Anticipation [2430-2-3 Sat 10:30 am]

[Titus Vere]

It was late in the morning, and though Titus had only had a few hours of sleep, he was feeling very good. He was feeling excited, which was a rather strange sensation. Normally, excitement was an emotion he only associated with the act of killing. But there was no death in his event horizon, and the infectious mood still clung to him.

Maybe it was because he was experimenting in the kitchen. Titus had never been much for experimentation. His piano teacher had always said that Titus’ greatest flaw was that he never experimented, never ventured off the beaten path, and always, always played with a quiet even pace. “You need to breathe life into the music!” Mr. Cameron would always insist, and Titus would nod, and play exactly the same way he had played before; perfectly, but without emotional investment. The same could be said for his cooking, which had always followed the recipes perfectly. Of course, despite what conventional wisdom said, you couldn’t taste love in food, and so Titus’ food tasted as good as those who made it with so-called ‘love’. But he never experimented with any of those recipes.

Until today.

The blood was warming in a crock-pot that Titus had never found a use for, turned exactly to the temperature of the human body, with an agitator to keep the blood from clotting. It was part of a series of experiments that Titus was performing to see if he could perhaps improve the flavor of blood.

He knew that Elijah couldn’t digest food, so putting blood into food, either solid or liquid, was simply out of the question. Vice-verse was more or less out as well, unless it was perhaps in very, very small quantities, and even then, certainly nothing solid. Instead, Titus was attempting to find a way to infuse the blood with new flavours, without leaving anything but the altered taste behind.

At the moment, three separate soaking/straining systems were happening. Titus had decided to try a variety of presumably complimentary flavours. The first was a citrus mix, while the second was fruity, and the third was a bitter chocolaty flavour. Taste-tests had proven successful so far, though Titus wasn’t certain his palette would match with the vampire’s. It was strange how quickly Titus had adapted to the warm slightly salty taste.

It was bringing rather odd thoughts to his mind. Perhaps a new way of experimenting with his kills? Only time would tell.

The fruit infusion finished, and Titus switched the places of the two bowls, placing the empty one below the strainer and funnel combination, and the full one on top, and repeating the process of straining the blood through the fruit pulp. So occupied was he that he didn’t hear Skye wake, or come down the stairs.

[Skye Thompson]

The girl’s eyes snapped open, and she came instantly into full consciousness. It was quite ordinary for Skye to wake in this manner, particularly when she had something on her mind. And her life being what it was, she almost always had something on her mind.

For a few moments, she simply lay there, eyes open but staring into space. Then she sat up slowly, brushing the covers off herself and swinging her feet to the floor. Winter still held their sector of the Top in its icy grip, and Skye shivered, despite having endured much worse temperatures. She walked around her bed to the other side of the room and retrieved from inside the closet a thick gray sweater, which she slipped on, pulling the hood down over her face and tucking her hair inside it.

Having done that, Skye moved to the shelf next to her window where she kept her drawing supplies, gathering a half-finished picture and the supplies she needed to complete it. The image was of the world outside Titus’ living room window, a world made new by blankets of snow.

Skye was quite taken with snow. While rain seemed to multiply as it slid off of roofs and sidewalks to the Below, snow got stuck and dissipated, so that it barely dusted the dirty streets. She had never before seen it as it was here, where it pilled up in huge mounds and covered everything, made the world look so different, almost enchanted. Yes, that was the word, she thought as she came quietly down the stairs. The snow was enchanted.

Titus was in the kitchen, as she’d been aware of, but when Skye raised her head to greet him, she saw something that stopped her in her tracks. Pens and pencils clattered to the floor, and the half-finished sketch floated slowly down to rest between them.

[Titus Vere]

Titus did not flinch when he heard the clatter of pens and pencils. He had been well trained, and his hands remained steady on the bowl, ensuring that the last of the blood poured into the funnel. However, he did cast his eyes over to the frozen Skye, and as soon as the bowl was empty, he placed it in the sink and approached her.

He carefully picked up her pens and pencils, and the sketch. Titus glanced at the sketch. It was incomplete, but he could already see what it would be. It was rather fascinating to see Skye's innate talent. If he hadn't brought her home on a whim, she would have never had a chance to develop it. He looked at her, extended the pencils and sketch, "You've made excellent progress. I look forward to seeing the finished product."

Titus did not mention the rather gruesome sight behind him. If Skye wished to know, he would tell her. If she chose not to, he would honor her choice not to.

[Skye Thompson]

Numbly, Skye felt herself reach out and take the illustration Titus offered her; along with the tools she needed to complete it. She studied Titus’ hands for a moment as the pencils passed between them and to her, but the slender fingers were free of the dark red stains she had feared seeing upon them.

“Thank you.” She said, realizing a few seconds to late that Titus had complimented her, but acknowledging his praise anyhow. Her eyes strayed to what lay on the counter, as if to make sure that what she had seen was real, but there was no doubting it. Skye had seen enough of the substance arrayed across the kitchen in bowls that she could not mistake it. But what was it doing in the kitchen, of all places? She stood there, still frozen. Until one word, a question she hadn’t meant, hadn’t even wanted to ask, rushed past her lips of it’s own accord. “Why?”

[Titus Vere]

Titus glanced back at his equipment, and sighed a little. An explanation was needed. And, if tomorrow's dinner date was successful, then Elijah would be around the apartment rather often. Skye would discover what he was, eventually, either when Elijah revealed his true self, or when she realized that he only ever ate blood. Even someone from the Below would understand the concept of a vampire, even if she had never encountered any of the literature.

"You may want to sit down for this explanation." Titus warned her, guiding Skye to the nearest chair. "I am afraid there's something you should know about Elijah. This... may be somewhat stressful. I would ask you to remain calm. Breathe in and out if you begin to feel panicked."

Titus waited for her to be seated, and for the paper and pencils to be safely set on the table before he spoke again, "I have invited Elijah over for dinner tomorrow night. Unfortunately, he doesn't eat food like you and I do. Elijah is a vampire, and he only drinks blood." Titus kept it simply and to the point, but made sure that it was clear to Skye what exactly Eli was. This was not a subject he could be subtle with.

[Skye Thompson]

Vampire. The word fell on Skye’s ears like the crash of breaking glass. Harsh, dissonant, meaningless, and yet… and yet with a certain, barely perceptible musical quality to it, a gentle waterfall of tones that passed to quickly to be heard, but when slowed was almost beautiful. Although at this moment, Skye didn’t really feel like slowing down and listening. She felt like her head would burst.

It was all too much, all too impossible. “But… but Elijah is… was… he… he’s not… can’t be…” If Titus has told her Digeo was a vampire, Skye would have had no trouble believing it. But Elijah? The two words just didn’t belong in the same sentance, they didn’t make sense together. Vampire. A word that made her think of the Nox documentaries she’d watched over the past few weeks. It made her think of darting shadows and fanged, scarlet mouths, of glowing eyes and the sound of a blood-chilling hiss, of dark and unimaginable terror. Elijah. And she saw the young man sitting across from her in Titus’ living room, looking around curiously. He was willowy, graceful, and rather prim, even effeminate. Hardly the sort of person she’d have pegged as a blood-thirst monster.

But then, wasn’t it the same with Titus? He was always so gentle with her, so kind, and yet there was always that steely glint in his eyes, and there was always, though she ever fought thinking about it, the dreaded truth. Those same fingers that had tenderly brushed the tears from her cheeks had also wound around the handle of a knife and drawn in across a throat, perhaps with the same kind of gentle caress. Skye leaned forward, putting her head in her hands and voicing, for the first time, the silent lament that had been her companion since she’d come to the top. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

[Titus Vere]

Titus simply waited for Skye to deal with the inevitable truth. She was like an open book, and he could read every page of her. She struggled with what Titus had said, almost denying it, and then accepting it. Her lament did not go unheard, and Titus carefully set a hand on her back, doing his best to comfort her with the limited emotional resources he had.

“Life never makes sense. Not once you really understand it,” He said, voice soft and kind. It wasn’t Skye’s fault that she found everything so overwhelming. The world she had come from had been stark black and white. The Top was nothing but shades of grey, and in the grey, there was room for conflicting morality, “But one day, things will be less confusing. I am certain of that.”

Titus removed his hand from Skye’s back, “Elijah will pay another visit tomorrow evening. I want you to visit Persephone that night and try sleeping at her place. I’m not certain how well you’ll deal with a strange home, but I think it would be good to try.”

[Skye Thompson]

At Titus' gentle touch, Skye felt herself relax. It was as if the tension was simply drained out of her. It wasn't completely gone of course, She still felt jittery, confused, and heavy as though this knew knowledge were weighing her down. But the overarching feeling of panic and distress had melted away, and in it's absence she felt almost calm. Perhaps Titus was right. Things would make more sense one day. But for now things were still confusing as hell. And all because of questions.

That was the reason life was so complicated. In the Below, there was no time to try to understand life, because you were too busy simply staying alive. But here, in the Top, where people had everything else set for them, they could ask questions. Questions like, 'Why is there a bowl of blood in the kitchen?' Questions that in the end, you would have preferred not to have asked. “I'm sorry.” Skye hung her head, her voice soft. “I ask to many questions.” Maybe that was the secret to happiness. All you had to do was not ask questions. But that could, in the end, be the most impossible thing she had ever considered doing.

After all, there was already another question she wanted to ask, another question she was afraid of the answer to. “I'll go to Persephone's tomorrow.” She said, and her voice came out stiff as she tried to wring the question from it. Which was pointless, because a moment later the question burst from her anyway. “But what about Elijah? What if he hurts you?”

[Titus Vere]

“Don’t apologize for asking questions,” Titus chided her gently, not wanting to be cruel or confusing, but knowing that he had to make things clear, “As long as you live with me, I expect you to ask questions. I may not always give you the answers you want, but I will always give you an answer, and I will never hurt you for being curious.”

She seemed much calmer, though her voice was still strained when she spoke. Titus reached over, brushing her hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear, “I don’t believe he will do so intentionally, but I have considered the possibility that he may harm me. If he does, then he does. I believe it is worth the risk.”

Titus smiled a little, just a little, “And remember Skye, I am not helpless. This is my home and I know it inside and out. And I am deadliest when I stand in my own home.”

[Skye Thompson]

Once again Titus' touch was gentle, his fingers barely brushing her skin with just the slightest hit of comfort and affection. But it was enough. More than enough, to someone who had lived for years without the benefit of a single word of encouragement. To Skye, it was the world. If Titus cared, if he would look out for her and make sure she was alright, than nothing could possibly be wrong. Confusing, yes, frightening, yes, but somehow still just, right.

But something strange was happening. Titus trusted Eli. Why else would he invite him over like this? Skye had known Titus for long enough to understand that he wasn't a particularly trusting person. And of all the people to trust, he was choosing Eli. A vampire. An interesting and charismatic vampire, but a vampire all the same. Skye knew Titus could take care of himself, but somehow that wasn't much of a comfort. It should have been, but it wasn't. Because if there was one thing Skye had learned from living in the Below, it was that no one, no matter how strong they were, how brave, how intelligent, no one was invincible. Not even Titus. And that terrified her.

[Titus Vere]

He knew that she doubted him. Not entirely, but perhaps just a little bit, just enough to eat at her. But everything he had said was true. Her fear was not unwarranted, but there was little she could do about it. Titus simply had to trust in Elijah, and he felt that the rewards in trusting Elijah far outstripped any downsides.

"Everything will be alright. I assure you," Titus promised her and stood up, feeling like he had assured her as much as he could, or as much as she was capable of being assured. He glanced back at his experiment in the kitchen, making sure everything was fine. It was. He returned his attention to Skye, "Now, what would you like for breakfast?"

[Skye Thompson]

Titus' question was so mundane that it made Skye feel rather ridiculous. Although considering the choices currently arrayed on the counter, breakfast was in fact a very serious topic. She certainly wasn't interested in anything flavored for Elijah's palate.

Although the question also made her feel uncomfortable in entirely another sense. Skye wasn't sure how to answer. She still wasn't quite used to being asked her opinion on things. Besides, telling Titus that she wanted something from him would feel like giving him an order. And he should have been giving her orders, not the other way around. “I...” she mumbled, not meeting Titus' eyes, “You don't have to... I can... I should make my own... I...”

[Titus Vere]

“I am simply offering breakfast Skye, nothing less or more,” Titus found Skye fascinating. She adapted so well to some things, but others were simply impossible to budge her on. News of a vampire had been easier for her to accept than asking Titus for food.

It would be easier for both of them if he helped her along and Titus did just that, making a suggestion. “Have you ever had French toast? I imagine the only eggs you’ve ever seen have been the kind you pour out of a plastic jug,” Titus headed for the fridge, pulling out the ingredients he would need for French toast. As he gathered them up and headed back to the counter, he continued to speak, “This was one of my mother’s favourite recipes. It was one of the few things she cooked instead of the servants.”

[Skye Thompson]

Skye ducked her head, her cheeks flushing at the slight note of frustration in Titus' voice. This was why the worlds of the Below and the Top were never meant to meet. In the Below, no one asked you what you wanted to eat. You were lucky if you ate at all. And you never, ever requested something from someone. Unless of course, you needed it so badly that you were willing to run the risk that you'd get the shit beat out of you for asking. In the Below, Skye's reaction made sense, but in the Top, it was what was referred to as 'being difficult.' Once again, the feeling was creeping up on her. No matter how much she wanted to, she didn't belong here.

“Yes.” She said meekly, “That would be wonderful.” She wasn't really even sure what 'french toast' was, but she was sure she would like anything Titus made. He was right that she'd never seen eggs that didn't come out of a jug, but then, what other kind of eggs were there? Skye opened her mouth to ask, but what Titus said next made her close it. Titus rarely talked about his parents, and Skye didn't know much of anything about them, except that they had died when Titus was very young. Somehow, she felt as though he had revealed a deep secret to her, this precious snatch of memory about his mother. He probably didn't have many of them. Neither did she.

In a way, Skye supposed that made them alike. Titus must miss his parents, must want to have them back, and while Skye didn't want her parents back, she wanted more than almost anything to have parent's like Titus' had been. Parents who cared about her. And as she watched Titus take items from the fridge to begin breakfast, she found herself asking the question without realizing what she was saying. “What was it like?”

[Titus Vere]

Titus grabbed everything he needed and got to work, effortlessly cracking eggs on the side of the bowl and opening them with one hand, tossing the shells into the garbage. It was clear that Skye was not asking how his mother’s French toast had tasted, even though that would have certainly made more sense. By now, he had begun to get used to the rather inappropriate questions that seemed to come out of nowhere.

He added milk and began to whisk the eggs up, thinking about what he would say. Titus didn’t talk about his parents. It was simply easier, particularly when everyone else’s mind was made up about what Titus had ‘done’ to them. But there wasn’t that same menace from Skye. When she asked a question, it was because she wanted to know, not because she was looking for information to use against him, or because she wanted to prove him wrong.

“It was nice,” Titus said, voice very soft when he spoke, “They were good parents. My mother was a kind woman. And my father was very loving. I have nothing but happy memories from my time with them.”

He looks down at the smooth liquid and adds a dash of cinnamon, just for some extra flavour. A thousand memories leap to his mind, days spent in the parks, or reading books, days where he and mother were alone with each other, days when he came with father to work and saw met powerful men and shyly told them that when he grew up, Titus was going to own his own restaurant where he would make food for people and they would tell them how wonderful it was. And the, the final memory, the blood and the dead bodies, and how they lay there so still on the carpet while he wept.

Titus pressed his palm against his forehead, forcing the thoughts out. They left reluctantly, and turned his attention back to breakfast, turning on a burner and putting a pan on, “Those were the happiest days of my life.”