#elijah001

"Bee-Bee! Bee-Bee!" Rhiannon screeched across the small body of water as Phoebe approached, seemingly unbothered that she was scaring the ducks she was taken to feed. Phoebe had texted Eli about some studio time, but found herself meeting him at the park near his house, the two deciding to take advantage of the warm almost-summer's day instead.

"Hi Rhi-Rhi!" She greeted enthusiastically, her heart warming that the toddler had taken very well to the surprise guest joining them at the pond. Bee-Bee, Rhi-Rhi, Hat-Tee, as Phoebe often declared when she was also with the older girl, carrying on the joke that she was actually Nilay and Eli's kid, even if the age difference between her and her pseudo-mother would have made that impossible.

"I brought peas!" She informed Elijah, "I read somewhere bread is bad for the ducks, and the pond. And apparently they like peas and zucchini and stuff, oh and worms." Something she definitely wasn't going to purchase.

Having discovered the jinn was on Atlantis, Eir had decided to seek them out. She knew the trouble they could bring, either by twisting wishes or by the cruelty of their master. Finding her way to the lane filled with temples had been easy enough - Eir went regularly to make an offering to her two favourite goddesses. Frigg was a close friend of Eir’s, as she’d once been the Queen’s handmaiden, and, and Freyja was worshipped by all Valkyries. 

But entering the church made her hesitate, standing in the doorway. 

While she was not here as a Valkyrie, she was not here to worship anyone, it still felt wrong. She’d been a goddess once, one that would have been worshipped in a different temple. Although that time was long gone, and none worshipped her now (except the shieldmaidens who praised all Valkyries), there was still something holding her back. 

Noticing a man - no, a priest - walking towards her, she offered him a smile. The master, she could tell that much, and she changed her plans. She’d get to know him better, and seek out the jinn later. Forcing herself to take one more step so she was inside, she looked around the church. “Are all churches like this?” She asked frankly, having never set foot inside one before. 

The language of flowers was often confusing. The meanings were usually a double-edged sword depending on the context given, and though no one really seemed to care for the deeper symbolism these days (much like how music was only relevant if it could trend on TikTok), there was an irrational part of Roman that feared for if he got it wrong.

Though who would judge flowers left at a tombstone? The man who's name was engraved on the marble?

Roman doubted Harrison — even with all of his musical genius and ability to pluck beautiful, tearjerking verse out of thin air — could even tell the difference between roses and gardenias, at a push. So it shouldn't matter, really. It was just a gesture. A gesture of love-lost, of grieving the past that slipped through the fingers, the loss of a bright future. The grief that sat in Roman's ribcage every waking moment of his present.

It was as if the universe knew what his intentions were for today; to pay condolences for a friend before the actual anniversary lest there was a crowd. He turned to look for someone to help when his green eyes locked on Elijah's brown.

"Not fucking today." He wasn't even aware he muttered it aloud until he heard his own voice reverberate around the flower shop.

eli wasn’t paying attention to what his fellow circle member was saying at all. something about ‘controlling’ and ‘secrets’ and ‘keeping it lowkey’ — definitely in his wheelhouse. he knew how to keep his lips sealed almost seamlessly every day — but the true difficulty was the mere mention of the word ‘secrets’ and how he constantly fought the instinct the glance over at rosalie, the one person he kept the most secrets from. they were inseparable their entire high school and half of their college career, but seeing her everyday because of the circle was different. and he’d never admit it to anyone beside himself, but it hurt a little too. a tight clench where his heartbeat should be.

“look,” he said, finally speaking up and pushing himself off the wall. “i think i can speak for all of us that no one is planning to spill this—” he paused and rolled his eyes, putting his fingers up for air quotes, “‘secret’, if that’s what y’all  want. which i think is dumb, because why hide something spectacular? i mean, if i can start a bonfire on the beach without having to buy charcoal and lighter fluid, then i’m all for that shit. i think y’all are scared.”

"The righteous cry, and the LORD hears,               And delivers them out of all their troubles.”

The only problem is, Marlon can’t cry out. He holds steadfast to his faith, finds without fail in the most terrifying moments some glimmer of Hope to keep him going. As his feet slap to a stop and there seems not a single soul in sight. The narrow gap he ran through seemed like his saving grace. An easy way to lose the Sick that was following him. But it seems, Marlon’s luck was running out.       Click.

“Puta madre,” He hisses under his breath. The clicks grow more frantic, like a man chattering away with excitement. Maybe the tight gap between buildings was not such a bright idea after all. Click. Click Click. Clickclickclick.

He hasn’t a single useful weapon at hand. The pistol he’d slipped from a passed police officer remains unused in the bottom of his bag. It was by pure chance he’d escape. Those poor sick people he’d had to kill were only ever knocked out by pure chance. A ladder in the right place or a rubbish skip on a slope.  He’s got nothing but a rosary now. It’s the only thing he hopes to use. The crucifix’s sharp edges leaving indents in his palms as Marlon decides his fate: Left or Right. Life or Death. Will this be a good day or bad day?

CLICK. He decides: Left. Life. Good. 

Stepping inside, Triston took off his coat and looked around the bar. With each day passing that he didn’t get a signal from Cassandra, the soft worrying in the back of his mind starting screaming louder and louder. He knew that searching her out would be suspicious, but he couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that he was letting her get away. He needed a drink.

Walking over to the bar counter, Triston smiled when he saw a familiar face and patted Elijah on the back before sitting down next to him. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said sarcastically as he ordered a drink. Elijah was here pretty much whenever Triston was. “I see you’ve started your night already,” he went on as he motioned to the almost empty glass in front of Elijah. “Isn’t it a bit early to have an empty glass?”