#millermayfair

She saved the number Nicolas sent her under Miller, last name Nicolas' boyfriend. He had said he was a former Talamascan, so that should make introductions easier. She decided to text rather than call as she thought it would be easier for him to share his address this way.

[text] Good evening, is this Miller I am reaching?

[text] if you are breaking this off, we could do it in five minutes

@miller-mayfair

FOR SALE.

So it had finally happened. The large red and foreboding sign pinned against the much older and yellow, now rusting warning signs. His fingers curled around the large wrought iron spokes as he peered through the gate trying to catch a glimpse through the overgrowth at the dark and grimy red brick of the house he’d called home for so many years. His gaze slid to the ground as he continued his venture through the afternoon light towards the old cemetery. There was no point to feeling sorry for it. Such was the passage of time, and the economy. However it meant something a little darker to Vincent and something which the witch was not entirely sure he wanted to dwell on.

From the pocket of his jacket Vincent took his phone and took a quick snap of the for sale sign (there no harm in seeing how much it was selling for?). There were no messages yet from Miller having discussed prior this meeting, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad sign, even still Vincent felt he might as well send something to let Miller know that he was nearing their meet up point.

[ text : witch Miller ] : You around the cemetery yet?

Was it cliche for witches to meet at a cemetery? No more than the woods. But it was a nice spot, and attracted enough tourists these days to be somewhat of a neutral meeting for both.

He sent the following text with a picture of the for sale sign.

Flying with a garment bag elicits memories of all the times she's done this before, mostly with Miller in mind. So Rose goes slow, not wanting to wrinkle things that were custom and tailored, even if it cost her a few extra minutes. It wasn't time that she needed.

The home was perfect for her brunette boys, and Rose is aware of the security as she lands right on the steps to the front door. They would know someone was there, and her mind has low shields, for both of them to peruse if they so wished, but just enough that outsiders would meet a wall.

That granularity with her gift was both honed over time and a result of the training she would forever be grateful to Miller for. As she rings the doorbell, she grins to her dearest friend, thrusting the bag of clothes to him.

"Happy Birthday, Superman. A shirt, jacket, and pants, and I'm taking you to a Michelin starred restaurant here. You have less than half an hour to get changed. I know I'm here early, I'll have you back before midnight, before your real birthday, so you can spend the night with your boy toy. Can't steal that moment from the two of you."

Her grin is wide, fangs on display. Rose is matching with her own outfit, both sets from Alexander McQueen. Except Rose has heels. Her own shirt, jacket, and pants are in the same color scheme as Miller's, but different enough that to an untrained eye they might not be matching. But Rose would know they were.

Strong swimming is how you managed to have a kid. Them strong swimmers and all. Eyyyyyyyyy!

Christ.

It only took minutes for Nicolas to hunt down Miller once he'd ended the call. He barely needed the vague description of where Miller was. His blood called to him, he felt the draw of his power and then he had him.

Pinned against a red brick wall, hand in his hair, holding him in place and sinking his fangs into his throat. He drank deep, eyes closed. Not too long, he knew that, even as he tasted his heartbeat on his tongue. Even as he wanted to keep going. Nicolas withdrew, closed the wounds, and then used his nails on his own neck, ripping it open. Enough to tilt his head, get his hair out of the way and offer it up for Miller, so he'd not grow too weak.

Nicolas' mind was often wide open and it certainly was right now. Usually that meant music and shapeless darkness tinged with despair and the chaos of a brewing storm. Right now, he was deliberate about it. Shared memories.

fingers moving without intent, words on a phone screen, no awareness then but remembered now

sun almost rising, brought to a cave at the last moment

waking up and talking, laughing, mocking, prodding, baring his pain to cause more hurt

asking Lestat to taste and Lestat speaking of hope

coercing Lestat until he bit him, until he drank from him

[text] I see he's in a sharing mood.

A cigarette and a man who loves you without guile or reservation.

Done and no one should love me without reservation. I'm afraid he still might.