Out, Damned Spot [Keara]

[Peter Parkman]

Ingredients. Rituals. Things that Peter might investigate himself, sooner or later. The fae fascinated him. Simultaneously, they terrified him. But they were older than this city. They were older than anyone within the city. Older than Keara. They were a source of history that probably could not be manipulated, but some research into the rituals and the ingredients used might unearth something. Anything. Something interesting to keep him distracted. Something to move forward with.

That was one of the things Peter struggled with. Or, he didn’t so much struggle insomuch that he thought about it a lot. Death was something that humans needed. People, generally, need. Knowing that one’s life had an expiration date inspired them to do something with it. To get a job. To do what made them happy. To get married and have children to carry on their bloodline; to do the things that they could not.

Peter would never have children. But he could pass on his blood to others. He could save people who needed saving; could give them a choice that he had not had. Whitaker has wanted it. He had asked for it. There could be others like Whit. Others who might die otherwise and who could not bear to think of giving up their lives so soon. This would help Peter to keep going – even though he’s got no expiration date, now. Not really. There were things that he could do help others. Not just the animals, but the humans too. The other vampires. He could try to seek as much as their history as he could, in order to help their future. History always yielded answers.

Peter blinked down at Keara, grounding his thoughts to focus upon her.

”I have money,” he said, clearly. Hastily.

”I have far too much money. I can buy it,” he said. ”What is it?” he asked. At least curious, now, to know what kind of ingredient might be required for that kind of ritual. And, at least, wanting to help in whatever way he can in this thing that Keara wants to do for him.

[Keara Aithne]

Peter seemed to be drawn out of his routine, either by her words or deeds. She hadn't meant to distract him so fully or pull him back into the conversation. She was, in a way trying to tell him that she was there for him despite the fact that she was about to walk out of the door and leave him alone.

"Polar bear pelt required is. As imagine you can, this a specialist item is. Acquire that another way I cannot, as no polar bears there are in Harper Rock."

Keara couldn't lie, but in this she wasn't exactly certain as the local zoo possibly had a mating pair in their exhibit. Of course killing them wouldn't go unnoticed, so it was much safer (in regards to this particular ingredient) to purchase the item through a third party. She wasn't entirely sure where they came from of course. There likely wasn't a breeder of polar bears rearing cubs for this purpose. Though she wasn't entirely sure about that. In Harper Rock almost anything was possible.

"If wish you do the pelt to buy, then do that you may. Stop you I shall not." A soft smile graced her lips as she nodded to him. "If get me the pelt do, perform I shall the ritual as soon as I the other ingredients have do."

If Peter wanted the opportunity to sire more childer Keara wasn’t going to deny it him. The sooner the better in fact, if that was his choice as she never wanted to see him so withdrawn again. Her son had returned home in shock and she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as to the fact that she hadn’t thought to perform the ritual sooner and pre-empt this situation; though who could have foreseen this situation was beyond her. Hindsight, as they say, is a wonderful thing. A very small part of Keara began to wonder if perhaps she should pay closer attention to the family numbers and help those she knew might require it without the need of them asking. This was a thought she quickly dismissed however as doing so would be to impose something on her family members that they did not desire.

“Know you do, where to find me you can, once you the pelt have. If you the pelt acquire. If wish you do, that is, for the ritual by me for cast to be.”

She moved towards the door as she spoke, her hand on the handle as she cast her eyes back at her son, pausing just long enough to see if he would reply as to whether or not this was something he desired or not. She knew she wouldn’t be going far this night and even if she did, she would likely not be gone for very long. If Peter wished to seek her out with any degree of urgency, he would know exactly how to get a hold of her and even if it wasn’t urgent and could in fact wait a few days or weeks, the likelihood was that she would be nearby if and when the time came. All that remained was Peter to decide what he wanted to do. The rest, as they say, would be easy.

[Peter Parkman]

Peter cringed, inwardly and outwardly. He’d thought perhaps that Keara needed a rare plant, or some gem that would cost a fortune to find or cut out of stone. Something of an inanimate nature that was rare and thus expensive. A pelt was something entirely different, however. Of course Peter could understand why a Polar Bear pelt might be expensive; his thoughts drift, momentarily, and he wonders whether the danger to polar bears was not the melting of the polar ice caps but instead the vampire population who might constantly be plumbing the bear’s numbers in order to increase their own.

The idea left Peter a little dumbfounded, his hands fluttering over the books as his mind both tried to process and ignore the fact that he would need to inadvertently harm such a majestic creature in order to have this ritual performed upon him. Would it be worth it? No, if he were to go to the shop and ask for a polar bear pelt he doubted they’d have someone travel all the way to the arctic to kill one of the beasts and procure it for him. They’d probably have one on hand. But he’d be taking one out of their stores, so they’d have to seek to replace it, wouldn’t they?

It was a moral dilemma that he couldn’t quite jump right there and then. He nodded at Keara as she waited by the door, but shook his head directly afterward. ”No. I mean. Yes, I think the ritual might be nice but why does it have to be a polar bear?” he asked. He wished he hadn’t inquired, now, what the item was that Keara needed that would cost so much. His current question is rhetorical, really; more an indication of his distaste than an actual question. He shakes his head as if to clear it away.

”Thank you, Keara. I’ll think about it. Even if I just… send you the money,” he says, flinching again. How is that any better? He’ll still know what the money was sent to buy. He really was entirely unsure whether this was something that he could condone.

[Keara Aithne]

There were some questions Keara would not be able to answer and this was one of them. She'd never told her family that she would always be able to answer their questions, only that she would try. Despite her age and experiences, she did not know everything.

"Know I do not why. Why never a question was for me. Required these things are. Accept I do what fact is. In this at least. If something works does. Worry I seldom do as to why. Send the money you may. That too acceptable would be."

She smiled at Peter, nodded her head and spun on her heels before striding out of the room. The conversation, in her mind, was over. She had calmed her son down, they had identified the problem, found the solution and all that was left was to act upon it. Regardless of his decision she would check upon the materials required and make sure that she had what was necessary to perform the ritual for him. She did not worry for the ingredients and while she respected animals, she did not share the same moral indecision as her son. She was practical. If she needed a pelt she would happily skin the animal herself, just as if a human needed to be silenced she could happily take a life. She certainly would not put the life of an animal before that of the mental state of her son. But that was not her decision. That was his.

With nothing more to say and only a little more to do by way of preparation, it had been time to leave so that peter could get on with the task with re-arranging his books and working through his issues alone. If he needed her, for any reason, he knew where to find her. Stepping into the corridor, she didn't wait for the elevator but rather used her tome to take her directly to where she needed to be.

[Peter Parkman]

Alone is how Peter had spent a lot of his childhood. Some of his adulthood had been soothed by the company of others who understood him, but alone is where he functioned best. As soon as Keara was gone, Peter shut the door behind her. He tried not to think about the polar bear or the pelt that would be needed to help him. Instead, he sighed in relief as the room became that cube that he knew so well; he knew the exact measurements of every single wall and the exact numbers provided a calming blanket and warm space for him to abide in.

Long strides took him back toward the books which he continued to pull from the shelves until the shelves were completely empty. He sorted them into piles by topic or genre, agonising over how many different sections there would be. Once that was decided, he organised them by the author’s last name, alphabetically. One day, he would devise his own numerical system. But his library wasn’t big enough for that yet. Alphabet was good enough.

He spent hours—the rest of the night, in fact—re-organising his books. It helped to reorganise his mind, shifting all the various thoughts and emotions into their proper drawers and corners. The storm had abated and now he was cleaning up, picking up the pieces of debris that might trip him over later. All the niggling little things that might cause him to trip into chaos later on were put thrown away. At least, Peter tried to throw them away, subconsciously, but also subconsciously knew that those things were just out of sight. They were never out of mind.

He didn’t go back to the cabin that night. Instead, he pulled the large armchair over to the small fireplace in the room that he claimed as his own. He curled up on the armchair and slept there, in front of the warmth of the fire in the cube of a room within which he felt safe.