(no subject)
He walked into the house without much of a sound, disregarding the emptiness as anything important. If he were honest, he would have had to admit there was a part of him that find the coldness of the home set in on him the absence of those that brought a sort life to his world.
Alex and Brody’s scents intermingled, hanging about the air with a touch of captured youth. Like the smell of a sun-warmed stone in the middle of winter. Barely noticeable, but there if one looked hard enough. And Anson, the smell of life strongly undercutting the stuffiness of death. It almost felt as if he could feel the human’s heart beating, a fading memory as his fingers brushed along the back of the couch.
And Arsene….
Heh. He smelled like the French country side, something Percy had noted some time ago. Percy noticed a lot in the time he spent quietly observing the world that revolved around him. The way Alex and Arsene adjusted…arguing as siblings, yet comfortable with each other. Alex’s consist attentions on Brody, his sing-song Italian as he teased the boy mercilessly with bright smiles and brighter eyes.
But then he always looked back to Arsene, and the French Country side was still warm…welcoming. And always focused on something that was far more enticing than an old, dead Englishman.
And Percy was dead, wasn’t he? Not just physically…
When was the last time the vampire had smiled, meaningfully smiled?
Italy. In a different lifetime. When he was a different person.
Sighing, the vampire shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it aside as he walked down the hall, fingers trailing down the wall as he closed his eyes. Was this what a family was like? Maybe it was…
Maybe he just wanted it to be. Heh. If Gawain could see him now, his sire wouldn’t have believed that he was himself. And that in itself was probably the most accomplished thing anyone in his home could have done. His heart…was reminding him that it existed.
Alex and Brody’s scents intermingled, hanging about the air with a touch of captured youth. Like the smell of a sun-warmed stone in the middle of winter. Barely noticeable, but there if one looked hard enough. And Anson, the smell of life strongly undercutting the stuffiness of death. It almost felt as if he could feel the human’s heart beating, a fading memory as his fingers brushed along the back of the couch.
And Arsene….
Heh. He smelled like the French country side, something Percy had noted some time ago. Percy noticed a lot in the time he spent quietly observing the world that revolved around him. The way Alex and Arsene adjusted…arguing as siblings, yet comfortable with each other. Alex’s consist attentions on Brody, his sing-song Italian as he teased the boy mercilessly with bright smiles and brighter eyes.
But then he always looked back to Arsene, and the French Country side was still warm…welcoming. And always focused on something that was far more enticing than an old, dead Englishman.
And Percy was dead, wasn’t he? Not just physically…
When was the last time the vampire had smiled, meaningfully smiled?
Italy. In a different lifetime. When he was a different person.
Sighing, the vampire shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it aside as he walked down the hall, fingers trailing down the wall as he closed his eyes. Was this what a family was like? Maybe it was…
Maybe he just wanted it to be. Heh. If Gawain could see him now, his sire wouldn’t have believed that he was himself. And that in itself was probably the most accomplished thing anyone in his home could have done. His heart…was reminding him that it existed.