Igraine

Tides of Dusk: A Piratical Tale of Fantasy

For one glorious, heaven sent moment, the rogue imagined the satisfying *thud* of carriage wheels over an unseemly large rut in the middle of the roadway, the sensation made only more delightful by the slightly wet snap of something vulnerable - and hopefully vital - crunching beneath...

Antoinette gasped in shock, pulling the carriage brake swiftly at nearly the same instant she reined in the palfry, halting the pliant, dapple grey mare in her tracks. "Oh! Oh Oncle Nathaniel, please, take the reins! A man, he is hurt, the poor soul!"

In a just world, she'd have thought to put Sir Greene's hateful black stallion to harness today, just for a bit of fun. That ebony hellion that despised the whole human world, and would kick a man in the head with a sharp, iron shod hoof the instant opportunity presented itself...

The gentlewoman lay the reins in her uncle's lap as she slid swiftly from the seat of her carriage. She gathered up the pale green satin skirts in her hands, stepping lightly over the cobblestones to the fallen man. "Quelle horreur! Monsieur, are you hurt?" she exclaimed, her voice thick with fright and genuine concern. The young lady was joined in an instant by the Commander, dismounting from his own bay the moment she lit from her carriage seat, an impatient scowl crossing his face as he eyed the fallen privateer skeptically.

A scowl he was quick to make disappear the instant the kindly, tender Antoinette looked helplessly to him over her shoulder. "Robert, you can help me get him up?"

"Of course, Miss Greene."

In a sumptuous halo of Spring green skirts, Antoinette knelt beside the poor man tossed so unceremoniously to the street by her own carriage. She could not help but note he still held that precious book of his up above the dirt and grime, a thing obviously more dear to him it seemed, than his own flesh and bones. This would be a sight Sir Greene would approve of most heartily, and she so dearly wished he could have seen. Antoinette pulled back the veil of lace over her face, searching the man's eyes for any sign of hurt - beyond that of his bruised pride, of course.

The rogue's steely grey gaze promised a painful, lingering death if he decided to play the grinning fool Monsieur-Jax-finds-his-wet-nurse at this very moment...

"Here now, let us help you. The good Commander and I will get you to your feet. Can you stand?" she asked him breathlessly, the flawless Parisian accent as warm and gentle and full of promise as a tropical sunrise. Antoinette slipped one hand about the man's shoulders, beneath the long, thick tendrils of dark blonde hair that fell about his shoulders, the other providing a steady cradle at his elbow as well.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

HA! Yes yes yes, that was EXACTLY the quote that came to mind when I wrote that! Dot, you're scary awesome with the knowings in my head! (And that movie was hilarious - loved Bridesmaids! I'd be right there with you!)

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Sleep well, Wordsmith! *waves* Catch up with you after a night's sleep, no worries ;)

And I think you described Gabe well in your CS, NYer - they just have to read, to get the right idea!

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Veti knew she should probably be paying attention to Daisy, sensing more than hearing some kind of quietly tense disagreement - and she missed the Reaper's revealing transformation utterly, just as Daisy intended. But Veti was absolutely transfixed, charmed, absorbed utterly in the words of the ancient werewolf as she spoke.

In the space of a few words, she had the very first werewolf pack mate she'd ever known. Not a jot of her love for Siya or Daisy, for Nestor or Semyon, Henry or Atticus - and certainly not Thad - had dimmed even a hairsbreadth. And even so, for the second time in a single day, Veti's eyes grew bright with happy tears - though these didn't have a moment to fall.

With the elder werewolf's maw at such a close, intimate distance, the younger lost all inhibition though she kept the human form, leaning into Aislinn as she spoke. Veti gasped softly when Aislinn's claw traced the silver-cut scar over her throat. It was an impossible thing to miss, pale and hairless, but Veti had not realized it was so recently made. Her fingertips ran the length of the elder werewolf's scar just as those claws had, gently and so tenderly. Crimson lips peeled back over her ivory teeth, sapphire eyes turned amber narrowed in a sudden, black fury at the thought of whoever - whatever - soulless creature was capable of committing such a cruel act on anyone so dear.

Not for a single moment, did Veti think to doubt Aislinn's dying vision, much less her conclusions. A white werewolf would free the monstrous Fenris wolf and, inexplicably, the Lady of Ice survived Ragnarok.

Of course. The Lady of Ice, that cold, heartless bitch with a large piece of Henry's soul...

Veti pulled back as Aislinn spoke so earnestly of stopping the unbinding of the Fenris wolf, the wolf in her daring to look up to the eyes of the elder werewolf, the woman inside stunned, reeling at the revelation falling from a werewolf's maw.

"Revere?" Veti whispered, shaking her head incredulously. "Revere? Our kind... Revere Fenrir? But that... That is such... Such lunacy! He may have the form of a wolf, but Fenrir is a monster, a true abomination, the first of the unholy offspring of Loki. His brother is a giant serpent, and his sister is Hel - what litter of pups ever looked like that?"

"Only a fool would think he could expect loyalty or mercy or a 'gentler' consideration from Fenrir, based on... On... What? A wolfish resemblance? Madness, Aislinn. It is absolute madness. No, he can't be freed - of course, you're right. We will find a way to stop this - "

Veti's eyes widened in surprise when Henry appeared, seemingly from nowhere, startled from her conversation with Aislinn by his boisterous greeting as if she weren't even there. She blinked, stepping back with a respectful nod to the ancient werewolf, allowing her a moment for words with the river spirit. And though her eyes wandered over their small assemblage, she listened attentively to the conversation nonetheless.

A slightly familiar, smiling face greeted them, though it took Veti a moment to realize who, exactly, this was. Oh, of course - the resident fire bug Jay-Jay? Yes, yes it was and Veti waved quickly though her attention was just as soon stolen away by the tight little trio nearby. Daisy and Semyon - and now Nestor as well it seemed - were engaged in their still-tense conversation, and Veti could see no good reason to insert her own likely unneeded presence into the midst of whatever talk was already well underway. Her gaze moved on swiftly, to -

'Well damn Siya! As dire as her conversation had been only seconds before, she could not help the incredulous little grin on her crimson lips as the vampire climbed Atticus like a scrumptious tree. She didn't know what the hell had happened while they'd been separated in such a short time - Siya hated the thought of feeding in public, much less, well... All this. It'd been nearly a year since Siya and the incubus had been together. She might be small, but Veti laid odds it'd be the incubus walking a little funny by the time she was through with him.

Veti laughed softly to herself, her eyes sliding away to exactly the person those thoughts always brought to mind, to Thad. She was amazed really, how easy she found this change, to stop thinking of her lover as the dark-haired, heavily-muscled giant Max. Oh, it wasn't as if Max had actually gone far - simply to where he should have always been, a part of Thad.

There werewolf bit the inside of her lip, curled into a small, slightly-lecherous smile inspired by the vampire-incubus antics. He was piling a plate full of food - of course - with an unselfconscious grace she found endlessly fascinating. That grey suit of his fit him so beautifully, and Veti was just a little surprised just how much she liked this look on him.

And then her thoughts meandered to how much more she liked him without it. A little game in her head really, the jacket first, slowly, one wolfs head button after the other. The buckle next, and then the top clasp of his suit pants, just enough to untuck that blue shirt. She would unwind that tie Siya had lovingly knotted for him... It would make a nice play binding around his wrists...

Veti blinked, eyes widening suddenly when she realized Thad was looking right at her now, and she couldn't help but wonder if he would somehow know she'd just spent a rather pleasant minute or so, undressing him with her eyes.

No matter - she'd be doing that in earnest again, soon enough. The werewolf thrilled with delight at the thought, waving him over with a giddy laugh. The world was about to end again - imminently, it seemed - and somehow they would find a way to save the whole shebang. But before they did, there was someone here, an ancient werewolf, she simply knew Thad would absolutely adore, almost as much as she did.

Loki's Laugh

Awwwww... Well that's actually kinda cute Kuro, and congratulations on dodging that bullet! Jury duty - no fun ><

So when might we get together again, to at least try to finish these poor, languishing collabs completed?

Enthralled in Ice (Clumsywordsmith x Igraine)

Sorry that took so ridiculously long to get up this evening Wordsmith, and thank you for your patience.

Enthralled in Ice (Clumsywordsmith x Igraine)

Jerusha's eyes turned toward the sight that had the caught Master Grimsley's attention, one eyebrow raised in consternation as she regarded the strange, overly-friendly dog. Her eyes traveled upward to meet Charles' still too enthralled with his lady companion's presence to notice the pitiful canine attempting to gain his attention.

"No, Master Grimsley," the vampire said with a small, resigned sigh, "Lord Wright would have not a thing in this world to do with the poor creature. His kennel of fox hounds are quite the envy among his peers, if I understand such things correctly. So no. No, he will be doing no such thing, I fear. Charles is not a bad man. Not in the least truly, but he has no love for sickly, ill-bred curs."

The vampire was not necessarily contented with Nestor's words. She was no fool, and certainly did not suffer them lightly. Nestor Grimsley was certainly no fool, nor even truly a dedicated drunkard - not yet, at least. But he was a man with secrets he certainly did not wish to share. Jerusha was perceptive enough to know exactly how delicately and lightly a man could dance with his secrets when he chose. The corner of her lip twitched upward just a touch as she took some steps forward, bending to crouch at the edges of the road, heedless of the street filth that stained the hem of her skirts.

Jerusha whistled, teeth and tongue expelling a sharp, quick trill that perked the ears of the dog instantly to her face. The soft call of her voice whispered across the short distance without words, a mellifluous stream of calm as she held her gloved hand out to the pathetic beast, below the height of its head in tender reassurance that there would be no cruel hand raised against it.

"No, Charles will not be bringing this new friend with us." The vampire smiled as the lame dog approached, its hind leg still held gingerly. She noted the spot of blood on its nose, the mange, the prominent ribs and she frowned - though certainly not at the hapless, unfortunate canine.

"But I will."

Her back still turned to Nestor as she crouched there, Jerusha let her hands run tenderly over the dog's head, its ears what remained of the short fur on its ruff. This dog had once been beautiful, she knew. A bull dog if she was any judge, the width of its rib cage - covered now with what seemed only the flimsiest veil of flesh - and perhaps even the jowls that hung just a little loose around its wide maw.

Likely injured in a fight, she could only imagine. Turned out of home and hearth, useless and unwanted by the master it once adored. The vampire watched that thin, near hairless tail wag happily at nothing more than touches that brought no pain. Jerusha rose, turning to look over her shoulder to Nestor, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"So shall we, Master Grimsley? You, my companion and my new canine friend? I imagine we will make quite the spectacle returning to my home, but when have such as us ever stood in good stead with propriety?" she asked with an impish little laugh.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Finally! AND, the tl;dr version? The fallen angel Gabe has arrived!

(not, of course, that Siya or Atticus will be noticing a damn thing! )

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

((Part 1 of 2, collaboration with The New Yorker and Igraine))

The vampire watched the faintest edges of the sun set over the Mediterranean from behind black sunglasses that, disappointingly, tinted what should have been a brilliant orange and blood red spectacle of light, to far dimmer shades of beige and a yellow-y tan. Disappointing to be sure, she acknowledged with a small resigned smile, but there was precious little to be done for it. For perhaps the thousandth time or so since her arrival in the magnificent city of Marseille, she wished Oliver could have been right beside her to see the remnants of the sunset, here in the sunniest city in all of France. He would have loved this ancient city, spent hours exploring the paleolithic ruins and sea caves beneath, and the cathedral towers above, from seashore to skyline...

But he was not here. And there was precious little to be done for that either.

Jerusha's jaw clenched tightly, a cascade of unnamed emotions falling over her classically beautiful face. She removed her sunglasses as the last of their star's rays died in the sea, turning from the shoreline, striding from the docks to the shockingly nondescript apartment building that was home to a being who was anything but. Dr. Jerusha Wilde navigated the stairs - no elevator in this building - with ease, even in the four-inch leather pumps that encased her feet as if she were born to them. On the sixth floor, she pulled up in front of yet another nondescript door but for the numbers she knew well enough. She paused outside for a moment longer, smiling as the pungent scent of any number of aromatic spices, citrusy and bright and woodsy with a hint of the sea - fish, most certainly - wafted from the other side of the door.

Jerusha raised her hand, knuckles rapping sharply on the wood. "Gabe? It's me, Dr. Wilde. Jerusha. And whatever you have in there, smells just lovely!"

Gabe was very careful with his choices this afternoon. He was sure to visit Marc, the fisherman who lived a few doors down, when he purchased the flayed, white beauty. Tarragon, kosher salt, artichoke, lemon, and the finest dijon Gabe could find sat alongside each other atop the marbled countertop in the tiny kitchen. For the past couple of hours Gabe quietly chopped, sliced, diced, and measured all the ingredients into their final form, it all culminated to serve the succulent salmon which sat in the oven, at 400°, crisping to perfection. The artichokes were thrown into a wok which was heated to 350° and covered in basil oil. Gabe removed the salmon from the oven, placed them on their respective plates and plated the fried artichoke as well. Gabe squeezed half a lemon onto the pieces and readied the mustard base in a small jar. Then, as he expected, there was a knock on the door. The sun was falling, and Gabe had hardly noticed, he was fully distracted with his work, with which he was quite pleased.

The person at the door was a harbinger, a messenger from the future, who was veiled in promise and hope. She was also a sore reminder, a not-so burnt effigy signaling the continuation of his true problems. Gabe was a lost soul truly. He knew the glory of heaven, he knew the awesomeness of his lord, and he was thrust down to this strange mortal place. His existence was a constant straddling of what he knew, and what he knows. And yet, despite the desperate nature of his situation, Gabe was happy he was on earth. The pleasures enjoyed by "mortals" were truly to die for, or contrarily were to live for. Gabe was cast out by his father to complete a mission with no end, he was a spy stuck behind enemy lines. It was moments like this, as Gabe stared at the blank wall in front of him, the smokey smell of the salmon brushing his nose, that this "fallen angel" realized his condition and fell into a torrent of sadness. This was a problem no one could help him with, not the brilliant mind of Dr. Wilde, and not even God himself.

Gabe willed himself from his waking slumber and dashed to the door, he allowed himself to smile. "Bonjour, mon cher. Vous êtes plus mignon qu'un agneau. J'ai une surpise pour vous" Gabe said as he opened the door, his cold blues desperately peered into their reflections which sat in Dr. Wilde's head. They were reflective of his own mental machinations, she knew him better than anyone ever had, which was, unfortunately, meaningless. He left the door open and took a few steps back, he was dressed casually, a pair of black jeans and a tang-top were all he had on. "Come in" he finally said, holding his right arm out, directing the doctor into the living room, which doubled as a dining room. A small table was set for two against a white wall.

"A surprise? For me?" Jerusha's face lit with a wide, sweet smile as her arm easily interlaced with the one offered by Gabe. And though in dress they could not have been more different, between his tank top and jeans, and her pale silk blouse and single strand of pearls, a black fitted skirt to her knees, the two still moved with an entirely inhuman and preternatural grace through his apartment to the table.

"Mr. Lykis, you are far too kind," the vampire said softly, hiding nothing of the genuine fondness in her voice for the fallen angel. The dinner he had prepared had not yet been set out, but she was thrilled to see the genuine joy and accomplishment his efforts thus far had earned, all writ large on his sweetly surprisingly open face. She looked to the chair that should be hers with a tiny, expectant nod of her head, the lights overhead playing fiery games in the waves of auburn hair that tumbled about her shoulders.

True, perhaps the human manners she endeavored to familiarize him with might yet be considered a bit outdated, a touch archaic for these crude modern times. But there might yet come a time in the fallen angel's exile on this world, that holding the chair for a lady might yet win him an appreciative smile, and more thoughtful consideration.

Gabe slid the wooden chair under Dr. Wilde and dashed into the kitchen, "I was just finishing up our plates Jerusha." A moment later Gabe entered the room with two plates, the dijon base splashed lightly over the food. He placed them on the table then moved over to a small wine rack, "Red or white?"

"Let's play a little crazy tonight, and not pair the white with fish," she quipped with an impish grin. "Red - and I say we deserve the whole bottle."

"I'd say so too, but that isn't much of a surprise." Gabe plucked a sharp rose' from the rack and returned to the table, pouring the bottle into the two wine glasses. The angel sat, and smiled. He motioned for the doctor to try the food, and he brought the wine glass to his nose.

"Oh now, it's not as if you'll be having that all to yourself tonight, but with a lovely dinner and a guest. Just be thankful you don't truly have the physiology of a human - and thank you Gabe." She lay the napkin over her lap, taking up knife and fork to cut a small, delicate bite from the salmon. True enough, mortal food did not often pass those shell pink lips, versus the crimson blood of mortals. But such a meal as this? Jerusha knew she could easily take the nourishment Gabe offered her tonight with no real harm. And in truth it certainly was delicious, delicately seasoned and perfectly cooked - the angel certainly had talent in the kitchen.

Jerusha lifted a forkful of the artichoke to her lips, chewing slowly before she spoke. "Have you packed yet, Gabe? Been able to say your farewells for the moment, at least?"

"Yeah," Gabe said, placing the wine glass down and pointing to a suitcase near the door with his fork. He began eating the meal, and he was pleased. It was precisely what he expected, and just what he needed. Since he'd been in this realm, Gabe found peace in not only creating, but eating food, as well. That's why he worked at the kitchen, and why he cooked for himself almost every night. "I found someone to take my shift at the kitchen. I have someone coming to live here while I'm gone as well." Gabe mixed the salmon with the base and picked up an artichoke leaf along the way, "I suppose I'm ready to go. I was having some issue cutting some ties, but that is long behind me now." Gabe smiled, hoping to gloss over his last statement, and so he would not need to speak about it, he spoke again. "How's the wine? A little too sour, eh?"

"The wine? Sour? No, the rosé is actually rather sweet - not dry like a true red would be, nor even a chardonnay if we'd gone with white." Jerusha's eyebrow arched, a small, knowing tilt of her lips playing at her face as she regarded Gabe a moment longer. "It is good to hear you've made all the arrangements you'll need, to keep both your apartment and your job - that I know you love, by the way - while you're gone."

"As for what may truly be a little sour? I'm not a fool Gabe. Just your therapist and, I'd like to think, your friend too. I'm not going to drag whatever you'd prefer to keep to yourself, all kicking and screaming to the proverbial light of day. If you'd like to share something of this 'tie cutting' with me? I will gladly listen - but you're allowed to have your own secrets too if you prefer. I don't have to read you like an open book, if there are some chapters you are still writing there... " Her voice trailed off meaningly as she took yet another bite of her wonderful dinner.

Gabe felt like he'd been pushed off balance. Despite all the time the two spent together, speaking primarily about him, Gabe had never truly gotten used to the prodding necessary in therapy. He was still getting used to the full extent of freedom he was surrounded with and yet there was someone, of course trying to help him, but prodding nonetheless. He smiled and lifted the wine glass up near his face, "Just some of the people I used to hang out with. Some of them were dealers, others were lovers, some friends. Just people I only knew by their silhouettes, faces I only knew through flashing lights and beer bottles."

Gabe looked down at the salmon and saw the palid faces of Peter and Jonas, Gertrude and Joly. These were people who marked a different version of him, one that dwelled deep in his heart and was content to sleep until the rising of the dawn somewhere in his soul. It was a hooting and hollaring him, a lime sucking, shot taking him. It was a him that smoked joints behind bars waiting for a figure with tight curves and a beautiful mouth to take him to a land of pleasure. It was a him who'd forgotten his mission, and was happier for it.

Gabe tried to deal with this dissonance in his head first, bravely. But he did not have the deep voice of the Lord rumbling in his mind, helping him through the difficult times. He could not hear his Majesty at all, and Gabe understood why it was so hard for mortals to trust in a God they could not hear.

Jerusha set her fork down for a moment, reaching across the table to take one of Gabe's hands in her own, giving his fingers a light, reassuring squeeze. "No need to minimize whatever losses you feel, great or small. They all matter, if they matter to you. You've come such a long way and, if I may say so, if it means anything in the least? I am truly proud of you, Gabe. I am."

The vampire and the angel finished their meal with far more pleasant conversation, taking the time afterward to thoroughly enjoy the entire bottle of wine while they cleaned the dishes, the pots and pans and dinner table and wine glasses before they were ready to finally leave. Gabe's baggage in tow, they descended the six flights of stairs to emerge into the cooling night of Marseille.

An devilish light came to Jerusha's blue eyes as she beckoned Gabe to follow her no more than a block down the street, to the pristine parking spot she had somehow been able to find and keep in the city's center. And there waiting for them, was a silver Mercedes SLS AMG GT coupe, sleek and indescribably beautiful, seducing the heart and soul with the promise of earthbound flight. Jerusha reached into her purse, removing the remote keys with a ridiculously wide grin.

"Seven hours to Paris - and you know we have to be there before sunrise, after all! So... " She nodded knowingly toward that near-perfect sculpture of steel and power, and then simply shrugged her shoulders almost-innocently. "Who's driving, Gabe? You or me?"

Gabe whistled loudly, then chuckled, "How many minotaurs are powering this thing, exactly? Sur les ailes d'un ange." He said jokingly then held out his open palm.

Jerusha tossed him the remote key with a laugh like . "Let's find out, shall we?"

Gabe was sure to put his foot to the floor anytime he came across a long stretch of open road, and each time he did it felt like he was gliding through the ethereal atmosphere of Paradise once more. Gabe found that while he looked like a human, and was thought to be one, it was his duty to behave as one did, as if he had much of a choice. So, Gabe tried to perfect himself, as all humans do. He took up cooking, he learned several different languages, taught himself to paint in several different schools, and, most appropriately, he learned to drive stick.

The coupe was not the fastest thing he'd ever driven, but it certainly was the most beautiful. The interior was lined with a fine leather upholstery, and matte finishes everywhere else. The beauty hummed nicely as he pushed it to it's extent down the smooth A7. The scenery was a little lacking since the duo were making their trip at night, but there was no accounting for the beauty of city vistas in the distance. At one particularly straight portion of the trip Gabe turned to Jerusha, making sure to glance at the road in order to maintain his stability.

"Do you really consider me your friend?" Gabe asked, recalling the moment the two shared in his apartment.

Jerusha's glittering eyes turned toward Gabe curiously from the night sky that wheeled overhead, just past the thin sheet of car glass. Her head tilted questioningly, regarding him thoughtfully. No smiles, a serious gaze for a serious question. "Of course I do, Gabe," she said in all earnestness. "I'm incredibly fond of you, and I'm honored by the trust you've placed in me these past months. And it is not just anyone who gets the number to my personal line, you know. What brings that question to mind, hmm?"

Gabe peered back out of the pane in front of him, the road unraveled from the dark space like an endless conveyor belt. "I was just wondering what that meant for our therapy. Isn't there supposed to be an imbalance of power? And wouldn't being friends hurt that? I'm wondering if my therapy has been compromised. Tentation dort partout." Gabe said that last part with a hint of nostalgia. The first few weeks that Gabe lived on this planet he would repeat that over and over to himself. Soon he learned that he was right, but that there was nothing to be done about it. That idea within itself lead to Gabe's existential crisis, something Jerusha has helped him with immeasurably. Gabe felt a little foolish for asking the question, but he also thought that they might never see eachother again after this trip, so there was no better time to act foolishly.

"Temptation sleeps everywhere, does it?" Jerusha asked with a wide smile, eyeing the profile of the seeming young man beside her. "Oh, I've woken temptation several times these past two centuries, but I promise those choices had nothing to do with you Gabe. Perhaps your notions about therapy are a touch... Archaic? A bit more 19th century than 21st?"

The vampire shook her head sadly, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. Men like Freud had done almost as much harm as they had good in her opinion. "No, I hold no power over you, never sought it and wouldn't want it even if I had it. All I strive to do, is shore up the strengths you already have - same as I would with anyone. And frankly, I like you - I had a hope you just might feel the same way?" she continued with a warm chuckle, more statement than question of course.

"Besides, we wouldn't be driving together to Paris right now, then onward to London, if I didn't consider your therapy well and over. But now? Now I'm a bit worried... "

Jerusha's voice trailed off as an impish light lit her eyes, sidling toward Gabe. "Do you feel 'compromised,' Gabe?" she teased, poking him in the shoulder a few times with her finger to punctuate her little joke.

Gabe shifted gears, wishing he could do the same with the conversation he'd started, and continued to peer out into the dark distance. In response to Jerusha's question Gabe thought for a moment, letting the humming of the car take over.

"Everyday that I live on this planet," Gabe finally responded, as he watched the tiny lights of Marseille disappear behind a hillside in the rear-view mirror..

Soon the two were in Paris, they'd stopped at a gas station to refill their tank some ways before and Jerusha had taken the wheel. Gabe slept in the passenger seat with his head back and tilted to the right, his long neck exposed. Sometimes his pink lips would twitch and he'd mumble something, but mostly he was still.

The vampire was enchanted - as always - by the sights of the City of Lights. Even the more "mundane" aspects of this city seemed wrapped in a romantic sheen, majestic and beautiful and timeless. She might have dearly loved to share the sights, but decided better of her first impulse.

She looked toward Gabe as he slept, wondering if she should wake him, but found herself reluctant to shake that sweet boyish sleepy look from his face, head back and mouth just a little open. Oh, he was likely millenia older than she in truth, but Jerusha simply could not help feeling that strange, slightly protective feeling for a creature who, to her eyes, seemed far more boy than man, in so many ways.

And so she let him sleep, not waking him until she found a secure spot for the Mercedes coupe. "Hey there sleepy head," she whispered, shaking Gabe's shoulder gently, envying just a little the sleep - and dreams - of the still-living. All those like herself, all they had left to them were memories now, not dreams. Memories, for good or ill. She should have liked to know what it was to dream again, perhaps to see Oliver's face once more - not as she had last, but new and shining...

Jerusha shook her head swiftly, forcing that smile wider still all unwillingly. "Gabe, we're here in Paris - almost to the office! Time to wake up."

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

*grins* I will gladly take full responsibility... Quite yummy, Lil!

And awwwwww... You guys! *blushes* You're all just way too kind, really

Serge, I'm in the collaboration at the moment - let's go ahead and get this wrapped up so Gabe can jump on into the fray!