by DeeLacy
Bryon walks through the rain as he often does, the cold winter rain, along the path he has walked so many times before. Deja vu…
Elizabeth is in her home, compulsively smoothing the furniture and setting pillows to just the right angle, as she waits for Bryon to arrive. There is black drapery over all her furniture, and black veils on the mirrors, mourning for Gregory Dorn. She can’t get his image out of her head. Gone, ash. And Spencer, too, but… Gregory….
The bell rings. "Come in," she calls.
Bryon knocks softly on the door. Elizabeth can hear him at the door, and see the door from where she stands… she estimates where his head is… and projects the thought…. I said, come in.
Bryon opens the door and steps in, not looking at his sire yet but carefully removing his jacket.
"Yes, take that off, you’re dripping," she says.
He hangs his coat on the coat rack and straightens himself. "Hello, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth smiles at him. "Good of you to come. Bryon darling." She smiles, but there is unmistakable tension at the corners of her mouth. She is deeply unhappy… not angry… sorrowful.
Bryon smirks uncomfortably. "Yes, thanks. It’s been a while."
"Come sit… tell me what you’ve been doing all this while," she invites. Bryon looks a bit suspicious, but drifts over to the sofa. He keeps his eyes firmly on her now, whereas before he wouldn’t look at her. Elizabeth sits down next to him and slips her hand into his, giving it a light squeeze. Her other hand rests against the black fabric she’s draped over the sofa, fingers brushing it softly.
"Well… I’ve been running around the city mostly… drinking. I have spoken to the ‘anarchs’ on a couple of occasions…" Bryon is nervous beyond the usual, as he looks down curiously at the black covering the furniture.
"What happened when you met with the anarchs?" Elizabeth asks, scanning Bryon’s surface thoughts as he answers. She sees blood-red rain, and two unfamiliar girls’ faces, one whose name is floating in his thoughts but she can’t quite hear it. She sees the handsome Anarch who has been blood hunted, and his Nosferatu ally.
"They talked a bit about what they had done. About makin’ a stand, the usual. But they did something, it seems." Bryon looks at Elizabeth, at her hair. "How are you?"
Elizabeth shakes her head slightly. "They did something? What do you mean? They’ve done… several things."
"They got Ms. Semingsworth." Bryon swallows once, thinking of the catatonic state the Ventrue primogen has been in ever since she and her ghoul were rescued from their anarch captors.
Elizabeth nods, a lock of hair falling in her eyes. She brushes it aside. "And they caused a havoc in a children’s rest home…." Bryon looked surprised. "You did not hear that? It was in the news… as an incident caused by PCP."
"I don’t think they took credit for that in front of me… I don’t remember at least."
"Ah. And then… they seem to have got… more serious. They captured and destroyed, on camera, two of our clan, and a Ventrue and a Tremere. Did they claim that in front of you?"
Bryon looks confused. "No…" He swallows again, in slow-motion. "No. I… haven’t heard of that."
Elizabeth looks away, feeling almost unable to control her sadness, as she speaks. "They killed Gregory." For a long moment she is lost in thought of her fellow Toreador elder, his deep brown eyes, his beauty, his depthless creative mind; of the love she held for him, unrequited for decades, the memory of their short time of mutual passion so long ago.
Bryon’s fingers twitch. Elizabeth holds perfectly still as red tears slide down her marble cheeks. Bryon blinks rapidly, then takes off his glasses. "I’m really… sorry. I… how?"
"The dawn," whispers Elizabeth.
Bryon sighs, and seems to not know what to do with himself. He looks around, at the floor. Elizabeth stays still… after a few moments her tears dry, leaving a faint red trail on each cheek. "Can I help somehow, maybe? I dunno what else to say." Bryon moves a little closer to her on the couch.
Elizabeth feels his movement, and squeezes his hand again, still held in hers. "You can… if you found out enough to help us against the anarchs?"
Bryon grits his teeth. "I told them what you wanted, what you said."
"And their answer, was clearly, no."
"They’re not going to give up. No."
"They have done too much for forgiveness, now," Elizabeth says. "Too much for amnesty. Too much even for banishment. They will be executed. Two have been already." Bryon nods. Elizabeth continues, "They could have ransomed their captives; they could have tried to use them to win their goals; that was not their desire, was it?"
"I don’t think they care that much. Casualties in the war."
"They were fooling you all along… using you, your idealism." Bryon looks at her as she speaks. "I know you, Bryon. This is not what you would choose. This… slaughter…."
Bryon is silent, staring at her a little. "No. It isn’t. But… there isn’t much of an alternative. The Gangrel want to live in the woods… I don’t want that." He paused. "I’m rambling. I can’t stop them."
"Do you prefer their war to our peace?" Elizabeth asks. Bryon looks up at the ceiling. She continues, "Is it the better alternative?"
"I could say the peace was tyranny and you could say the opposite. Discussion feels futile to me right now. And I say you’re right, so don’t bother. All I can do is try to understand. From one side or the other," Bryon sighs.
"Well, you are right. It is tyranny. The alternative is never-ending bloodshed… the choice is to be ruled, or to die. If one can continue to exist… one can find a space in that existence… goals, meaning… a sense of purpose."
"It’s fucking hard."
"Yes, it is very hard. The alternative is easy… mayhem… bloodshed… spray the streets with red, from kindred and kine alike," Elizabeth says darkly. "That is what these anarchs are doing. You can see that, you must. They are only spreading chaos. They wish freedom, and what do they do with it? Would you have all kindred so?"
"So what do you want me to do?" Bryon leans his head back against the wall. "That’s one of the things I’ve learned, you know, to like the color red."
Elizabeth hears this… thinks of the red rain, and the girl she saw in Bryon’s mind, the one whose name had echoed. "Yes. Who is she, the girl in your thoughts? Have you finally found a replacement for Aela?"
Bryon looks at her with one eye. "What the hell do you mean?"
"You know what I mean, Bryon." Elizabeth focuses her will on him and scans his thoughts again, listening for the name. Bryon does not answer, just stares at her for a few seconds. Elizabeth hears the name she seeks, echoing, this time she grasps the sound. "I should say… you know who I mean. Cynthia… pretty name."
Bryon twitches. "I dunno, they had found her somewhere and she didn’t have anywhere to go." He looks away from Elizabeth. "Yeah. Cynthia."
Elizabeth strokes the exposed side of Bryon’s neck with her thumb as he looks away. She smiles slightly. "So you took the little lost anarch girl under your protection?"
Bryon wants to tell her to shut up. Cynthia. They’d made him embrace her… it was that or let her become Nosferatu. Pretty Cynthia, he couldn’t do that to her…. "Yeah, you could say that."
"Why does talking about her make you so hostile, darling?" Elizabeth can always pick up on such things in his voice, in his posture.
"You sound accusing. Aren’t you?" Bryon ‘s eyes flit back to her.
"Accusing of what? Do you feel guilty for finally getting over that Aela, then?"
Bryon ‘s eyes glaze a little, then he shakes his head sadly. "Getting over Aela, sure. ‘Finally’? It’s only been three months." Ah, Aela… first vampire lover… he would never ‘get over’ her. He promised himself that silently.
"Why do you feel guilty over Cynthia?"
"Never mind." Bryon sighs.
"You don’t want to discuss her. Very well — on one condition. I wish to meet her.
Bring her here tomorrow night."
Bryon stares with open wide eyes at the table before him. "What?"
"You heard me."
He runs a hand over his face. "All right."
Elizabeth smiles slightly, and leans over, kissing his cheek. "Thank you."
Bryon looks at her sideways, shivering a little. He puts his hands on his knees, thinking, looking confused but serious. Elizabeth watches him, looking into his thoughts one more time. What am I gonna tell her… Cynthia. He shakes his head. "All right, all right. Tomorrow?"
Elizabeth touches his chin, turning his face to look into his eyes. Bryon looks into her dark, deep eyes. "Yes, tomorrow," she tells him. He nods. She releases his chin, pulling her hands onto her lap, withdrawing from him slightly. "I’m losing you…. It had to happen. Why so soon, though…? Why…?"
Bryon bites his lip. She looks at him longingly as he speaks. "I…. You know I care about you. But don’t do that. You know that as well."
"Don’t do… what?"
"Try to make me sorry for you. Because of that. I am sorry. I don’t pity you, but I’m sorry for what’s happened."
"Someday, Bryon… someday… when you sire a Childe… then you’ll know." Elizabeth paused. "I don’t want your pity. Of course."
Bryon shakes his head. "I’m tired of these games." He felt the bond pulling at him, tugging him toward her. He resisted with an effort.
"I’m just… tired. I loved Gregory… for so, so very long. It’s still hard to understand that he is gone, forever… but he is. And you don’t much care. I see that." Elizabeth stands up, off the sofa and walks to the edge of the room, looking into one of the black-mantled mirrors. She stands there, the black gauze making her unable to see her reflection except in the dimmest way… staring into the mirror. She whispers, "you should probably leave, now."
Trying to tell if she can see him approaching in the mirror, Bryon stands and follows her. Elizabeth senses his approach, but doesn’t move.
Bryon puts his hand on her shoulder. She still doesn’t move. Bryon can feel her trembling slightly even though she is very still. "Maybe I wish I did care. Maybe… I wish things were like they used to be."
Elizabeth speaks in a very low voice, the effort to keep her voice even gives her a slight vibrato. "They can always be. No matter how far you go, you can always change your mind and come back to me. It…. The hope gives me something to cherish… now that I’m alone…."
Bryon squeezes her shoulder gently. He looks around at the black surrounding them. "Maybe I should go."
Elizabeth stays still, looking into the darkened mirror. "A lot of maybe’s."
Bryon imagines her for a moment smiling wickedly into the unreflective surface — the longing for her, the love he does not want to feel, is overwhelming. It is so hard to leave. So hard to take his hand from her shoulder and walk away. He sighs, turns around, and walks over to the door to pick up his jacket, still wet. Elizabeth turns to watch him go, looking impassive.
As he touches the doorknob, Bryon says, "I do miss you, you know." He opens the door and steps outside.
"I miss you too," she says as he shuts the door behind him. Elizabeth walks to her bedroom, closes the door, and lies down on the bed, face down. She folds her arms above her head and just lies there, a position that would suffocate a human, face buried in the pillow, but of course she does not have to breathe.