Lucien Chevallier (getyoumypretty) wrote in supernextdoor, @ 2012-05-21 20:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | 10.12.11, lucien, lucien and philippe, philippe |
Eliminating the sound of Silence
Who: Lucien and Philippe
When: 10.12.11 - Wednesday night
Where: Lucien’s home
What: Reuniting old friends
Warnings: None particularly aside from an angry Lucien
It had been a long, slightly boring flight for Philippe. He’d chartered a jet with his usual company, who were kind enough to let him board before dawn, only taking off at a time that would set them down in Washington DC just after sunset. The plane itself had UV-protective windows, of course, but that didn’t help him when he was disembarking. He had changed his clothes shortly before arrival, his hair lying in a smooth golden curtain against the deep navy of his suit, a crisp white shirt underneath. His waistcoat was a shade lighter, silk brocade, with a gold pocketwatch and chain to accessorize.
There was a car waiting for him outside the terminal, and a delightfully helpful porter to place his bags in the trunk. Reeling off his old friend’s address, Lucien sat back and watched the city fly by, wondering if Lucien had changed much. He was going by assumption of course, that Lucien would still be living in his ridiculously oversized house. Philippe had taken a hotel room just to be on the safe side, but he knew he wouldn’t be using it if his old friend was still in the city. It had been over 70 years since he’d seen the other vampire, and he couldn’t quite deny that he was eager to see him. It had taken a long time to get to this point, to where he wanted that connection with his past. Now, though, he could hardly wait.
He smoothed his hair, tugged his waistcoat straight, as the car drew to a halt outside the front door. Ordering the driver to wait, just in case, he strode up to the door, a soft smile already playing over his features. He still had his key, and he detached it from the chain of his pocketwatch, where he’d kept it for safekeeping. If Lucien had moved, it was likely the locks would have been changed. If not...well, he’d find out in a moment. Unlocking the front door, he stepped inside. It hadn’t changed much at all. He wandered through the house, running his fingers along familiar bits of furniture, poking curiously at the new additions. He was in no rush, now he was here. Lucien would find him, soon enough.
Lucien had been in his room when he heard the faint sound of a car, then a door, then then the sound of the key in the lock about the time he made his way up from his basement room. It wasn't the sound, however, that startled him as much as the scent. As soon as he was on the ground floor, he could have sworn that he smelled him. Philippe. It was like being asleep and being splashed with icy water, tugged out of slumber violently and suddenly. Seventy years. At least that by now. He'd all but given up hope, and though he'd yet to move away or change much of anything, Lucien had been nearly certain that Philippe was dead. A casualty of war or something violent and equal to that. But the lingering smell of the man had long since gone and Lucien couldn't imagine a scent. No matter how much he might have wanted to, it wouldn't have been that strong.
The house was quiet. He wasn't sure where his pretties were, but he wasn't really thinking much on them in that moment as he peered around the corner into the living room. It was there that he saw him. The same as he'd always been, slender fingertips sliding over the back of a chair as his blue eyes peered about the room. It was if he'd never left. He was alive. Lucien's stomach sank to his feet and his heart jumped up in his throat, torn between anger and relief at the sight of the other blonde vampire. Seventy plus years without so much as a flicker of an inkling. No letters, no phone calls, no 'fuck you I don't want to see you' postcards. Not a damn thing and yet here he was, in his living room as if the last near century hadn't even existed.
"Give me one good reason that I shouldn't rip your head off so you'll be as dead as I thought you were," he hissed, jaw clenching and his fangs protruding on their own accord as he glared at the man from where he stood.
Philippe’s smile widened, a hint of a smirk twisting the corners of his mouth. He tutted quietly, looking at Lucien. “Now, now, is that any way to greet an old friend?” He asked, stepping carefully around the chair, approaching Lucien. He was amused - and touched - by Lucien’s anger. Clearly he had been missed, and mourned. It was more than he’d expected, if he was honest. Though he and Lucien had shared over two centuries together (perhaps less, when one counted the times that Philippe had upped and disappeared...), he still wasn’t convinced the other man really missed him when he was gone. To have incontrovertible proof of the opposite was a pleasant surprise.
"Friend?" he breathed, the word an obvious scoff of disbelief. He took a step backwards, unwilling to let Philippe achieve too much closeness. "Friend, you say," he went on, shaking his head as he forced his fangs to retract, jaw still tight as he spoke. "Friend, yet you've spent nearly a goddamned century doing God knows what while I worried over you. And not even a single letter or a phone call or a bloody postcard to give me anything to go on? And I'm your friend?!" Lucien was torn between hugging the man and wanting to rip out his throat. "Get out," he said simply, pulling his anger in as his face turned stony. "You haven't wanted to be here for nearly eighty damn years, why come back now?"
Philippe’s mouth pursed, a gentle moue of displeasure. “Because I missed you, cher. Because I’m bored of travelling.” He lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “I’m sorry that you were worried about me, but as you can see, I’m perfectly well.” He held out his hands by his sides, taking another step forward. “Now, are you going to stop glaring and hug me, or will I have to chase you round this ridiculous house of yours first?”
"You didn’t miss me enough," he told him. "How bout you leave for another seventy years and see if that helps you learn to pick up a damned pen." He was angry, and he felt he had every right to be. He was glad that Philippe was alive but he could have told him. He could have written. If he didn't want to come back, that was one thing, but to make him suffer through thinking he was dead only to pop up after nearly a damned century? That was cruel.
Philippe sighed. “Chasing it is then, hmm?” He quirked an eyebrow at Lucien. “I’m sorry I left for so long,” he murmured, leaning against the bureau beside him, tilting his head a little as he looked at Lucien. “I should have contacted you.” And he was going to have to tell Lucien, of course. “Rebecca-” there was the faintest of pauses after her name, Philippe swallowing hard before continuing.
“I lost her in the war, in London.” He shook his head. “Such a waste. In any case, I hardly felt like the company of my own kind.” Shrugging elegantly, he looked at Lucien, eyes cool. “I ran away, you might say. Travelled the world alone, explored places no other vampire has ever set foot.” It had taken a lot of money, and a lot of logistical planning, but Philippe had found himself in the most remote parts of the world. Or some of them, at least.
“But now, I long for polite company once more.” He smiled brightly. “And if I cannot find that, I suppose I shall make do with yours.”
The apology stilled Lucien's anger, at least slightly. The revelation that Rebecca was dead made sense, but Lucien still didn't believe that it was any real reason for Philippe to have gone galavanting off alone, no matter how much he liked to play up his emotional side. The bastard. "I'm not in the mood for your teasing and normal jackassary." Lucien told him, his eyes still cold and distant. "I am sorry about Rebecca, I know you cared for her. But I'm still seething at you, Philippe."
“Then tell me what it is you want me to do, old friend,” Philippe said, holding his hands out, palm up. “I can’t undo the past seventy years. Truthfully, I lost track of time. For...” Philippe did some quick mental arithmetic. “Almost a decade.” When he said he’d been exploring places no other vampire had set foot, he wasn’t exaggerating. Few humans had been to some of them. “All I can offer is my apologies for worrying you.”
"Why did you come back?" he asked him. "If you wanted so badly to forget that you did for as long as you have, why even bother returning?" It didn't make any damn sense to Lucien. Why return after that long? Why bother to step foot back in that house if he didn't want to be found as long as he'd been gone? "Worry doesn't even begin to cut it, Philippe," he told him, shaking his head a little as he finally unfolded his arms. "I thought you were dead. I was in denial and traipsed around looking for you only to find not even a shred of evidence of your whereabouts and all this time you were alive. I grieved for you, you idiot."
“And for that, I am sorry,” Philippe repeated, starting to get a little exasperated. “I have explained why I was gone, that I missed your company - what else do you want from me? A step-by-step itinerary of my journey? Or for me to grovel at your feet?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed.
“Lucien, I am tired, and I smell like an airport. Please, can we just pretend that you are happy to see me? You can shout at me all you like once I have had a shower, and preferably someone young and flexible to feed on.” Yes, Lucien, Philippe had not changed a bit. But he had a feeling that the other vampire would be disappointed if he had.
Lucien was tired of being angry. Hell, he was tired period. He couldn't deny that he was happy to see Philippe, even if he was angry. They might not have spent the last seventy plus years together, but that didn't mean that Lucien cared for him any less. The fact that his room was still as it always had been in the house spoke volumes about that truth. "Your bedroom is where it's always been," he said with a sigh. "You may have to redecorate. That furniture was barely turn of the century back then."
Philippe smiled widely. Lucien had kept his room, even thinking he was dead? Oh, he was going to get teased about that later. Not now, not when Lucien looked like he might still tear Philippe’s head off. But once his old friend had calmed down, there would most definitely be teasing.
“Thank you,” Philippe replied simply, inclining his head in a very slight bow. “Now, can I greet you properly? Or am I likely to lose my head if I come any closer?” He wanted his hug. It had been far too long since he’d been around Lucien, and though they had both changed, Philippe doubted their relationship was that different, that damaged.
He sighed a little and stepped into his friend, slipping his arm around the man's shoulders and tugging him in against him. "I'm still angry with you, heathen," he told him, though he kissed the side of the man's head. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm happy to see you, to know that you're safe. That's all I really wanted."
Philippe wrapped his arms around Lucien in turn, smiling gently. “I will always come back to you, cher,” he murmured. He kissed Lucien’s cheek in turn as he pulled back, reaching up to pat his face gently. “After all, who will drag you out of your museum if I’m not here, hmm?” He grinned, teasingly. “I’m here, we are both in the best of health - a celebration is in order, I think. Let me wash, and change, and you can show me all that has changed while I’ve been gone. I wish to hear all about your new pretties, so I can surprise them with my knowledge the first time I meet them.” An easy trick, but one that never failed to impress the pretties that couldn’t read minds.
"You had better. Next time you disappear, I won't give up so easily." He smiled a little, for the first time since Philippe had arrived, his features softening almost instantly. "I'm sure there are still clothes in there, your style hasn't changed much," he smirked. "Go on, get washed up. We can go out for a drink," he said, knowing well and good Philippe would know he meant a living, breathing drink.
Philippe beamed. “Ah, you still know how to treat a guest. Excellent,” he teased. He squeezed Lucien’s shoulder, pulling out of his arms. “Those old things? Fit for hunting in, perhaps. I have a car outside with my things.” He was tempted to ask Lucien to go outside and get the driver to bring them in, but he thought that the other vampire might well murder him if he did. “Go sit down. Fondle your antiques or something. I’ll be ready shortly.” Lucien would know that ‘shortly’, when it came to Philippe and getting ready to go out, was more like an hour. At least. Hugging Lucien one last time, Philippe headed out to the car, fetching his things and taking them to his room. It was good to be home. And even though he hadn’t been here in over seventy years, this was still home to Philippe; ‘home’ was wherever Lucien was.