Clara Archer (helpingwhatails) wrote in summerview, @ 2019-01-16 08:27:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | clara archer, zgraham haldar |
one for the road
The Long Way Down had been an interesting place to work so far. She’d only been there for fifteen of the twenty one days she’d been in the town and so far she felt like she was beginning to get a sense of the place she’d ended up. The people were nice enough and she’d hoped that if she worked behind the bar of somewhere she’d get to know people. So far it hadn’t worked all that well, but she was trying. And she was positive. Or trying to be, anyway.
It was still tempting to pack up and go finish her Masters degree, to get her PhD and a good job in a city somewhere but at the same time when she’d crossed over the bridge she’d felt like she’d come home. Weird though that may have been, she felt more at home there than she had done in any place that she’d travelled to, and more than she felt in Texas though her parents were still there. Turfing the dirty glasses into the dishwasher, Clara nudged it closed with her foot and pushed a few stray strands of hair out of her face, turning her head when she caught someone sitting at the bar out of the corner of her eye. Since there was no one else serving as it was quite quiet, she moved closer and tilted her head a little, offering him a smile. “Welcome to The Long Way Down,” she greeted, ninety percent sure that he was probably a regular but she was greeting everyone like that for now until she knew who was - or wasn’t - a regular. Her smile was warm and welcoming. “What can I get you?” The thing about a bar was just that there was so much - every heartbeat in the vicinity, the skittering pulses and the melody of them. Though they weren't exactly tempting, not in a big group like this and besides, he'd fed recently. Graham just had a lot of time on his hands. So here he was. Tall and olive-toned, but the pallor beneath washed out the color his skin had once been, jade eyes, shadows coaxing the undersides of high, sharp cheekbones. Quite a difference from the bartender. Who smelled like a chocolate fondue fountain - maybe he was a little tempted. "Just a gin and tonic," he said, settling on an empty stool. Gin was medicine (or at least, it had been used as such in his day) so why not. Not like he could get drunk off the stuff. "You're new here?" Clara’s smile softened at the edges and she nodded, busying herself for a moment getting him his drink. He was dressed sharply, not necessarily out of place for those that normally hung out here (or what passed for normal here considering she only had two weeks of observation under her belt), but there was something in his eyes that told her he was different. Besides, sharp dressers tended to be interesting people. Well, people were interesting on the whole, Clara knew that she was just trying to rationalise her desire to talk to him. Sliding it across the bar and confidently telling him the price, Clara glanced across the bar to make sure no one else was looking for attention before she nodded. “That obvious, huh?” she asked with a soft laugh and added with a wink, “Been here a couple of weeks now, just trying to get the lay of the land.” “Ah, I see,” the faint remnants of an accent, London fog and tea in the garden, caressed the words. Graham paid for his drink, of course, and tipped her - generously. Into the jar it went. It was the least he could do, for a newcomer. “I remember when I was doing the same. It seems like eons ago.” Now, the days had gone by. Sometimes he felt like he was drowning in a din of yearning, ashes sinking, having made that sanguine pact with the devil that had taken root in him. The craving for blood had gotten better as he aged though. It was just always there, dimly, even when he was fed. Something that every vampire had to live with. "I'm Graham," he introduced himself, since it was only polite. "Welcome to Summerview." Pleasantly surprised by the tip, Clara thanked him as she put the payment for his drink into the register and then tilted her head again, eyes surveying him as he introduced himself. “How long ago is ‘eons’?” she asked, curiously, feeling a slight wistfulness waft across the bar, a gentle reminder of something long-lost. It made her chest ache a little, more intense than her own nostalgia for home. “Clara,” she added, “Thanks, you’re only the fourth person - or so - to say that.” And it was true, she’d sort of spent more time watching and trying to gauge the people around her before interacting so she’d sort of just been serving drinks rather than getting to know people. But she was drawn to Graham, pale and sharply dressed and ever so slightly haunted. “What’s it like here?” “A pleasure, Clara. I’ve been here about a decade or so,” and then he grinned a bit, with those sharp, sleek fangs on display for a moment. The bar was dark, but it was hard to miss them. “I’m much older though.” Not as old as some of his kind, but he’d seen a few things - been around for new inventions, observed the start and ends of wars. Along with the best and the worst humanity (and supernaturals, he supposed) had to offer. He sipped his drink (such a delightful one, attraction between molecules made for all that flavour enhancing), the taste of gin reminding him of juniper and less of sawdust, though it was certainly an acquired taste. In his time, gin had been so important it inspired public nudity, so, it must be good, right? “So far it’s been relatively quiet,” he said. “It’s been what it says on the tin - a haven for the supernatural. You’re safe to be whatever you want to be here. But nothing lasts forever, does it?” The calm wouldn’t either. So it was best she knew what she was getting into. Clara’s eyes darted down as he grinned at her, catching the edge of what she thought were sharpened canines. Some people had those, though, it didn’t mean anything. But then she supposed here wasn’t quite everywhere else, was it. That wistfulness was back again and she moved a little closer, wiping down the edge of the bar before she leaned her elbow on it, placing her chin in her upturned hand. “Ain’t been here long enough to know if it’s rude or not, but how much older are we talkin’?” she queried. She sighed a little, “Ain’t gotta last forever,” she offered, perhaps naively as she knew nothing else but the passing of time and change; life hadn’t become static for her yet, “long as you make the most of the now.” She shrugged. “I kinda figured this place was different when I arrived, felt like comin’ home, y’know?” Eyes curious, she continued. “You expecting trouble, or is that experience talking?” "I always expect trouble." It was true - Graham sort of lived by the philosophy that you had to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. He was something of a planner anyway. Organized. Meticulous. That's what made him a good accountant, and an even better lawyer (despite how he hadn't practiced in awhile) - that was all wired into his bones. Another sip of his drink, observing Clara over with forest-green eyes over the edge of the glass. "But I suppose it's also experience. 19th May, 1854. That's my birthday. I'm a vampire," he added helpfully so she knew how much older exactly, since it was no secret what he was. Yes, you know. Coffins lined in velvet, pale death, bloodstains and fangs that cut through a throat like tissue paper. Those standard things. Clearing her throat to try and cover her surprise at how candid he was about himself, Clara opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again, trying to suppress her excitement at the prospect of speaking to someone who had lived through so much history. She drew in a slow breath to calm the sudden surge of excitement and instead nodded. “Never met a vampire before,” she replied honestly, wondering if that was what she could feel, that lingering sense of sorrow underneath it all, of a life past. She couldn’t imagine being immortal and felt a pang of empathy, wondering just how many people he’d watched fall by the wayside of aging. “You look damn good for someone who’s over a hundred,” she complimented with a little grin, nudging the dishwasher with her foot as it hiccuped underneath the counter. Her hair had fallen forward again, a few strands, and she tossed her head which moved them out of the way, following the action with her hand brushing over her forehead and tucking the strands behind her ear. “You musta seen a lot, right? Good and bad. What drew you to Summerview?” He would take 'damn good.' What a pleasant compliment. "Thank you," Graham smiled crookedly, since he was aware he could be described as 'washed out' to some. His father had come from India so his skin tone had once been more caramelised - but after he was turned, the pallor set in. It seemed to accentuate the edges and ice of his features. "I've seen a lot, yes, I suppose." Things had changed quite a bit since Victorian London, with its carts on cobblestones and steam trains and noise, noise, noise. "But as for why I came here, I was just...I was looking for my maker," he admitted. "We were once involved. But I don't think she wanted to be found by me." So he'd let it go. Jane was gone, and he was left with the loss - but it had dwindled over time, especially since he'd met Lenore and stepped in to mentor her. Now he was actually glad he came to the town. "And you?" he asked. "Do you think it’s got the potential to be home here after all?” Clara just grinned as he thanked her for the compliment, though the expression dropped after a second when he admitted why he’d come to Summerview. She wanted to reach across the bar and touch his hand, offer proper comfort for something that had to be painful but she refrained; not everyone liked to be touched and she had no idea what vampire abilities were - or weren’t - so she didn’t want to risk making him uncomfortable. Instead, she focused on a general sense of calm. She knew it was working because someone further down the bar sighed into their drink, their shoulders loosening a little. “Then it’s her loss,” she told him quite confidently. She didn’t understand vampires properly, she supposed she’d learn in due course. Though any pain that might have come with the talk of his maker was replaced in her mind with a sense of purpose, accomplishment. So it can’t have been too bad for him to be there. Not if he didn’t hate it. She hummed a little. “Dunno yet,” she responded. “I like it here, kinda feel like I might belong but it ain’t home. Certainly ain’t Drippin’ Springs, Texas. That’s for sure.” “Oh, so that’s where you’re from? That makes sense. Your accent’s nice,” Graham said, and he’d been trying to place it - he assumed something southern. As in, 'low-country boil, football games on Saturdays, the way music could linger in the air up along the coastlines, Arnold Palmers, and millions of churches' type of southern. Texas though, he didn't know much about that ginormous place. Despite that, he had to assume Summerview was quite different. Especially given how it was crawling with monsters, some that even went ‘bump’ in the night. “Home, as a concept, can emerge in the most unlikely of places sometimes. But either way, I hope you settle in. If you ever want a tour or anything, or even something new to read - I live above the book shop and work there too.” Of course, any tour or outdoor activity would have to be at night. The perils of the nocturnal lifestyle. "Mm," Clara responded, "Born an' raised in Drippin' Springs. 's not at all like Summerview. The weather's super different for one." She let out a soft laugh. "But thank you, ‘s not often I get complimented on my accent. Mostly folk mock it.” She was aware, after all, that it was quite thick. She’d spent her entire life in the small town, and her stint travelling across the US had done little to soften it. She pushed off the bar and nodded her head, smiling at him. “You’re right,” she agreed, “ain’t like this could never be home, I just gotta settle in. It’s hard when you don’t know anyone,” she paused before her smile widened a little. “But now I know you, at least. An’ I met Shara, she’s nice. Not made it to the bookshop yet, though. I do love to read, anythin’ you’d suggest I pick up when I make my way there to come cash in on that tour?” She hesitated, adding quickly after a second, “Uh- I don’t mean to sound ignorant or nothin’, but I’m guessin’ you can’t walk around in the sun?” Believe him, that was far from the most ignorant thing Graham had ever heard. “You’d guess right,” he chuckled ruefully, turning the glass in his hands. “I don’t sparkle, sadly. Let’s just say it’s a lot worse.” Like he’d burn beyond recognition, singed into a pile of ash leaving behind shiny shoes and a finely tailored suit. And that would just put a damper on the tour. “You’ll meet more people and make friends, I’m sure,” he assured - and he didn’t see why she wouldn’t. She was personable and not slinking about in the shadows the way he would, thus Clara probably had more finely-honed people skills. “But if you do decide to come by? We’ve got a lot of spell books.” In case she was a witch. He wasn’t getting that vibe, though he could be wrong. Mind-reading wasn’t one of his talents. “And also books on other species, a little history and information if this is your first time living in a supernatural community.” “Probably a good thing Summerview ain’t all that dangerous at night, then,” Clara ventured with a warm smile, pleased that he hadn’t been insulted by her question. She had a feeling she’d be struggling with a lot of misinformation for a while until she got her head around who was what and what that actually meant. “If it is, I figure I’ll be safe walkin’ around and gettin’ my tour from you.” Which she meant as a compliment. She tapped her fingers on the bar, a brief staccato rhythm, “You need a refill?” she asked before she continued, “Workin’ here means I oughta meet a lot of folk,” she told him which was one of the reasons she’d chosen the job she had. At the mention of spell books, she tilted her head, stopped her fingers tapping on the bar. “Not sure I got enough magic in me to use a spell book, but I do find magic like that interestin’. Though, the other stuff sounds like it’d be helpful; good to stop me askin’ such obvious questions goin’ forward.” Did he need a refill? Graham glanced down at his empty glass, contemplating another before ultimately deciding against it. He also wanted to pay a visit to Lenore, to see how she was doing - checking in with her was something he made a vow to do regularly. Not to the point where it was smothering, but at least enough for her to know he was always looking out for her. “I ought to get going, but thank you,” he replied, with a ghost of a smile. “Oh, here - “ He reached for a napkin, and clicked the end of a pen pulled from his blazer. In the blink of an eye, he’d scrawled his mobile phone number - he did have one, having embraced technology of this day and age. “Send me a text anytime.” Clara took the napkin from the counter and looked at the number before she curled her lips up into a smile. “Will do,” she promised with a nod of her head, carefully folding it and putting it in her pocket to stick in her phone later. “It was nice meeting you, Graham,” she told him honestly. “Enjoy the rest of your evenin’.” |