Generally Fucked Who: Adair, Beckham and Simon Where: Farmhouse on the outskirts of town. When: After nightfall. What: A not so good reunion. Note:Part One Here
As long as Beckham didn't get there first, Simon didn't care if the little bastard felt the need to breathe down his neck all the way home. The journey to the farmhouse took all of five minutes, and Simon made his landing through the open upstairs bedroom window, as per usual.
"Adair," he bellowed, alerting her to as much as he could before Beckham could get a word in edgewise. "We got some unwelcome company."
There was no answer in the old farmhouse. No indication that the redheaded Rogue was anywhere near the place, in fact. The simple silence of an empty house followed the echoless bellow. Her scent lingered: a spicy aroma that reminded one of cloves and a hint of cyenne and vanilla. Not to mention the hint of age.
She was there.. just not where her Fallen's voice could reach her at the immediate moment: that being, the neighbor's house a half mile down the stretch. She had flown there only an hour before for the lack of sustenance that was nagging, clawing at her gut like an irritated beast. She would have been back earlier had the occupants of the house not been on edge, and refused to show themselves to her through the windows (the sight of a fanged, winged woman wasn't all that pleasant to some, apparently.) The power of suggestion wasn't useful if she couldn't catch her target's eyes... and so, frustrated... she left the place unstated and hungry.
The moon: a stark blue glow cast on the white speckled wings of a Great Owl was the first indication of her on the stream of wind over the trees behind the house. Approaching it from down wind, of course (Adair was still alive for several reasons, and one of them was that she wasn't stupid), the breeze brought to her senses a sudden pin prick of familiarity... and she stopped.. dead over the trees. Her wings arced high and caught the air, hovering with powerful, calculated thrusts.
Adair was stunned. Disbelieving, and thrown into chaotic memory: her lips softly agape with thought and impossibility. She felt like her heart had just been ripped from it's cage of bone and muscle, even if it'd been dead for almost 400 years.
".....Beckham."
Beck wasn't hot on Simon's heels, but instead stayed back just a bit. Sure, he could easily over take the younger vampire, but he didn't feel that he needed to. Beck was confidant that he could easily undo any words Simon spoke before he arrived. However, that was not to be.
Beckham.
Hearing his name spoken by an oh so familiar voice, even though the distance made it faint, sent a shiver through his body. He stopped just above the farm house, wings working to keep him relatively stationary as he turned in the air. And then there she was, the woman who had given him eternity. Unbidden, the bit of affection his heart still held for her came forth and caused him to act without thought.
He glided toward her, lowering to the ground until he was halfway between her and the house, feet planted on the ground and wings folded against his back. Simon had been forgotten now, nothing but a distant annoyance in his mind.
"Did you miss me, my love?" He couldn't help but give her that old grin that spoke of his ever present self confidence when it came to her. After all, there was no way she'd attack him now, not when he was seemingly 'back from the dead'.
"He's working for Zale." Simon didn't plan on letting this conversation get any further under false pretenses. He stood behind Beckham's shoulder, arms impassively folded again, displaying no visible reaction to the emotional reunion. "He threatened to have Zale torture your whereabouts out of me if I didn't surrender. I figured it was safer to have you deal with him direct than to have Zale involved."
There was a part of him that regretted having to be the bearer of that news--certainly not for the traitor's sake, but for Adair's, when her hopes had only just been raised again. The thought of how it must feel to have a prodigal son return from the dead, only to be revealed as Judas, eclipsed the satisfaction of cutting Beckham's simpering flirtation short. Simon had no children of his own, no way to truly understand, but he wasn't devoid of empathy.
He wished now that there had been a way to soften the blow as he said it. But there simply hadn't been time.
She had watched him glide to the field of unsown wheat behind the house that bordered the trees she disturbed with the bursts from her wings.. She watched Simon behind him: both of them settled in the waist-high stalks of velcro-like plants. Adair didn't seem to exist for a moment or two, or at least had been forcibly removed from the controls of her own body.
When it finally returned from the hitch in her time and space, she wasted no time in turning head toward the ground in a shot toward the field, ended only when she spread those avian appendages in a sharp crack of motion, an impossibly strong burst from their downward snap flattened the wheat below her like a gale, before righting naturally as her feet touched the ground, ten feet separated them. ...and still, even when her blond fledgling spoke, she didn't seem to comprehend the fact that she wasn't hallucinatinig (Adair's insanity wasn't exactly questioned).
Only when her Younger spoke did something flicker in her eyes, made black by shadow and the cast of the moon. She had heard them both... but neither sets of words were connecting. Adair's twisted defense mechanisms in an age deteriorated psyche sizzled and writhed under their burning impression, like a brand left on skin too long.
She was silent. Simply standing there opposite both of them: her wings in a half-state of readiness, same as the half-curled hands at her sides, and the parted lips given to the hint of fangs beneath. She exuded threat and longing and confusion.
Simon’s presence was made known to him once more like an ice cold bucket of water being dumped on him (if he had still been human). His words reminded him of his annoyance with the man and brought it up to a nice angry boil. How dare he step in when he was neither wanted nor needed. The impudence! His anger showed only in the ever so slight dimming of affection, which only made him look more steady and less love-struck.
He could not nay-say Simon’s words, and would not physically attack him in Adair’s presence, not like this. Beckham was smart, and he knew Adair, knew her well. He would do absolutely nothing to incite her wrath. So he ignored Simon, eyes staying trained on Adair.
“I ran into your little fledgling, he told me you thought I was dead. I can only guess that it was Zale who told you. I did not know he told you this.” He held his arms open to show his lack of weapons before stepping closer to her, and further from Simon. “I am as alive as any vampire can be.” And that was all he said. He would only address his offenses when necessary, and only when brought up by Adair herself. Take it slowly, a bit at a time and at her own pace. It would not do to rush her or over load her thoughts with information.
That’s right, Beck. No one knows Adair like you do. Tread carefully.
Simon would have to try to lessen the impact somehow, to ease Adair through this and reason with her without Beckham's attempted seduction taking hold. He allowed Adair a few moments to process, staying where he was. Crowding her wasn't going to do anything, and he didn't need to be close to her to say what he needed to say.
"You know we can't trust him, Adair," he said quietly. He folded his hands behind his back, the same steady, impassive position he always took when backing her up in public. Counselor, lieutenant, bodyguard and lover all in one, always there, always steady and unchanging.
"He's alive because Zale got to him and cut him a deal," he said, taking an educated guess and running with it. "You let him back in and he'll report straight back to the House and get us both killed." He stressed the 'both' ever so slightly, appealing to Adair's protectiveness of him--how often had she begged him to stay away from the dangerous elders when she couldn't keep him safe? Simon didn't fear for his own safety here, but he had to remind Adair that it was at stake nonetheless.
The breeze didn't even feel at ease enough to touch Adair... who's hair stayed still, coiled and chaotic around her face. She was stone still in a sea of gentle wheat waves. Only the faintest glimmer in her eyes when they shifted betrayed movement: a slide of focus from one fledgling to another, and back again.
Finally, when she spoke, it carried with it the rasp and taut quality of a snare drum ready to rip it's frame. Tense and dangerous, but unreadable as far as emotion goes. "....is this true, BlueBird?" Her eyes were locked on Beckham. Behind the chaotic mix of blue and gold was the memory of waking up, not alone...but with a different occupant in her household than she had been used to for so many years. The black haired Beast that right now, she was sure, would like nothing better than to tear her apart, feather by feather, limb by limb. He described in detail the destruction of her Fallen at his hands. It had lead to Zale's own flesh and blood being burned to ashes in revenge... then Adair being crucified on a remote cliff, left to shrivel and dry like a corpse.
And here he was... alive. And with an explanation that went so far beyond worse than his death had even been.
Both of them were correct to keep their distance.
As Simon decided to yet again open his mouth Beck began to formulate a way to get him out of the picture. He wanted him gone, away from this scene now. He was proving to be more of a hindrance than Beck had counted on. This did not mean that Beck feared he could not get himself out of the hole Simon was digging for him, but more that he was becoming irritated by the extra hurdles.
His arms came down to his side as he took the time to begin the slow and painful process of retracting his wings. Simon had said his piece, and Adair had finally spoken, but Beck took this time to think on how best to progress. Once his wings were gone he rotated his shoulders, ignoring the feeling of his own blood, dried from when they had sprouted and newly wet from retracting, on his skin.
Looking over his shoulder toward Simon, Beck gave him a hard look that spoke of violence to come if he continued to over step his bounds. “If you do not mind, young one, this is a conversation that pertains to her and I only.” Sure he wasn’t that much older than Simon, but it was enough.
Then his attention was back on Adair once more. “Zale had caught up to you, my love, but instead of catching you he caught me. He gave me a choice between death and life in the House.” He smiled, hair shifting as his head tilted ever so slightly, unrestrained from the fedora he had been wearing (which had been dislodge somewhere along the way).
“I have never lied to you, and will not do so now. You know me just as well as I know you, so even if I tried I know you could see through it.” True, he’d never outright lie, but whether he would be completely honest… “I will answer your questions and take any punishment you deem necessary.”
"No," said Simon, gazing impassively back at Beckham, "no, I think it pertains pretty directly to me too, so I'll be stayin' right here. Unless you plan on invoking Zale again, seein' as that's what shut me up last time." Beckham's previous warning had no bearing here--he couldn't very well threaten to hand Simon over to Zale in front of Adair.
Now that Adair was aware of Zale's involvement, Simon was fairly certain Beck's threat had been rendered empty if he really wanted to try and get back into Adair's good graces. If Zale ever did get hold of Simon, Adair would now know who had made it possible--and Simon would make even more explicitly sure she knew, if he had to.
Her mind was nothing but a seething tempest. Chaos reigned so that no lucid thought could make it to her eyes or lips. The heartbreak, revisited... slicing through her a thousand fold with the projected involvement of her rival: the one she had the opportunity to vanquish for good a few days back.... and did not.
One solid sound echoed through her skull: that of her own scream...unending, needing no breath to replenish it's horrid solidarity. She didn't let it get to her lips. Something was holding it back, even though she'd never figure out what.
She suddenly felt caged... like four walls of fire, once her cherished element in the days when her heart still beat, now a silent enemy that always did it's best to burn her undead flesh with betrayal... Adair's fingertips curled into the flesh of her palms. Tight and nervous, angry..furious, with a rage that was completely unleashed and undirected. It had no focus...
If she was still human, the entire field would have burst into flames at that point. Instead, she brought her clenched hands to her face and doubled over: her lips peeled back, baring fangs and bone white teeth to the ground--a face of anguish that should have gone with a scream.
None came, however... only a sudden shot of movement, streaked red with white feathers behind it and the flattening of wheat behind her. She shot across the small distance straight at Beckham, catching him with a downward strike across that perfect line of blond hair and masculine jaw. Only when she struck him, did sound spill from her lips--a tormented cry of effort and insanity that dissolved the instant she focused on his shape on the ground.
Her hand was around his throat in a slice of a second: she hoisted him from the indentation in still wet soil and crushed crop, squeezing black and dangerous, her face tight and tortured, only an inch from hers.
She only stared... her strength stopped only at the subtle give of vertebrae under taloned fingertips. The stare off was tense... until something in the back of the eldest vampire's brain snapped.
Her grip faltered completely, dropping Beckham to the ground--once again, her expression mixed complete confusion and heartache--her eyes unfocused into the dark field, which she walked into, aimlessly... her back to both her Creations and Companions.
Beck barely had any time to take note of the change in Adair before she was on him, let alone react to the ever annoying Simon. No time to prepare, barely any time to think. There was just simply the agony of her face followed by inhumanly fast motions. Motions that led to pain following.
Pain had always been something Beck disliked, and as such it took a good deal of concentration to keep himself from fighting back. Because of this, when his hands did come in contact with Adair’s wrist, it was only as a light touch with no intent to remove them. Her grip on his neck was painful, but he did not need to really breathe, except in order to speak, so he stayed silent.
Then, just as suddenly as she had launched herself on him, he was released. He collapsed down onto one knee, a hand going to his throat. Even as he looked to see Adair’s back turned to him and walking away he could feel the damage begin its healing process.
“Adair…” his voice was raspy thanks to his bruised throat, but he could still talk. He needed to talk, to say something, and not just because he wanted to manipulate the current situation. No… It was because the look on her face as she turned away invoked the same attachments that hearing her voice for the first time in decades had. “Adair, you are my sire, and no matter how Zale and the Seraphim try to sever that link they will not succeed.” He stood up, hoping she still was listening to him. “I won’t let them.”
Simon couldn't comfort Adair with Beckham around, constantly reopening her wounds and pouring salt into them and trying to worm his way where he didn't belong. He would have to wait until they were alone again before he could do damage control, and Beckham clearly had no intention of leaving--if Simon went after Adair, the traitor would be sure to follow right behind, and he knew Adair couldn't handle that. They would have to let her go, if only for the moment--Simon would never leave Adair alone for very long; he knew better than that.
Beckham's promise would be laughable, if Simon ever laughed. The sheer audacity of trying to claim he wouldn't let anyone damage a relationship he'd turned his own back on half a century ago--well, it certainly took balls, but Simon didn't find it particularly admirable.
"That ship has long since sailed, sunshine." He ambled up beside Beck, still watching Adair's retreating back. "You can't make this right. You can keep tryin', though, if you really want to keep stabbin' her in the heart. You know I can't stop you."
Adair didn't say anything for a few minutes, but both of them understood that she could hear every word, and absorbed the conversation whether she realized it or not. She paced among the wheat... the butt of one hand on her brow, the sensation of pain, well known to Adair as with the rest of their bloodline: the acute awareness of it coiling and brewing behind her eyes like poison.
She stopped moving when Beck spoke again, half-twisted in their direction for a pause, then she squared her shoulders at him: her hands still coiled in dangerous fists at her sides, brushed by the feathers of dirty white wings.
"Why didn't you come to me?!" She accused the blond vampire on his knee in the mud.. lurching forward toward him suddenly, but stopped midstride.. leashing herself. "WHY didn't you TELL ME? Zale hasn't killed me yet... he wouldn't have been able to then." She couldn't fathom it... Her rival gave him a relatively commonplace threat, and he just up and left... The hurt and betrayal blazed like the love and murder in her eyes.
"All this time..." She turned abruptly, shoving her hands through her hair: twitching blood red ends coiled like entrails around the tattoos and narrow waist. Her wings faced them again.
Ok, that was it. He had, had enough of Simon’s mouth. He gave a half turn, face going from an expression of earnest sincerity (which was rather out of place on his face) to an expression akin to a snarl. “Do not presume to know who I am and what my intentions have been in the past and are now! You are…”
Whatever he was going to add was cut short by Adair’s words. He had not expected her to speak again, to turn back to him and continue after having already turned away from him. The first thought that came to mind was a simple word. Shit… The answer to that was a difficult one to come to, and did wonders for calming his anger toward his younger counterpart.
What should he say, what should his answer be? There were so many choices, most of them being lies. But no, he had said before he would not lie. He had turned back to her by now, his blue eyes trained on her face. As he came to a decision on what to say his expression faded, showed a mixture of his acknowledgment of defeat at being cornered, and with the reservation of what he knew would likely come from his words.
“I needed to know for myself, to see what the House was like through my own eyes.” Partly true. Yes, he had been getting bored with Adair, but he was also driven by some curiosity when Zale made his offer. All he knew of Gabriel House came from Adair’s lips, after all. “And be honest, love. If I had told you, would you have let me go?”
Beckham could try to spin the situation all he wanted, but Simon had a feeling his interpretation of events was the right one, and his blood boiled at the thought of Adair being taken in by someone who was going to betray her again simply because Beckham was skilled at taking advantage of her loneliness. Simon would die before he'd see that happen.
"Oh, lord," he said, his entire tone changing into something almost-genuinely contrite-sounding. "Beckham, I owe you an apology. I didn't realize you were defecting to us. I had no idea. Y'see, I thought you intended to go back to Zale and keep takin' his orders. But now that you've gone off and seen what the House is like, you must've decided to come fight on our side instead, right? Or else you're gonna be our man on the inside to keep us safe and bring Zale down with subterfuge? Everything you were sayin' earlier about being close enough to Zale to have him torture me whenever you pleased, that's all gonna change now? 'Cause if so, we got a spare bedroom upstairs with your name on it."
As earnest as he sounded, Simon's eyes were hard as diamond, awaiting Beck's response.
Adair just stared at the eldest of her fledglings... Her eyes were not as jagged and cutting as Simon's, though they were still very dangerous. There was no doubt in her mind, now, that something had happened between Beckham and Zale that she could not undo. That her affiliation with the blond could very possibly be her undoing because of that single contradictory twist of her already knotted psyche. It was the biggest difference (the one TRUE difference) between her and the other Orphanim... the fact that Zale would destroy his own offspring if they disobeyed him or the House.
Adair knew she couldn't do that. It wasn't even a matter of principle.
In the silence that followed, where breaths unneeded by her body hitched in her throat and lungs, jagged and awkward to a body that was not used to them anymore. Crimson, thick and slow moving, welled in her eyes and dropped from their corners, one trail at a time down the perfect lines of her face.
She stood in the wheat, once again letting her arms fall to her sides, stiff and slightly bowed outward: the stance of one ready for a fight, neither aggressive or defensive. Simply ready. It was her default posture: stiff and wiry, even as she shifted her shoulders and began the slow, ache-filled process of assimilating her wings back into the cage of bone and muscle of her torso.
She used the time to think, despite the steady streaks of red that crossed her cheeks... she was, by the time it was done, surprisingly lucid. And cold.
"Leave."
She said it to Beckham... a single word choked with breath that wasn't cooperating with her. It was the hardest thing she'd had to vocalize in many decades... and clearly, it wasn't something she wanted. It was a necessity. For the safety of both... She didn't waste thought on whether or not he would report things back to Zale or avoid him completely. It didn't matter now. If he had chosen the House... she couldn't let him destroy himself by remaining with her. She also couldn't keep him and Simon together for obvious reasons. If the threats against her youngest were valid, Zale would have to go through her first--just as it had always been.
Beck had always prided himself in pinning a persons character down. Easily getting to know a person so he could use the most effective way to manipulate them. From the start, when he had met Simon, he had already been at a disadvantage, a fact he should have realized sooner. He had not approached the younger vampire with the cool head he normally possessed, and now he paid for it dearly.
He had not expected Simon to say what he had. Had not realized the double meaning to the words he himself had said only moment before. He froze in place, not moving, not speaking, not breathing. Simon’s words had Beck in a place he had not wanted to be in. Between Zale and Adair, who was the worst evil? He knew Zale would not think twice in killing him, but Adair? He wanted to believe he meant enough to the insane woman who sired him for her not to kill him, but could he depend on that hope?
For a moment Beck experienced having his life hanging by a string for the third time. The first time had been when Adair had changed him, the second when he had first met Zale… and now. Who should he choose?
Then the tears streaking down Adair’s face, leaving red trails in their wake, caught Beck’s attention. As fucked up and insane as Adair was… despite the fact that he had left her mainly because he was becoming bored with her… She was the only woman he had ever come to love. Could he really betray her?
Beck adverted his eyes from her when she spoke, head turning to the side and bowing slightly. For the first time, he felt guilt for what he had done and was doing. “I will not tell Zale I met you here, but do not stay. It won’t be safe for much longer.”
Beck was not the type to say ‘I’m sorry’, but those words he spoke were as good as saying it for him. Not that Simon would know that about him, but Beck knew that Adair would. Without looking at either Simon or Adair (though he really wanted to look at Adair) he went through the pain of manifesting his wings. Then he shot up in the air. Now more than ever Beck needed something to abuse, to take his anger out on.
One thing he knew for sure was that the next time he met Simon Linden, blood would be shed. He would never forgive the young vampire for what he had done.