The Futurist [Pi]

[Lancaster]

Elliot opened his mouth to respond, but shut it again. If Pi were lying and he were asked to back her up in her lies, then no. He wouldn’t be able to back her up. Lies were like frogs stuck in his throat—crawling down rather than up, and the croaks were like backward burps that just clogged him up. Nothing came out, and the pressure in his throat was a cramped muscle. It hurt, if he tried to push it. The physical attributes of the curse had been discovered when he’d tested them, which made him realise it was a curse. It was an actual, legitimate thing, another burden of this life. Yet another thing to wrap chains around his feet, threatening to drag him down.

Not that he was known to lie much, anyway, but sometimes it came in handy. Truth would have to be the only philosophy these days; one that he’d pussy-footed around in before, but which now had become a necessity.

But Pi wasn’t asking if he could back her up in her lies. She was asking if he could back her up in the choices, to which he had to respond in much the same way—he mumbled about his curse, in a tone that may have been tinged with bitterness. Of course he would tell her what he liked and didn’t like, if she asked, because if she asked, he couldn’t lie. In the end they would end up with something that Elliot liked, because it was an inevitability. The one condition being that Pi asked, upon every single showing, whether he liked it.

As soon as they were up in the crisp, frigid air of the Canadian winter, Elliot felt more at liberty to speak louder; down in the catacombs, he was mumbling, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if Pi hadn’t understood a word he had said. As soon as the fresh air hit his skin, however, he relaxed. He didn’t really like the catacombs. The ceilings were too low and the halls too narrow. It was too confining, and he didn’t like to be confined. He didn’t like small spaces. This was better, out in the open. He nodded.

”It is,” he said in response to Pi’s statement. His long, gloved fingers closed over the hand she had resting on his arm. The seasons were always beautiful to Elliot, as they shifted and changed. As they morphed from one to the other. They were different all around the world, each climate adding its own specific uniqueness to a sunset or a sunrise, or the specific golden crisp to Autumn leaves. He wouldn’t tell Pi that he particularly loved the changing of the seasons in Harper Rock because sometimes, a difference season could make it feel like a different city. The change was what he relished, rather than the season itself. Tonight was not the night to share those kinds of woes, because tonight they were as far from his mind as they could get.

”The city seems so innocent, covered in all this snow,” he said. Even when approaching the transit, the station looked like something out of The Polar Express. But, even though the station was there, Elliot shook his head. Pi had wanted to walk, and Honeymead was only the next suburb over. They could very well walk. He steered her away from the path toward the train station and instead headed in the opposite direction.

”Maybe later we should make snowmen,” he proffered. He had been thinking about innocence – about whether they’re all innocent, in the end. Because, just like the wolf, they weren’t able to help their instincts. And the wolf was always innocent. Because it was a wolf, and it couldn’t be judged for being wild. But it seemed too heavy and too morose a subject. So Elliot talked about Snowmen instead.

[Lancaster]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

<Pi d’Artois> He was right. They were close to Honeymead and after asking to walk she slid him a cheeky grin that he’d corrected their position and moved them towards the path and away from the transit. Okay, so they would ‘walk walk walk’ she thought, and let herself get pulled along.

“Hrmmmm..” She hummed in response to his statement, enjoying the snow, and the quiet of the city and the bubble that seemed to envelope them. Sliding her hand down his arm she threaded her fingers through his, skin to skin, their steps now in sync, walking so their hips and stride catered to the other so their movement was smooth and easy.

Snow and ice crunched under their feet as they walk, the streets would turn treacherous later, the snow falling away to become solid ice to torture the steps of anyone silly enough to walk on them in the late evening. Even vampires would find their feet slipping out from under them, skidding away with a will of their own.

Turning the corner away from Cherrydale Transit, their direction taking them right onto the main road heading into Honeymead. There was a car in front of them, moving slowly, their lights throwing the street into stark light and shadow, the beams on high, a cautious tip toe through the inclement conditions, obviously not a keen snow driver, someone who had to be out in this mess and not liking it a bit. When the slow moving vehicle passed, they were alone again, darkness taking ownership of the night.

Shop lights twinkled ahead, small beacons of warmth to entice the chilled shopper. She was surprised at the tenacity of the independent business owner, whose very need to succeed drove them to open their doors despite the weather. One of these lucky businesses tonight will slap themselves on the back for their forethought. Because there were at least two people on this snowy street looking for a shop to buy something in.

“Where from here?” Pi asked, her head nodding towards the shops ahead, not yet close enough to read the signs. Right now she wished she could drink, something hot, something fragrant and appropriate for the weather. But maybe they could anyway. She could order a coffee, in a café open late and she could sit there and let the hot beverage warm her finger. Maybe she’d ask, after they shopped. Maybe.


<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot had grown up in a place where had no right to be. He grew up in hell, where the sun shone brighter, where its fiery fingers harmed more. The sun and the earth were in cahoots and the humidity swam around to slip beneath clothing, causing all kinds of discomfort. Of course, it never bothered Elliot much, and he’d spent much of his life since in places of equal or worse humidity. But he’d also spent a lot of his life in places like this – where the cold was more active than the humidity. It wasn’t languid or lazy, but sharp and quick. Elliot loved them both equally; he was coming around to the cold more. He was forced to.

Elliot himself was not surprised by the tenacity of the business owners. He was one of them; all of his businesses were in full swing. Lancaster’s specifically – in this weather, people sought out warmth and drink like moths to a flame. He would provide a place of refuge, rather than for the money. And, at this very moment, there was a party raging on the boat he’d opened for that purpose – it was frozen in the water, and could not cruise. But people still liked the location, all the same.

As they paused, Elliot nodded toward the market; there were heaters ranged outside the shops, melting the snow and not allowing it to freeze again into ice. “Inside the market,” he said. “I don’t know which shop it is exactly but we can wander,” he said with a smile. They could take their time. He slipped his arm around Pi’s waist, and pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek – it almost looked flushed in the weather, and his mood pitched higher in his chest.


<Pi d’Artois> She’d been to the market a couple times. Once for a wedding, whose she couldn’t remember. It had been her first such affair, where she witnessed to vampires binding together, some say eternally. As they walked Pi tried to recall who that couple had been, they’d been in love, she remembered that much. With a small squeeze of Elliot’s arm, her mind connected the dots, the two people, the second floor of the store, decked out in wedding regalia, the couple, Mircea and Habren, yes, that was it, an oddly poignant affair given the location they had decided to bind to one another in. But a true partnership, an eternal bond that felt right.

The only other couple she had been witness to such a binding had been Doc & Cytherea and just as she had predicted, the binding had been a mockery, as it had begun, so had it ended. Ridiculously, callously and viciously. Neither of the two in that partnership had cared deeply for the other. They had entered their moxy union as a drunk would a bar, intent on revelry at the cost of sense and decorum, tossing their future down inebriated throats, drunk on their belief they were more amusing, than the rest in the room. That night Pi recognised what she’d witnessed and wanted no part in it, no part of what that eternity would mean to those two people who had bound to each other like they had done.

Hand in hand, they walked, her and Ellliot. The slim fingers of her other hand curled around his upper arm, which meant his elbow pillowed against her chest, her body almost tucked under his arm, even though they walked side by side.

Not all of the shops were open, some windows were dark, but a good many were, the paths clear, and here in the market, all wasn’t abandoned. Other couples walked together, one or two solo shoppers, their steps a bit more hurried than her and Elliot, their destination clear. In the windows of another she saw more people moving inside and she imagined shop owners peeked outside happy to see anyone there outside, moving along the shops, windows seducing a person to go inside, to look around, even just to meander if for no other reason but to escape the chill.

What her and Elliot had together was nothing like either Mircea and Habren, whose relationship spanned hundreds of years. Nor anything resembling what Doc & Cytherea had, which was an obviously toxic brew. Instead, theirs felt like something that would one day grow into what their blood font’s had, an enduring sort of love that would weather things, temper their resiliency as people and join them closer together. It’s why these rings felt right, the next step, but not rushed and ill considered, but meaningful and necessary.

It was a small shop, so small she almost missed it, the sign merely a heavy cherry wood, the inscription in neat gold lettering. [McGuire’s Custom Jewellery] “I think we found it. Or one of them at least.” Pi said, pulling them to a halt before the store, moving closer to the window to look at the rings there, along with a necklace with a hanging silver pendant.


<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot wasn’t thinking of weddings. Even though he had been to the same one that Pi had been, in this location, he didn’t remember the location so much. Instead he was thinking about decision-making. He didn’t know whether he was spontaneous or not. He supposed he was. There was often flight written into every single one of his decisions. Perhaps not consciously, but he had a habit of walking around in circles – leaving one curve behind for better ones, hoping that by the time he came back around, all the problems he’d left behind would miraculously disappear again. He wasn’t a forward thinker, and he wasn’t accustomed to being a past-dweller, though that seemed to be what he did most often these days. That was the biggest change.

As they paused in front of the window to the small shop, he couldn’t remember so much what he and Pi had discussed. He could remember tunes and lyrics like they’d been burned into his brain for eternity, but he couldn’t remember a conversation they’d had half an hour ago. Were they going to wander and see all that the shops had to offer before they decided? He didn’t think that would happen, as far as he was concerned, anyway.

As they looked through the window he turned to Pi, gazing down at her in the dim orange glow. “We’ll go by instinct,” he said. He could be a bit of a romantic when he wanted to be. He believed in instinct, and in letting something other than their rational minds to decide. He believed that their love for each other was a shield that enclosed them. A force field that would help them with certain decisions – each knew the other in some ways, more than the other knew themselves. He turned back to the window.

“I think when we see the right rings we’ll know them for what they are. And we’ll both agree and in that moment there’ll be no hesitation,” he said. Maybe that was just how he wanted it to go, rather than how it definitely would go. But what did that matter? He was just thinking out loud. And, having said his part, he tugged Pi toward the door – pushed it open, and allowed the heady warmth within to envelope them, to lure them in and comfort them. The bell rang overhead, and a happy, beaming smile was turned their way. A nice, older looking gentleman. Maybe the jeweller himself. Elliot gestured for Pi to take the lead.

[Pi dArtois]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

<Pi d’Artois> Pi agreed with Elliot. She had no set idea of what the rings would look like. She’d worried the idea of it in her mind, searching for something, a small inner voice that would tell her what was right, what would look good on her hand and on his, an image she could use, but she couldn’t place anything definitive and exact. She rather thought it would be a feeling, a gut instinct that she’d know when she saw it, and then that would be what they would choose.
“Oui,..” she agreed, letting herself be pulled inside and enjoying the rush of warmth as it enveloped them, the door closing behind them with a swish and twinkle.

The man had come from the back, his hands brushing down the front of his pants as if they had interrupted him in the middle of something. What did a man do to while away the hours in a shop such as this. She imagined the gentlemen who stopped behind the row of glass cases would have a treasure trove of tools secreted behind the small door, tools of his trade, lined in neat rows, and gems laid out on the work bench waiting to be transformed into little works of art. He seemed an old artisan from an even older school where the trade was his life and his creations small parts of his artistic soul he created as his own gift to the world.

The smile she gave the older gentlemen was gentle, a little bashful, as if she was caught in the headlights and a little bemused at what to do next. But she had told Elliot she would take lead here, to act the part of the woman who had come out on this winter rendezvous to buy rings, and she would, as she promised, do exactly that.

“Bonjour Monsieur.” She greeted, tugging Elliot forward as she imagined any would be fiancé would do, eager to look at the rings on display. He seemed to relax at her words, supposing correctly that any couple braving the weather were there with something in mind. “Is there anything I can help you find?” He asked, the question sounding natural, as if he’d asked the same a million times before, asked as easily as one would say hello. A question and an opening to discuss what brought them out. He wasn’t the pushy sort, choosing to smile, but didn’t move closer, his position maintained and letting her and Elliot answer as they wished.

“We’re looking for rings. Um wedding rings.” Pi explained, her smile quick, tinged with a hint of apology. “But we’re not sure what we’re looking for… we’re hoping we’ll know the right ones when we see them?” She posed it as a question, her own indecision clear but she moved as she spoke too, along the counter, past tear drop pendants and bracelets to where the rings lined the case, some in pairs, obviously his and her sets that were just as obviously wedding bands made to compliment one another, others glittering diamond engagement rings. Leaning over the glass Pi ran her fingers over the top, tracing the glass in small circles, curious fingers lingering over the jeweller, caressing the glass as she considered what was there.

Her gaze pulled to silver and platinum, the gold felt too gaudy, too bright for what she had in her mind, her preference leaning to something less ostentatious, more refined but understated. She was searching by feel, by gut instinct as Elliot had suggested, because there was no other way she could shop. Her fingers stopped over a row, all of them wedding bands, in platinum, the hard metal calling to her. “I like the look of these…. The colour. Something smooth and subtle I think..” She said almost absently.

He knew his job, this older man with the kind smile moving forward to unlock the cabinet, pulling first one row of rings out of their case and placing them on the top, then another, so her and Elliot were presented with six rings sets, his and hers. Now her fingers ran across the actual metal, smoothing over rows of precious metals and gems. Touching each before stopping on a set, her gaze rising to Ellliot’s in question.. “What do you think?”


<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot liked the salesman. Although Elliot hung behind – his height far too obvious for him to be inconspicuous – he could feel across the room that this man was happy to help. This was his business. He likes his rings and his jewellery. He was proud of it, and happy for the company. The clothes he wore were a comfortable fit, and Elliot detected crumbs on one of the lapels. They had interrupted the man’s dinner, but he didn’t seem to mind. He appeared to be the only one in the shop.

Elliot had a bird’s eye view of the jewels in the cases. There was no interest in anything else other than the rings. Although his eyes did settle for a moment on the gold sets, they were invariably drawn toward the platinum, too. Not the shiny platinum, but the matte. It wasn’t dull, by any means, but it wasn’t showy, either. Following their movements and their interests, the shopkeeper pulled the rings from the cabinet and laid them out for viewing and/or trying.

“Platinum will scratch easier, but it won’t bend or break,” the jeweller explained. “If you do a lot with your hands,” he said, glancing up at Elliot – the man, who would traditionally be doing a lot of the heavy labour (of course he had no idea he was talking to two vampires who often handled weapons or fought with their bare hands). “I’d suggest the matte finish – scratches will be less noticeable, and you won’t have to polish so often,” he said. He then picked up one of the thinner rings – one for the women – and pointed to diamond inset. “It’s also stronger, and holds the gems in more securely. If you want something that doesn’t scratch easy, I’d suggest the white gold,” he said. Pi had asked what Elliot thought, and the salesman had given him room for though.

Elliot thought about it, quietly, gazing down at the rings. He liked the sound of them. The inherent strength in them. They were to be a symbol of his and Pi’s relationship, and Elliot considered that relationship thus far. It was riddled with bumpy weather. Riddles with scratches and bumps, but it hadn’t broken. And wasn’t likely to break at any point in the future. He nodded.

“I like the Platinum,” he said. He’s smiled at the shopkeeper as thanks for his help – which seemed to sooth the man in front of them. He wore a light smile of his own. Not being pushy, and allowing them their options. “It’s subtle,” he said. “Like us,” he added with a grin. He leaned further over the offered cases. Some were all matte. Some were all shiny. Some were large and gaudy while others so plain as to be dismissed and forgotten. “I kind of like the two-tone…” he said, arching a brow at Pi to see if she agreed.


<Pi d’Artois> Pi listened carefully to the old man’s words, weighed them with the same concentration. So much she didn’t know about something she believed as insignificant as metal and their properties. What the old man described, pulled her even more towards the platinum and what the alloy represented. Where first her preference was purely cosmetic, now she knew more about the metal, she understood better how much it suited both her and Elliot both.

Maybe she was being sucked into the romanticism of this quest, swallowed willingly by this small sign and weaving a story around it that connected each of them to the other, giving more meaning to the words than would normally have been. It was subtle, and it was beautiful, simple, clean and it would not bend or break. She liked that a lot and maybe she was full of overly romantic sensibility, but it felt symbolic and right too. Her voice was soft when she spoke, slipping into her native language without her noticing, her small fingers hovered over the set her eyes kept falling towards. “Je aime la platine. Deux couleurs, mat et brillant . Mais je aime , les diamants ici , si petit , joli .”

Sliding her spare hand (the right one) down, she gripped Elliot’s long fingers briefly, her head tilting up to his, her smile small, shy and apologetic when she realised she’d spoken in French, a language he hadn’t yet learned. The smile hinted at her preference even as she nodded to him, before looking back down again. “Oui.” She spoke again, apologetically again at her rude slip into French. “I like the platinum.” Her gaze moved to a set that was two toned, the male his ring, mostly matte, with a small band of shining metal. The other feminine counterpart, two tone as well, but the second tone, snugged against the matte platinum lay diamonds, a long thin row of diamonds down one slim edge. It was stunning.

“These ones I think… can I hold it please?” She asked, her blue eyes so uncertain when they raised to meet that of the store owner. Timid where she had never been timid before, feeling an almost overwhelming need for approval from this man she had never seen before tonight and might never see again. But he was the conductor of this little symphony, the man who could, with a smile or a slash of his hand swing this night into a crescendo or plummet in the other direction. He smiled at her nervousness, a fatherly expression filled with an understanding, innate and kind.

“Of course you may….” He lifted the ring she’d touched, a small white cloth in his hand that seemed to appear magically, conjured by deft fingers to polish the metal, those old gnarled fingers twisting the ring under the small light before holding it out to her between two fingers. “It may need to be resized… which is hard to do. Even harder with these diamonds and I wouldn’t recommend it. This one might be a bit big for you. Size 5 yes?” he asked but she had no idea what size her fingers were, never having cared until now that the ring she wanted would fit the finger she wanted to put it on.

Pi’s gaze lifted quickly to Elliot, questioning, then down again, not sure. “I like them… something like this…” She held the ring, but didn’t put it on. She didn’t want to put something on her finger that wasn’t exactly right, that didn’t feel exactly like it should. These rings were close, so close… but they didn’t call to her. Not exactly.

[Lancaster]

Never before had Elliot considered spending so much money on a piece of jewellery. Even his mother had never received anything so expensive from him. No, his mother normally received postcards, filled with poetic scrawl. Maybe a handmade scarf that he’d bought from a market in Borneo, or a hand beaten metal plate from India. Random things that spoke of the place that he was in. Suffice to say, she’d got nothing but her scrawled postcards for the past three years. Elliot didn’t think it would do to send her a zombie ear or a feral fang – and he no longer felt like a tourist. And his communications with his mother grew to be less and less. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t moved on from this city. She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t come home. One day, he was going to have to break the news to her.

She was in Australia. What harm could come to her?

Elliot cleared his throat as he pushed all thoughts of his mother from his head. Maybe the memory of her had come on purpose. They were buying wedding rings, for ****’s sake. Though Elliot had never entertained the notion of getting married, he knew now that if he ever had, his mother would be there. Somehow, he would make it happen. There was no way she would ever miss anything like that. He knew, then and there, that if he and Pi were going to be bound, he wasn’t sure he wanted a big ceremony. He would have to tell his mother he eloped. It would break her heart, but she would understand. She would have to. She knew her son. She knew it was something he was likely to do.

No, he had to stop thinking about his mother. Because it was only making him sad, and he didn’t want to be sad. Not tonight. He re-focused on the conversation at hand, humming questioningly as Pi turned her inquisitive gaze in his direction.

Maybe he’d drifted off to begin with because she’s started conversing in French. He had a habit of drifting off when she did that. He would start to learn the language, soon. He would. Maybe he would surprise her with it. One day he’ll answer her in French and she’ll fall off her chair. It would be hilarious. He smirked, thinking about it, but reached forward to take the paired ring from its spot nestled in the cloth of the display.

They were there not to hold the rings in their fingers and hum and hah over them without trying them on. Elliot nodded at Pi and slipped the ring onto the ring finger – the one that it would be nestled against for eternity. Or… well, it did make him wonder. This was such a human tradition, with rings made to last a human lifetime. Maybe a few human lifetimes. But then, he supposed they hadn’t done the ritual, yet. They weren’t bound for eternity. Yet. But still. It was on the cards, maybe, for a future possibility. Would they get new rings, then? Would they just replace these rings once they were broken beyond repair? Or would they actually last through eternity?

The ring fit perfectly, shining brightly against Elliot’s skin. Skin that wasn’t as pale as Pi’s. Elliot’s skin had a healthy glow to it. A redness, that denied what he was. For all intents and purposes, to any who hadn’t the ability to tell otherwise, he appeared human. But he got no sun, so of course his skin would be a little pasty.

He liked the ring. He clenched and unclenched his fist, and shook his hand to try to dislodge the piece of jewellery, but it was a good fit. Sturdy. It didn’t shift, and it wasn’t too tight. He held it out to admire – and for Pi to admire, too. He turned a curious gaze toward the jeweller.

”How long do these things last?”” he asked. ”I mean. Is there a point at which this metal will start to disintegrate? Will it… weather well, into antiquity? Let’s say someone still had it one thousand years from now. Would it still be as sturdy as it is today?” he asked, deadly serious. The expression on Elliot’s face cut the salesman’s laughter short.

“Aaaah,” he started. He was thinking, obviously. He shook his head. “Honestly, sir, I cannot give you an answer to that question. I could say yes, but… well none of us could live that long to test it now, could we?” he asked with a chortle. Elliot joined in with the laughter, though his wasn’t quite as amused. Instead, it spokes volumes of I know something you don’t.

“Well, when I reach one thousand years old and the ring isn’t as sturdy as it was the day it was bought, I can’t exactly come back and ask you for a refund. So you’re safe,” Elliot said. Though, of course the man assumed Elliot was joking. Elliot turned to Pi – she was probably going to slap him if he didn’t shut up, so he cleared his throat.

“So? What do you think?” he asked, still holding his hand out in front of him.

[Pi dArtois]

The price tag was exorbitant. She almost expected the ring to have no price tag at all for fear of making the not so rich faint dead away and to avoid embarrassing the rich of the world because the not too flush people knew exactly what the other side paid for the thing. Pi stared at the ring and wondered if maybe she’d lost her mind. She loved it, but she wasn’t sure, she would know right if it ran down the street and whacked her with a baseball bat. She worried with the idea that she came across a ring that drew her, at the very first shop. She worried that she wasn’t experienced enough at this ring shopping business to get it right. And then she wanted to smack herself around because all her worrying made her internal voice sound like a whack job.

And then Elliot put the ring on and her gaze arrested on his hand, stuck staring at the band of platinum. Her breathing (yes redundant but still functioning) stopped. The shop fell away for about two seconds as her world tried to adjust beneath her feet, moving the earth, the very foundation of her being and messing with her equilibrium.

“Oh.” She said rather lamely, finally wrenching her gaze away from his hand only to tune into what he was saying mid-sentence. Understanding drove her eyebrows up along with her shocked gaze as it switched between Elliot’s face and the shop keeper’s.

Of all the asinine things Elliot could say, Pi thought, seriously considering reaching over and slugging him in the side of the arm. What did he think he was saying. “Elliot.” She said quietly, in a tone that spoke volumes without changing tone or intonation. It was the voice a woman would who couldn’t believe what had just come out of the man’s mouth.

Whether the words were an issue depended solely on the man who stood behind the glass counter his expression clearing of its confused humour as he sought to explain to Elliot the properties of the ring that would (by all accounts) mean it would last the long haul (long haul for them being eternity) and laughed at Elliot’s reference to his one thousandth birthday.

Narrowing her gaze as Elliot looked her way she shot him an I’ll get you later look reserved for women to aim at the men in their lives who were being frustratingly… male. It didn’t seem to make a dent at all before he distracted her. Again. With that ring. That damn ring that looked so good on his hand.

It said hers in a way that nothing had before. He had been hers and her his for so long it was ingrained in her, this connection they had. In the beginning she didn’t think these rings would mean much, not really. But it had built, this idea of him wearing that symbol, the idea of her wearing one in return. It was an ancient rite and it pulled at something visceral in her belly, unfurling a possessiveness she’d always suspected she had, which now grew even larger. God, she was in so much trouble.

Reaching out an unsteady hand she laid her fingertips along the ring on his hand, twisted it, spinning it in a circle below his knuckle. It fight perfectly, it looked right, as right as she expected the ring to look on him. Something clicked, a recognition, that gut wrenching instinct that told her this was right… this was the right ‘feeling’ she’d been looking for. Lifting her gaze to his she smiled, holding out the partner to the one he wore, the one the store owner had given her.

“Please?” she asked, her request not requiring verbalizing as her question clear for him to see in the expression she lifted to him. It felt right to ask him to do this, significant, their own ceremony in the way a wedding would never be. In a way a wedding ceremony didn’t quite fit either of them.

“I would like to see how this one looks on me.” She hoped it fit. She hoped the shopkeeper was wrong and that it wouldn’t need to be size, that it would be just like the one Elliot had placed on his hand, a perfect fit. As much the right ring for her hand, as Elliot’s had been for his.

And nerves fluttered in her stomach, tentative.

[Lancaster]

The way Pi spoke his name aroused Elliot in the best – worst? – way possible. The was a man subject to the most violent mood swings known to man, and unfortunately they hit him hardest when they were negative. Even when he was neither happy nor sad, they tended toward the negative, given his particular flavour of restlessness. When neither happy nor sad, boredom set in. And boredom was never healthy for a restless person. It was never safe.

Tonight, however, Elliot was not bored. He was not sad. He was not restless. He was happy; happier than he had been in a very long time. Happiness for Elliot always led to a specific kind of childishness. Playful, and teasing. Never a cruel kind of teasing, and never a mean kind of playfulness. Always aware of the people around him, he never sought to have fun at their expense. Instead, he always tried to pull them into it. As many people as possible.

Like that time he’d come across the Hare Krishna in the street, and he’d joined in the dance. That was the kind of happiness he liked to promote – the kind that the Hare Krishna spread. It was spiritual, in a way – but of course, Elliot did not believe in God. He believed in a personal kind of spirituality. Which was why none of this caused him any kind of embarrassment. When Pi held out the ring and asked him please, he knew exactly what she was asking. He did not look up at the salesman. He did not roll his eyes or make this moment any less meaningful than it should be. Instead, he zoned in on that dual-toned ring, with its sparkling diamonds. He plucked the cold metal from Pi’s palm, and turned his entire body to face her.

The salesman would be their witness, and this would be their wedding. Of sorts. They were a backward kind of couple, and an actual ceremony might come, one day. But it was a day they would both recognise when it landed on their doorstep. It was not something that they had to push for. There was no urgency. They’d been in each other’s company for three years, now. Two years as a couple. This seemed right. This was the right course of action.

Elliot’s fingers stroked Pi’s palm, from the tender skin of her wrist – which he longed to kiss, teeth aching as he imagined canines sinking in, breaking the vein beneath – to the tips of her fingers. He held her fingers gently as he first brought her knuckles to his mouth, pressing a whiskery kiss to her cold hand. The entire time, he kept his eyes on Pi’s, his hair behaving for once and not getting in the way. He only looked away when he brought her hand down, level with his chest; he coaxed her fingers out, to splay, before he held the ring at the tip, lingering over her fingernail. He arched a brow at Pi, as if asking if she was ready, before he pushed the metal over the knuckle, down to the base of her finger.

The diamonds glinted in the dim light, bright against the silver of the platinum band. He twisted the ring on her finger; to him, it didn’t seem too big, and it certainly wasn’t too small. But it was Pi’s finger, and only she could know whether it was a comfortable size. The two of them had pale skin, and the silver suited. Even though it was a white metal, it was still a rich kind of white, so it didn’t look washed out. Elliot’s heart did a flip in his chest. There was something so… primal, about putting that ring on Pi’s finger. This was the very reason why they had come. Because he wanted to make a claim. This was it. This was the claim. The gesture had been committed, and now he felt committed, too. And it felt good. It felt strong. It strengthened him, as Pi’s presence always had.

Again, he arched a brow. He didn’t have to say anything. He held his own hand up next to Pi’s, as if comparing the matching ring, her hands petite and small beside his large and knobbly ones. He was curious as to whether Pi thought they were right – and he would wait for her to say so. The words that slipped from his lips were not an answer, or an assessment. Just a statement, that seemed right.

”I do.”

[Pi dArtois]

Her heart stuttered, beat, stop, beating again as if her will couldn’t quite focus enough to keep it pumping and forgot in her distraction how she had willed it to continue even though she didn’t need it to beat. It did anyway, tonight, as she watched Elliot take the ring from her and give her that look, teasing and soulful, a stretching of the universe in one single glance and she fell into it, a sea deep and blue, with swirls of eddying green pulling her into its depths until she willingly surrendered to the sensation.

It was sometimes like that with this man, a pull beyond her own power to resist, an innate need to let herself drift with him. And she had decided a few months ago, that Asteria was largely right when she said that Pi cared more for Elliot, because it was true. Deep in her gut, where her warm fuzzies leapt around in joyous abandon when he was around, knew it to be true too. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for the man. It was a blessing and a curse, too much for her one body to contain sometimes, too many emotions broiling, not all of them good ones.

She was possessive she found and protective. She was soft where he was concerned, softer now than she’d ever been before, and her underbelly had developed a soft spot, a weakness and as much as she wanted to protect it and him, she had willingly let her heart go, to talk free with this man who could, with one world destroy everything she was.

Or like now, with two words, complete her in a way she hadn’t known she needed to be to be completed.

Marriage. That’s what this was, this tiny ceremony in this innocuous shop, on a night so frigidly cold even vampires wrapped up against the weather or stayed indoors because it was worse than inclement. Yet here they were. One small man, older, his eyes shining at them, a small smile widening on his face into a bigger one. Even he could see the significance of the words, (who wouldn’t) and he kept his counsel and let the moment linger.

There was something visceral about this moment. Primal. She could see it in Elliot’s gaze, read the possession there as he dropped his eyes to their joined hands and the ring he held against her finger. Her heart continued with his jack rabbit pace, racing, stopping, racing again. It didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know what to do. But to stand there and feel and want and need. The ring was perfect, the first they’d looked at. The only one she’d tried on, as if it had been waiting for them all along to come into this store on this night to find it and make it theirs, hers, together.

Threading her fingers with his, their rings sitting together, held there by their hands. She answered softly.

“I do.”

[Pi dArtois]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

‹Lancaster dArtois›The smile that split Elliot’s face was unbridled and uncontrolled. The rings fit, and it would seem that they were the ones that they would buy. The right ones. Subtle, they were. Not too gaudy. Practical, given their extracurricular activities. Though Elliot kept his ringed hand curled around Pi’s, the other wrapped around her waist so that their hips bumped. “I love you,” he said. “Forever,” he murmured, his voice low and deep, uttering the words meant for Pi’s ears only. His tall body was awkwardly bent as he leaned over to claim her lips in a slow kiss – sealing the bond that they had entered into.

Elliot could feel the giddy happiness billowing from Pi, like a storm coming in from the West on an incredibly hot and humid day. It was refreshing, and a relief. From somewhere off to the side, Elliot could feel the old jeweller’s approval – could even feel, physically, as the man took a step back and busied himself with something else, so as not to intrude on the moment, when Pi’s fingers threaded through Elliot’s and they were left alone. It was hardly the most romantic location for their ‘wedding’, but it would do. And they had a witness, too. A completely unbiased witness. A man who would profit from their love.

<Pi d’Artois> Of course they would do it this way, it felt fitting. Unique in the way their relationship had started and would only continue in the same vein. “I love you too.” She murmured just as softly against lips that moved across hers, and around the mouth that opened under her and let her taste of him. “Forever.” She repeated too, because they felt like vows, neither flowery or long but as moving as those spoken by a pastor at the front of a church with rows of people watching. She’d have felt like a spectacle like that. Here it felt like just the two of them and this moment where they joined hands and lives and dedicated it to each other.

Maybe it wasn’t a normal sort of wedding and maybe people would wonder if it was anything resembling a wedding at all given the location, the words and the one witness who busied himself behind the counter to give them privacy. But it was, exactly that. Hugging herself closer she shifted her body upwards, leaning into his and stretching herself up to mould herself to him.

‹Lancaster dArtois› It wasn’t really a marriage. Not technically. There was no ritualist binding them with unbreakable magic, and there was no lawyer waiting in the sidelines to talk to them about all the terms of the legal contract that they would both have to sign – as if people’s hearts could be represented in legalese. All Elliot’s money was Pi’s, anyway – he gladly gave her whatever she needed, and if it were possible their bank accounts would probably already be linked.

To no one else would this be a wedding. If this whole story were told to an unbiased party, they’d probably laugh and say that it meant nothing. But it would always mean something to Elliot and Pi, and really, they’re the only two people who mattered. They didn’t need this for any other purpose than to make each other happy. They already have property together and they’re never going to have kids. Marriage is an archaic settlement that had probably lost much of its significance.

[Lancaster]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
‹Lancaster dArtois›
This, however, was significant. Elliot could have gone on kissing Pi. And, really, he did – for at least three to five minutes he stood there with her moulded against him, and fought the urge to lift her up onto the glass counter top so that she would be level with him. It might be taking their display of affection too far, and it might test the shopkeeper’s patience. So, after a while, Elliot broke the kiss – with a slight nip to Pi’s lower pout to promise her they could continue later – and turned to the old man behind the counter.

“I don’t think we’ll be taking them off,” he said, still grinning from ear to ear. He had his hand wrapped around Pi’s waist, still holding her close. He dug his wallet out of his pocket. “How much?” he asked.

<Pi d’Artois> “No, we won’t.” Pi replied, turning in Elliot’s arms, letting herself linger there while Elliot towered over and behind her. It was a position of weakness and one of trust. She gave Elliot her back and willingly let him envelope her with his own body. It was also a position of complete and utter contentment, as she relaxed back into the curve of his body, her hand lifting to rest on the counter in front of her.

Her lips felt sensitive, bruised in they way lips became when they’ve been well and truly loved and the sensitivity of them made her smile too, made her want to lift a hand to touch them, to remember the kiss they had just shared and what it meant. She knew she looked silly, and ridiculously happy. They had become in five minutes one of those couples, the ones that look and act together, too together, if that were even possible. The tight knot of a relationship where they gladly twined around the other, separate vines who had managed to twist themselves into one not knowing where one ended and the other began. Right now she felt like one of those couples that finished each other’s sentences and spoke volumes with single looks. Annoying friends with their saccharine togetherness that was commented on with statements like “If you see Pi, Elliot will be somewhere close.. or Here’s Elliot… I bet Pi’s following to far behind.”

And they had managed, in their good fortune, to come across a romantically minded jeweller. But then, what jeweller wasn’t really. This old man, with his kind eyes who obviously took his craft seriously and just as seriously looked for the right homes for the things he has created. His rings had found their home with her and Elliot.

When he approached them once more his eyes shone, a little too brightly. A bright that spoke of sheds tears that hadn’t fallen but wanted to. It made her feel softer too, watching him look at them and to do so with such obvious affection. It was a surface affection, one that spoke of his own experiences, his own walk down memory lane, maybe other couples like her and Elliot, maybe his own love and their own declarations. This, was obviously why he created the jewellery he did because the price he told them was way below the price she’d seen on the bottom of the ring box.

“Ninety thousand.” He said quietly, “They are Amaranthine Rings, I had them blessed, for good fortune and to find… home with people who would love them as much as they loved eachother.”

Pi’s grin widened and she turned in Elliot’s arms. “Perfect.” She said. She didn’t know the significance of what that meant, didn’t know enough of vampire lore to understand anything of significance from them being Amaranthine, but it felt right. It all felt. Just right.

[Lancaster]

Perfect, Pi said, as if ninety thousand dollars for a pair of rings was perfectly reasonable. Elliot wasn’t sure about much in regards to the cost of things in life, but he was growing more savvy by the day. He heckled with retailers and other businesses on a weekly basis, and had bought enough property by now to at least get a grip on comparisons. These two tiny circles of metal, for example, were about to cost them the equivalent of nearly two apartments. That couldn’t possibly be reasonable, could it? Elliot arched a brow at the salesman, intently focused upon him. He was trying to sense guilt, or some kind of evasiveness. Was he trying to swindle them, somehow? Instead, Elliot could feel modesty, and generosity, as if the price he was offering was less than usual. It must have had something to do with this blessing that he talked about.

Which actually had Elliot wondering how much this guy knew about rituals, or the Fae. Maybe he was more clued in on things than they previously assumed, and Elliot’s little ramble about eternity and how long the rings would last might not have gone completely over the man’s head. Or maybe he was just some hippie into woowoo ****.

Anyway. Pi said perfect. If Elliot was paranoid he would think this was exactly what the shopkeeper had hoped for; a couple so in love that they would spend whatever money on each other without batting an eyelash. But Elliot wasn’t generally a paranoid kind of person, and ninety thousand dollars out of the growing million he had in his bank account was hardly anything. He was happy to give it to this man, if only because he had not judged Pi and Elliot and assumed they wouldn’t have enough money to begin with. Any other shopkeeper might have taken one look and refused to even let them try on the rings. This guy didn’t even show the slightest bit of worry when Elliot had said they weren’t going to take the rings off. They could have been thieves, for all he knew. They could have just walked out. And who would have stopped them?

So with a belated shrug, Elliot nodded. He pulled out his credit card – he wondered whether it would even take ninety thousand in one hit. But he was willing to give it a shot.

”These things had better still be good in two hundred years,” Elliot said. He was mock joking. Half not, though. The man just chuckled good-naturedly and took the card from Elliot; Elliot, who half leaned against Pi even as she leaned against him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.