Don't you forget about me Who: Ulysses and Circe Where: Camelot Place (and nearby surrounding areas) When: Afternoon, before sunset
Circe liked this time of the day best. It was late enough that people were winding down and had usually gone home but it was often still warm enough for her to tolerate. Typically, she would have driven her car to go shopping but the damned thing had decided it would flash weird lights at her and not start up today. Thus, she was forced to walk to the store and back. It wasn’t too terrible of a trip and Circe had really only needed some tea and bread. Swinging her groceries from a plastic bag in her right hand, she fidgeted in her pocket with her left, searching for her keys. She was about two blocks away from home and she usually wanted to have her keys ready so that she wouldn’t have to talk to any of her neighbors that attempted it.
About a block away from home, she stopped and tasted the air. Her gut told her something was wrong and yet...she couldn’t quite figure it out. She looked across the street and behind her. There were a few people out and about, none of whom she recognized or considered a threat. Frowning, she turned her attention back to her destination and kept walking. She tasted the air again. There. The hair on the back of her neck rose as she tasted him. Walking as if nothing was the matter, she kept heading towards her home. It wasn’t as if he didn’t already know where she lived. And she knew had to happen sooner or later. It was really only a matter of time before Ulysses got bored with what Scarlet Oak had to offer and came to claim his wife.
Had Ulysses been telepathic instead of telekinetic (a thought he’d entertained he didn’t even know how many times and decided that he was really just fine the way he was) then he might’ve amused himself by listening in on the thought of those around him while he waited for Circe to come home. He knew she was gone because her car was there, but she wasn’t, and he didn’t think that she was with the necromancer. Knowing who the latter lived with meant knowing that it was unlikely that Antonin would just take her there whenever he felt like it. Ulysses also knew better than to think that Zaviar would get at all involved with the matter no matter who was right. Antonin had been one of his favorites long before Ulysses had made his appearance so unless the black-blooded man decided to make some pretty impressive foul-up he was off-limits. Circe? Wasn’t. And Ulysses was just a little bit bored of Scarlet Oak and its residents so he’d decided that it was high time he paid a visit to that wandering little wife of his. Ah, and speak of the devil, there she was. Ulysses stood up from the bench and started to follow, hands in his pockets. He knew that she could smell him, or taste him, so he saw no reason why he should call out. Instead he started to hum, quickening his steps to draw him closer the nearer they got to her building.
Circe could feel him hastening towards her. He also smelled closer. She couldn’t help the tightening in her chest. She took comfort in the knowledge that he wouldn’t kill her or cause any irreparable physical damage. At least...he wouldn’t have. The panic swelled in her chest again as the thought that maybe he wasn’t interested in keeping her in his collection anymore flashed through her mind. What if this was simply a matter of pride at this point? She shook herself mentally as she reached her apartment complex. People like her husband were predictable. They didn’t change. She unlocked her door and walked into her apartment, leaving the door open. She walked into her kitchen and placed her groceries on her table and turned around. She felt the normalcy of her life slip away from her fingers. Watching the door with glassy eyes, she started fidgeting with her engagement and wedding rings. Twisting, twisting, twisting.
Ulysses had more than his fair share of pride, oh that was true, but that wasn’t what this was about. If this was about anything then it was about the fact that Circe -- Alexandria -- was his prized piece and he couldn’t just let her go. She’d left that fanged brother of hers back in England and he didn’t see any protectors of the same caliber. There was his wife herself, oh certainly she was capable, but she wouldn’t. If she would then she’d have done it already. Though he’d quickened his pace, Ulysses slowed slightly once they reached the apartment, following behind while keeping her in sight until they reached her individual door. And oh, she’d made it easy by not locking it. “How nice of you to be polite and keep it open,” Ulysses declared as he walked in, an almost-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes flashed to her hand where the rings he’d bought her were resting. Ah yes, good, they were still there. It just wouldn’t do for them to have gone and should they then he’d have to know where so that he could have them welded on. People existed who would do that for the right price, he was sure of it. “Isn’t this a charming little place... tired of extravagance? I thought you were a creature of pleasure.”
All her hard work regaining some semblance of a personality went out the window. Circe’s face went blank at the appearance of her husband. “Close the door behind you. Don’t let the draft in,” Circe recited mechanically. She stood still in the kitchen, unable to bring herself to walk any closer to her husband. Instead, she sat down in one of her kitchen chairs she had gotten for Antonin’s sake. She didn’t really find much use for chairs and furniture. All she really needed was her pile of pillows in her bedroom and a space heater. She’d furnished the apartment bit by bit with Antonin in mind, however, to make it more comfortable for him when he came over...which hadn’t been recently. She stared at the space above her husband’s head, still twisting the rings on her left hand around. His insults didn’t even make a dent in the little protective shell she metaphorically placed around herself. He’d said worse.
Boring. Dull. Nothing about Circe in that moment held any degree of interesting. She’d gone all blank like a doll. Which was exactly what he wanted her to be, true, but it had gotten boring to see her do it over and over again. That was yet another reason to introduce her to holy water. It got some sort of a reaction out of her. Sometimes threatening the necromancer she was so fond of did the same. A necromancer he knew to be in town and some of the furnishing made him certain that he’d been over as well. Otherwise why would a lamia who preferred to have her tail instead of her legs have a chair? “No smile at all, Alexandria? No greeting? That little nurse who works at the hospital with you is more interesting in her sleep than you are awake right now.” Now that was just true. Lumi was a very interesting and animated little creature. Almost the exact opposite of Circe and she had all of those interesting little traits and that very interesting psychic power. Yet this was Alexandria and she wasn’t anything like that. “Come now, say hello like a good wife.”
Circe twisted her lips at the mention of the little nurse. She knew exactly who he was talking about. She had really hoped she would keep his attention for longer...in fact, she had strongly suggested it. Now, it didn’t seem that Nurse Theiss had upheld her half of the bargain. Her blood boiled at the thought of the little chickadee, daring to talk about her relationship with Antonin like she knew anything. “Hello, husband,” Circe added softly after her husband had berated her for not being more welcoming. “Would you like some coffee?” The complaint that Nurse Theiss was more interesting that her was not as reassuring as she would have liked it to be. Circe added, “Though if the lady nurse was more pleasing to you, why don’t you return to her? She would be more pleased by your presence.” There was punishment to come after this, Circe knew, might as well try her best to persuade him to leave if she was going to pay either way.
“Coffee would be nice, go ahead.” Ulysses motioned towards the counter vaguely before settling down, one arm relaxed on the table. That he shouldn’t be so carefree in a house with something that could kill him easily didn’t occur to him. She didn’t have the backbone for it and they both knew that. If she did then he’d have been dead a hundred times over years ago. He was more dangerous than she and she was the one who lived off eating babies. “Because she’s interesting in a different way, and I’d hate for you to think that I’d forgotten to come and say hello to you. Can’t have you thinking I’d forget you.” He couldn’t found a were-dinosaur and he’d still have gone back to Circe just to remind her that she was his and not that black-blooded idiot’s. “And because you come with the more interesting attachment. I’ve seen him around town and he looks in far too good of health. I thought they were supposed to die young? Very young.” That was the part that Ulysses found the most entertaining. Circe had an extended lifespan and the man she turned to had a shortened one.
Staring at her husband for a bit longer, Circe got up slowly (unwillingly) and went over to the counter to turn the machine on. Part of her was holding on to dear hope that by prolonging the eventual abuse, it would never come. Another part of her just wanted to throw the coffee pot at him and get it over with. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything with the glass pot in her hand except fill it with water to pour in the machine. She only had one kind of coffee in her house - the kind that both she and Antonin drank - and didn’t have any of the special blends that her husband used to drink when they had lived together. Not that he could expect her to have any of that, really. The water inside the machine had only just started to bubble and hiss when he mentioned Antonin. Something flashed inside of her as she whipped her head around to look at him with angry eyes. He had no right to talk about Antonin. She regretted it almost immediately. Dropping her head, Circe turned back around to look at the little bits of black liquid falling into the coffee pot. She kept silent. Her husband was used to talking at her instead of to her. It’d been a long while since they’d actually had a proper conversation. It didn’t seem necessary to really start anytime soon.
See, even when she wanted to - and Ulysses knew that she did, he was an empath, Circe didn’t do anything to him. It was like a really fascinating game to see how long she could hold out and keep going before it all came tumbling down and she tried to lunge for him or whip something at his head. Being a telekinetic would likely come in very, very handy then. It came in handy all the time anyway. “Did I strike a nerve?” That was even better than the reactions he got when she was injected with holy water, although that gave him a spine-tingling little jolt too. Too bad he didn’t have any needles or vials of it with him. He was going to have to remedy that soon. “Poor little lamia in love with a necromancer whose time is running out. Tick tick tick... I should get you an hourglass and then you catch watch his life slip away.” Zaviar had indicated that he wanted the necromancer kept alive no matter what he’d done, which Ulysses didn’t really understand, but it wasn’t as bad as it could be since the man really didn’t have that long to live. “If you were any good at being a doctor then I imagine that you’d figure out a way to help him. Too bad you’re not.” His hand went out to wait for the coffee that he expected to be handed any minute.
Circe set her jaw as she closed her eyes to compose herself. Antonin and she had managed to somehow ignore the distinct differences in their lifespans but that didn’t mean it didn’t bother her when she had to think about it. She cursed the fact that her husband knew exactly where to strike a nerve. And then bring it up. He may very well have been a telepath for all he knew. She poured him some coffee into one of her mugs just as he mentioned she was in love with Antonin. Circe couldn’t restrain a snort. “Just like you loved me?” she asked softly, without any amusement in her face. She’d come to the fact that he had not and did not love her shortly after he’d told her so and she’d never ever used the word ‘love’ in relation to anyone after that. In fact, she and Antonin had had this terrible row about it. She handed him his coffee anyway and stepped back a foot to keep the distance between them. “Sugar or cream?” she asked, ignoring the direct jab at her work. It was true. Necromancers were not her area of expertise and she hadn’t bothered to study them at all. She’d simply accepted that Antonin would die when he was meant to and there was nothing either of them could do about it.
“Oh Alexandria, no.” Ulysses chuckled and shook his head before taking the mug. “I never so much as cared about you for anything but a collector’s piece, you know that.” Ulysses didn’t think that he’d ever cared about anyone for that matter. Certainly not as much as some of them seemed to think that he did. He was capable of making them think that he did because empaths had that upper hand when it came to dealing with emotions and flashing them about however they pleased. “I was really just using it because ‘fuck’ is so... crude. And no thank you, I’m going to take it black. I don’t intend on staying for all that long. But it’s so important to check in on one’s valuables when you’re in the area. How long have you been here?”
That didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it was a surprisingly soft blow for her husband. It really only troubled Circe more. She kept the physical distance between them, though she felt crowded no matter where she stood in the house. It was like drowning in his presence. “A while,” she responded regarding his question. As if she could be bothered to remember. He had probably kept better track of it. She had a sinking feeling he knew the exact date she left Suresh’s home for America. She’d been naïve enough to hope he’d lost interest in her. And when he’d come to America and been distracted by the nurse, she’d hoped that he transfer his attention to her. Stupid, really. She was a part of his collection and he’d never let go. Circe stood there and her fingers began twist her rings around again.
‘Awhile’. What a detailed answer. And here he’d thought that she could at least pretend to carry on a quarter of a conversation since she had that impressive degree. That didn’t matter since it didn’t do her any good. Who cared if she helped a few lamiae? No one. Except her and since it was her that meant it mattered even less. “You should’ve told me that you were coming back to my home country. I’d have been interested to know. But it’s alright since now I know right where you are, and even better where the necromancer is.” He only took a sip of the coffee before setting it down and standing again, moving over in front of Circe. “Come on now, give me a kiss and maybe I’ll leave you alone for the evening. Or maybe I’ll go find a church, I haven’t decided.”
She’d actually sort of forgotten he came from the United States. Their entire life together had been in England, after all. “Have you visited your parents? I’m sure they miss you a great deal,” was all Circe had to offer on the matter. Again, she ignored any references to Antonin and watched carefully as he put his coffee down and stood up. There really wasn’t anywhere to go unless she wanted to seem like she was running from him. One one hand, that seemed like a pretty good idea. On the other...well, he didn’t need to know how frightened she was. Even if he did seem to have a very good sense of how she was feeling all of the time. When he was finally in front of her, it took every muscle in her being not to scratch his face off instead of do as she was asked. Clasping her hands behind her back with the nails in one hand digging angrily into the palm of the other, Circe hardly had to tiptoe to give her husband a chaste kiss on the cheek. He was only a few inches taller than her but it could have been an entire foot for the fact that his presence always loomed over her like some monster.
Like Ulysses even cared about going and seeing his parents. The ones that he hadn’t seen since he’d decided that he was going to go to England. No, the answer was that no, he hadn’t seen them and he wasn’t going to. “If I went to see them then I’d have to take my wife along wouldn’t I?” A drawl and a smirk when she did as she was told and came to kiss him even though she had that flutter of fear running rampant. Why she kept her emotions off her face he’d never understand since he knew them at least as well as she did. “Poor little lamia, scared in the face of me. What’d I ever do to you?” A hand came up to pat her roughly on the cheek. It always amused him just to bring her that bit of harm, even if it was sheerly mental, and it seemed like a good start. For now. “I’ll come back and visit soon, love, wouldn’t want you to forget about me again.” Like she ever could.