[h1][color=Crimson] Alice & Oliver [/color][/h1]

This was it; after three hellish months on the road, a dozen nights spent in cheap B&Bs, and twice that number spent sleeping rough, they’d finally made it. Oliver could’ve kicked himself at how easy it all turned out to be, all he’d had to do was tell a version of their story to an embittered old contact of his father’s, and their safety had been all but guaranteed for a year. A year… there was so much they could do in a year. Without the ever-present worries of accommodation, food, and the possibility of being found, he’d have time to work on a more permanent solution, hopefully something that could give Alice at least a taste of the privileged life he’d taken from her.

 He frowned, and glanced down to where she was walking beside him. It was night time, and her skin was waxy beneath the pale light of the moon, red hair hanging in tresses around her face. He’d given her one of his old coats when they first ran; an expensive black duffle that was too small for him but too big for her, and she wore it now, having forgotten to purchase something more appropriate when they bought the rest of her clothes. His stomach twisted at what the coat represented. She didn’t deserve this, nobody did, and one day, when he was older, stronger, he’d see to it that his father paid an appropriate price. 

 Oliver’s train of thought was interrupted by Alice’s low, silvery voice, “I don’t feel safe here, Oli,” she said quietly, tone tinged with fear as usual, “this seems like exactly the sort of place your father would look for us…”

“Don’t worry,” he replied, the words forming on his tongue almost automatically, causing him to wonder when reassuring her had become a habit, “we can trust Mr. Seymour, he’s the only teacher here that knows about us, and he hates my father almost as much as you do.”

 There was quiet for a second, no sound but their footsteps as they made their way towards the well-lit foyer. A conflicted expression crossed over Alice’s face, and she burrowed deeper into the coat before speaking, “I don’t… hate your father, Oliver, I just…” she trailed of, thoughtful, “I just… would rather never be in the same room as him again, if at all possible.” She said with an air of finality. 

 “You should. He-“

 “I know [i]exactly[/i] what he did, Oliver. I was the one he did it to.” Alice said, interrupting, “hate doesn’t do anyone any good, especially when we have to focus on staying hidden. I don’t care about… revenge, or whatever it is you probably want to do to him, I care about getting as far away from him as possible.”

 Oliver felt uneasy, listening to her rant as they crossed the fresh hold into foyer. He’d promised to keep her safe, and she was right, that had to be his primary concern, “I’m sorry, you’re right. Keeping you safe has to be the number one priority,” he said quietly, quickly surveying the tastefully decorated room just in case. 

 He could almost sense Alice’s disapproval at that comment, “This conversation doesn’t seem to be going anywhere productive. I suggest we drop the matter for the time being, besides,” she warily eyed the room's sole occupant, a beady eyed receptionist, “we don’t know who’s listening in.” she uttered quietly.

 Oliver gave a brief nod, and then led her to a nearby sofa, where they could sit and wait for the daylight, when the rest of the students, the ones who weren't running from angry powerful vampires, would be arriving. Alice sighed sleepily, and Oliver could tell she was tired as she leaned her head against his shoulder. At least they were safe for now, for a year. And that was all he really needed to make sure she’d never have to fear his father again.