Reuben Elvin Clark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
necromagicks) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
diversified2013-11-13 02:25 pm
necromagicks) wrote in diversified2013-11-13 02:25 pm
Entry tags:
to all my children in whom Life flows abundant. [ closed ]
WHO Ben Clark (necromagicks), Shawn Laurence (lunchable).
WHAT It's been one week since the death of Rebecca Marshall. Four days since the funeral. Nine days since Reuben Elvin Clark, aged 212, has last fed on the bloodline of his missing sire. He has to do something about that or go mad, starve to death, or both at the same excruciating time. Thus comes Rebecca's grandchild: Shawn. Whether he wants to or not.
WHERE American Midwest. Requisite rural, sleepy neighborhood.
WHEN August 29th, 2014.
It was a very quaint and nice neighborhood, Ben had to admit. Nothing particularly wrong with it, a great place to raise 2.5 kids — although it lacked the white picket fence and excitable dog. It was the sort of place that probably had a neighborhood watch going on right this moment, and Ben could practically feel the eyes on him as he pulled up in his Camaro as inconspicuously as possible. To linger would attract attention; Ben simply took a breath he didn't need and casually wandered up to the door.
Oh, there was even a doorbell. How convenient. With a little push, he could hear the echo of the chime inside the house, tuning his hunger-waning senses toward the residents to try and predict who would answer at nine o'clock on a Friday night. It could be anyone. It could be exactly who he wanted. Considering his own appearance at the moment, maybe that wouldn't be such a great thing. Pale skin was a given, but paled eyes, bags underneath, a tremor running through his frame at the hunger beginning to wear him thin... It wasn't often vampires let themselves get so low.
Who could have predicted such an accident as the one that took Rebecca so suddenly? No one could see the future. Even the vampires that drew out their own insanity by partaking of non-sireblood to absorb magical properties were never reported to hear death's call any sooner than the rest.
It sucked.
But, anyway, there was a doorbell ringing and feet stomping toward the door. Any minute now, Ben would flourish his bouquet out and try to get invited inside. It would be very difficult to explain himself if he had to stand out in the dark the entire night long.
necromagicks), Shawn Laurence (lunchable).WHAT It's been one week since the death of Rebecca Marshall. Four days since the funeral. Nine days since Reuben Elvin Clark, aged 212, has last fed on the bloodline of his missing sire. He has to do something about that or go mad, starve to death, or both at the same excruciating time. Thus comes Rebecca's grandchild: Shawn. Whether he wants to or not.
WHERE American Midwest. Requisite rural, sleepy neighborhood.
WHEN August 29th, 2014.
It was a very quaint and nice neighborhood, Ben had to admit. Nothing particularly wrong with it, a great place to raise 2.5 kids — although it lacked the white picket fence and excitable dog. It was the sort of place that probably had a neighborhood watch going on right this moment, and Ben could practically feel the eyes on him as he pulled up in his Camaro as inconspicuously as possible. To linger would attract attention; Ben simply took a breath he didn't need and casually wandered up to the door.
Oh, there was even a doorbell. How convenient. With a little push, he could hear the echo of the chime inside the house, tuning his hunger-waning senses toward the residents to try and predict who would answer at nine o'clock on a Friday night. It could be anyone. It could be exactly who he wanted. Considering his own appearance at the moment, maybe that wouldn't be such a great thing. Pale skin was a given, but paled eyes, bags underneath, a tremor running through his frame at the hunger beginning to wear him thin... It wasn't often vampires let themselves get so low.
Who could have predicted such an accident as the one that took Rebecca so suddenly? No one could see the future. Even the vampires that drew out their own insanity by partaking of non-sireblood to absorb magical properties were never reported to hear death's call any sooner than the rest.
It sucked.
But, anyway, there was a doorbell ringing and feet stomping toward the door. Any minute now, Ben would flourish his bouquet out and try to get invited inside. It would be very difficult to explain himself if he had to stand out in the dark the entire night long.
no subject
"Hello. Can I help you?"
no subject
"Yes, actually, I hope so. Sorry to show up like this," he said with a one-shouldered bit of a shrug. "We met at Rebecca's funeral a few days ago, though we didn't really speak much... I am at the right house, right? You're Shawn?"
no subject
"Right, I remember seeing you there. I am Shawn, but I didn't exactly catch what your name was."
no subject
Thanksgivings after that must have been lonely.
Ben sighed, raking a hand through his hair and giving what sheepish look he could manage. "Ben Clark," he introduced. "I was a very good friend of your grandmother's. This is a bit..." He gestured vaguely, hoping to convey both the awkwardness of the conversation and also that it was taking place on a doorstep. "There is something I need to speak with you about. Regarding Rebecca. It's important."
no subject
"What about my grandmother?" He looks worried for a moment before it turns into a frown. "This has something to do with the cult she was a part of, doesn't it? You're a member of it."
no subject
He lowered the flowers at the small outburst and didn't even have the decency to look as though he'd said something he shouldn't have. "There's no cult," he insisted, "though I do know what you're talking about. Becca talked about her often, your mother," he added as if to explain.
"Although... this is about that, come to think of it. Wow, this is a terrible first foot forward."
no subject
"If it's not a cult, then what is it? One of my grandmother's fantasies that went so wrong that my mom cut off all contact with her?" Yeah, he's not going to be an easy one to convince. Good luck there buddy. "Terrible's a bit of an understatement."
no subject
"One of your mother's fantasies, actually," he said, carefully, hoping to convey with his expression that he did not mean to make things worse. "Look, this would honestly be a lot easier on the both of us if I could just come inside, maybe show you—"
Wait. Show him?
"Show you. Oh, I'm an idiot," he concluded. Without any warning, he shifted the flowers to his right hand and placed his left up at the exact threshold of the doorway. Then, he pressed forward. It was like he was trying to push against a pane of superheated glass; he grit his teeth as the skin began to turn red, boil, fry against the forbidden territory of Shawn's home. Waited long enough for Shawn to have really seen it, heard the sound of searing, before he pulled it back and carefully clenched the hand against his chest. That would take a while to heal, especially considering how low he was on resources. His expression closed save for a defiant look in his eyes.
"It's not a cult, Shawn," he said. "It never was. Your mother just ran away from her family's responsibility because she didn't think it was natural. I need to talk to you because you're the only one that can save my life right now."
no subject
After the moment was done, Shawn moved so that the doorway was clear and it was then that he finally spoke, his voice firm, unlike what he was truly feeling at the moment.
"You're coming in here and explaining what the hell is going on. Now."
Well, it was an invitation. Of sorts.
no subject
"Sure," he said once he was inside, feeling the knot in his stomach beginning to uncoil. Now that he had his literal foot in the door, things were bound to go so much more smoothly. If he could get Shawn's permission to do what needed to be done, then Ben would gladly spend the rest of Shawn's life explaining what the hell had just happened here on his doorstep as it meant that Ben would have that long to do it.
"Living room? Kitchen?" Ben didn't bother to suggest a bedroom, since that would only make things more tense and frustrating in face of the terrible humor. Instead, he added, "Bathroom?" and gave a shrug as if he didn't care. As if it weren't obvious by the lengths he was willing to go by outing himself as something from a fairy tale.
no subject
"Living room," he said in a tone most people used towards misbehaving pets than other human beings, scowling as he did.
no subject
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. It was an assumption, and nothing more, but who wouldn't be frightened after such a display? Or rather... "Or your family. I'm just trying to make a living," Ben added, trying to do something to get Shawn to react.
no subject
"You were a friend of my grandmother's. If you wanted to harm us, you wouldn't have come to the front door, especially with the way you look." For all Shawn didn't trust Ben and wanted nothing to do with him, he could tell that his intentions didn't seem to be bad. "Now what's going on? With your hand, the cult, and why you're here."
no subject
"Well, vampires don't just feed willy-nilly on anyone. We can only drink from our sire's blood relatives or else we go insane and starve." Ben raised his brows, watching for how quickly those pieces might click together in Shawn's mind. Although he had known so many generations of the family before Shawn, Ben knew virtually nothing of the man in front of him. His only option was to barrel through and hope for the best. "As you may or may not know, what with your mother cutting off all ties with her family and all, you don't have any aunts, uncles, cousins or grand-relatives to speak of. It isn't a cult so much as... an heirloom."
It wasn't the best way to describe it, and the twist of his face was more for Shawn's benefit than anything. At least it might give Shawn a different frame of reference for where Ben was coming from outside of insane dark magic voodoo club or whatever he thought lay hiding under the bed of his family's history.