Tristan Dahler (emptyinside) wrote in the_obscured, @ 2014-10-04 15:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | elijah whitaker, letha silivasi |
Who: Elijah and Letha
When: Week 8: Wednesday, August 20th
Where: the SdV house
Warnings/Rating: none expected
Summary: some late afternoon conversation
It was about an hour until dusk, and Elijah was restlessly waiting for it to get dark enough for him to head for The Lodge. To him it was the main drawback of being a vampire: he had to stay hidden from the sunlight during the day. He had heard of spells or enchantments that would protect vampires from the sun, but he'd never encountered a witch he trusted enough to risk his very existence by trying one out. So he was pacing through the halls of the house, already dressed for work in dark slacks, a grey and black subtly patterned shirt and a black tie; very much distinguished host wear. It was also possible that he wouldn't mind finding someone to talk to. Amelia had been here briefly but then she'd taken off for parts unknown, which was really fine with Elijah. He considered her the most troublesome of the three vampires he'd sired, and while he loved her in a deep and sometimes reluctant way, he was just as pleased to have her gone. Seth had been busy lately, and Elijah didn't like to interfere with his everyday life, given theirs wasn't the type of relationship that involved that sort of closeness. Dahlia might be around, and he had thoughts of looking for her, but then he heard the strains of the piano from the music room. The musician was most likely to be Letha. There was something that fascinated Elijah about listening to her play, although he couldn't have explained what it was. No matter. Sometimes the best things in life were those that couldn't be put into words, he'd discovered. She was the oldest vampire he'd ever met personally, and that fascinated him too. Very quietly, he moved down the hall and through the doorway, pausing there. He was just as willing to speak or to remain quiet based on her cues; his eyes fixed on beautifully manicured fingers skimming over the keys like it was nothing. |