#final steps

Orobas pressed his face into the window of a particular house, causing a defined smudge on the pane of glass. It was pretty early in the night, he had actually darted around the city during those strange, ‘blinks’ of darkness that happened now, lucky for him. He made it here without major injury because of it. Though the slightest burns on his hands and cheeks weren’t predominate, they did ache a little for spending hours out. Now the moon was up, and he stared in the window believing this was the correct place. In his hand was a wicker basket filled with all the supplies, and Orobas-- he was determined to speak to this Arthur person for two very important reasons. One; pie help. Since it was his pie Orobas had to make for Lydia. Two: Arthur knew Carrington, and he had to know if he was here. When he saw he was in there he quickly walked around and knocked on the door.

All in all the evening had been relatively quiet. The tortoises were fed and the vivarium cleaned out, dinner was done and it left Arthur with some time to himself. He was in the process of putting on a documentary when a knock at the door caused him to frown, check his watch and pause the intro. “Weird time for cold callers,” he murmured as he padded over to the door and pulled it open to look at the man that stood outside. “Uh, hey- can I help you?”

“Evening,” Orobas recognized him as the right person, and relief actually settled strangely in the hallow points of his dead body. Carrington would befriend someone like Arthur, if by looks alone, their gentle features, and sleepy disposition was something easy to enjoy. “Is Carrington with you?” He blurted out without any filter, surprising himself when he had wanted to say, ‘will you help me make your pie’. Orobas’ dead muscles in his face gave nothing away to the clear mental crosswire of thoughts and with the picnic basket in hand simply continued. “I’m Eldon,” he offered, voice calm and with the softest tone that made it almost sweet to the ears. “I haven’t seen him in days. He’s not posting on social media. Is he with you?”

Arthur was half expecting someone else to be selling off eyeballs, it wasn’t the first person to come cold calling in the last week - everyone seemed to be out to profit. What he wasn’t expecting was for a man to introduce himself and promptly ask after someone he hadn’t admittedly seen in a while. A frown marred the warm expression that had previously been on his features. “Cari?” the nickname betrayed his fondness for the man, “no… I sent him a message the other day but I didn’t hear back.” Which was strange considering the man always seemed to respond rather promptly when he did message. “Arthur…” he introduced but the frown remained, “uh, come in. But no, he’s not here admittedly I haven’t seen him in a few weeks… When was the last time you spoke to him?”

The only time Orobas felt a shiver was when anyone gave him permission to enter their house. He savored it, even if feeding and domineering wasn’t on his mind tonight, and stepped through the front door with a gentle elegance. “Me either. I’ve actually come to also inquire about your pie that won second place,” gesturing to the basket which he set on the floor. “But, it seems Carrington is taking over my thoughts for four night in a row now. I have looked all over White Crest. In every little nook and cranny. I was hoping he was with someone, maybe stepping away for a small vacation, but you were the only person I believed he’d be with based off his social media and you say no as well.” Orobas clenched his fist lightly, “Something happened then--”

“My pie? Uh, sure - what about it?” Something about the way this man moved - effortlessly graceful like a predator yet without the intent reminded Arthur of Carrington. “Are you part of a clan or?” it seemed the most logical reasoning as to why this man that he suspected was like Carrington would be looking for him. The concern seemed genuine and in that regard it made Arthur a little less cautious than he might otherwise have been. “That would make sense, but he’d answer if he was going away wouldn’t he? He doesn’t strike me as the type to vanish…” which meant something had to have gone wrong. “You wouldn’t happen to know any witches would you? Maybe one of them could perform a tracking spell on him?” He couldn’t say whether it would work, but he wasn’t sure how else they might find him.

The pie seemed so unimportant right now, which, it technically wasn’t, he was promise bound to make this pie perfect, and he really wanted Arthur to taste the one he made to be sure it was exactly to a tee, how he made it. But Carrington was on his mind, has been for days on end, and he wasn’t any closer to finding him. “I actually just needed you to taste it and be sure its one hundred percent how you made it, taste, look everything.” Orobas opened the small basket and pulled out two pies, setting them on the counter in the kitchen. “We are at the beginning of a friendship actually. When I met him I felt like the universe had decided to place us together for a reason. Poetic I know, but I’m not often caught off guard by such a connection right away, it’s very rare. I am not quite ready to say goodbye.” Orobas tucked his palms together and behind his back. Standing still, without breath even with his clear distress, it was difficult to decipher on his unmoving muscles. “I’m reluctant to involve other species in our business if I am honest. People love favors, and having you owe them in ways you might not pick up on. I’m--” he frowned. “Actually, I’m not sure what to do. Perhaps, I’ll have a group go door to door and ask-- well, ask nicely.”

“Taste it? Oh, well sure I can do that.” Considering the time, Arthur wasn’t really sure if he was in the mood for making pie but he’d never turn down an opportunity to try some. “Who asked you to make mine anyway?” it was a curious request, and didn’t really make sense in his mind unless someone really wanted to try his pie… He’d happily make another if they wanted it. Still, talk revolved around Carrington and a wash of ice settled in his bones, the bottomless pit of uncertainty opening up regarding his friend’s welfare, a far more pressing concern. “Sometimes you just meet people like that, he’s quite an alluring individual.” Unfortunately, if normal methods didn’t work sometimes you had to resort to unfavourable acts to achieve your ends. “And if that doesn’t work?” he questioned “I’d rather expedite the process if possible and if it’s in their wheelhouse of skill I don’t mind owing a favour… I know a couple of witches.” He’d make a point to reach out in the morning.

Orobas pulled a knife from the block and carefully sliced one of the two pies. “It’s important that it looks exactly right and tastes exactly the same, please tell me..” Was all he said on it. The idea of involving witches in the past would have excited him. Orobas loved magic, he found it extremely interesting and the unsavory people who used it for their own benefits earned quite an enjoyment filled emotion from the old vampire. But for some reason, knowing that such a spell existed, and could possibly find them so easily made Orobas question that power and the invasiveness to their privacy. “Mhm,” Orobas’ eyes burned red subtly as he pondered, not realizing that he was just staring off without blinking, and stone still while he did it. “Okay,” he finally answered after an awkward stretch of time. “Have them give me the closest area, and I’ll go get him. If hes to ashes I imagine that it wouldn’t tell us that.”

Arthur stood by and watched Orobas cut the slice of pie, moving to fetch a plate from one of the cupboards and slide it over so the slice could be put on it. “Was it the sweet one you were trying to make?” he asked but judging from the decorations he figured it probably was but it didn’t hurt to ask just in case. “What recipe were you working to?“ he hadn’t published it anywhere so how Orobas or anyone else for that matter would even knew what it should taste like was a little bit of a curiosity in Arthur’s mind. The silence stretched on while Orobas considered the options but the more he pondered it, Arthur couldn’t see any other possibility if they wanted to find Carrington. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m not sure the spell would work if he is ashes… But here’s hoping he isn’t.”

“Weeks of trial and error. I found one of the judges and questioned them, mhm, I’m sure it’s wrong. At this point, that is the nonsense side of it. It’s taken me some time to find you,” he shrugged. “But I do need it perfect. So any help to it will be greatly appreciated or if you can point out what’s wrong. The recipe we’re roughly using is in the basket based on what the judge suggested.” Orobas wasn’t normally so bland with this type of conversation, but this week has been exhausting for him. He left the pie and the basket on the counter, settling on pacing lightly in the kitchen. “If you do, do this. I will only be able to give it tonight. Then-- well. Then other avenues will happen. Which is fine, both should transpire anyway. Have you experienced this before? Someone disappearing like this? You seem calm about it. Has Carrington done this before?”

“I see, and I’m curious - who put you up to this uh… nonsense?” It was easier to use Orobas’ own words than to try and come up with something else, clearly there was a separate instigator but Arthur couldn’t claim to have any idea who it might be or their reason for wanting his pie. “Well, the patterning isn’t bad on the crust” he admitted as he eyed the top though several lines were wonky. “Hm,” he used a fork to cut off a piece before testing it, his features growing thoughtful “it’s not bad but there’s something missing… Honey? Maybe some lemon… Hm.” Moving to the fridge Arthur pulled out a couple of boxes of berries he always kept stocked considering his habit to snack on them at all times. He spoke while he sifted through for the things he used and once he had them moved over to the hob. “Is there a reason for that?” he inquired looking over to Orobas wondering why there might be a timeframe all of a sudden. “Plenty of times, unfortunately I find panic only serves to further fog an already misty situation, a calm head often finds more answers” he admitted. “But Carrington? Not in the time I’ve known him no.”

“Mhm, someone,” Orobas smirked. “They can have their fun. I believe they thought your pie was the hardest on the winners list. Which, probably, yes it seems so. Challenge me with something I probably can’t do since I don’t eat nor taste.” He rolled his eyes. Lydia Griffin and her games, so delightful and worth it when it’s his turn. Orobas didn’t often give all his hands out but Arthur wasn’t a threatening person. “I have intel he was in a fight.” Orobas’ words were haunting in sound, his eyes distant again. “I’m not going to play around with my words and assume you can understand. But such a fight usually leaves us injured beyond your imagination. It’s never an easy thing, not once. I’ve been cut in half, barely able to stand in the past from such moments. If he is alive, and he passed out from the injury, urgency comes from making sure he can feed or he will be stuck. Or worse, if he’s in a place that can have him caught in the sun. I've seen such things as well. Staking us just right so we get to watch the sunrise.” Orobas glanced over. “I don’t trust the outcomes. Never have. I have to find him swiftly. I have the means to do it. It does get messy, but it will work. Oh, how I had hoped he was lounging on your couch.”

“I see.” Arthur didn’t really see, but if this person wanted to put someone through the ordeal of making his pie the least he could try and do was help ease the struggle. “That’s fair enough, well, how about I make the filling - the actual pie itself you’ve got pretty down I’d say. So I think it’s just a matter of fixing the filling and you’d be in a good place.” He wasn’t sure that he’d be much help when it came to hunting down Carrington, “but if he’s been gone as long as he has… Then surely that would’ve happened by now?” But either outcome wasn’t positive, he worried his lip. “I’d rather find him with as little bloodshed as possible. Let me see what I can do.”

“Okay,” Orobas didn’t concede often, but with the pie, he had too. Which could have been the entire reason why he was tasked with it. “Thank you.” Orobas leaned against the counter to watch and help, he had to get this pie done eventually, and even with all present concerns this wouldn’t go away either. “Maybe. Carrington is stubborn and old, we can endure it for a bit. But it’s painful.” At the final comment Orobas glanced over, watching the other closely, and the gentle worry to his lips. “Mhm, I give such a vibe?” There was an inquiry in there but it didn’t translate well with his dead expression and unblinking eyes. “We’ll see... tell me Arthur, what would you do for someone you felt bound too? How far have you taken something?”

“No worries,” Arthur started setting out three bowls before instructing “fill each one of those with berries, one of each kind.” In the meantime, he went to fetch a saucer from the cabinet which he set on the gas to heat up. It wouldn’t take too long to finish up with the two of them working on it. “Perhaps. Something gives me the impression he’s survived worse though,” he couldn’t say what exactly, but something about him struck Arthur as a survivor of worse odds. “Not you specifically - your choice of wording though. Messy implies risks being taken that I’d rather not see come to pass.” There was a moment of silence that followed, “we’re not talking about me. You’re the one intent on finding him,” an evasive answer of choice. In all honesty, Arthur didn’t want to open up that can of worms, the truth of it making for an uncomfortable reality he didn’t wish to delve into too deeply especially with a stranger. There were lengths and darkness he’d succumbed to long ago that were not things that warranted further conversation.

Orobas chuckled at the evasive answer, and didn’t mind in the least. He was known to enjoy asking those uncomfortable questions and getting some form of answer even without them answering it directly. Everyone had a line with certain people, where the consequences of actions didn’t matter anymore. Had Carrington put himself on that side already with Orobas? Perhaps. Orobas walked over to stand by the Arthur’s side, determined to remember everything. Already seeing where they went wrong, but in the grand sense it was probably best he had handled it all this way. Never having made anything like this before, human food foreign to him for centuries. Messing up a lot for the passing weeks got a lot of the basics out of the way, and currently allowed him to understand these steps clearly. “Have you ever won a contest before?”

Arthur had made his choices in life, that didn’t mean he was planning to discuss them with a stranger. So he opted instead to direct attention to the filling of the pie. “So what you need to do is put all of the in a large saucepan - heat them up until they start to burst and get their juices out of them” he explained turning the gas on and gesturing for Orobas to add the berries. Once they’d gotten past that step, Arthur took a hand mixer with whisks attacked and plugged it into the power. “Then you blend it to smooth it out,” he instructed. Baking wasn’t hard so long as you could get the right measure of ingredients together in a bowl. “A contest? Sure. A cooking contest? This would be my first… Cooking contests weren’t really a thing people do back home. Have you?”

“My blood dolls made a pie for Walter and TaeTae-- they are my pet watermelon vampires and live in my garden,” he further explained as if that entire sentence made perfect sense. He took his phone out and typed quickly what Arthur was saying so he could show the dolls later and they could help him with it more. “I heard they submitted it for me, but I didn’t actually make anything food related until the request to make your pie.” Orobas shook his head, no, to the inquiry of winning a contest. “I’ve never cared about such things. I still don’t actually-- I am quite simple in my life. Lately, however, everyone is in need of me. It’s a very different thing-- worrying about others.” He compared what Arthur had in his bowl to previous pictures in his phone when they were baking and noticed the details missing. Good. If he could just get this done, it would be one more thing off his mind. “Thank you for this. How long did you cook it for?”

Arthur quelled the look of distaste that almost made it to his features at the mention of blood-dolls. He’d never understood the concept nor did he rightly agree with it, but he wasn’t typically the sort to voice such displeasure aloud; preferring to internalise and process it after the fact. “Do you have any idea where watermelon vampires originated? I’ve always wondered…” Arthur mused as they continued to work sieving the berries into another bowl and adding the lemon juice “next we make a bain-marie, melt the butter and sugar in that.” While the ingredients cooked through he took the time to study Orobas a little more closely, “it’s taxing, but the end result of keeping people safe is what matters in the grand scheme of things. That’s all the reward you really need in life,” it just sucked when it didn’t go to plan. “All good, and you blind-bake the crust first for about fifteen minutes then put the filling in and the lid on top. So in total about forty-five minutes in the oven should get you the result you’re after.”

“I don’t, but they are delightful. A good friend of mine gave me one from the market,” Orobas made a few more notes, making sure he didn’t miss any small thing Arthur added. ‘Keeping people safe’ Arthur suddenly spoke, and Orobas internally felt nothing over such a sentence. What did it even mean to him? How did that apply to this part of his life and existence now? He’s never had to worry about anyone or anything. Why now, was it that he felt those he wanted to be safe-- weren’t? Was he not strong enough to protect them? “Hm,” was all he could say on it. Maybe he couldn’t being this version of himself. “Alright,” he finished taking it down, and sent the text document to one of his dolls to get them to start pulling the correct ingredients. “I must leave, now,” he glanced up at Arthur, putting his phone away and tucking his hands behind his back with a gentle squaring of his shoulders. “I will be sure to repay you properly. I appreciate your assistance. Should you need me for anything, I will try to make myself available to you in the future.” He set a business card on the table with the name Eldon Ash on it and his cell number.