and it weighs on me like a rootless tree Who: David Malvot & Emmeline Rothschild. What: Siblings meet again after nearly 25 years, and things do not go well. Where: Church of St. Bartholomew. When: A little after 2 a.m. Warnings: None. Progress: Gdoc, complete.
The doors closed with a whisper behind her, blocking out the nighttime sounds of the city that wrapped around the exterior of the church. Out of habit, Emmeline's hands folded in front of her, the dotted, white kid leather gloves that ended just at her wrists meshing as her fingers tucked themselves together. She found herself pausing in the vestibule, rethinking this plan over for the umpteenth time.
It's what Nathalie would have wanted, she thought, finding that placing the blame on her Sire made her self-appointed task that much lighter. Taking a step forward, she moved into the church proper, making her way down the center aisle. She looked dressed for the place -- a simple, slightly pink dress that held her slender frame well, finished off with high heels and a white hat with a veil drawn down over half her face. Moving with a predatory grace, she felt herself shrinking as she came closer to the altar.
There was no cross, no icons; instead, a wide, stained-glass window that held no particular shape or image held sway over the main area of the house of worship. Emmeline found herself lost in its colors, trying to make sense of it as she came to a stop at the first row of pews. Her gaze climbed up, and up, and up, finally reaching its pinnacle, and then falling back down, down, down, eyes roaming over every fraction and frame of the immense window.
"Do you like it?" David said. He stepped away from the wall, out from the deep shadows made all the darker by the moonlit window. The white square of his collar hovered at his throat, a bright tattoo amidst the black field of his cassock. His eyes flicked over her, his gaze as sharp and bright as shattered glass. His appraisal was clear; the judgement he rendered less so. Even the smile he offered her was enigmatic and strange, guarded as he had ever been before her.
"Welcome home, Emmeline."
She pulled her gaze away from the window with no small amount of hesitation, though whether it was from the desire to inspect her obsession further or a last minute indecision over this meeting was unclear. Either way, she met his gaze, her own face carefully blank.
"David." She returned his assessment, and something in her face softened slowly and carefully. "When did you have it installed? It's beautiful." It was a small olive branch that he had offered, but this was how it always started. She treaded lightly.
"Three years ago," he said. He looked briefly back up to the panes he knew by heart, to the signs and symbols subtly worked into its surface. David could read them as easily as the lines on the faces of his parishioners. To those outside the comforting shelter of the Lancea et Sanctum, they were an obscure amalgamation of lovely but meaningless shapes, attractive in ways they could not explain. He smiled softly, and looked back to Emmeline.
"I thought I invited you to the mass we held for their dedication. Perhaps you did not receive the invitation."
Her smile flickered, but did not falter; she had declined the invitation, not even deigning to open the envelope. Its very presence had felt like a slap in the face, which she knew was his intention.
"I haven't been staying in one location for very long; after being here for all those years, it seemed better to explore as much as I could. Open my eyes to the world, as it were. There's so much to see outside of these walls." Her gaze was unerring, searching for something that she could not name. "You know how stifling this place can be."
"I can't say that I do." David moved closer, his muted smile fixed in place. His hands were folded before him, neatly closing off his posture. "It's been a great comfort to me. Even when I have felt most alone, the Sanctum has always been there. I could not abandon it as others have.
"But I do hope you've enjoyed your travels. It certainly looks like they've served you well. What brings you back home?"
"Research," she replied, letting the barb pass without comment. "Specifically, Storyville, and whichever other locations seem pertinent. You could say that old obsessions have recaptured my attention, and have been keeping me busy. I recently came from New York; have you heard of the Miles Wine Cellars?"
"Only ridiculous gossip," David said. He waved a hand, dismissive, though a slight spark of curiosity flared in his eyes. His shoulders seemed to ease a little from their harsh square. "A tourist attraction and a story meant to make more sales. You were right to come back. There's far more for you here."
Her smile turned rueful, the carefully constructed mask on her face cracking ever so slightly. "The photos I took suggest it's more than just a story, but it's difficult to know the difference when you won't set foot outside your own front door," she replied. His lips thinned to a faintly downturned line.
"There's at least one entity there. I could feel it, just like when..." She stopped, reconsidering her words. "There was something there. And I hope to find something here, especially since..." A hand waved, her mind searching for the best phrasing to express her thoughts. "Especially since there's so many Kindred moving through the area."
"Always. And Storyville has been attracting its share of attention lately, for whatever reason. If there's something to be found there I'm sure you'll find it. And perhaps frighten away some of the ghost-hunting kine in the meantime. They are a nuisance. Both too observant and not observant enough." He gave a languid shrug. "I'd be interested to see these photos of yours from New York, if you care to share them."
"I would be happy to bring them by -- or you could come to my hotel. You never did get out enough," she replied. "It would be good for you to broaden your horizons a little."
"I hardly need to," he said. "Not with friends like you, to wander far afield and bring back news." His smile was sharp. "But of course I'll come and see you. I'm sure you're tired from your travels, and I'd like to see what space you're calling home these nights."
"I'm lodging at the Bourbon Orleans," she replied, her voice carefully even.
A heavy silence stretched out, almost tangible where it hung between them. His voice was low when it at last broke through. "Are you. What an interesting choice."
"I didn't think there would be room here." Her hands unfolded, her right grasping her left wrist and sliding up her arm midway to the elbow. "Even though I'm no longer here to help grow the flock, I was certain you had kept yourself busy in my absence. I certainly hope the lack of competition did not prove unhelpful."
"Far from it. The Kindred are in need of a shepherd, and they know it. They turn to the Sanctum for guidance, as you yourself once did." Something like sorrow darkened his eyes for a moment, but was quickly hidden away. His tone softened, a reflection of the long years behind them. "There is always room for you here, Em."
Silence grew for a moment, and she cast a look back to the vestibule. The doors there lead directly outside. She had lingered for many minutes, unable to pass over the threshold, feeling like she was walking over someone's grave. In a way, she was.
"I don't know that I'd be able to stay here, even if I wanted to," she replied, her gaze still on the doors. There had been nothing left of Nathalie to bury, even if that had been a Kindred custom. Whether it was her age or the fact that she'd committed herself to the sun, her body had melted to ash in the dawn's light. Emmeline had turned the event over in her mind often, and seemed to come up with fewer answers each time. "I don't know how you do it."
His jaw tightened. Words failed him. He knew what he wanted to say, but even to think it felt trite. Sentimental. Weak. But David bit his tongue to bleeding and still no other response came. It was not the full truth, but it was true all the same. "It reminds me of her," he said. "Of us. How could I leave?"
Emmeline moved her gaze away from the doors, finding no issue in averting her eyes from the sight of her Sire's final resting place. She was silent for a moment, jaw clenched.
"I don't think she wanted to be here. Why else would she have done what she did?" Her calm mask was nearly gone. "How does this not feel like a tomb to you?"
Old anger rose hot within him. It spilled over into his voice, into the tension in his hands where they clenched at his sides. He let it come, glad to feel something stronger than sorrow. "You have no idea what she wanted, or why she--" He clenched his jaw. His nostrils flared. "Perhaps it helps you to forget what we built here, but I will not. I will tend this place she brought us to. And when you are finished sowing your wild oats, I and the Sanctum will be here waiting for you."
Emmeline choked back a laugh that threatened. "Of course you would think this is all just a phase. This too shall pass? Forgive me if don't find the scripture as comforting as I used to. I'm not a stray lamb, David, that you have to convince to return to the herd."
"No," he said. "You should be better than that. But instead you reject and mock the legacy she left us. If that's what gives you comfort now, then I pity you now more than I did before."
"Save it for yourself," she snapped back, waving a hand to dispel his words. "I saw Zee in Paris. I suppose that legacy is enough to keep you warm through these long nights, since you're doing such a fine job of pushing away anyone who ever cared about you."
"You speak as though you played no part in that." His voice grew softer; venom lingered in its shadowed depths. "I saw your envy from the start. I know you whispered in her ear from the moment I took her in."
"Envious of what? Not having to deal with you? No, David, she left of her own free will. She didn't need God to tell her that she was free to go." She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closed for a moment. "I don't know why I thought this might be different. You haven't changed at all."
"You might be right," he said. He watched her closely, studying every faint flicker of emotion that passed over her face. "What was important to me before remains so, and I do not foresee that changing. I will gladly be a constant for my fickle, flighty family. You may be grateful for that someday."
"The wrong sort of constant, David, but I'm not sure how to help you begin realizing that." Her expression turned sad. "I don't want to lose you the way we lost her."
He took a step back from her, his arms folding across his black-clad chest. Careless and caught up in the moment, his expression briefly mirrored hers. "Then be more attentive than you were when she needed you," he said. "Be observant, this time. I don't understand why you refuse to accept that I am thriving here. I neither need nor want your help. If that's all you came to say, I have work to attend to."
A flash of hurt ran across Emmeline's face, which was quickly withdrawn and replaced by the mask she'd adopted earlier.
"I'll leave you to it, then. I'd hate to get in the way," she replied, and didn't wait to hear if he had a response. Her feet carried her back up the aisle and to the doors, which she burst through into the night with none of the hesitation that had plagued her before.
Once again, the doors closed quietly and softly, uncaring of the misery they gave birth to.