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Pressure was building; a vice of bone crushing delicate flesh. Myk winced, grimaced and produced the kind of guttural sound that only tigers backed into corners can. He wasn’t fighting off an angry gamekeeper or poacher though, just a God awful migraine brought on by the stress of fighting a losing battle. The Wraith, Rutherford, wouldn’t quit. It tweeted on and on about how Myk couldn’t trust the people in his life while Myk was so very desperate to return to his schemes and plans. He had things to do, important things, and they couldn’t wait on the temperament of a Wraith. He almost wanted to concede and give the ghost exactly what it wanted. Simone was her own woman. She did her own thing and was so very sure of herself that Myk was confident that she wouldn’t miss him. As for Mr Ripper… Well, Myk wasn’t sure what to do about the man. Of course Ripper wouldn’t miss Myk either, but Myk was obviously quite attached to him. There were times where he really didn’t want to be because despite himself, Myk became depressed simply because he missed seeing him. It didn’t occur to him how odd it was that he barely missed Simone at all and she was supposed to be his girlfriend and yet a whisper of Ripper would have him pining. Despite this, Myk didn’t understand the Wraith’s insistence to let Ripper go. What harm could there really be in retaining their relationship? Just what was the translucent ********’s problem?

“Go... Away…” Myk hissed.

The Telepath was slumped against a wall in an alleyway, eyes pinched closed and hidden behind a pale hand; only the occasional expletive sneaking past tense, glossy red lips. The pain fuelled his rage, which in turn fuelled the pain, spurring an endless cycle of progression. Myk expected that he would burn himself out like an over-indulged fire as he wasn’t accustomed to rage. He rarely got pissed off about anything, his clownish nature allowing him to laugh things off all too readily, but with Rutherford’s persistence, laughing it off just wasn’t possible. Myk wasn’t even sure if the Wraith was with him at that moment since he was unable to actually see it, so when he’d hissed, he’d hissed to thin air. Talking to himself in the middle of the street made him feel crazier than he already was, so he’d escaped into a dead-end alley beside an antique store. Sitting in an alleyway like this wasn’t ideal though. Myk had his legs bent beneath him and was sat on his calves; leather-clad legs uncomfortable but steadily growing numb because the ground was cold and wet and it had just started to rain again. Myk’s loose-fitting Victorian shirt spread out around him like a black cape, embellished further with strands of white as his hip-length hair spread out around him too. Myk closed his eyes tighter, his head slipped forward and a sound that almost sounded like a sob escaped him. He was just in too much pain, too irritated and too cold to be here, but the instant he thought of toming home, he realised how that wasn’t possible.

“No…” he moaned quietly. “Can’t let them see me like this.”

The rain had made his heavy make-up smudge; black circles surrounded his pewter eyes and white foundation made him look like a ghost. How ironic. Myk couldn’t go home and he couldn’t stay here. He forced himself to his feet – slowly – and used the wall beside him for support to guide him out. One hand remained on his head as he did so, shielding his eyes from the glare of the lamps overhead. He made it back to the maw of the alleyway and turned left, immediately passing the door to the antique shop, but then he stopped. He looked at the door, letting his hand fall slightly from his crown. He wiped at his under-eyes having felt the heaviness of smudged make-up and then took to running his fingers through his hair. Myk was fixing his appearance, determined to go inside. He didn’t know why and he didn’t really question the instinct, but somehow having a small, innocuous plan made his pain lessen. Myk breathed in deeply to steady himself, the exhale trembled on release, but he did feel more assured. He opened the door before closing it quietly behind himself, then his eyes fixed on the male behind the cash register. Since no one else was there but for the two of them, Myk felt obliged to smile.

“Evening,” he muttered, leaning heavily on a French accent that seemingly came out of nowhere. He ducked his head slightly and walked around the shop, eyes curious, but twitching fingers kept in reserve for now.

This antique’s store had turned out to be a lot more interesting than Myk might have imagined from having walked in rather listlessly from off the streets. His only motivation for coming in stemmed from the desperation to avoid going home immediately, the desperation to steady his nerves and return him to a better state of mind. Much like a magpie, Myk’s pewter eyes were simmering over the many shiny and curious items on display. He marvelled at the uniqueness of each item, curious as to the purpose they might have held before they wound up here. As a matter of fact, Myk’s mind also marvelled at the circumstances of their arrival; imagining exciting and over-dramatic things.

He envisaged the despair of a rich old lady, and how she might have had to pawn off her worldly treasures to pay an untold debt – maybe even to pay off a kidnapper who’d taken her beautiful young grandchild hostage. In his mind’s eye, Myk could see the tears leaking down from blue eyes clouded by age and grief as the woman thought over the terrible situation of her rosy-cheeked and blonde-haired cherub of a grandson. Just as quickly, however, Myk’s mind dreamt up another conclusion as to the origins of these items. He thought perhaps that these items were simply inheritance fob-offs – the kind young people sell to charity shops and antique stores because, well, how does an old silver ladle really compare to an iPhone? It was during this more sour thought that Myk heard the voice of the man and snapped his attention back to reality.

“Help?” he voiced before realising the context of the offer. “Um… Not exactly…”

As Myk murmured these words, his hand drew to his chin; devious thoughts were curling in his mind and tempting his tongue to loose them with promises of a good time. Myk was easily swayed by such promises. He was slowly convinced that by asking the man his strange questions, he would find entertainment and, for certain, the distraction he was desperate for.

“Still, I was wondering something,” Myk said, turning to face the man wholly.

There was a rasp to his low voice that made it sound like he was purring, yet his tone was certainly more salacious than joyful or contented. Apprehension made Myk pause for a long moment and in said moment, his pewter eyes carefully examined the young man’s exterior and beyond, into his mind. Appraising others came naturally to the Telepath and in a flicker he could tell that this man, another Telepath, was certainly capable of turning Myk out on his arse if he found him disagreeable. Myk never intended to be disagreeable exactly, but he couldn’t control how others felt about him. To say Myk was a bit quirky was about as severe an understatement as one can make to say that an elephant (weighing on average 6 tons) was just a bit heavy. There was rarely ever malicious intent behind his actions or oddities, but things that are strange are often scary and people who are afraid are often violent. Nevertheless, even knowing that there was a chance that this Vampire could hurt him, Myk smiled, his eyes darkening and decided to direct his question to this man regardless.

“I was wondering where you acquire these curious, wonderful things. I imagine there are a lot of stories to tell behind them...”

It was difficult to know exactly why, but Myk was smiling fondly as the male explained about the antiques. That honest, warm and delicate smile changed the character of Myk’s appearance, from something that was probably strange and scary to something graceful and rare. Just like how the light of the sun and moon can transform the perception of an animal in flight – from beautiful bird to vampire bat – the light of this knowledge made Myk smile brightly and tenderly. The Telepath rarely expressed his softer side, his vulnerable underbelly of emotions, but right now it seemed impossible not to. Perhaps it was simply the tone of the other man’s voice that had put a spell on Myk as he’d talked, something airy and satisfying and wholesome to be enjoyed, savoured and loved. Then again, perhaps it was simply the notion of family, a true family that gathered from generations for meals and business alike that had made Myk smile so fondly. He had never known what it was to have a close family, what it was like to have siblings, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and so their existence mystified and enchanted him. Myk romanticised the idea of the nuclear family and was equally swayed by the emotions of others. Regardless of the circumstances though, Myk looked to the man behind the counter as if he was in love for the very first time.

“Will you tell me one of these stories?” he asked, his voice pensive and light.

Myk's slender, pale fingers were laced together in front of him and he watched the male nervously. Myk wasn’t sure what to expect, but he laid his hopes on the possibility that the other man might indulge his curiosity. Myk knew it was probably a strange request and not something this man had ever encountered before – what weirdo walks in off the streets and requests a story about your wares anyway? Myk would be disappointed if the man dismissed his request because not only would a good story be withheld from him, but Myk would probably have to find a distraction elsewhere. For now, pewter eyes held onto ocean blues pleading to be accepted; the pain in Myk’s head for now being little more than a throb of a heartbeat.

The way this man stared at Fable seemed to strike a cord. He took pity on the man in front of him who seemed eager to hear a story about one of the antiques he had sitting around in his store. His aunts store. There was a shy smile that went with him as he moved around the counter top and onto the shop floor. Fingers dragged against the glass as he abandoned the paperwork altogether now. This man wanted a story. He didn't know all the stories that belonged to these antiques, so he would choose one he knew, and he knew well. Something from his family that held sentimental value to him.

"Sure." He said finally after a moments silence between the two as he made his way over to a small silver ring with a garnet on top, that was sitting on top of a purple velvet cushion enclosed in a glass box. He pressed his weight against the case and tilted his head.

"This ring." He began "belonged to my mother. It's her engagement ring, my parents died in a car crash about ten years ago, it's why I was brought in by my aunt. My parents were lovely people. Quite caring, did a lot of the community they lived in. They worked in a soup kitchen feeding the poor." He shrugged. "From what my aunt told me. My father proposed to my mum on Brighton pier down in the United Kingdom, they went there for a holiday and he proposed in front of everyone. The ring was hidden in mint ice cream. It was her favourite. Very romantic." He found himself laughing. "Not the most interesting story sure, but it's close to me."

The Telepath’s demeanour stiffened slightly with the other man’s movement. There was no danger to be found but for the paranoia in Myk’s head, however. Despite that smile and despite the lightness of this man’s steps, Myk seized and anticipated an attack. He was surprised then when the man hadn’t walked to him and instead approached a glass counter. Pewter eyes glinted at the sight just like the jewellery that was housed within, sleeping under that glass cage like Snow White. Realising that he was making something out of nothing, Myk followed the man’s lead and approached the same counter. Rings, necklaces, broaches and bracelets smiled back at the Telepath who marvelled over the different metals and stones. When the man pointed to one ring in particular, a band of silver with a solitaire garnet, Myk’s attention honed in on it. Truth be told, Myk preferred the cooler precious metals; silver, white-gold, platinum and titanium. To him, they were embodiments of moonlight and even before Myk was a Vampire, he had preferred night to day and preferred the dark to the light.

When it came to gemstones then, Myk’s tastes were also particularly odd. Garnet was one of his favourites – that intense, rich, red colour was more precious and seductive than any ruby. Likewise, Myk loved amber for its depth and warmth, as well as tanzanite, because well, who didn’t enjoy those turquoise and lavender hues mixing together? When these gemstones were cut in the round style, they gave a fantastic optical illusion too. To Myk, looking into the heart of a stone that is cut in this style is like looking on into eternity.

Myk’s features lit up simply at the sight of that garnet ring, but he was more than excited when the man agreed to tell him a story about the ring. The Telepath barely managed to keep his passion bottled, the swell of energy leaking out through his extremities as his fingers trembled across the glass and his feet tapped on the floor. As excited as he’d been at the start, however, Myk quickly calmed. This man’s tale was both tragic and beautiful and that composition replaced excitement with empathy. Myk sighed longingly, the tale playing out vividly before his waking eyes.

Myk imagined a woman who had kind ocean-blue eyes and chestnut hair, a demure face that could set the sun on fire when she smiles. She was trying to stop those chestnut locks from whipping around her face in the brisk Brighton air, looking at her lover who had brought her ice cream on a stormy day. His face was much like the shop owner’s now; only a semblance of differences between them. Brown eyes shifted between his lover and the pastel green cream that was frozen into a sphere on a wafer cone. He was nervous, but excited, and he handed her the cone with a telling smile. She had her suspicions, but probably never expected what she found. Frozen in the centre of such sweetness, the testament of his love was burning in that garnet stone.

“That is such a beautiful story,” Myk said after blinking away the images before his eyes. As his vision settled on the man at least, he didn’t notice it, but Myk's hand had settled on top of the other’s hand too.

Fable wasn't a secretive man, he didn't keep his secrets bottled when it came to his family. Far from it. Fable was what you would call an open book, if you asked him a question he would answer it honestly. He wasn't a nasty individual, even though he was a vampire. He had read the stories that if you became a vampire your soul would vanish. Yet, he wasn't sure where his soul stood. Wether it was bottled away because he had left a trail of bodies in his wake - in his thirst, or if it was still inside him keeping him clinging to his morals, and mortality. He sighed. He did feel regret towards the lives he had taken over the past week or so.

Yet this man in front of him looked at him with such doe eyes. There was something inside him that made Fable smile, unable to dwell on the thoughts that plagued his mind. His eyes cast downwards at the faintest touch of skin upon skin and he smiled briefly. It had been so long since he had felt such contact. Since Remington and he canted his head to the side. In a curious fashion.

"It was, I teared up when my aunt told me, years ago." He found himself laughing. His chest rumbled under his clothes, scratched against the cloth as his ocean blue eyes went to the door as another customer came waltzing into the shop browsing the Egyptian urns that were standing in the window. Most people seemed to eyeball those urns, he had thought about moving them further inside the store so they could look at the various other trinkets he had here.

"You must be a telepath.." he found himself thinking, without noticing the words were pushed into the other vampires mind as slowly took his hand away gently. Fable had a habit of pushing his thoughts into the minds of others, considering how long he had a been a vampire he still had a hard time controlling his telepathic abilities. "I wonder what your name is..." Fable had done it again.

The warmth under the Vampire’s hand was more desirable than surprising. Myk allowed the mysterious sensation to linger, his pewter gaze holding to the man’s eyes, to the ocean of blue before him. As the other male continued his explanation and chuckled, Myk couldn’t help but fondly consider the sound. The honey-smoothness of that voice, the lilt of emotion that played on each syllable – it was all very distracting, encompassing, and alluring. Myk sighed when silence overwhelmed the sweetness, leaving him bitter and wanting and… cold. For it was only when the other male slipped his hand free that Myk noticed what had happened. The Telepath rarely touched others as it was, but the fact that he’d done so – without notice – was most surprising to him. Myk chastised himself instantly; he should have known better. He was acting so vulnerable tonight, forgetting his barriers, forgetting his manners, forgetting everything that kept him away from people. Myk looked down to his own hand that curled inwardly like a dying spider. Slowly, he pulled that hand from the counter, slipping it back into the darkness beside him, to the darkness which almost positively overwhelmed him too. Being vaguely aware that the shop now contained more than just this pair of Telepaths, Myk slid on a mask of smiles and stepped backward slightly, only to pause and raise his head toward the other man.

Myk had heard that honeyed voice once again, though knew immediately that these words had not been spoken. The telepathy warmed through Myk’s ears like a lover’s breath and he relaxed too easily into that heat inside his brain, drowning purely in the smothering feeling. The Telepath wasn’t wholly aware of the words, not until the whisper of the second thought pushed through and he realised that these words weren’t even intended for listening. Alarmed, Myk searched the room for somewhere to look, anywhere but that handsome face. He felt his cheeks were on fire, as if kissed by the sun. Almost immediately he felt panicked, but since nobody else was bursting into flames, he set aside that irrational thought to focus on another. Surely Vampires couldn’t blush, but, obviously they could because he was flashing like a stop sign. Besides, experience had taught him that blood could rush to various parts of the body so why not the face? That thought alone made Myk feel as though his face might burn right off of his skull. The white-haired male stepped further away and to the side, ducking his head to hide his pinked cheeks, his rosy nose and scarlet ears from the other Vampire. He would, perhaps, pretend to browse before he could make his excuses and leave…

Since he was walking backward and wholly distracted, Myk didn’t see the table or the vase which was perching on it. He felt the thud of contact against his hip, felt the air warble as the vase wobbled violently on its base, and as he turned to inspect it, he heard the scuff of China on wood. Myk reached out a hand immediately, but for all his supernatural speed and dexterity, Fate would have his fingertips graze the surface. The vase fell out of his reach, exploding on contact with the floor; a bone-chilling crash sending shockwaves through the store, screaming out his incompetence. Myk didn’t want to turn around and look at the other customers, or dare even to glimpse at the young store owner. A cowardly thought crept into him, encouraging him to vanish before their eyes and retreat to a safe haven, but he just couldn’t move. With gasped breath, Myk felt boneless and gathered whatever composure remained in him simply to stand up straight. What would the man do? How much would this small accident – which was partly that honey-voiced devil’s fault anyway –prove to cost?

The first thing that Myk could think to do was apologise. He finally swivelled on the spot, looking for ocean-blue eyes and expecting hellish fires to gleam at him.

“I… I…”

Myk tried for words, but they caught in his throat; the sound a strangle cry of a torn violin. Before he knew what was happening, his hands had made a wall around his mortified expressions and he actually began to sob.

“I am so, so, sorry…” the Telepath bleated into the mind of the other Vampire.

“I can… pay for that.”