The Futurist [Pi]

[Lancaster]

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


<Pi d’Artois> I’ll be there it said and she wondered why she felt like those words were ominous. She didn’t know Hamlet very well, had never had a chance to beyond that one night when he’d taken her to meet his mother. She hadn’t understood him then and hadn’t reconciled the man he had shown her to the carefree sounding one on the family Crow. There was nothing dark in the nature of his playful posts to the rest of the family and she wondered at him odd opposing personalities. Despite the fact they had gone to see his mother when he’d taken her out for their first night after the auction it wasn’t as innocuous as it should have been.

She wasn’t sure how the man had managed to imbue a trip to ones mother with something other than the home coming it should have been. Well, she assumed it should have been, it was hardly like she had any sort of maternal compass with which to judge such things. But the whole encounter was rife with double entendre he emphasised seemingly innocuous statements until she felt like she was walking a tight rope. She’d been glad to leave.

Glad too he had never called her back for another of those nights she owed him. These emails were unexpected and unwelcome. She wasn’t keen to discover why after all this time he’d realised he still held one of her markers.

I’ll be there the last email said and she knew right then that she had to tell Elliot about all of it. Because he needed to know and because she needed to know she wasn’t crazy for feeling like she was and damn her, she had no idea how to take the emails. They felt almost seductive, flirtatious, but that hadn’t been what she’d thought of the man. Was she wrong? Was it merely a forgetful man who had finally remembered something he’d forgotten? None of it could be answered easily, least of her by herself.

So she called the only man she trusted to ask, and the only man who needed to know because God knew, she wasn’t going to step out with a stranger and not tell the man she loved about it. She didn’t know much relationships, but that much she could figure out on her own. That’s just not what you did when you loved someone. You didn’t leave them in the dark, not about things like this. She was walking from his living room into the studio, standing before the glass and waited for him to finish with what he was recording before she leaned forward to press the intercom into the glass room. “Elliot?” She spoke softly, her gaze worried.. “Have you got a moment?”



<Elliot d’Artois> There were certain things that Elliot didn’t tell Pi. Not because he was trying to be secretive. But because some things were entirely need-to-know, and with the way she’d reacted to the very innocuous things that Skylar had done in the past, there was no way he was going to give Pi any reason to get unreasonably angry. Like when he’d gone to see Skylar at her apartment, after she’d bitten Dillon and the guy didn’t forget. She’d pretended she had a date. The text message that she’d sent to Elliot named him as her date. She hadn’t meant it. She hadn’t literally thought that Elliot was going to be her date for the evening – but he could just imagine Pi reading that text message and getting all the wrong ideas. It was a small interaction that didn’t need to be shared.

He’d also had a conversation with Mick recently that he hadn’t mentioned to Pi. It hadn’t been a planned meeting. The woman had come to the bar and Elliot had taken some time out of his schedule to sit and chat with her – he hadn’t seen her in a while. The conversation they’d had went beyond idle chit chat. They hadn’t talked about the weather or the latest news. Instead, they’d talked about their shared lamentation about this city, and how it felt like mud, sometimes. Mud that they were both stuck in, unable to move. Harper Rock was the light that they, as moths, couldn’t help but always circle back to. These were not things that he discussed with Pi. Because he didn’t want her to feel guilty. He didn’t want her to feel like she wasn’t enough.

Even though, tit for tat. Elliot hadn’t felt like enough when she’d wanted, needed to get into Tytonidae. And when she hadn’t, he felt like he wasn’t enough when she’d spiralled. It seemed selfish, to claim that he felt like he wanted to be enough. And so he didn’t mention these things.

When he sat in the recording studio, it was only to get down the things that he wanted to remember. He wasn’t ever going to release his music to the world at large. He wasn’t looking to be famous. Everything he recorded was lined up in nameless cases over on the wall. Well, they weren’t nameless. They had dates, written in his chicken scrawl, on the sides. But that was the extent of his creation. They didn’t leave this room.

When Pi tapped on the glass, Elliot glanced up. He nodded. He paused the music on his laptop, and stood. He rolled back in his chair and exited the room. The frown that furrowed his brow was an echo of Pi’s. He didn’t like it when she looked concerned. It never boded well. He gestured to the stools that stood at the kitchen bench. “What’s up?” he asked as he sauntered toward one of them, easing himself up into one of them. Though, with his height, it wasn’t so much ‘easing up’ as it was just…sitting down.



<Pi d’Artois> Pi wasn’t much one for trying to explain, and how was she meant to word it anyway, so she very simply handed him her cell phone with the first email from Hamlet open. She didn’t know what to think about it, felt confused about what it could mean over all and she wanted Elliot’s opinion on the situation. He was the calm one, the rational one and to be honest he had more experience with things like this. Was Hamlet indicating at something more? She didn’t know, and couldn’t tell. Pi tended to miss the subtleties of interactions between people. She wasn’t always aware of under currents and knew it was a failing she wasn’t going to be able to fix quickly. She just wasn’t hardwired that way.

She waited for him to take it from her and spoke quietly. “I know you remember Hamlet… before you and I… I was up for auction and he bought my time. But he only took, one night of it. He’d bought three. He took me to meet his mother.” She stopped there, her brow furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t understand why he did that… took me to see her. She obviously didn’t know what he was and loved him but it felt.. off somehow.”

It was hard to figure how much to tell him of that night, the motorcycle ride and the surreal nature of the whole event. There were more undercurrents there too but she couldn’t figure them out, not then or now.

“He… wants his other two nights.” She finished, her hand lifting to motion towards the phone Elliot held. “And I have… well I have to go. But…. What am I missing?” It was one of the first times she’d asked Elliot for his help to guide her through navigation her obvious lack of soft skills. Him knowing about her past helped. He has context, the context of her past to help him help her figure out how she was meant to handle it. “I feel like I’m missing something. But I don’t know what.”



<Elliot d’Artois> Hamlet. There was that name – that name. Mick had said that name, except she hadn’t called him Hamlet. She’d called him Jameson. Had Elliot ever met Hamlet? Maybe. Had to have – or maybe he just knew the name through Pi. Elliot arched a brow and took the phone from Pi. That brow only arched higher as he began to read. Elliot could be reasonable. He was reasonable, the majority of the time. He took a breath in and held it; he read on in the same way that most people are unable to look away from car crashes. They want to see what went wrong. They want to see the horror that they themselves narrowly avoided.

Though really, Elliot read on because he wanted to see exactly how much of a threat Hamlet was. Yeah, Mick had talked about him; had said she was back in Harper Rock because it was where he wanted to be. It sounded like the kind of thing a lover might say, but she had never said it outright. Had never said Hamlet is my beau, I love him and he loves me. And that definitely wasn’t the impression Elliot got, reading over the emails. He read the whole thread. Rather than get angry, he had to remember the reason why Pi was showing him this. She didn’t understand. That was the reason why she hadn’t laughed and told Hamlet not to get his hopes up – she was taken. If she didn’t understand, he couldn’t be angry at her lack of mentioning him – except as someone she’s turned.

“What are you missing? He wants to **** you,” he said, and then he paused, sighed, shook his head. He glanced away and waved his hand in the air as if to erase his rash response, the crudeness of it. He even smiled. Underneath it all, he was amused. Of course he knew how alluring Pi could be, even if she didn’t want to be. He could see what others might like in her. And he should feel proud to have her – because they don’t.

“Reading this, it looks very much like he wants a romantic encounter. Like he’d love to lay with you under the stars and breathe you in. You might owe him two nights, Pi, but there are lines that you won’t cross. Right? And it’s been a year. There’s been another auction. There should be a stipulation. Isn’t there a stipulation? It’s been too long,” he said. Because, of course, he doesn’t want her to go.



<Pi d’Artois> Pi blinked at his words, her eyes widening and her gaze fell to the phone in his hand as if looking at what Elliot was looking at would give her some idea at the additional clues to what lay in those messages he saw but she hadn’t. Or had she? There had to be a reason she felt uneasy. People didn’t speak to her like that, not really. She was largely invisible, or thought she was, and had accepted it. But maybe she knew deep down that the messages held another meaning she wasn’t grasping, cause why else would she ask about them?

“Surely not.” She said finally, not really believing his assessment even as his words swayed in that way. She took the phone from him, quickly scrolling back to the beginning of the emails to skim through them again. She wasn’t an innocent or ignorant, but she had to accept too that she wasn’t wired to consider herself … alluring, despite the fact Elliot thought her that way. Reading them again she shook her head, trying to pull from the words what Elliot saw.

“I… I don’t know.” Was the pithy answer she’d gave Elliot then. She’d only put herself up for auction because it had been the Necropolis and it was the first major event her and Elliot had been a part of as new part owners of the place and even then, even when she’d been bought by Hamlet, she hadn’t considered it. And then she remembered. It was the night Doc … Charles had tried to buy her too and her gaze rose to Elliot’s hiding that particular truth behind a blank gaze. There had been two men bidding on her that night, and one of them she’d down wanted her… was attracted to her, why then, couldn’t it have been both?

“Oh.” She whispered, putting the phone down as fast as she could as if distance from the words they’d written to one another could make them less damning. “I didn’t realise he.. that maybe he wanted.. that.” Her slim fingers found their way to her lower lip, worrying the soft flesh with her nervousness. “There aren’t any time limits on the auction we just had.. I don’t know if I can get out of it.. if I should even try.” She finished with a helpless shrug. “I had not.. my auction card is exactly the same as the one I used this year, I hadn’t changed it.. I have never.. offered my… body. So, it can’t be that… he is picking me up on Wednesday.”



<Elliot d’Artois> Sometimes, Elliot wished he didn’t have this sixth sense. He wished he couldn’t read the emotions of others as if they were speaking them out loud. In this moment, he wished he could feel the nuanced, textual way in which Pi’s denial and uncertainty began to mingle with anxious nerves. Nerves. Why should she feel nervous? Why, after now understanding what Hamlet’s veiled words could mean, was she nervous? Was she nervous to meet him? And it was different, now, because she thought he might have ulterior motives? Elliot shifted. The amusement was only really very fleeting.

The first thing he wanted to do was tell her she couldn’t go. He wouldn’t let her. The second thing he wanted to do was tell her that if she insisted, then he would see her off. What time? Where? He would be there, to make sure that Hamlet knew exactly who he was dealing with, and that Pi was entirely off limits. All of that negated any kind of trust in Pi, however, and so he refrained. Instead he leaned up and away from his stool; his fingers grasped at her chin, lips encircling hers. He smiled at her.

“Surely yes,” he murmured. “You are an attractive woman, Papillon,” he said. Why? Maybe to reassure himself that he knew more about her past than anyone else would, and that Hamlet was not a threat. He felt like a threat. He felt like the wolf hidden in the underbrush – and that was a threat, because Pi was a wolf, too. She could find herself a like-mind. There was a very real threat, there. “I was never going to be the only one to think so,” he said. And then he leaned back again. He let Pi go.

<Elliot d’Artois> “It doesn’t matter whether you offered your body or not. The Auction is only an excuse to see you. If that was the only way to get you out – but he’s probably hoping that you’ll… I don’t know. Open up. And he’ll open up. And you’ll… have a heart to heart and form there…” Elliot shrugged. He didn’t want to think about from there. He blinked.

“Why are you nervous, Pi?” he asked. He couldn’t help himself. It was a curiosity. It wasn’t an accusation – at least, he didn’t intend for it to come across that way, but the words were sharper than they were meant to be.



<Pi d’Artois> Pi didn’t have the ability to feel what Elliot was feeling. She’d loved him long enough to know he could, that he could intuit her feelings. What she wouldn’t give to know what was in his mind right now, what was underneath his skin beyond the words he said. Instead she had to gauge his reaction from those words and what she saw in his face. She’d loved him long enough she could gauge some of it, guess the rest and with her own (newly formed) intuition, reach for the rest on her own. She wouldn’t have been happy with these emails. If these were emails he’d shown her between him and another woman she’d want to rip that female’s throat out and attack the emails for the over weaning tripe they were. But she’d be stuck, as she thought he was stuck, because she couldn’t, wouldn’t put his trust in jeopardy anymore than she’d already done with her jealousy. Like she’d done in the auction when Skylar had put her hands on him.

She closed her eyes when he kissed her, lingering over his lips against hers and wishing he’d pressed for more, to deepen the press of lips longer. She sighed when he lifted and moved away

“I …. Just wish it was easier to not have people … be interested.” She answered him, her words clumsy. She didn’t want anyone to be attracted to her. She didn’t want confusion and these discussions about the intentions of another man, because there was no competition to be had for her attention, except, now there felt like there was… against her will. She was expected to spend two nights with a man whose intentions were already murky but now seemed almost sludge with unwelcome potential. “I don’t want it.” She finished, as if that was enough.

“I don’t want this nervousness and confusion. I don’t want any other man potentially wanting to .. breaaaathe me in.” she growled, mimicking the words Elliot had said earlier, those a direct quote from Hamlet’s email to her. “I want it to be simplier.. just us, without the… other stuff. That’s why I’m nervous… so it’s not really nervous so much as… a denial of the whole affair.”

Hopping off her stool she crowded him, making a space for herself between his legs and plastered herself against his chest making herself a pillow of his shoulder. Her hands crawled around his waist and she slumped there. This she understood and knew. This she had faith in and wanted with every part of her. There was no space in her world for the compliments of other men and she didn’t know what to do with them when they were given to her. “I need to go… but I don’t want to go.” Her smile was rueful when she finally lifted her cheek from his chest. “He said to dress comfortably… and all I want to do is wear Carys in her holder, my blade and my fighting leathers, because this doesn’t feel like a compliment… but a war.”



<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot smiled over Pi’s head. A smile that she could not see, as he laid her head on his shoulder. It was a smile that was uncharacteristic on Elliot’s face, because it wasn’t a warm smile. It wasn’t a welcoming thing, nor an amused thing. Instead, it was a dark smile, and in it was inherent the violent nature hidden and tucked away behind his mask of calm and peace. Peace was something that he preached. But deep down, he wasn’t a peaceful man. Deep down he was still, and would always be, at war with himself.

Truth was, he enjoyed imagining Pi with her gun and her sword, first shooting Hamlet in the heart to knock him to the ground, only then to lop off each limb, slowly and precisely, before beheading him. He enjoyed imaging the blood that would water the Earth; sink into the soil and nourish it, maybe, enrich it with all the magical nutrients of a vampire’s body. He would love nothing more than to watch this Hamlet bleed out, until his body was a husk. And then watch that body disperse into dark ash. To drift away on the wind.

Better yet, he imagined himself doing all these things. Not Pi. Maybe he could follow them. Maybe he could lurk around the next corner so that when the man dared to try to lay a paw on Pi, Elliot could feel justified in doing just that. Even though deep down he knew it wouldn’t be justified. Not at all. No one deserved to be de-limbed and beheaded because of a vague and wanton need for a woman. These were images that Elliot kept to himself.

“If that’s what you feel comfortable wearing, then I say wear just that,” Elliot said, wrapping his arms tight around Pi’s shoulders and holding her there, chained to him. His alone. “It’s easy to deny the whole affair, because there is no affair. Be cold and distant. I can be there, if you want. When he picks you up. I’ll pull you in close and I’ll kiss you long and hard. I’ll …” and here he dipped down, his face buried in the crook of Pi’s neck. He breathed in deep, relishing the scent of her, the taste of that scent on his tongue. “…I’ll breathe you in. Right in front of him. So he knows that you are mine. And you are out of bounds,” he said, and not without irritation, this time.

[Pi dArtois]

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

<Pi d’Artois> Pi let herself settle back into his embrace, welcomed his arms as they held her closer still. Her own slim fingers ranged over his back in comfort and compulsion, needing to touch him, to shape his back and lower, and up again. She tilted her head to the side, letting him have free access to the soft column of her neck. The movement was automatic, an instinctual response to his movement, his lips against her skin. This time he didn’t take hold of her with his teeth but spoke, his breath fluttering the hair as he nuzzled against making her shiver.

Before he could pull away she turned, slowly sliding her lips along his jaw, her tongue a gentle lick along his skin as she sought his lips with her own, the journey she took a slow languorous one. She spoke against his skin, just as he had spoken against hers. “If I were you.. I’d want to rip his spine from his body and beat him with it..” she whispered finally finding what she was looking for and finally capturing the kiss she’d wanted from him earlier. “You are mine.” She growled. Her hands uncurled themselves from his waist, smoothed their way over his shoulders to wrap themselves above his shoulders so she could tangle her fingers in his wavy hair.

“Be there when he comes.” She offered, nibbling now at his lips as she spoke, becoming less interested in Hamlet and more interested in the man whose body her hands knew the shape of. “And I’ll wear my guns.” Her smiled stretched against his lips as her eyes finally rose to meet his, dark passion rolling within. “I think that is exactly… what we should do.”



<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot hadn’t yet fed. The scent of her, and the roiling passion that was growing between them – unexpected and yet wholly welcome – had glinting, sharp canines elongating, pressing against his lips. Pressing against hers, as their mouths met and the kiss that he had instigated earlier was repeated, and deepened. Where she smiled against his lips, his brows furrowed. For a few seconds, he was dizzy with it. Not only with the roiling passion but with the need to … do just that. To wrench out his spine. To do more than just that. Hell, Pi knew what he was capable, should any man touch her in a way that he deemed unnecessary. She had seen what he had done to Lex – beaten him to a pulp.

“Believe me,” he said, glancing down at her lips and then back to the blueness of her eyes. “There are things that I want to do but I haven’t spoken them out loud. It would be uncouth,” he said. And he smiled, as if he were joking. And he could do that, couldn’t he? As honest and as genuine as he might be, he could play this off as teasing. Pi knew him as a man who loathed violence. He wasn’t lying to her. But nor was he revealing everything. Again, he took her lips. A slow caress of a kiss, the lower pout tasted by Elliot’s tongue; grazed by his teeth. Their breath mingled, as they spoke.

“Maybe we should buy some rings, hm? You call me husband and I call you wife. We should wear the rings, too,” he said. He didn’t really know what he was saying, except that he wanted there to be some way to mark Pi as his. Some way that he could be marked in return. They already acted like an old married couple sometimes, and the routine was one they’d slipped so heavily into that they’d already started to believe it. Why not go one step further? He was dizzy now with lust for blood. For Pi’s blood, and for Hamlet’s too – though the latter in an entirely different fashion.



<Pi d’Artois> He followed her lead as she knew he would, and she pressed herself against him, hugging him close. Her hands roamed, digging into his hair when he tilted her head to the side to take the kiss deeper. She was distracted by the taste of him and the feel of him under the wandering curve of her hands. Could it be that simple Pi wondered as he captured her lips and the thought swung away from what she was feeling at his touch to what he was saying A ring, to show what they had become. Was it as simple as that, as easy. The outward sign she wanted to keep all others away from her, the one he would wear to mark him as hers.

She didn’t think she could get any closer, but she tried anyway. She pulled at the buttons of his shirt, spreading the collar wide so she could dip her head lower to lave at the hollow of his neck, then pressed closer and took him lips again, just as he’d taken hers. She felt his sharpened canines as they dropped and purposely let her bottom lip slide against their sharp point, just a small slice, enough so she could taste her own blood and he could too. For him, a teaser of what was to come, what they shared and always would. A connection that went beyond feelings and physical but nourished them both, in the giving and taking.

“Yes.” She said easily, simply. As simple as the suggestion, as easy as the shift in her mind had taken months ago. She was his wife already, and the yes was not an acceptance of a proposal because there had been no need for either of them to ask a specific question that expected or needed an answer. They didn’t need a ceremony or a marriage to make it what it already was, a symbol, the ring was a symbol, something they could both wear. “Yes, I would love to wear your ring.. and would… love it if you would wear mine.” It was a visceral thing, this wanting and needing. It pulled at her and sucked her into the moment where only they existed and she dove into it, taking his lips, slipping her hands further into the shirt she’d unbuttoned, actively working to push it off his shoulder so she could run her hands over more of him.



<Elliot d’Artois> In one way, Elliot knew exactly where this was going. The way they tasted each other, the gentle thrum of desire as he tasted her blood – just a small drop of it, and yet it ignited within him the furnace of need. Hunger. A burn at the back of his throat and, of course, in his groin, too. There was absolutely no confusion about the act; with the way Pi’s hands roamed, seeking, it would seem, to de-clothe him. He did not resist. He even released his hold of his lover for a few seconds so that he could quickly unbutton his shirt, to make it easier to remove.

On the other hand, Elliot had no idea where they were going at all. What had he inadvertently done? Rings were indicative of more than just circles of metal that enclosed fingers. Rings, in this context, meant so much more. Never had Elliot actually thought about proposing. Marriage itself was a political farce, in his opinion. It was a way in which the dress shops and the cake shops and the florists of this world could make a fortune; they had nothing to do with love but more to do with who could spend the most amount of money to create the biggest and better event of the year. It was dull contracts, with witnesses. Too much to do with inane man-made laws, instead of about the heart. And the soul. And the intertwining of two people for eternity.

In this life, he was aware there was a lot more to go with it. He knew that those who oversaw vampiric weddings were not priests (and there was no ******* way in hell anyone would get Elliot into a church to get married), they were ritualists. And the ceremony was not just words and scribbled names on paper, but an honest-to-the-gods, actual bonding of two souls. Elliot murmured. His voice rumbled in his throat and as much as he wanted to just pick Pi up and carry her into the bedroom, he had to clarify exactly what it was they were agreeing to.

“Wait, wait…” he laid his hands on Pi’s shoulders and pushed her back, just a little bit. Just enough so that he could look her in the eye. He was a little wary, himself. Not unsure, but this was a big thing. A massive thing. “Are you agreeing just to… to rings? Or...?” he asked, tentative. Assuming that she would read between the lines, and leap beyond the initial question, to what came next.



<Pi d’Artois> He shrugged out of his shirt and she helped him, yanking the fabric off his arms so it pooled on the floor behind them. And since she was standing and he was sitting on the stool beside the kitchen counter she was at the perfect vantage point to take advantage, so she did. It left his chest bare to her hands and her lips and she let herself indulge. All that skin and it was hers to play her fingertips along, all of that tall lanky torso and it was hers too, with the smattering of hair, that was hers too.

Except he spoke and she was tempted to kiss him again to keep him quiet but the words registered as words too and they stopped her. Stopped her enough that she pushed back from the deliciously exposed chest her hands dropping to the waistband of his jeans, resting them there while she watched him. They were close, close enough that if she shifted further a few inches, their noses would touch, their lips would meet. Right now though, her gaze met his, steading on hers.

She had to pull herself back from the edge, and consider what her words were asking of her. Or? He was asking her.. or as if there was something else. Did they need an or, did she want one? She hadn’t even considered a more. She was born of a junkie mother and raised in a foster care system with very little exposure to this ‘or’ he was talking about. What was more? A piece of paper? A judge or a priest, or they were vampires so if the two vampire ceremony’s were anything to go by, then maybe a ritualist if they went that way, but was it even necessary? Was it something she wanted or needed? She didn’t know. She was at heart a simple person, with simple needs and all she’d heard when he’d asked her about rings was… the symbol, the sign of what they meant to one another. She hadn’t even considered a formal ceremony to go with it.

By mentioning it and giving it weight Elliot had brought the potential ceremony to the forefront, making her ask the question she hadn’t considered asking before. Now she didn’t know. If this was the precursor to a ceremony then… wasn’t this meant to be different? Shouldn’t this have been like it was in the movies, with declarations of love, of expressions of forever and the proclamation of unwavering devotion? Her expression probably showed her bewilderment and the only thing she could say was to throw the question back at her. “Or what?”



<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot was trying to figure it out. This sixth sense he had wasn’t always very accurate. People’s emotions weren’t always cut in sharp lines and easy to decipher. He stared into Pi’s eyes, his own narrowing just slightly; his lips pressed together in a curious line as his gaze dipped to her lips and back again. Or what? The long fingers of his hands roamed up, cupping her neck. Touching her skin, because sometimes that helped. But he couldn’t read it. It wasn’t as if she had no idea what it was he was referring to. It wasn’t complete confusion. But confusion was there, too – like she was unsure. Just like he was unsure. What she felt perfectly blended with what he felt.

His hands rode over her shoulders. Slipped down her arms before dropping to the hem of her shirt. Mixed with the confusion was impatience, on Pi’s behalf, and he was aware of why. He’d interrupted what they had started. He was thinking too much and it was getting in the way. But the seed had been planted. He opened his mouth; he sucked in a breath. He hesitated, stopped. His fingers played at the bottom of Pi’s shirt because he planned to very swiftly remove it. It wasn’t fair that he should be the only one with a bare chest. But he was struggling between pretending like he hadn’t asked the question, or continuing.

This was the perfect opportunity, wasn’t it? To gauge how she might feel about such a thing. If she understood in any way what it was he was referring to, surely he’d catch a hint of either dread or excitement. But he felt neither, exuding from Pi. So he shook his head. He decided that now was not the time. And according to his body, they had more important things to attend to.

“Or nothing, never mind. We can go look for some rings tomorrow night,” he said. And then he grinned, tugging Pi’s shirt up, waiting for her to lift her arms so that he could pull it right over her head – and cause her hair to fall in a messy halo around her face. Wild. Carefree. That’s how he liked her.



<Pi d’Artois> Pi let him lift the shirt above her head. Unlike Elliot hers was a stretch cotton, in a soft lemon yellow, no buttons and when he pulled it slipped over her head to join his on the floor. Except, there was no going back to the slide into bed they’d been taking. If this had happened five minutes earlier she’d have willingly crawled into his lap and pulled him over her as she leaned back on the counter and wrapped her legs around his waist. But this wasn’t that five minutes, this was the five that came after his words and despite the fact she stood in front of the man she loved in a demi bra with French lace, she couldn’t get back into the head space. Not without him answering her question, just like he had wanted her to answer his

“Woah… hold on… hold on.” She said, pushing his hands down her hips as his grip travelled up her sides, towards her chest. He’d closed the gap between them, her lips once again moving against the space where his rough five oclock shadow would be if he still had one. “No no … that wasn’t nothing Lan… not just nothing.” She brought her hand up, cupping his chin, her gaze zeroing in on his. “I love you, but .. do you want more? Something? A ceremony, something.. else, other than just rings.. do you really want me … like that?”

She didn’t know her voice sounded astounded, as if the idea he’d want that with her was still something she couldn’t get her head around (and it wasn’t), as if the very idea of him believing her worthy enough to be with formally, permanently. It hadn’t occurred to her, even when he’d said rings, that he might mean forever. It wasn’t a leap her brain had taken. A symbol, yes. Permanent, no. Except now she was hopeful, yearning.. and scared down to her the very heart of her that he’d asked about more, and she wasn’t sure she deserved it, or that he deserved to be tied to someone so…. Broken. “Elliot?” She asked softly, holding his gaze. “What do you want?”

Maybe it made her a weak sort of female, but she would be happy with whatever he chose. She didn’t need a piece of paper, but wanted those rings, those signs that he was hers and she his, and if that meant a ceremony, she’d gladly do it, if that meant just rings… then she’d be happy for that too.



<Elliot d’Artois> Without actually realising what he’d done, Elliot had thrown himself off a very high cliff and was now flailing around in the waves. Pi didn’t let it go. She understood, completely, that much Elliot now knew without a doubt. His body had turned leaden. He was stuck there against the seat of the stool, the back of it trapping him there. Between the chair and Pi, and there was no escape. She was asking him questions and he could either evade, or he could answer them. And if he answered them, he could only answer truthfully.

So he didn’t think about it. He’d been holding his breath, and now it released in a gush, shoving the black hair out of his eyes before it flopped right back down again. His hands remained just above her hips, where there was bare skin. The palms soothed lines, up and down. A nervous twitch, maybe, but in that touch he was pummelled by feelings that were not his own. With a nervous fear, though mainly he heard the blinding chimes of hope. Laughter slid from his throat. The kind of laughter that belonged to an awkward teenage boy asking a girl out on a date for the first time. Nervous laughter.

“Yes,” he said. He didn’t think. He didn’t try to evade the questions, though it meant that when he did answer, the words came out in a jumbled, mumbled mess. “I don’t know what I want or… what I wanted. We already act like… like there’s already been a ceremony and we can go on acting the same after… after we either do or we don’t. I never believed in marriage but marriage itself is a very human thing, right?” he wasn’t finished. His hand cupped over Pi’s as she cupped his face; he caught hold of it, tugged it down, glanced at it. Played with the finger upon which there might soon be a ring.

“And I don’t want a ceremony or big dresses or tuxedoes or bands or… or an audience with their fake smiles and all the ******** that goes with it. It’s not about wanting, but about already having,” he said. He didn’t really know where he was going with this, but he continued anyway. “I have you now like this and I can’t ever imagine it being any different. I want… I want to one day leave Harper Rock but I’m still here because I’m here with you. And if I leave I’m taking you with me, because I never imagine myself anywhere without you,” he said. He sucked in a breath, which hitched in his throat. Which he held, to keep from his continual rambling.



<Pi d’Artois> It sounded like a promise and a declaration and all the things any woman worth half her weight could want and need to hear from the man who loved her. All of that attention was focused solely on her and she drowned in it all over again, his eyes an ocean of blue, waves upon wave of emotion and all of it directed at her, for her. She swam into that gaze, and fell in love all over again. “I only want you, only you.” She repeated against her lips. She wasn’t sure what that meant, even now she wasn’t sure but it didn’t really matter because she was already ten feet under and sinking still and she had no urge to ever leave the cool calm of his eyes. She could live a lifetime in this moment, sharing it with him, knowing how much he wanted her.

With a small smile she dropped her hand and flicked the front clasp at the center of her chest, the tiny scrap of lace falling away to drop to the floor and for the last time that nigh she closed the distance between them, pressing (finally) her skin to his, then her lips followed suit, along with her hands and then the rest of her as she crawled into his lap to wrap the rest of her around him.

She didn’t think anymore on how they would go about this exchange of rings and she didn’t care about a ceremony or no ceremony because it didn’t matter, not now, not before and not tomorrow. What matter, and had mattered all along was the they were together. “I’ll come with you.. away from here, whenever you are ready to go.” She said against his lips, her hands tangled in the messy mop of hair atop his head.

Home wasn’t a place, not the Den she had built to protect the lineage they had brought together, or he bricks and mortar surrounding the many businesses Elliot own, but was this, them together and what they had together, and always had been.



<Elliot d’Artois> The unclasping of the bra, the revelation of Pi’s bare chest felt like a reward. He hadn’t said the wrong thing. He’d said the right thing, even though he’d begun to repeat the words over and over in his head, because he wasn’t actually sure he’d answered her question. It was a yes but a no. He wanted one thing, but not the other. But Pi must have understood. Marriage, yes. He wanted that, but not in the traditional sense. It must have aligned with how Pi felt, must have…something, with the way she answered in both body and words.

They were two very well-oiled pieces of machinery in a unit that needed only them. Where she crawled up onto his lap, he held her there. His arms wrapped tight around her, one hand with fingers splayed over her shoulder blade, the other creeping down for the fingers to curl around one plump side of her backside. He swivelled. He balanced her up against that bench top, and completely forgot that he had given other people access to this apartment. No one used it much. Surely no one would walk in on them. But in that moment, he didn’t care. Couldn’t.

The words she uttered fell like a soothing balm over his restlessness. It was a promise. Whenever he was ready to go, she would go with him. It meant that he wasn’t stuck. This city wasn’t mud. It wasn’t quicksand into which he would sucked and never be able to get out again. Of course it wasn’t. Why had he ever been so pessimistic?! Optimism blossomed like it hadn’t for a very long time. They had eternity. Eternity, for ****’s sake. If they were careful, they could travel to every corner of this globe a hundred times. They could see everything there was to see.

“I love you,” he said, simply. “Can I eat you now?” he asked, a glint to his eyes. He stood. He leaned over, his hand travelling the length of Pi’s body, even as he held her neck. As he pressed one more kiss to her lips before nuzzling in at her neck, back arched. He hadn’t waited for her answer. This was a familiar dance. But this time, it was a dance infused with something new. Something exciting. An accidental proposal.

[Pi dArtois]

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

<Pi d’Artois> There were no dreams this time, nothing to keep her awake and roaming as she sometimes did when she couldn’t sleep the day. This time she slept as Elliot did, as unaware of her surroundings as he, blissfully oblivious of anything and everything, happily wrapped around the man who shared the bed with her. They’d finally made it this far, although they’d left their clothing scattered all around the kitchen counter, hurriedly removed as they’d sought to bind body as they had spoken promises of love to each other in between kisses and touches.

Pi stretched, shifting the thigh Elliot had flung over her leg, the rest of his body pinning her on one side from shoulder to hip, his arm draped around her waist and holding her close. Her own arm was trapped under his head so their heads were sharing the pillow, their breaths mixing, if they could do such a thing. It was the position they’d slept in all night when the pull of unconsciousness sucked them under. Pressing her lips to his forehead she wriggled, flexing the hand connected to the arm he’d slept on to ease the pins and needles but not moving, because she liked him there, surrounding her and she was loathe to do much more than stretch languorously and wait for him to wake on his own.

The clothes they’d discarded were still on the kitchen floor abandoned and she didn’t keep any spares in the drawers here, but considered the possibility she should probably do something about that. But she didn’t want to think about that either, not right now. Tonight felt different, as if last night had shifted something on its axis and she’d yet to equalize herself. They’d made promises to each other last night, promises she knew already impacted her deeply. A ring, a symbol, and a promise that she would be wherever he was, wherever that would take him and he would be there for her. He slept on the arm, connected to the hand that would wear that ring and with or without a ceremony it would be theirs, hers and his. Lifting her hand, so fingers wiggled above her head she looked at her naked fingers and smiled. Not naked for much longer. The smile widened to a grin and she kissed his sleepiness once more.

<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot didn’t dream, so much as he heard. Which was the best way to describe it. When he slept it was if he were dead to the world and images dared not even flit through his brain – not unless he was severely emotionally frazzled. But, even when there were no images, there was at least music. The music was always there. Melodies that drifted in and out. Sometimes he woke up with a start and had to immediately run for pen and paper, so that he could get it all down before he forgot. Sometimes he let the melodies drift away, the memory of them lingering only long enough to provide a mild satisfaction.

Tonight was one of the nights when he was loathe to move, regardless of what his brain may have concocted while he was sleeping. He was awake when he felt Pi move. His eyes moved back and forth beneath their lids languidly, but he stayed still. A dead weight, pretending to still be asleep as her lips continued to pepper his face with kisses. He indulged in the feel of her body pressed against his; still naked, of course, and cool. Silky against the sheets that tangled around them. The one hint that he was awake would have been the rise and fall of his chest; the very human habit that he had not shunned. That he didn’t realise he was even doing, half the time. Breathing, when his arms did not need lungs.

But he liked to breathe, because he could breathe her in. Just like Hamlet had wanted to do – just like Elliot was assured that he would not. Not to this extent anyway. Not this close, in such intimate proximity. Sooner or later he had to give up the game. He couldn’t help the smile that spread over his lips, even if his eyes stayed closed. “If I continue to pretend I’m asleep,” he mumbled, his voice its usual smooth baritone. “Will you keep kissing me?”

<Pi d’Artois> Pi snatched her hand down guiltily tucking it down and away before he caught her smiling at herself like an idiot. Instead the smile she wore turned into something indulgent, curving her lips even as she pressed them to him, this time the tip of his nose before pressing her nose to his so she was staring right at the closed lids she knew now were only closed because he was too lazy to open them, not because he was still out like a light. “But of course.” She responded easily. She didn’t move though, knowing he would move his lug self soon enough. Instead she wiggled her body in increments, toes, legs, torso and shoulders, shifting his weight pinning her in increments.

“Get up you lazy thing.” She said with amusement before pushing against his dead weight and finally wiggled enough to roll out from under him to sit up. She wasn’t a laze in the bed sort, when she woke, she was up, ridiculously alert and wanting to move as if he cells in her body once revitalized needed her to move and be active. Reaching high above her head she stretched, the long line of muscles down her bare back rippling as she reached higher with one arm, then the next.

Yeah, she was a mess and was happy for it. Happy to be here, happy that she was happy, happy that she was naked and so was he and happy to just be freaking happy. She wanted to wiggle and laugh and maybe have more sex too, and maybe just a snuggle or to make pancakes with Canadian maple syrup, not because it felt domestic and she felt domestic and settled and … happy. The sheet pooled around her waist, yanked unceremoniously off Elliot as she shifted, leaving a good part of him exposed to the gaze she threw over her shoulder. Letting her gaze drift her smile deepened.

<Elliot d’Artois> The only hint Pi got of Elliot’s displeasure at her moving away from him was a low groan. Like a teenage boy who’d been out drinking all night, who didn’t want to get out of bed for Church. Or for Great Aunt Maizie’s seventieth birthday breakfast. Or for anything. Except he wasn’t a teenage boy; he was a grown man but he still made the sounds of a teenage boy. Because he didn’t want Pi to move. Even though their bodies weren’t warm anymore (though his might run at a higher temperature than hers, for Alluristy reasons) it still felt as if she left in her wake a cold emptiness. And he also groaned because she didn’t make good on her promise. He remained a dead weight, silent and eyes closed. But she didn’t keep kissing him. Just one to the nose and then she was up, shoving his weight off of her.

A few seconds passed and he opened one eye to watch. Waking up like this wasn’t at all like waking up as a human. As a human he might have had to squint and furrow his brow against the blinding light of the sun, urging him up, up. But now there was just dimness – the only light the one pouring into the room from outside, from where they’d left things on in the kitchen. Everything else was pitch black and deathly silent. No birds. Nothing. But that didn’t matter now. Where some nights it was hard, tonight it wasn’t. It was very, very easy not to care.

“You said you were going to keep kissing me,” he said, after admiring the undulating curves of Pi’s body. He felt no shame at being exposed. He even rolled over onto his back as his hand twisted around the sheet that Pi had stolen from him. He tugged at it, lazily, as if trying to coax Pi back down with him. But, giving up on that plan, he instead quickly pushed himself up into a seated position. One that did not last long before he was tackling Pi. Forcing her back down into the bedding, one hand behind her back and the other swiping the hair out of her face.

“I’m just going to have to kiss you instead,” he said. He grinned. And then he did as he threatened. He kissed her cheeks. Her nose. Her eyelids. He kissed the corner of her jaw, her temple. Quick, dancing kisses all over her face before his lips found her lips. A murmured sigh rumbled in his throat. They almost always woke up in the same bed, but it wasn’t always like this. Tonight, something was different. Something was fresh and new. Like it was the beginning, all over again. And Elliot liked it. He liked it a lot.

[Lancaster]

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

<Pi d’Artois> It didn’t surprise her in the least when he yanked her back onto the bed, and she flowed backwards, turning herself into the embrace even as he manhandled her where he wanted her to be, because it was what she wanted too. It felt like a honeymoon of sorts, a start of something different and new. “I won’t complain.” She replied, her lips doing a bit of discovering for herself. “I could happily spend the rest of the night right here.” And she could. He was playful and his playfulness encouraged her to reciprocate. If kisses is what he wanted then kisses is what she’d give him. So she followed his lead, plastering his face with them, his nose, his cheek, his eyelids and his chin, his ear lobe, with she nipped with her teeth and his jaw, moving along his face until she was laughing as she roamed her lips all over him.

“Is that enough kisses then.” She asked, against his lips until her laughter bubbled over at their antics. It was a glorious way to wake up, tangled and messy and cuddled close to someone. Her and Elliot weren’t much for public displays of affection, not like she’d seen other couples, but here in the privacy of their own room, when it was just them, they indulged in the contact both of them craved, she craved.

“We could be lazy and stay in all night… or?” she asked cheekily, hanging that ‘or’ out there like he’d done last night, this time playfully her eyes dancing as she used the same words he had.


<Elliot d’Artois> Oh, Elliot was quick. He caught on to Pi’s game. The ‘or’ hung not like an anvil, but more like a luminescent green mistletoe. None of the previous night’s conversation had been forgotten. A purely innocent request on Pi’s behalf had led to, what Elliot now knew to be a kind of bumbled, embarrassing, awkward kind of proposal. As if that notion had always sat there in the back of his brain, subconscious-like, and had decided to just wake up and wander out over his tongue when he least expected it. He had prepared nothing, and if Pi had wanted a grand gesture he wasn’t sure she was going to get it.

This was it. This was his grand gesture. Pinning her to the softness of their shared bedding, laughing with her, kissing her, teasing her with his prolonged silence. His fingers tangled in her hair. Underneath her, his fingers pressed into the flesh of her back; unbeknownst to him, they were playing a rhythm there. As if they were closed around the neck of a guitar and he was picked at the cords. Only a light pressure. A thing that she would only feel if she were paying a great amount of attention.

He offered Pi that same blank look that she had given to him the night before. The blink. The lick of the lips. “…or what?” he asked. Of course he couldn’t hold the expression for long. The smile curled the corner of his mouth, and she would know that he was teasing. That he was luring it out of her – he knew that he had said they would go looking for rings tonight. He had not forgotten. And they would. But there was no rush. They had hours and hours ahead of them; Elliot only needed to step into each of his businesses once. Just for five minutes each, to make sure everything was running smoothly. But otherwise he could be as free as a bird. These were the perks to being one’s own boss.

<Pi d’Artois> Pi felt his hands on her back and the gentle pressure of palm and fingertips as they played along the curve between the base of her spine and the rounding curve of her ***. And when he gave her that look, so closely mimicking her own, his words when they came such a uncanny likeness to her own, she laughed, she couldn’t help herself, it bubbled up from the very middle of her and burst forth. It was a carefree sound of complete and utter understanding. She’d never understood until this moment that thing couples did when they had an inside joke only they understood. Before, she never understood the secret looks, the laughter on they shared, about an inside joke, only they understood. Until now.

This was theirs, their inside joke. She could see them using it again, somewhere innocuous, maybe in a crowd of people and they’d do exactly this, and they would smile their secret smiles at one another, mutual understanding a bubble that encompassed only them and they would be that couple, that couple she’d never understood. Until now. And she knew others would think them obnoxiously kitsch and she didn’t care a damn. Because this was the best inside joke, ever, because it was theirs.

She knew what he was doing, Elliot with his leading smile and those eyes that danced with amusement over her. There were rings to find, and now that she knew they were somewhere, just waiting for her and Elliot to find them, she really wanted them, wanted to know what they looked like, how they would look on her finger. She wanted to feel the weight on the ring on her hand and admire the one he’d wear on his. They would find those rings and they wouldn’t wait for a ceremony to put them on one another. And she found, she really… really really, couldn’t wait. Tangling her own hands in his hair she pulled him down for a heart stopping kiss, her lips moving over his, her tongue coaxing against his as she drank deep from his mouth before pulling away, just enough to speak. “We… need to go find our rings.” She said finally, with a face eating grin, her blue eyes dancing with amusement even as she wiggled to get out from under him. “Now get your lug self off meeee and lets go get them!”

<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot is left, dizzy and a little bit disoriented, after that kiss. Sometimes – most of the time – this path of his is a curse. Even as a human he’d been overly susceptible to emotion. It always curled in his gut and blossomed to take hold of him, entirely. Vines spreading through his limbs so that emotion was never just a small thing registered as a twitch in his chest or a twist in his stomach. It had always been a bodily thing; something that commandeered his senses. Now, as he is, it’s always so much worse. A heavy and violent emotion could leave him shuddering; could force him to his knees. Could wrench from him a curdling scream because there’s just no other damned way to get it out.

Except for now. Now, the emotion isn’t a bad thing. It’s a good thing. It was like a drug, entering his system to put him on a permanent high. A buzz warming his limbs and setting all his nerve endings alight. As Pi wriggled herself out from underneath him he had to close his eyes for a second and get a damned grip. Otherwise he might roll right back into those sheets and stay there, staring at the ceiling and grinning like a mad-hatter who’d taken one too many happy pills.

He laughed as he watched Pi skip to… to where? Did she even have any clothes here? For a second he imagined her high-tailing it naked through the Den, flitting between portals to get herself dressed. It was highly amusing, and he laughed some more. “Well look at you!” he said. “If I ever thought you were so damned girly that a piece of jewellery would make you so happy, I might have done it earlier!” he teased. It was an eye-opener, for sure. He’d never actually thought that Pi would get so excited over a ring.

Though he knew, of course, it wasn’t so much the rings that they were excited about. It was what those heavy circles of metal would symbolise. And so he did as he was told. He rolled out of bed and unfurled to his full height. It was always such a process, like rising to the heights of a roller coaster. Bones cracked, and he shuffled over to the dresser, to rummage through the drawers for one of his usual long-sleeved, un-ironed shirts. He wasn’t sure he was going to be bothered with showering. His skin was covered with eau de Pi, and he was happy to leave it that way.

<Pi d’Artois> She rolled off the bed and stood naked watching him dress, eyeing the draw he’d opened. Wandering over she traced lazy fingertips down his spine, playing her hand across his back as he’d so recently done to her. “I’ll take that.” Reaching around him she plucked the shirt he’d just picked out of his hand, a blue and grey plaid then used her free hand to slap his bare rump before moving away the shirt she’d pilfered dragging behind her as she left the bedroom to find the rest of her clothes.

They were where she expected them to be, unsurprising since it was unlikely the clean the house fairies had come along in the night to pick up after the vampires who’d unceremoniously scattered their clothes all over the place. She decided to leave off the panties, commando being better than putting those back on, but the rest she wiggled herself into, even the lemon yellow shirt that had seen better days and was now in need of an iron. But she really didn’t care. Over it all she pulled on Elliot’s shirt, rolling up the sleeves and tucking the front tail into her jeans but leaving the back free and flowing over her jeans clad butt.

Running a hand through her sleep tousled hair she smoothed it off her face and figured that would have to do as well. She probably looked a bit like a street urchin, or most likely a woman who had just rolled out of bed after being well rode and had yet to make it home to straighten herself out. Which also, suited her just fine, because that was exactly how she felt and she didn’t really care if people knew it or not. Probably, they’d just think she was scruffy. Turning she watched as Elliot walked into the living room, her gaze travelling leisurely over him, checking him out. Yeah, she really didn’t care, because he, looked just as mussed as she did and she knew, she was the cause for his muss and that, made her happy too. “Well, aren’t we a pair? I’m not sure I’d think too much of us if we walked into a jewellery store dressed like we are…” she joked. “We look… like we just rolled out of bed!”

[Lancaster]

Elliot’s tongue clucked in the back of his throat as Pi stole from him the very shirt he’d vaguely decided that he wanted to wear. There wasn’t really and want, though – it was just the first shirt that he’d laid his fingers on, one of the ones that didn’t have stains on it or holes frayed at the buttons and pockets. Instead, his fingers landed upon the plain, navy blue shirt, with its white pearlescent buttons, and its triangular-shaped pockets over each breast. A shirt that he wore far too often. But then, his selection of shirts wasn’t overly large. The first two buttons remained undone. He, too, went commando as he pushed and stretched his lanky legs into jeans that would always look that tiny bit too small, but only because he could never seem to find the right fit anywhere. They didn’t like making clothes to fit blokes who were six foot six tall.

His shoes and jacket were in the hall. So when he walked out to meet Pi he was still shoving the bottom of the shirt into his jeans – jumping up and down just once to finally get the jeans in the right position, before crooking his leg awkwardly so that he could zip it, and button it. He, too, used only his fingers as a brush for his hair. The grin he gave might as well have sung tada! As if getting dressed were a magic trick that he’d pulled off without a hitch.

“Huh. Though, isn’t it they say that the richest people are those that dress the worst? Do we really give a flying **** what anyone thinks of us?” he asked with an arched brow. Was she suggesting they go and actually shower and get all done up like normal people do? **** being normal. Elliot didn’t want to be normal. This mission they were endeavouring upon was not normal at all. They were doing everything completely out of order, and this kind of eccentricity seemed to deserve a bit of uncouth scruffiness. Think of the stories they could tell!

“I mean, really. Imagine how amusing the looks on their faces will be. When we pull out our wads of cash,” he said, grinning cheekily, sauntering on over to where his scuffed brown leather shoes had been tossed. There were some socks there, too, which he sniffed. They smelled a little bad. But not too bad. He shrugged and pulled them on.

[Pi dArtois]

Pi laughed, nearly silently, indulgently as he hopped around in front of her. She’d have slammed an amused palm against her forehead at the antics but instead watched with that amused chuckle and a good natured shake of her head. “No, not really. No fucks given here.” She replied with a wide grin. And she really didn’t, either care or have an opinion either way on what her jeans and messy self said about her to the people she was about to see. It was a passing comment, for humour mostly, not because she cared or felt the need to do something about it. They would find something they liked, or they wouldn’t, and whatever place they did find it would gleefully take their money, she was sure of it. And she had very little inclination to do anything at all about changing anyway.

Searching the floor around her she slipped her feet into her shoes. Bending she scooped up her cellphone that had obviously fallen unheeded to the floor with everything else, the cash, credit card and ID all contained in the case and conveniently doubling as a wallet. She wasn’t a purse carrying type and the convenience of having what she needed contained in the phone that was rarely far from her. It was enough, as much a nod to the necessary requirements of life and nothing more. She had no need to carry a bag full of other mysterious female crap and couldn’t rationalize how it would help considering her other necessary accessory was a long blade and high caliber weapon.

And then she stood ready and excited. A buzz of anticipation swirled in her belly, warming her and terrifying her too if she was honest. This wasn’t a marriage they were considering, those butterflies would be worse if it were, even if she understood what that even meant for them, it wasn’t what they were considering. It was something else, maybe it was less formal, but it felt more real than a ceremony with a white dress and black suits with smiling people. It was only them and it felt like that was all she really needed. She had no smiling people to stand with her, no one she could really call on to be that for her. So she discounted the vision of a wedding almost immediately. This, was just a commitment between two people and they would wear rings to signify it.

Maybe it should have worried her, that they’d come to this point because of jealousy. That he’d only wanted to claim her because he thought someone else wanted her. But right now she was more stumped by the fact she had no idea where in the hell they would go to find these mysterious rings that would signify an external representation their commitment. So stumped she stood next to the L-Shaped kitchen counter with her head cocked to the side and her expression curious. “So.” She began, her eyebrow arching in question. “Where.. in the hell, do we shop for these rings?”

[Lancaster]

Elliot laughed.

The question was so innocuous. So innocent and naïve, coming from this woman who gave no fucks about what other people thought. This woman who was far from naïve and innocent when it came to the harsh realities of this world. Elliot and Pi couldn’t be more different. Where she tended to look sure and strong with a gun and a blade, Elliot was certain that compared to her, he would look awkward and completely out of his element. Where cold sharpness was Pi’s forte, warmth and rounded edges were Elliot’s.

Coming from anyone else, the question might have been a joke. A wonderment at which particular jewellery shop to go to. But coming from Pi? Elliot got the feeling she really had no idea what kind of shop would sell engagement rings. Or wedding rings. Or any kind of ring, really. Elliot had done a lot of wandering around the city, and he could think of a few places off the top of his head. They could go to a few. They could get a few different prices and see a few different varieties. They didn’t have to pick straight away. At least, that’s how he assumed the night would go.

He finished tugging his shoes onto his feet and stood up straight. He approached Pi to slip a hand around her waist, to press a kiss to her lips. He couldn’t love her more than he did in this moment, with her innocent question.

”Generally, they sell rings at jewellery shops, babe,” he said, still unable to keep the laughter out of his tone. He let go of her in order to reach for his own paraphernalia; his keys, his wallet, and his phone, which were all stashed into different pockets. The phone he saved for last, until he’d pulled his jacket over his shoulders. The phone went into the inner pocket.

”There are dozens to choose from – a couple in the mall, and I think there’s one over in Gullsborough. Maybe one in Honeymead Markets?” he said. He shrugged his shoulders. The lack of a solid plan didn’t bother him at all, obviously. He glanced over Pi’s shoulder to the door. ”I think it’d be easier if we tome to the Den, and go from there. Maybe we can start in Gullsborough, yeah? I’ll take the night off. We can dedicate it to this quest of ours,” he said with a broad grin.

[Pi dArtois]

Pi slapped his chest with her open palm as he stepped away, his arms dropping from her sides at about the same time her eyebrow arched to give him a disgusted look, the indulgence was still there, tilting her lips up at the corners, belying the expression and turning into something akin to gruff teasing. She ran a hand through her shaggy hair, leaving it much as her fingers found it, falling around her face. “Smart arse.” She volleyed back at him, and his little comment about jewelry stores.

She knew where to buy a ring, had made that leap in logic all on her lonesome thank you very much. And her narrow glance and still tilted lips told him silently what he could do with his teasing statement. It wasn’t the jewelry store part of the equation she didn’t know, but the where exactly. But Elliot solved that mystery soon enough with what he said next and she nodded.

“Well then… let us see what we can find hrmm?”

No, it wasn’t the actual store she wondered about, but the process of it. She felt a little nervous and queasy, she hoped in a good way. Picking out rings with the man you loved felt final and permanent and normal. They could be any couple tonight, any couple in love perusing the selections before them, fingering ones that appealed, looking at one another for approval or frowns before putting them back and perusing some more.

What did a ring that looked like a wedding ring but wasn’t a wedding ring look like. She thought about what would appeal to her and then tried to imagine if their tastes in such things aligned. In fact, the more she put her mind to the idea, the less confident she became about her ability to make a decision either way. Pi, had never considered the possibility that there would be a time she’d be picking out rings.

When she was a human that sort of life hadn’t been for her. What she’d done, the things she’d seen and lived through hardly seemed conducive to an eventual husband and children with white picket fences (such an American construct her Parisian brain smirked at). She hadn’t dreamed those dreams, not even as a idealistic teenager (had she ever been idealist?) or younger (how can you dream of forever when you thought yourself a monster from the age of eight?).

Using her thumb Pi rolled the digit over the ring finger on her left hand, feeling along the underside of it where these mysterious rings they were heading out to buy would sit. Already that hand felt heavy, significant. Already she was half terrified she’d screw it up and what she wanted to say and do would make this all go wrong.

“I think… yes, a night off to find these rings is a good idea.” She finished, walking with him to the door of his place and turning. “Lets walk, just us… no portals tonight… I think I’d prefer it that way.”

It would take longer, but it felt right to do this the old fashioned way, even if what they were considering was something completely outside of conventional. Wedding rings without a wedding. A commitment without a ceremony. A marriage which wasn’t a marriage at all, but in this moment felt like one just the same. It felt like walking was what suited. It was a clear night and they could pretend they were so in love that cold meant nothing. They could pretend they were walking in their own little world, a winter landscape frozen white with icicles like fairy lights reflecting the moon and street lamps. Everything looked so clean in the snow, especially at night, when there were no cars on the road to turn the white snow into muddy drifts choking the gutters. The time of the night when salt trucks were parked reading themselves for the early morning clearing and rock salt to ensure vehicles didn’t skid off the road and plow sideways into unsuspecting pedestrians. It could be their world, untouched and pristine, and that felt rather romantic and nice too.

Maybe she needed to put a jacket and scarf on. She might not be affected by the cold, but that didn’t mean she wanted to feel it quite to that extent.

[Lancaster]

No tomes. No portals. Well, then…

As Pi donned scarf and jacket, Elliot did the same. They were all hung on the hook by the front door. Elliot with his brown leather jacket, which had stood the test of time, and which he wore almost everywhere. The scarf that he pulled around his neck was the very same one that Pi had given to him the previous Christmas – tan, white, and blue stripes. He even pulled on the gloves that went with it. There was no reason to equip his weapons tonight, and so he left them behind. Besides, if they were going to encounter any trouble on the streets (or on their way out of the catacombs, for that matter) he knew that he could take on most foes bare-handed and still come out the other end victorious.

Only a few strides, and Elliot was at the door. It was a heavy door – not one of those flimsy wooden things that one might find on the set of The Hobbit. It was instead a stone slab, fashioned out of the very brick that would have been used to carve out these crypts to begin with. It ground against the floor as Elliot swung it wide, but otherwise moved smoothly. Beyond there was a glimmer of light from torches that seemed always to be lit, and Elliot had to check their doorstep, and just beyond, to make sure there were no boney zombies or fleshly mooncalves waiting to try to tear them to shreds. They didn’t exactly look like the neatest of couples, given their slapshod appearance, but Elliot didn’t think it would do them any favours to be covered in Mooncalf gunk and dried chunks of ancient flesh.

”Let’s move quiet and quick through here then? Do you want to walk to Honeymead first?” he asked, his voice low as he slipped out into the dank semi-darkness. It was a far sight different to the warm home they’d just exited, with its modern interior. Two worlds slapped together, right there beneath the city’s feet.

”I don’t think it’ll be too hard,” he rumbled, his voice could be the low grinding of stone against stone it was so low; it blended into their surroundings. ”I don’t know anything about buying rings. But if you do the talking…the salespeople know what they’re doing. If they think we’re getting married, and that we’re looking for rings for the ceremony, they’ll know exactly what to show us,” he said.

Pi would have to do the talking. She would have to make the lies about their wedding. These salespeople will no doubt be curious. They’ll want to know the date. All kinds of details that Elliot won’t be able to provide, and if they ask him he’ll just blurt the truth. They’re two people who love each other, who want the rings to prove it – or as markers of territory. Which might not be so bad either. The reactions would be priceless.

[Pi dArtois]

She reached around Elliot to snag the jacket that hung next to his, the scarf she’d worn laying over the same hook so she took that down at the same time. Swirling it around her neck she knotted the ends in the front and tucked it into the collar of her jacket before zipping it up. She didn’t have gloves, but she had pockets so that would work just as well (along with the fact she was vampire and cold wasn’t really a thing she worried too much about).

“Yes, sounds good, quick and quiet. I left my weapons behind too.” She whispered, at once feeling a bit naughty at her admission. Slipping out the door, she preceded him, waiting for him to fall in beside her so she could loop her small hand around his arm. Leaving her weapons in the Crypt made her feel lighter. More human. It was easier to imagine you were normal when you weren’t sporting a sword across your back and a high caliber weapon in a holster under your jacket. Even if they did run into trouble, they could easily avoid it (zombies weren’t the fastest moving beasts in the world) or deal with it without weapons (cause anything found walking the streets was easily sorted without the need for any weapons at all). And for once in a long time it was just them, no agenda, no other purpose than to be together.

She hummed a reply to his statement she would do the talking and she supposed that was normal too. Didn’t the woman usually take the lead in things like this, a natural role, a human one. How many times has the same scenario played out in commercials around the world, woman leading her man in to ‘look at rings’, the giddy excitement of the search, of the poor beleaguered male dragged around unwillingly to purchase a frippery he wasn’t sure necessitated that much giddy anything. It was a ridiculous generalization, and hardly flattering to either male or females of any species, but she could see how it would seem normal. Even if, she rather thought these days, men were as invested in what was chosen for them to wear on their fingers as women. Sliding him a look she squeezed his arm, so he’d look down at her. “I can do that… talk to them. But you have to back me up.. I’ll show you what I like, and make pretty noises at the store clerks so you don’t have to but these are special. So if you like, you tell me, if you think it’s not… well, that will be good to know too.”

Did it matter to Pi what the rings looked like? If asked a week ago, she’d have said no. If asked two hours ago, she’d have said the same thing, but now? Now it felt a little like it did. Rings said something. Where you wore them said one thing. If her and Elliot were buying pinky rings, they were hardly a significant accessory, and meant little. What they looked like, now that she’d had t take a moment or two to consider it, also meant something too. Something solid and durable, and beautiful too. Understated but with presence, so you couldn’t miss it but also, not gaudy either. And by the looks of things, she had a definite opinion on what they could look like and that surprised the hell out of her.

Avoiding the zombies was easy, and no Mooncalves shambled in their way and when they exited the mausoleum (through a circuitous route) the night lay carpeted in virgin snow. This late at night it lay as untouched as she hoped. Certainly no car treads out here, a no foot traffic either, not yet. It wasn’t so late that stores would be closed, but it was cold enough many had obviously already gone home to their warm homes. Not many were braving the weather to … buy rings. The thought made her smile.

“Honeymead it is. You just need to guide the way. because I don't know where the store is.” She’d stopped to look at the vista around them, the snow and the night. She hugged herself closer to him as they walked towards the transit. Walking was one thing, but there wasn’t any reason a person couldn’t catch normal transportation to where they needed to go.

There was no precipitation to chill them as they walked, either the white stuff or rain, and it was quiet, so quiet. Eerily so. It was beautiful, the quiet, a hushed expectancy. Trees in full hibernation, their spindly branched devoid of greenery, instead icicles hung in their place, along with small drifts of clinging snow piled in small rows any strong breeze could disrupt, causing a mini avalanche of snow onto unsuspecting pedestrians.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" She said, her smile soft as she took in the night and snow, her cheek brushed the cool leather of his jacket as she leaned against him.

Yes, Pi thought. Walking, was a really good idea.