To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow by Lanna_kitty (not human challenge)
title: To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
Author: Lanna_kitty
Rating: Pg-13
Characters: Peter Grodin, Elizabeth Weir
word count: 842
Summary: The life of a vampire is neither easy nor brief
warning: Vampires attending a funeral
Author's note: Once again, part of the AU that's been running around in my head. This scene takes place in the same universe as the one I previously posted for this challenge, lone wolf. All you need to know is that Peter Grodin and Elizabeth Weir are vampires. Apologies to William.
She made an ominous image, the woman on the rooftop.
She was clad, head to toe, in supple black leather that made no noise when she moved. The leather protected her not only from a host of minor injuries, it prevented the sun's rays from burning her skin away. The broad-rimmed hat obscured the leather mask with dark lenses. The long coat which fluttered ever so slightly in the chilly fall breeze was the only movement.
Elizabeth Weir stood deathly still as she watched the funeral procession wind its way out of the church and up the small cemetery hill. Peter Grodin watched her watch the humans take her dead lover's body away. He leapt into the air and landed lightly beside her on the rooftop.
"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow," he recited, voice muffled by both the mask he wore and the chilling wind that had picked up.
"I am not in the mood," Elizabeth said shortly. The death of Simon Wallace had left her feeling conflicted. The last thing she wanted to hear was her well-meaning colleague quoting Shakespeare at her. She watched the humans below pull their cloaks and coats closer to block the wind.
"The passage has athe same meaning for our kind," Peter continued on bravely. Elizabeth was possibly the finest Negotiator their order had ever produced. She was already equal to Peter's power and wasn't even half his age yet. He hoped to see her when she had another century behind her. She'd be magnificent.
The dark mask that hid the younger vampire's face didn't move. Peter continued. He doubted Elizabeth would strike him, she was too even tempered for that. However, he had centuries of experience she did not, and wasn't worried.
He considered his words. "Our candles are no so brief, but even we may die," Peter said softly as he watched Elizabeth. "I had an interesting discussion about this very subject with William himself," he mentioned, trying to engage her in something other than this brooding silence. Normally she loved to hear about his long life. That she did not even shift slightly was a little concerning to him.
Elizabeth silently watched the mourners carry the coffin out of the horse-drawn hearse. The pallbearers placed it over the open grave and Simon's friends and family gathered around to say their final goodbye. Her heart burned with emotion; sorrow, hatred, longing, regret. Beneath it all, still a small flicker of love.
Outwardly she stood still and let the wind's fingers snatch at her coat. Inwardly she was a roiling, seething jumble. Only years, centuries of training allowed her to maintain calm.
"You've been through this before," Peter reminded her. "That is the peril of making friends with mortal humans."
"He was not just my friend, Peter," Elizabeth said.
Grodin remained silent. He knew they'd parted ways on poor terms. Simon had moved on, been married and had had several children with his new wife. Elizabeth had left the country, choosing to take up a dangerous place at the Aztec observation outpost.
Peter didn't know the full story, but he knew Simon had broken Elizabeth's heart.
That had been more than fifty years ago.
Now immortal Elizabeth Weir, one of the few elite Negotiators of the Vampire nations, specially trained as a keeper of balance by either words or force, a woman of immense power and, Peter was not afraid to admit it, beauty, stood over her dead lover's gravesite and mourned.
Hot tears traced down the inside of her concealing mask and she bit her lip to keep from sobbing. The pain of her sharp teeth as she bit down kept her steady. She would not show weakness. Not for Simon.
In another place, another time, she would have been welcome down there as the widow. The children down there would have been hers. They would have mourned but they would have had one another.
Instead he'd thrown her affection back at her. Had unilaterally decided he would not leave her a widow or a child fatherless.
The bitter irony of the situation tasted like ash on her lips.
The minister finished his sermon. Relatives of the deceased tossed wilted flowers onto the coffin as it was lowered into the chilly ground.
"It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury," Elizabeth said in sepulchral tones. "Signifying nothing," she spat the conclusion then turned away from the scene.
Chilled by her tone and startled by her movement, Peter froze warily. After a moment, he put a consoling hand on her shoulder.
"Come," he said, drawing her away from a sad chapter of her life, hopefully now closed. "Rumor has it that the Ori are going to send an emmissary to us. We've been recalled home."
Elizabeth nodded and leapt lightly off the roof. She gave her horse a pat then mounted up, waiting for Peter to do the same. Behind her, on the small hill in the English countryside, a part of her heart was buried.
Author: Lanna_kitty
Rating: Pg-13
Characters: Peter Grodin, Elizabeth Weir
word count: 842
Summary: The life of a vampire is neither easy nor brief
warning: Vampires attending a funeral
Author's note: Once again, part of the AU that's been running around in my head. This scene takes place in the same universe as the one I previously posted for this challenge, lone wolf. All you need to know is that Peter Grodin and Elizabeth Weir are vampires. Apologies to William.
She made an ominous image, the woman on the rooftop.
She was clad, head to toe, in supple black leather that made no noise when she moved. The leather protected her not only from a host of minor injuries, it prevented the sun's rays from burning her skin away. The broad-rimmed hat obscured the leather mask with dark lenses. The long coat which fluttered ever so slightly in the chilly fall breeze was the only movement.
Elizabeth Weir stood deathly still as she watched the funeral procession wind its way out of the church and up the small cemetery hill. Peter Grodin watched her watch the humans take her dead lover's body away. He leapt into the air and landed lightly beside her on the rooftop.
"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow," he recited, voice muffled by both the mask he wore and the chilling wind that had picked up.
"I am not in the mood," Elizabeth said shortly. The death of Simon Wallace had left her feeling conflicted. The last thing she wanted to hear was her well-meaning colleague quoting Shakespeare at her. She watched the humans below pull their cloaks and coats closer to block the wind.
"The passage has athe same meaning for our kind," Peter continued on bravely. Elizabeth was possibly the finest Negotiator their order had ever produced. She was already equal to Peter's power and wasn't even half his age yet. He hoped to see her when she had another century behind her. She'd be magnificent.
The dark mask that hid the younger vampire's face didn't move. Peter continued. He doubted Elizabeth would strike him, she was too even tempered for that. However, he had centuries of experience she did not, and wasn't worried.
He considered his words. "Our candles are no so brief, but even we may die," Peter said softly as he watched Elizabeth. "I had an interesting discussion about this very subject with William himself," he mentioned, trying to engage her in something other than this brooding silence. Normally she loved to hear about his long life. That she did not even shift slightly was a little concerning to him.
Elizabeth silently watched the mourners carry the coffin out of the horse-drawn hearse. The pallbearers placed it over the open grave and Simon's friends and family gathered around to say their final goodbye. Her heart burned with emotion; sorrow, hatred, longing, regret. Beneath it all, still a small flicker of love.
Outwardly she stood still and let the wind's fingers snatch at her coat. Inwardly she was a roiling, seething jumble. Only years, centuries of training allowed her to maintain calm.
"You've been through this before," Peter reminded her. "That is the peril of making friends with mortal humans."
"He was not just my friend, Peter," Elizabeth said.
Grodin remained silent. He knew they'd parted ways on poor terms. Simon had moved on, been married and had had several children with his new wife. Elizabeth had left the country, choosing to take up a dangerous place at the Aztec observation outpost.
Peter didn't know the full story, but he knew Simon had broken Elizabeth's heart.
That had been more than fifty years ago.
Now immortal Elizabeth Weir, one of the few elite Negotiators of the Vampire nations, specially trained as a keeper of balance by either words or force, a woman of immense power and, Peter was not afraid to admit it, beauty, stood over her dead lover's gravesite and mourned.
Hot tears traced down the inside of her concealing mask and she bit her lip to keep from sobbing. The pain of her sharp teeth as she bit down kept her steady. She would not show weakness. Not for Simon.
In another place, another time, she would have been welcome down there as the widow. The children down there would have been hers. They would have mourned but they would have had one another.
Instead he'd thrown her affection back at her. Had unilaterally decided he would not leave her a widow or a child fatherless.
The bitter irony of the situation tasted like ash on her lips.
The minister finished his sermon. Relatives of the deceased tossed wilted flowers onto the coffin as it was lowered into the chilly ground.
"It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury," Elizabeth said in sepulchral tones. "Signifying nothing," she spat the conclusion then turned away from the scene.
Chilled by her tone and startled by her movement, Peter froze warily. After a moment, he put a consoling hand on her shoulder.
"Come," he said, drawing her away from a sad chapter of her life, hopefully now closed. "Rumor has it that the Ori are going to send an emmissary to us. We've been recalled home."
Elizabeth nodded and leapt lightly off the roof. She gave her horse a pat then mounted up, waiting for Peter to do the same. Behind her, on the small hill in the English countryside, a part of her heart was buried.