Seth Jansen

“I wonder if you understand the irony of the person who consistently and repeatedly seems to try my patience despite it failing every time being the one to say that,” Meadow teased mildly though there was once again no actual judgement or frustration in her voice. Though she doubted that anyone would blame her if she did, in fact, finally lose her patience with him. Most people who knew the two of them were probably wondered how she hadn’t lost her temper. But really she was just fine with him acting however he felt comfortable acting. He had never done anything to her, had never given her a real reason to push him out of her life- his abrupt personality wasn’t a sufficient enough reason. It was probably a strange dynamic to most but it was one she was oddly comfortable with. What that said about her? Well, she wasn’t about to look into that too deeply. Most of the relationships in her life were ones that she didn’t want to look into too deeply.

Human, Meadow sort of wished she could say simply because then she could possibly put somewhat of an end to the conversation- and perhaps because given what was going on in her family would be so much easier to deal with were she actually human. She wouldn’t have the council to deal with, after all. And despite being a member of it? The council was doing her no favors where her father was concerned. But once again she couldn’t actually bring herself to lie to him. It was a fine line between keeping things a secret and outright telling someone something she knew wasn’t true. And while she would never be sure if the legends of fae not being able to lie was true or not true? She really was only good at omitting things. “Fae,” the brunette finally admitted after a drawn-out moment of silence.

“Seelie fae, technically,” she clarified though she wasn’t sure that most people would know the difference between Seelie and Unseelie unless they knew a lot about the supernatural community as a whole. For all she knew other species within the community didn’t even know the difference between the two. “Seelie are generally known as the lighter of the fae. Probably because at some point people thought that the word sounded like ‘silly’ so they assume that means all Seelie are light-hearted. And while we are generally kinder than our Unseelie counterparts…” Meadow trailed off, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying the skin between her teeth as she tried to decide the best way to put what was actually going through her mind in relation to both her kind and the Unseelie. “There was a fiction series- they get a lot of facts wrong and it is insanely sexual so unless that is your thing I wouldn’t recommend it- but they did say something about how ‘blood looks just as red on a golden floor as one a black one’. It was their way of saying the Seelie can be just as dark as the Unseelie and…well, some of them can.  It just isn’t as common. Most of the Seelie I know are generally very nice people.”

“Fae and witches are pretty similar to humans. Just with…some extra abilities,” she explained as though that meant anything. Because at the end of the day they weren’t human- and their genetics would insure they never would be.

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"My mama always did say I was a slow learner,” Seth retorts dryly.  He isn’t, really--not where it counts--but the pig farmer’s son has become content enough to let people see him that way; to think him little more than some willfully ignorant, bullheaded redneck with a chip on his shoulder.  In so many ways it is easier than being known as a deeply complicated person with real thoughts and feelings and all of the inconvenient things that go along with all of that.  Not that he’s under any illusions that he’s fooling Meadow.  It’s just that after so long wearing the mask, it’s hard to take it off even in front of someone who knows damned well what his face looks like beneath the façade.

They have some strange conversations at times; it’s the nature of being friends with a journalist in a place as weird as Wolford, but this is definitely not the discussion he’d expected to have over lunch today.  Although he’s not winning any prizes for ‘empath of the year’, it’s apparent to him that Meadow is extending a great deal of trust by way of answering his demand honestly--and it is an honest answer; of that much he’s certain.  “Fae.”  He echoes, and it is glaringly obvious that Seth hasn’t even the slightest clue what that even is.  

Meadow’s clarifications on the finer points of Seelie vs. Unseelie do little to illuminate the human’s understanding, though he does sit back in his chair as she speaks and tries to focus on what his friend is telling him.  It’s a lot to wrap one’s head around without any pre-existing contextual knowledge.  “Okay, okay, wait...” The human interjects finally, holding up a hand, before asking in all seriousness, “Are you tellin’ me you’re like some kinda’ real life Tinkerbell?  Do you like...fart fairy dust?  Can you fly?”

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“Did you ever think that maybe if you weren’t so contrary I wouldn’t have to spend my time explaining things to you that should be blatantly obvious?” Meadow countered though her tone did little to imply she expected anything different from him. To be friends with Seth was to accept that he was contrary on the best of days and downright ornery as a general rule. But that also didn’t mean that Meadow wasn’t going to remind him of that. Nor did she think he expected anything less from her. Because while he was contrary as second nature- she seemed to point out the natural reaction to him being contrary as though it was second nature to her. People probably often wondered how the two of them could get along when they were so different- but she was quite simply loyal. The change in him wasn’t enough to push her away- even if she had no problem pointing out his faults.

Meadow heaved a sigh, sitting back in her seat, placing the food container back down onto her desk rather than risking dropping it. She had tried to change subjects, she really did but she couldn’t really blame anyone but herself for the conversation going the way it had. She had been the one to bring up the supernatural and the fact that there were beings other than werewolves and vampires- something she definitely shouldn’t have done despite knowing that most of the people Seth knew? They probably weren’t human. “Just that there are probably people you know in town that aren’t…strictly speaking human. But aren’t werewolves. Or vampires.”

Alright, were she being completely honest? There were definitely people he knew that weren’t human. She wasn’t human, of course, but she also knew that like Meadow herself Seth was close to a member of the Dawson clan growing up- Max, if she remembered correctly though admittedly it had been a long time since she actually thought about who in the Dawson clan was friends with who. “Definitely know people who aren’t human,” she corrected herself though at the end of the day she knew she wouldn’t ‘out’ Max as being someone who wasn’t human. That absolutely wasn’t the right thing to do. Not that throwing out the knowledge of the supernatural community was exactly kosher. “Like…witches or shapeshifters or fae.” God help her, she really wished she hadn’t started that conversation.

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It never really ceases to amaze him just how much patience the woman seems to be able to muster for his obstinance.  Very few other people in his life have stuck around to put up with even half as much, but despite his best efforts Meadow remains steadfast.  "And yet here you are, still runnin’ full speed and face first into the same brick wall you’ve been tryin’ to get through for years, anyway,” The human points out unhelpfully.  “You know, Meadow, I’m pretty sure there’s some kinda’ delusional disorder associated with doin’ the same thing over an’ over again, and expecting different results.  You might wanna’ look into therapy.”  He’s certainly one to talk.

Seth watches her as she seems to take a moment to mentally prepare herself.  It strikes him as exceptionally odd how she’d attempted to deflect the conversation, even despite his badgering.  Meadow has never struck him as the sort to keep uncomfortable secrets; or to embroil herself in anything questionable enough to be worth keeping them.  And then, there it is.  The other shoe finally drops.  The revelation itself doesn’t come as a surprise to him--not really--but the messenger certainly does.  “People I know?” 

He locks his gaze on Meadow’s, the flask of booze in his hand all but forgotten as he studies the subtle shifts in her expression.  Witches.  Shapeshifters.  Fae.  Seth hears her, but the words seem to rattle around in his head for a long minute.  He’s been in Wolford his whole life; seen a lot of strange and at times inexplainable things, and frankly he’d been harboring suspicions about the existence of something long before vampires and werewolves went public.  Seth still doesn’t know exactly what he saw on the night of the accident, but for ten years he’s maintained that it wasn’t human.  If one flavor of supernatural exists, why not a dozen?  Slowly, eyes still on the woman across the desk, he raises the flask to his lips to take another particularly long swig, and shifts to sit back in his chair, taking a deep breath.  He doesn’t speak right away, but when he does, his voice has lost its usual caustic edge; he sounds almost like his old self.  “So...Which one are you?”      

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“Guess we’re going to have to agree to disagree on that one, aren’t we?” Meadow knew better than to argue with Seth when it came to whether or not he was an asshole. He wasn’t going to change his stance no was she. Not because she was necessarily giving him a free pass but because she didn’t see him as such. That was her opinion and she had a right to it. Yes, she did keep in mind a loot of the stuff that had happened to him; yes, she was all too aware that the deaths of his family quite obviously changed him. And she understood why that was the case. What person wouldn’t change to at least some degree after such a huge tragedy? Losing one member of his family would have been enough to change him but to lose all three? Including his own children? Who could really expect him to be the same man that he once was? But she wasn’t really giving him a pass because of that. She just didn’t see him as an asshole because of the changes. He couldn’t convince her to think differently either no matter how hard he tried. “Maybe I just have more patience than most people when other people are concerned?” the Seelie suggested.

“Must you be contrary to everything I say?” Meadow teased gently though she hadn’t really expected otherwise. She didn’t think that Seth would just enthusiastically agree with her suggestions. And she also didn’t pretend she understood the photographer profession better than he did- or even close to the same level of understand that he had. Her only experience with it was playing around with a camera as a teen and she never really researched the profession or how best to make money from it. There had never really been a reason to do that. “Maybe you wouldn’t be able to make a profession out of it but I’m sure if you really wanted to you could make a little extra money out of it. People use pictures like that for stock photography, too. There are plenty of websites you can sell pictures to that people pay to use for various things. Not saying you could make a living with those photographs, just that maybe it might mean a few less people in furry suits at the end of the day.

“Nothing,” Meadow dismissed with a wave of her hand, thinking there wouldn’t be enough alcohol in all of Wolford to have that conversation and also that she had been an idiot for letting the conversation go down that track. Keeping who and what the people in town were a closely guarded secret was something any supernatural being in the town had been doing for their entire lives. Just because people knew that werewolves and vampires existed didn’t mean that it was alright to all of a sudden let the town know who was a part of those groups- or that there were other supernatural beings in the town. “You don’t really want to swan dive into that stuff, Seth,” she advised though some part of her was all too aware that she wasn’t exactly going to be able to backtrack the conversation. She had already tried more than once and he had cut that idea off rather quickly. But no one could ever say she hadn’t tried. An attempt was absolutely made. “I was just saying- what if there’s more than that, that’s all.” Too close to a lie for her own liking, something that tasted bitter on her tongue. Were the old stories about fae not being able to lie true? Not to her knowledge but she had never been a big liar to begin with so she wouldn’t know for certain.

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They’ve gone round and round about this so many times over the years that it feels like a familiar dance at this point; some sort of an inelegant two-step with too much spinning, pushing, pulling, but never quite falling into a graceful rhythm.  Agree to disagree is simply Meadow’s preferred way to end the song, Seth thinks, before they sashay right back onto the proverbial floor to do it all over again to the next one.  At least, that’s how their arguments usually go.  “Patience ain’t really a virtue when it comes to dealin’ with a certain kinda’ person, darlin’.”  He means himself, clearly, but the assertion applies broadly enough to encompass just about every other asshole currently residing in a Wolford zipcode and beyond.  “Oughtta’ know that by now.”

She already knows the answer to her question, but the human indulges his friend anyway, fixing her with the most dead-eyed, are you fucking kidding me stare he can muster.  “Uh, yeah.”  It’s how he is, and frankly, if that comes as a surprise to Meadow after all this time he figures that’s on her.  In truth, her point isn’t entirely invalid and Seth surely isn’t dense enough to miss the perfectly reasonable crux of what she’s suggesting, but he’s not about to tell her so.  “Jesus Christ, Meadow, you done woman-splainin’ my own profession to me yet?”  

He keeps his gaze locked on hers; one eyebrow sliding skeptically upward as he regards the young woman across the desk.  She’s a lot of things, but not a liar.  Certainly not a good one.  “Bullshit.” Seth declares after a moment, calling her bluff.  “It’s not nothin’.  You know somethin’, don’t you?”  Of course she would; she’s a journalist--one of the damned few good ones in these parts--and if anyone would have an ear to the ground about something like this it’s her.  He leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the edge of Meadow’s desk as he lifts the flask to his lips to take another pull.  “Spill it.”  

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        Valentina chuckled when he said Tinder, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth at the way she laughed because it seemed to big an action for the small confines of the cabin. “I have a friend who uses that and it is not what I need, I’m not looking for a partner, I’d just like to know more people,” she insisted. “It seems nice though, that the phone can do all of that, even if it’s not what I’m after. Does seem a bit dangerous.”

          Valentina knew what DNA was, it had come about enough in the time she was awake that she knew what it was, even if how it was used was a bit foreign to her, which was why… “do I have any? Now that I’m dead?” It was a silly question but it was also a silly assumption to think vampires didn’t have souls because they’d died, there were certainly sillier things she could have asked. “I would though, I wouldn’t mind doing that.”

          Unlike Seth, Valentina is not overly concerned by the papers, her eyes focused in on his features, especially as he froze and made it so smooth a motion, fingers grazing over still jaw, barely noticing the affect her touch had on his heart beat because she was still in awe of how he looked, this strange scientific magic that could allow such a thing. It didn’t have to mean anything though, Beau had tracked down his silly descendants for generations and it was so frivolous, why would her own lineage matter? It could be a fun little way to get to know someone, why did it have to mean anything?

         “Are you unable to have children?” Valentina asked, a question that is probably too forward but not something she notes until the words have left her mouth, letting her hand fall away, back into her own lap. “We don’t know one another so perhaps you could be a failure of a man in some way that is not so easily seen but so far you seem competent and hard working, both traits I would deem admirable. As for the children I don’t suspect I will be having any more of my own any time soon so it would be a bit hypocritical to become concerned.”

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"Yeah, well, maybe there’s an app or somethin’ for that, too.  Who knows.”  It’s certainly not something Seth would have any personal experience with.  “Could try goin’ to church.”  He’s mostly joking when he says it--Hell, for all he knows, vampires can’t even enter one without bursting into flames or something equally dramatic--but then again, for a particular crowd, it really is a time-tested way to meet people and perhaps find a sense of community.  For most of his youth, it had been his own.  These days, not so much. 

The point she brings up about her DNA is a damned good one, and all the human can do is shrug.  “Hell if I know?  Shit, I barely passed high school biology, you’re askin’ the wrong person.  Ain’t y’all got like a vampire afterlife handbook tells you all this?  Y’know, like in Beetlejuice?”  He’s sure Valentina must think he’s an imbecile at this point.  “Well, assumin’ it would work,  I’ll let the Historical Society know you’re down for it, and we’ll go from there.”  

Valentina’s question isn’t unexpected, especially given the topic they are discussing, but for some reason it still hits him like a ton of bricks.  Seth’s usual devil-may-care façade falters, and he shakes his head as he watches her hands retreat to her lap.  “No, that ain’t...” He starts to reply, before trailing off and simply shaking his head as he swallows down the rest of them like a bitter pill.  “Nevermind.”  Seth’s hand is already reaching for his camera bag; an unconventional security blanket of sorts for a man who too often pretends he doesn’t need one at all.  “Maybe we should just get on with these pictures?”  

…

“Didn’t need to. Knew you’d be waitin’.” They jabbed at each other all the time so it wasn’t hard to fire one back. Sometimes the jabs were physical but tonight it was starting out only verbal. While Mason was often primed for a fight and didn’t mind if that got messy, as it often did with Seth, he was riding a good high tonight and didn’t feel like harshing his buzz but who knew. Most of their relationship, if you could even call it that, was based on insults so this was nothing new. He’d hoped to annoy Seth by stealing the joint but he was being a little more chill about it. Mason would have to step things up a little, though Seth was clearly playing his own game by putting distance between them. All right, then. Glass in one hand and joint in the other, Mason closed the distance Seth put between them. “’Cause I’m a fuckin’ delight.”

He waggled his eyebrows and chuckled, taking another healthy swallow of the whiskey and maintaining eye contact. “Damn right I am, not that it’s got anything to do with you.” He chased the whiskey with another hit from the blunt, holding the smoke in his lungs until he felt dizzy then blowing it out slowly. He crowded Seth even more, knowing he was somewhat pinned by the sofa. “You gonna do somethin’ to change that?” It could mean a number of things, them being who they were, and Mason was interested to see which way Seth took it. 

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“And I passed the time waitin’ with drinkin’,” The human replies with a shrug, “That’s why I started without you.”  It’s always like this with them; jibs and jabs and back and forth until one of them loses patience with the other and escalates things.  Sometimes that means bruises.  Sometimes, dirty sheets.  Seth doesn’t particularly care either way; Mason is reliable in both departments, and the distraction from everything else in this shitshow that somehow passes for his life is always welcome.  Doesn’t mean anything, never does, and they always part on the same terms as they’d began, no feelings--hard or otherwise--no strings.  This has been going on long enough that he’s fairly certain the sentiment is mutual.  “Delight?  That what they’re callin’ it these days?” He drawls, gaze rolling up to meet Mason’s when the other man steps close enough that he can smell the cheap bodywash on his skin.

Seth takes another slow pull from his glass, rolling the whiskey around his mouth before swallowing it down.  It burns the whole way.  Smoke fills what little space remains between them as Mason exhales, and the human breathes it in.  “Why would it.”  It’s not a question, not really, and yet he feels the need to do or say something before Mason has the chance to answer.  Seth doesn’t realize what that is until he’s already begun.  His free hand moves between them to slip his fingers over the waistband of the other man’s pants; knuckles grazing the bare skin of his abdomen just underneath as he pulls Mason toward him with one firm yank.  They’re close enough now that their chests nearly touch, and Seth leans forward to speak softly in the other’s ear.  “What do you think?”