O was becoming annoyed with the amount of surprise overtaking her lately. Surprise was not an emotion she favored for reasons few truly understood. Meeting people was something she had come to expect though the context of the experience was based solely on the interaction from both people. It took getting used to, running into someone newer to the island and going through the motions of trying to understand why they came. The stories themselves usually were intriguing. So she had consulted what reference literature she could get her hands on. It wasn’t enough.
A handwritten note was left for Graham on the door to his apartment during the daylight hours. It asked for him to meet her at the place where she was staying, the loft above one of the barns at Sea Star stables. The loft was not nearly as nice as his apartment, it was comfortable enough to sleep in and what few possessions she had were out for lack of places to store them. It was heated thanks to Jayati’s help, and she had a place to sleep that was little more than a bundle of hay.
Those at Books & Bins didn’t seem to mind that she was there to leave something for the accountant. That, or they had no idea what she was up to.
As evening crept into Summerview O waited to see if Graham would come by. She did not want to take him from more important things but she had a few questions. Questions about things she had seen that she wasn’t sure about. It hadn’t felt right to pelt the new person with these inquiries and Graham had been a reliable source of information so far.
There was a wooden staircase that lead from the grass and up to the door to her loft. The top of the barn was also accessible by a large door that could be rolled to the side which was ideal for flight take off and landing, and also from beneath utilizing a door that can be opened from below if the latch in the floor was undone.
Sitting on the floor with a book in her lap, O found herself engrossed in her search for answers roused only by a knock at the door.
The note Graham had discovered, tacked to the door of his apartment, had been a curious find. He knew who it was from before he’d even scanned the words - most anyone would have just texted him, emailed, or even called (yet people didn’t seem to do that much anymore either), but O didn’t seem like she’d develop the same appreciation for the iPhone that many had. Still, a good old-fashioned calling card was nice enough. Graham didn’t mind.
He went to her place as she asked; he was able to climb the staircase that lead to her door, but couldn’t go inside until she invited him to do so. Thus, he knocked and waited; when she answered he was there (he knew exactly the moment she’d answer too - he heard her heartbeat from out here), glancing up as she opened the door, eyes a blazing green. They stood out against his features, pallor making those cheekbones look even more prominent and sharper. Like they could slice a throat to red ribbons.
It wasn’t his bones that could do such a thing. More like the fangs he bared for a moment, a brief smile.
“Hello, love,” he greeted. “I brought you something.” And he held up the books cleverly tied with rope and flowers; the books were more history tomes, just creatures of the ancient world and such, and one specifically on centaurs. The flowers were because it was rude to show up to someone’s home empty-handed and, well, she might like them?
Guess he’d see. “You’ll have to invite me in, I’m afraid.” Those pesky rules, alas.
The book in her lap was set gently aside, page corner bent down as if to hold her spot. It didn’t take long to get to the door, her feet carried her a touch quicker than she might usually stride. O wedged the door open and beheld her friend standing there.
Her eyes tumbled to the gift outstretched and she took it with silent grace, plucking a flower gently from the binding. They were lovely. “Thank you,” she managed, lifting her eyes. “Please come in.” The invitation was extended and welcoming.
O pivoted on her bare feet and her cadence was confident. Clutching the books carefully against her chest she took them to a small table and set them down gently.
And just like that, Graham was able to step across the threshold - the invisible bindings that prevented him from doing so fell away, and in he went. “Your place is very cozy,” he noted, taking a look around. “The minimalist approach, I see.” That was a bit of teasing - in comparison to him, it felt like he had so much more stuff, and he did. Then again, he’d also been alive (or ‘alive’) for much longer. More time to accumulate things, like a piano and various other bits and bobs.
He in his perfectly pressed suit trousers, a crisp shirt and tie with a navy blue sweater over that, wasn’t sure if he should make himself comfortable or not. “Can I, er...should I sit?” he asked, also unsure if O had invited him over for a specific purpose. Or just to see his face.
A sarcastic inner joke, that, and the answer was likely the first guess. No one invited him anywhere just to see his face.
Nodding, O busied herself with the task of carefully unwinding the twine that bound the gift together. She set the flowers aside so as not to hurt the gentle buds. “Yes, make yourself at home.”
Each title was beheld and appreciated. She wasn’t sure what minimalist meant and so there was no addressing of the comment. With a measure of satisfaction she drew away from the books and turned to look at Graham.
She settled down next to him.
“I am glad you’ve come over.” Her reasoning was a bit of both of his suspicions, she did enjoy his company but he was also a source of knowledge.
Her wings settled against her back with less tension than usual.
“I’ve met a unicorn.”
Graham sat on a bale of hay; it made for a good chair, and there was room for O to slide in beside him. “A unicorn, did you?” he chuckled. There didn’t seem to be many on the island, but he’d met a few in his day as well - they got all types in the bookstore. Reading was such a universal sort of love - it didn’t matter what you were, if you enjoyed a good book then that was what mattered.
“Well, you’re just adding to your collection then, hm? You’ve met a vampire and now a unicorn.”
She nodded.
Collection didn’t seem like the right word. At least not the word she would have used to describe this discovery of unique beings. If she was being honest she felt inferior. The unicorn had been beautiful; white fur, this glistening horn, the sound of thunder rolling as it rushed toward her and passed. The experience had been odd.
“I like vampires more,” she said confidently. O had made up her mind. Graham was safer than anyone on the island she had met with so far.
That was quite an interesting preference, he noted, as he observed her with a certain curiosity. Unicorns were so pure, weren’t they? More on the good end of the spectrum, and often associated with rainbows or whatever else had been tacked onto them in the minds of humans. Vampires were anything but - vampire were coffins lined in velvet, skin pale as a full moon, graceful slinking about like the villains they were and melting into shadows.
“Why is that?” Graham wanted to know, the syllables in the question a harmony of London lilt, fog and endless ivy climbing up the Tower.
O had no idea that vampires often were romanticised in fiction other than what Graham has told her and even then she didn’t quite understand what that meant. She didn’t understand the difference necessarily between light and dark.
“Because you feel safe and I like being around you.” Perhaps that was a naive observation but she was nothing if not honest.
Her experience was slight with Cohen. And that brought up another thing. “Oh!” She breathed, her eyebrows arching. “ Do you know Leonard Cohen? He said he was named after Leonard Cohen. What does that mean?” Was this Cohen person someone of high regard?
“Well - “ Graham cleared his throat, slightly at a loss for words there. Just for a moment. No one ever said they felt safe around him - it was an intriguing irony, because he was built to be a predator. He was a predator. But in a way it made sense - he would look out for O, made sure no harm came to her. That was something he could say with certainty, and as sleek and elegant as he appeared, he wasn’t a creature to be trifled with. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised. Gods (whichever sky daddies were applicable) knew she’d already been through enough. “And...I like being around you too.”
It was true. He liked seeing her open up more and more, bloom in a sense - she reminded him of those bright red poppies in England. They were hardy flowers but closed up in cloudy weather, requiring care and coaxing to open up once more. In a way, he was sort of like a poppy too.
“Leonard Cohen?” He blinked owlishly for a moment - oh, right then. The name was familiar, somewhat. “I’m not personally acquainted with either,” he said. “But I presume the Leonard Cohen he was named after was the songwriter and poet. Who wrote some lovely things.” Both lovely and weird, but perhaps that was the appeal.
O didn’t consider herself a human in any capacity. She had no idea what she was nor did she care as long as she wasn’t grouped in with monsters. His words warmed a place in her. He had confirmed what she had already figured out, that nothing would hurt her while he was around. O wasn’t someone who couldn’t handle herself, she could knock someone off of their feet without even breaking a sweat if she wanted to.
A sigh of relief escaped her.
The tops of her wings lifted the feathers ruffling. They lowered down again and remained silent.
When he spoke of Leonard Cohen she listened, taking a moment to process. She supposed that made sense. Lovely was a good word to describe the horned horse she had seen.
Graham’s eyes cut to her wings, following the movements before focusing back on her face - he was sort of figuring out what her particular brand of body language meant; after all, not everyone else had wings as a communication tool. But relaxed wings seemed like a good sign. And there was a lot of literal meaning to the phrase ‘ruffled feathers,’ he assumed.
“Is there a reason why you asked?” he wanted to know, fingers unconsciously twisting a spare strand of hay that had gotten loose from the bundle, just for something to do with his hands. He oftentimes had fidgety hands - was probably a smoker in another life, or something. “Or...just curious?”
Because she could have always asked the fellow who was actually named Cohen - likely he would know the story more than Graham would.
How did you explain to someone that had knowledge that you were after the same information? Her interaction with Cohen had been pleasant enough but he was quiet, much the same way she was. They’d been too busy silently studying each other to ask any questions.
“I thought you might know.”
There were precious few she trusted in her quest for answers not wanting to seem vulnerable or out of place. “If you cannot answer my questions I understand. I don’t mean to trouble you.”
O set her gaze on the floor and she watched the painted slats of wood.
“It’s no trouble,” Graham assured. He touched her hand instead, reaching over and effectively abandoning the strand of hay that he’d been twisting and turning. It was meant to be just as reassuring of a hand squeeze as his words.
Being in someone’s personal space and having someone in his was kind of hit or miss - sometimes he preferred the bubble not be breached, else it would feel like hellfire in the marrow of his bones. But that wasn’t the case right now. Some people were just allowed in.
“You can ask me anything.” His expression cracked, a half-smirk forming. “I can’t guarantee I’ll always know the answer, but...” He could improvise. Or find out later.
That touch to her hand made her jump out of habit but she settled as quickly as it had happened. Her chin lifted, eyes finding his as she turned her head. O nodded in understanding, glad he was allowing her to pick his brain for knowledge. “Thank you.” She meant it.
Twisting slightly to better see her friend she peered at him curiously, “How have you been?” It was an honest inquiry. It had been a few days or more since they’d seen each other and his time was just as valuable as hers was. That, and she also valued hearing about his day. Perhaps it would’ve been mundane to anyone else but she found it fascinating, that routine people had.
Just then Cohen didn’t matter, nothing else took precedence and it showed as she waited patiently for the answer to come.
“Well enough, I suppose.” Graham really didn’t have much reason to complain - of course, the ‘stiff upper lip’ mantra had been practically beaten into his head even as a child; those Victorian ideals, that it was the Frenchmen who wept at the most mundane things whereas the English held it in, with a complete refusal of anything remotely emotional no matter what tragedy seemed to befall them. It was probably why his father never seemed to mourn his mother or even speak much of her, but let’s not get into those issues, shall we?
As for his day, it was indeed mundane. As most were here in their supernatural, guarded town. “I slept for much of the actual daylight. When I was awake I was in my flat, curtains drawn of course.” He couldn’t come out until the sun went down, not unless he wanted to turn into a charcoal briquette. “I’ll probably head into work soon enough. I don’t really have set hours.” Not when the shop was open 24/7, and Mircea didn’t give two shits as long as the work got done.
Listening had become a hobby of hers recently. Stories, day-to-day activities. It didn’t matter how boring these things might seem because they were fresh to her, new and exciting and she wanted to hear all of it.
She nodded in understanding, acknowledging his explanation. Work was coming for her, too. The city wasn’t going to protect itself - at least in her opinion - and she had to help keep danger away.
“Okay. I won’t keep you if you need to go, but thank you for coming by.”
“Are you certain you don’t want to keep me?” Graham lifted an eyebrow - it was a joke, granted, delivered with his dry humor. But still a joke all the same. It also likely sounded better in his head than it did when he actually spoke, but a lot of things tended to be that way. “Alright, my dear, you can walk me out if you’d like.”
He stood from the hay, dusting himself off. Obviously he’d worn the wrong clothes for a barn, but he wore dressy things while, say, running to the market or even hunting - by now he’d learned to not spray blood everywhere, like a gothic horrorshow, when feeding. Two pinpricks on the neck, with his fangs, that would do.
Humor was a subject still fresh to her. While she didn’t quite understand the context she did her best to smile anyway figuring it was meant to be funny.
O moved to stand. She waited for Graham to finish brushing off his clothes and she moved alongside of him toward the door. “I am very glad you came by.” She truly was. She craved more social interaction and yet the idea frightened her just the same.
“Anytime, love. If you’d like, we can go somewhere next time. The wharf’s pleasant, and it’s usually got something going on at night. Vendors or demonstrations or what have you.” The daytime options were obviously a no-go, but Graham thought that someplace open might be what O would prefer - crowded shops weren’t her thing, he gathered. And to be quite honest, they weren’t Graham’s either.
He paused by the door, glancing back at her. “I’ll see you soon, then?”
Nodding, O found the idea of going to the wharf ideal. She didn’t quite know what a wharf was but if Graham suggested it then perhaps it was good.
“Okay. I’d like that.”
Finally she smiled and lifted a hand in a wave to her friend, “Yes. Soon.” It was a promise she’d do her best to keep.