unknown. You just know you didn't deserve to have it back. I know its ups, and its downs. Its dreams. Its failures. I know what the **** it is. Don't ******** me, Jesse, acting like I don't know what life is. What can you do for me that I can't do for my motherfucking self? Get me over my 'addiction'?"

Ishaq turned his back to him, waving him off.

"No *********** is going to tell me that I can't have what the **** I desire. ********. I want it so I get it. I like the rush. How invincible I feel when I get it in my system. I feel everything. People. Their emotions. The vibrations of their vocal cords. The thumping of their heartbeats. Holy ****..." he placed his hands on his chest, "You don't understand what it feels like from the inside when it's coursing through my veins after I drank from some one addict. It mixed with blood...I thought I was invincible before, but man...I feel like a god. And I just want it. More than ever. I can do anything I ******* want and no one or nothing can ******* stop me. I..."

He shook his head.

"So..no. **** you. That's one aspect of my life you have no motherfucking say in. I'll live with you and the rest of them. I'll keep it out of the house, that is no problem. You can help me with anything but that because I don't need your ******* help with it. "

erupted.

It felt good. He felt good. He placed his hands on his hips and stood in front of the man, feeling tons lighter. His eyes drifted down toward Jesse, before he reached down to retrieve the cigarette from the ground. It was still good, he felt.

[Jesse Fforde]

Alright, Jesse concedes.

Ishaq’s life is his own to do with as he pleases. It’s not as if drugs have as adverse an effect on vampires as they would on humans. It surprises Jesse, to an extent, that it’s even possible for Ishaq to get high, or whatever the **** it is that he feels when the drugs enter his preternatural system. From the blood, that makes sense. But Jesse’s consumed the blood of plenty of drunk people—completely, legless, hopelessly, ignorantly drunk—and has never felt a thing. Would it be presumptious of him to assume it’s a mind over matter thing? Should he try to break it to Ishaq that he can’t possibly be feeling whatever it is he says he feels?

Yes, Jesse decides. He doesn’t know all the ins and outs of this life. As much as he pretends that he knows everything, there are still plenty of things that have slipped past his radar. They call his path Necromancer, given the abilities that he is capable of. They define the class of path by the abilities that one gains; the wraiths live on the bridges, the trolls collecting the tolls of those wishing to cross into the realm of more power. It’s all so logical and precise, but he supposes these immortals all have a whole lot of ******* time on their hands. He has learned from these wraiths. He’s crossed into different realms of possibility, regarding his own abilities.

But that still does not mean that he knows everything. And he cannot know for sure that Ishaq is exactly the same as he is—unable to eat, unable to drink, unable to feel the effects of narcotics or alcohol. Blood is his be all and end all. The different variants that change according to lifestyle. He prefers the blood of the innocent and untainted to that of the unclean, for whatever reason. It’s more organic. Ishaq’s tastes, it would seem, differ.

As soon as the man has finished his rant, as soon as he has regained that confidence that Jesse had first seen in him, Jesse stands. Slowly, he uncoils, bringing himself back to Ishaq’s eye level. He throws his hands up in surrender.

“Fine, man, whatever,” he says. This is an intervention, yes, but what is it an intervention for, really? Jesse had got off track. He’d assumed that Ishaq’s addictions were what kept him in squalor; it’s the squalor that Jesse wishes to wrench him free of. To be slave to something so addictive is a poison to the rest of one’s life; the addicted may as well be wearing blinders, uncaring of anything but their own relief and satisfaction.

Having not seen or heard from Ishaq for months, however, Jesse cannot judge nor assume what Ishaq is or is not capable of. There’s only one way to see. If the musician manages to stay at Larch Court; if he manages to hang around, to form bonds and relationships – whether they be just friendships or acquaintances – with the others of the bloodline, then Jesse will lay off. He won’t bother the guy about his specific addictions. Lord knows, Jesse’s got some volatile addictions of his own. Some might say that compulsively forcing others into vampirism is far worse and far more brutal an addiction than any drug could be.

“I could argue with you and tell you that you technically can’t do what the **** you want. There are certain things you could do that would have me putting a bullet through your ******* skull just to teach you a lesson. Thus far you don’t seem to have given me a reason to do that, however, so let’s keep to that habit, eh?” he says. Although he’s smiling, although there’s a teasing glint in his eye, there’s a fair whack of complete, dead-set seriousness, too. He’s all for his progeny having confidence and ego; it lends to a sense of survival, of the courage and zest to get the **** up and put one foot in front of the other. Though of course he hasn’t got a doubt that Ishaq has always been capable of putting one foot in front of the other, otherwise he would not be here now.

He won’t ever make the mistake of telling Ishaq he doesn’t feel enough again. Jesse’s almost jealous, the way the man describes his addiction. But, he realises, he does feel just as strongly, just as deeply as the other man has described; he just has different fuel, different receptors. The corners of his lips turn into a wicked kind of grin.

“By the way, man – I don’t date,” he says. No, not unless they counted the first night – and Jesse doesn’t – he and Grey had never been on a legitimate date. He’d suggested it one night. Just in case she thought she was missing out. She’d erupted, accusing him of thinking she wasn’t enough. It was ridiculous, ludicrous, and he’d never suggested they leave the apartment again.

“The sex is ******* awesome, though. Are you getting any?” he asks. Maybe a personal question. But he half wonders whether it might be a small thing to factor in to Ishaq’s current irritability.

[Ishaq (DELETED 4744)]

He couldn't entirely explain the way he felt when the man finally gave up on his attempts of an intervention. It felt a lot like winning the final round of a boxing match. A part of him got battered around, but he was pleased he had come out on top. He was pleased Jesse let it go. He didn't care why he conceded. Ishaq wanted to believe his words and his passion were convincing enough. Hell, his entire existence this night should have been convincing enough to win the fight from the get go. Snow Queen didn't prevent him from living his life; he liked to think it enhanced it. Everything was vibrate. Everything sounded clearer. Everything smelled different; tasted different. Everything even looked different. Now, it was doubled that and maybe even a bit more now that he was a vampire.

Ishaq attempted to hide the smug look on his face. Attempted, but he couldn't get rid of it. His hand reached up and gently patted Jesse's cheek. "Good," he said, "Glad we had that discussion now than later." He grinned then tucked his cigarette between his lips, finally lighting it after removing the matches from his back pocket. Ah, it felt good to breathe in the menthol, to get the nicotine into his system. It felt different, yet it was the same. He couldn't explain it away nor could he even find himself being able to explain it to Jesse. He was a vampire, yes. And vampires got most of their nutriment from the blood they consumed. He knew he had watched enough vampire themed movies and television shows to know all that. Yet, he still found himself able to eat. Not only that, but he could still **** too. To the best of his knowledge, vampires couldn't do that yet...he's shitted quite a few times since the fateful night. Did it mean he wasn't a true vampire? Did he finally snap? Was he just a mad man on the loose?

The musician stared into Jesse's eyes and wondered if he could ask him about that. But he didn't. Instead, his brow rose as the man went in on hypotheticals. He didn't even know what he was talking about anymore. All he did know, if he did it, he was ******* toasted. He didn't know anyone who would want a bullet through the skull either. He couldn't tell if the other guy was actually joking around, since he was smiling, or if there truly was a hint of seriousness in his dialogue. "Uh..." Ishaq cleared his throat, flicking ash to the ground while turning his head to expel smoke from his mouth.

"I feel like you need to...clarify what would exactly earn me a bullet through my skull. Because nowadays, " his hand lifted as his finger pointed to the door, "...you can just step out side and that's reason enough to get a bullet through your ******* skull. And since, I'm ******* hot. I rather not get my brains blown out on the sidewalk. I got an image to preserve. Plus, this is my money maker."

Ishaq used his cigarette free hand to gesture to his face. Oh no, he was serious. Half the battle of being a vocalist were the actual vocals. The other half was having an appealing image. An image which made girls want to come jump on it, and guys loathe but secretly admired. No, he didn't want a bullet through his skull not any time soon.

He snorted back a laugh, rolling his eyes, as they finally revisited a seemingly abandoned topic. "Oh. Excuse me," he waved his hands in the air, the smoke from the cigarette leaving a disappearing trail. "You're in a ******* committed relationship though, right? As in you're not ******* anyone besides her? Committed. Dating. Courting. Belonging. **** is still the same no matter whatever term you use." Ishaq shrugged, taking a hit from his cigarette before exhaling.

Ugh, the dreaded question. Is he getting any? "No," he grumbled out, shoving a hand into his pocket. When was the last time he had sex? And was it truly that obvious? "And no, my **** hasn't shriveled up and fallen off yet." The last time he had sex was with Dizzy a couple nights before the last show they played together. He groaned as he remembered. It had been over a year. Over a ******* year.

[Jesse Fforde]

There’s a glimmer in Jesse’s eyes that might give away his intent. Or maybe it won’t – it depends on the perception of the other. It’s clear that Ishaq thinks that he has won, that this is the end of it. But Jesse is a patient man. The discussion might be over, but the consequences are not. The Necromancer believes that they may have both won in this situation; he has coaxed from Ishaq the agreement that he will come and stay at Larch Court. Yes, Jesse will allow him to do as he pleases, to come and go. He will not dictate what Ishaq can and cannot do with his life – at least in every regard but the Masquerade. But at least with the man at Larch Court, he can keep an eye on his progress.

If Jesse himself can’t change Ishaq’s ways, maybe the others can. Maybe if he meets more of his kind, if he grows to care for them and respect them, he’ll be more inclined to want to meet their expectations. Whatever the case, Jesse stops thinking about it. He doubts that the expectations of the members of Fforde are very high. They’ll accept Ishaq, with all his quirks and his addictions. They won’t bat an eyelash – or so Jesse assumes.

The heart of the matter boils down to one simple thing. A thing that Jesse will never admit to, out loud. Not to Ishaq, not to any of them. It’s sentimental and fluffy. It has everything to do with his own addictions; his need to sire others, to form that everlasting bond. The truth of the matter is that he has missed Ishaq. He hasn’t realised it until now, standing in the other’s presence. But it’s clear as day, as soon as he focuses on it; it’s relief. As soon as Ishaq had agreed that he would stay, relief flooded Jesse’s senses. He is able to relax. Nothing else needs to be achieved, so long as he knows he’ll see more of this prodigal childe.

Jesse is on his feet. He finds a wall to lean against, his arms crossed over his chest. Amusement is written all over his face.

“There’s a thing called a bounty list,” he says. Surely, he’s told Ishaq this before? “It keeps tabs on people who break the Masquerade. The Masquerade is in place to keep humans from finding out about vampires. The last time that happened, every single vampire was wiped out. We’re only here now because of some ******* split in the fade, and some of the dead vamps came back to life,” he says. A very short-winded explanation of the history of Harper Rock. “So, in order to keep that from happening again, the Masquerade is enforced. If you get seen feeding, or using your abilities in a public space – ever – and if you end up on that ******* list, I will personally put a bullet through your brain,” he says. And then he shrugs. “Other than that, I figure you’re free to do as you please,” he says.

Yeah, maybe there might be some other things that would displease Jesse personally, but he can’t think of them, off the top of his head. There’s no point in bringing up things that he can’t think of, so he lets it drop.

“For example – there are plenty of other women that I have turned just like I did to you. Maybe you can all have a mutual dislike of me, and that can be your common ground. Maybe one of them will want to get into your pants,” he says, gesturing to the bulge between Ishaq’s legs. “I am in no way your father. I am not their father. They can **** who they want to ****, as can you, so I won’t bat an eyelash if you want to give it a go,” he says, grinning like the Mad Hatter. He doesn’t comment on his own relationship with Grey. It is a very committed relationship, more than Jesse has ever had in the past. It scares him, to an extent – and he’d prefer not to talk about it in length.

[Ishaq (DELETED 4744)]

He pinched himself while Jesse was talking to him about the Masquerade or whatever he kept calling it. It felt like it was all a dream; this couldn't be reality. He kept half expecting to wake up on the bathroom floor. The girl would probably still be there, dead, because she overdosed. But he would still be him at least. No need to drink blood. No robbing and hustling in the slums for money and a place to stay. He'd still be living at Nikki's house and getting into arguments with her newest boyfriend. Or boy toy he was often calling them because they changed monthly, some times weekly. He wouldn't be standing in front of Jesse, having a conversation as to why he would shoot him in his ******* skull should he break the masquerade.

It wasn't as if Ishaq was quickly running to everyone he knew to tell him about the current changes in his life. Who in the hell could be like 'Hey! I drink blood to survive now. Cool, huh?'? To him, to the logical part of him, it wasn't cool. It was disgusting. It was something he expected to see in a horror movie. He was still pretty sure he was in a horror movie; it was the only possible explanation to everything that was happening to him right then and there. So, no, he had no plans on announcing to the world that he, Ishaq Alexander Habib, was a vampire. He wasn't anxious to disclose such a fact. If there was any reason to be anxious, he was anxious to get back with his friends. It was something he's been avoiding for almost a year. He just wasn't sure. Now, hearing about the Masquerade, it made him even more unsure. How could he see them without being honest?

"So, uh..." he scratched the back of his head, " No telling people I am a vampire. No doing vampire like things in front of people. Anything else I need to know? I mean, this **** is a lot. But I guess...it's not like I got a damn billboard up about it." He brought a hand up and rubbed at his nose, shrugging slightly.

Finishing off his cigarette, he dropped the butt on the ground and crushed it out with his tip of his shoe. "What are you like a matchmaker or something? I don't need your help with finding someone to have a good time with."
He shook his head, "And even if I did, which I don't, I wouldn't ask you. I'm no- I'm just not interested at the moment. I have other things on my plate right now. Like...****, keeping up with this Masquerade ******** and getting settled at your home." He made sure to emphasis it was his home because he didn't want him to assume his guard was down just yet. He knew Jesse would probably grow to be his closest confidante. At least, until he met the rest of them and had a chance to sit down. Talk with them. Get to know them.

Yet, he couldn't find it in himself not to give him a hard time. It was just ingrained in him to do so. Not because he saw Jesse as a father figure because holy hell, he would be screwed. Plus, no one should think of their fathers the way he's been thinking about Jesse since he stepped into this meeting with him. He shivered. The musician just didn't want to give so easily into the fold. He didn't want to just allow himself to get caught up by Jesse's allure. Hell, even the allure of the lifestyle out side of said **** with Masquerade kind of appealed to him. Though he would never admit such information voluntarily. Why? It scared him. It meant diving into the unknown yet again. He remembered doing that when he first tried cocaine and it had been scary. It had been scary yet alluring, fascinating, freeing, and so much more than he expected. It was so much more that he messed up and got addicted. He couldn't pull himself out of the rabbit hole even if he wanted to. Sadly enough, he didn't.

"So..." he whispered, scraping the tip of his shoe along the debris cluttered floor, "What happens after this? I mean in the sense of this meeting. I go to live with you and the brood. And...lets say I do get comfortable. I do develop ties with you all. What the **** happens after? I become some functioning citizen in the vampire community? Do I lose everything that made me human? What happens?"

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse frowns. Surely, he did tell Ishaq all this directly after he had been turned. He sifted through his memories; through every other turning that he had instigated. All of them, yes, he had sat them down and told them all the required basics, masquerade included. Maybe Ishaq had forgotten. Maybe something about the drugs in his system—and the fact that they still seem to have an affect now even though he’s a vampire—or the overwhelming nature of what had happen to him, had led to a lapse in memory. Whatever the case, Jesse chooses not to comment. It is on his own shoulders that he had not followed up. He is lucky that nothing untoward happened to Ishaq; that the guy has, in fact, made it through even without knowledge on the broader topics. Jesse clears his throat and instead smirks.

“I’ve never been a matchmaker before, no,” he says. He could say that he’s wanting to live vicariously through his progeny, but that feels wrong before he can even utter the words. To say such a thing would make it sound as if he’s unhappy being a caught man. A one woman man. It would be a lie. He doesn’t want to live vicariously through anyone, because he’s happy. He’s content. He’s near damned blissful. He doesn’t look at other women lamenting the fact that he can’t have them, or imagining what it would be like to take them. He doesn’t look at those he has had and instantly remember the time they’d spent together. All he can think about is Grey—and he won’t mention her. Not again. It might rile Ishaq too much.

“But maybe I’ll dabble,” he says with a chuckle. In the end, it’s not really an intention to get embroiled in the love lives of his children. Love is the dramatic part, the part he’d prefer not to have anything to do with, unless it’s his own. It’s not Ishaq’s love he wants to manipulate, but his happiness. And, to Jesse, getting laid is tantamount to happiness. He lets the subject drop, however, in favour of Ishaq’s latest enquiries.

Jesse shrugs his shoulders.

“I can’t answer that question. That’s like a baby asking what happens after I’m born? After I’m given parents, and siblings. What next? I can’t tell you what’s going to happen in your life, or how you choose to live it. Yes, I would hope that you become a vampire ‘citizen’; there’s not only Fforde, but there’s Andras, too. There’s a whole group of people you can get to know, and who will welcome you. Your human life? I know it’s hard. Sooner or later you’ll have to drop it. You won’t age. Everyone else you know will,” he says. Although he is blunt when he says it, although he states the truth with no frivolous ******** around the edges, he is wary. It’s hard to tell someone they should give up everything that they know. To sever ties with everything that they care about.

“Your humanity is not such a big thing. Were you overly attached to your virginity, when you lost that? You’re still you. What makes you you is still there, human or not,” he says with another shrug. He remains leaning against one of the mouldy walls, his arms crossed neatly over his chest.

[Ishaq (DELETED 4744)]

The sound of his foot scraping the floor slowly began to dull until his foot was no longer moving. What was there to say? Thank you? Should he be grateful that he would never have to taste death ever again? He was going to live forever but he wasn't going to be living forever with the people he loved and held close to his heart. Sure, he may not have loved them the right way at times and sure his selfish indulgences hurt them, but he wouldn't never give up being with them. He'd gladly give up eternity if it meant spending one more day with the people he loved. He knew the time would come when those around would die. Ishaq half expected to be the first to die in his immediate family. One couldn't live so reckless without receiving the consequences sooner or later. But now the tables had turned and in some fucked up change of fate, he was awarded forever. He was going to be young forever.

Ishaq looked at Jesse, really looked at him. At first, he didn't know if he felt more pain or anger towards the man. How easy it must have been for him to give up his humanity. He probably didn't have anything. No family. No friends. Nothing to keep him grounded. Becoming a vampire must have been the best thing to ever happen to Jesse. The musician wanted to open his mouth and say all those things to him; yet, deep down, he knew he'd regret it. Not because it would have hurt Jesse's feelings, he highly doubted that was possible, but for the simple fact he'd stoop low enough to say it. He knew he wouldn't hold back punches. He knew if he opened his mouth, everything he was feeling would spill out much like a water in a flooded sink.

He just didn't understand. He didn't understand how the other man expected him to just...take complete strangers and use them to replace his real family. That's what it felt like he was asking him. Sure, he'd be the same person, but for how long. Was Jesse the same person he was before he was turned? How could Ishaq possibly turn his back on those who helped create the man he was standing in front of Jesse? They each had a hand in making him the man he was whether they wanted to admit it or not. His heart was heavy. His shoulders dropped as if layer after layer of bricks were being lowered on to them.

"I shouldn't have ******* asked..." he whispered moreso to himself, shaking his head. His eyes glanced around. He was going to end up like this house. Everything in his life was going to be abandoned with no one to care. Everything that had occupied it was going to leave its residue within the inner walls of his mind.

Rubbing his forehead, he cleared his throat, " I need to get my ****." A subject change was long overdue at this point. "I'd been renting an apartment month to month in the slums. So...if I'm staying at your place, I gotta get me ****. Clothes and stuff, you know."