#moravitris

She ticks off names in her head like a mental check list, and the first is always Fletcher (tick) which is quickly and recently followed by Samantha, and the tick for that mental roll call comes in the form of spotting the blonde at the other side of the hall. With two bottles of water clutched against her chest, Grace is there, offering one of them. “Here, you’ll need this. And blankets too, to keep warm later.”

He wants to talk to Diana sometimes about their parents but knows that it always ends up becoming a bit of a sore spot - with Vas being closer with their mother, and Diana being closer to their father, it always ends up being a bit of a difficult conversation to have.

Bad idea, bad idea, she thinks to herself, making her way towards the stairs with a red velvet rope draped across the top step, and can only assume it’ll lead her down. Logically, it should be somewhere here, she looks around furtively behind her, and then again because those vampires and their superhuman hearing or whatever aren’t to be trusted, and flattens herself against the wall near the darkest corner. In fact, a journey that she’d anticipated would be slightly more climactic ends when the first corner takes her exactly where she wanted to be. The first few vehicles are predictable, but if rumours were true, then hidden somewhere...her brain races, her footfalls quiet and there’s a flash of dark blue. The bright ‘72′ encircled stands out and there’s a welling of an emotion lodged i her throat that she tries to ignore. Before she can stop herself, her hands reach out for the driver side door and relieved that rich people never seemed to lock their cars, the door creaks open. It smells somehow exactly how she’d always thought it would, and sinks into the seat. Hands find the steering wheel, staring ahead for a moment, thoughts racing, and as sudden as the moment descended upon her, it’s pulled from beneath her with a cough. Eyes darting to the figure at the passenger side window, she offers a quick, “I lost my bag,” but even that sounds lame. “And it’s not like the keys are in the ignition, I was just having a look. I mean, do you know what this is? It’s a 1964 Ford GT40. Prototype. Second oldest GT40. Restored by Lazante.” 

She prides herself on having routine, a lost art, she thinks, as she moves through the home. There are those who make eye contact, the ones that are a little more brazen than the others, for most avoid eye contact, and her lips are in a tight smile. Yulia takes her tea at exactly two thirty every afternoon after lunch. It doesn’t quench much but the desire for order, and she asks, “My daughter?” It’s spoken in an even tone, as she takes a seat at the large table outside, where her tea is being served, overlooking the manicured gardens. “Promptness mustn't be at the top of her priorities,” it’s not supposed to sound like a criticism, but the tone underpins it nonetheless. It is out of the blue, she realises, not often taking tea with anyone but her husband, but she needs to speak to Diana. A slight tension hangs in the air as she waits, unsure as always of the outcome of their conversation.

Sitting at the bar on a Wednesday night is bleak, he thinks to himself as another drink is placed down in front of him. Does he need another drink? Probably not, but it’s there now and there’s not much he can do about it. It’s hardly enough to do anything, but he sips at it happily anyway, trying to enjoy the evening, waiting for his sister. She’s always late, he thinks bitterly to himself, with whatever news she insists she has to tell him in person. When his phone buzzes in his pocket, he knows what he’s about to see. Got caught up, sorry, I’ll have to see you at home. A grumble comes from him, a muttered, under his breath ‘Okay, just great,’ and Rhian turns to look around, trying to find anyone who is familiar. It’s not his usual crowd, until he notices Rami in the corner, and he calls out to him, “Hey, hot stuff, come here often?”