#waylonwitch

Rosmond: "She collects blondes." At least, that's how it seemed. First the boy with amnesia, now this one.

"His name is Leslie Issott. A well-intentioned naïve young man."

Waylon: Waylon stifled a giggle, the idea of Gertrude 'collecting blondes' seemed funny, and yet he could picture it.

"Why do you say he's naïve? And why was he on the property back then? It didn't seem like he was expected."

Rosmond: "That's exactly why he's naïve. Walking into something he was not prepared for."

Waylon: "Maybe that's just a thing for witches," Waylon grinned and playfully elbowed Rosmond's side, "some might say the same thing about me. Although- technically you were the one who walked into me."

Rosmond: "You're all very brave," Rosmond returned with his dry humor. "I walked into you, and you've walked into me every night since."

Waylon: "Thank you for noticing," Waylon laughed softly, and he leaned up to kiss Rosmond's cheek. "And every night I'm glad I did. Thankfully, you didn't make the walk too difficult." Another kiss, this time to his chin as he gave Rosmond's arm another squeeze.

Rosmond: Rosmond turned his head to capture that last kiss with his lips. Only after stealing did his eyes turn with the rest of him, kissing Waylon's nose to finish.

"To answer your question, he was looking for a body."

Waylon: Waylon was always happy to have his kisses stolen by Rosmond, and he giggled with the added kiss to his nose. He stopped abruptly with Rosmond's words, startled by the content. "He was... looking for a body." Waylon repeated as he stared at Rosmond, trying to determine if this was a joke. "What? Who? Why?" he continued when he realized Rosmond was serious.

Rosmond: "You're aware of Gertrude's expertise. He was in search of one of her subjects. Closure for someone else."

Waylon: Waylon was quiet for a moment. Now Rosmond's words made more sense. "Must have been important to that someone else," and it was a little reminder for Waylon of the nature of this household. "If he found what he was looking for, why does he keep coming back to see Gertrude?"

Rosmond: "Because he trespassed, and because despite -" Rosmond adjusted his book. Some rewording was required. "Gertrude is kind. This is a sanctuary. Witches are welcome."

Waylon: Waylon tilted his head curiously as Rosmond started to rephrase. When he found the right words, Waylon couldn't really argue.

Many of Gertrude's actions, since Waylon had known her, could be interpreted as self-serving, but when compared to Rosmond's previous mistress it was hard to believe that was Gertrude's only motivation.

"She is," Waylon agreed with a small nod. "Does he need sanctuary, or he's just welcome to come and go?"

Rosmond: "Gertrude says he needs both, so he needs both. Those here free of hostility are here with sanctuary. As such, it applies to you, too."

A lot at once. So, Rosmond took a fake breath and turned the page of his book.

Waylon: A small smile followed the turn of the page in Rosmond's book, and Waylon's eyes softened to match it. "Well, I'm excited to meet him. Thank you for being so thoughtful," he snuggled just a little closer to Rosmond as he kissed the vampire's shoulder, and then he settled back into the pillows. His eyes returned to his phone, the smile remained, and the hand that lingered on Rosmond's arm moved comfortably to his thigh. Waylon didn't want to stop touching just yet.

Rosmond: "If his dinner isn't satisfactory, we'll call a blood hunt." That familiar deadpan humor had only become bold with time. He reached for Waylon's hand to pat.

"What are you reading?" he asked, not looking away from his book.

Waylon: Waylon laughed at that, and when Rosmond's hands touched his own Waylon claimed it, and laced their fingers together. An appreciative squeeze followed, and he glanced up from the screen. "An article about a different indoor planter set-ups. Just looking at some options for when winter hits. It's just nice to have plants around when everything else is frozen. What are you reading?"

Rosmond: Rosmond used his finger as a bookmark, closing for Waylon to see the cover. Embalming History, Theory, and Practice in large white letters over blue.

"That reminds me, you have one other gift. It is a long construction. The neglected greenhouse east of the hedge maze is being rebuilt."

Waylon: "Ah," Waylon nodded after a read of the books title, "you're so studios. You'll have to tell me what you think of the book." Waylon perked up as Rosmond mentioned another gift, and his eyes widened when Rosmond revealed it. There was a long pause. "It's being rebuilt... for me?" The answer had already been given to him, but this surprise caught Waylon off guard. He'd always wondered about the greenhouse, even in it's state of disarray it was a beautiful structure. He could only imagine all of the lovely plants it had housed, but in all the years he'd lived here he'd never thought to ask to use it.

Rosmond: Though Waylon had never asked, Rosmond had thought again and again that he should clean it. Something had always taken precedence. Now, despite a budding career and path of eternity, Rosmond had forced himself upon this procrastinated task. Waylon deserved it.

"I won't be able to help once it's complete." Not in his condition. "But it will be complete."

Waylon: Something happy and warm tightened uncomfortably in Waylon's chest, and he studied Rosmond for a moment as he blinked back moisture from his eyes. It felt like a silly thing to get emotional about, but the thoughtfulness of Rosmond's gifts made Waylon feel incredibly special and loved. Without saying anything, the witch reached up to cup Rosmond's cheek to guide him into a gentle kiss.

Rosmond: Rosmond didn't argue to read. His head turned akin to a doll, eyes remaining open as he returned Waylon's kiss in kind.

"What is it?" he asked, observing the pink of his companion's eyes and cheeks.

Waylon: "I'm just... you make me very happy," Waylon's thumb trailed over the other's chilled cheek, and he leaned in again to steal another lingering kiss. "You're so thoughtful and kind to me.... I just feel... very lucky. Like I'm not sure what I did to deserve all of this. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

Rosmond: "I could ask the same of you. You've never struck me as a man to question love and worth." Waylon was kissed between his eyes. "The opposite, in fact."

Waylon: Waylon's eyes fluttered closed as he was kissed, and when he opened them again, a thoughtful smile was on his lips.

"I'm glad you think so highly of me," Waylon hummed, and a kiss to Rosmond's nose followed. "Deserve might not be the right term, because I don't think what we have is something won or earned through the right actions. If it's fate, chance- whatever, I guess I just find myself... marveling at the fact that I'm here.

So many, very specific things had to happen bring us together, like you being born in a different time period, us bumping into each other in the forest- it just feels like it shouldn't be real. But it is, and we're here, and I hate to think about the empty life I would have continued to live without you."

Another kiss to Rosmond's nose.

"Embracing my romantic side, sometimes it just feels like it was meant to be, and I just feel very, very lucky to be able to call you mine."

Rosmond: He couldn't deny, that was a beautiful speech. As so many were when Waylon gained momentum. By the time he finished, Rosmond had closed his book, devoted all of his attention to the man against his arm. Watching in that silence that unnerved so many. But not this witch. Never this romantic witch.

"Does this mean you accept the evil I have done as well? For us to exist, so to must it."

Waylon: "Of course it does," Waylon answered without hesitation. "You think after all these years I'd be foolish enough not to? I know I can be sometimes, but I know that I choose you, evil and all."

Rosmond: Rosmond's subtle smile returned. Curious how far Waylon was willing to go for this love. How aware he'd become. "By accepting my evil, are you evil?"

Waylon: Waylon paused, and he placed his head on Rosmond's shoulder.

"If someone were to ask me if I think you're evil, or if I'm evil, I'd answer no. I feel like the definition of evil can be subjective," Waylon glanced down to watch his thumb continue its idle tracing over the back of Rosmond's hand. "But generally, if I were to ask an outsider, I can imagine them saying that watching evil things happen, and doing nothing about it, makes me complicit. So if that makes me evil, then yes, I'm evil." There was no point in avoiding the reality of his choices.

Rosmond: Rosmond watched Waylon's face, unbothered by his touch, nor the pauses as the witch gathered and sorted his thoughts. It was a question he had intended years ago, but found the answer to be obvious.

"I appreciate your evil. There is still humanity. Given the opportunity, you would yet bare teeth. You are gentle, yet stronger than you believe."

Waylon: "Thank you," Waylon smiled as contentment and warmth tingled beneath his skin. It always did when Rosmond spoke like this, with words chosen carefully and honestly just for him.

"I appreciate your evil too. Despite what you do or have done, or the humanity others have tried to crush out of you, it's still there. You are as strong and as stoic as you appear to be, but you are kind and gentle when you need to be." He brought Rosmond's fingers to his lips and kissed the back of his hand. "And- I love when you talk so sweet to me."

Rosmond: Waylon was steadily watched, just as described, with expression cool and ears receiving. Fingers curled around the witch's hand, pulling him closer for similar treatment.

"You need to rest. Tomorrow, if you'd like, you may meet this witch. He needs to know your tastes if he's ever to make anything palatable."

Waylon: Waylon nodded in agreement; he could feel the call of sleep creeping up his spine.

"I'd love to meet him tomorrow," the witch nodded excitedly, and he squeezed Rosmond's arm. "You'll introduce me?"

Rosmond: "I won't leave your side unless you ask me to," Rosmond said gently.

Waylon: "Okay, it will make me feel better if you're with me, at least to start." Waylon nuzzled into Rosmond's shoulder, and when he laid back down, he tugged Rosmond with him. He was satisfied with these plans, and now was time for sleep.

Rosmond: Tomorrow would mean late afternoon. No matter how early Rosmond attempted to wake, his body would not stir until the last light of the setting sun suffocated behind the blanket of trees behind the garden.

Two things were immediate; looking for Waylon, and looking for his phone to call Leslie Issott.

Waylon: The next evening, around the time that the last vistages of daylight disappeared, Waylon found himself elbow deep in a series of potted plants in his personal room. He'd been putting off repotting them, and it was only a few minutes after sundown that he realized what time it was. He quickly potted the last one, dusted off his arms, and moved into the kitchen to wash them in the sink. That's where Rosmond would find him, drying off his arms and rolling down the sleeves of his sweater.

"Hey!" Waylon grinned and looked up when he felt Rosmond approach. "Good morning."

Rosmond: Simply breathing in would have told him where his companion had wondered off to. The entire house now carried with it an earthy scent beyond that of his skin. The toil of earth represented two elements of this house now.

"Good morning," he greeted in return. "Mr. Issott is on his way to meet you." No morning was truly complete without pinching Waylon's chin for a kiss.

Waylon: "I'm excited!" Waylon chimed before following Rosmond's fingers into the kiss. This was Waylon's favorite of their various little rituals, because just that little touch to his chin helped soothe the nerves that'd been building for the few hours of daylight he'd been awake.  "And only just a little nervous."

Rosmond: "You needn't be nervous. He's only a chef." No smile to indicate his humor, but it was there just the same.

"What are you doing that you smell of toiled earth?"

Waylon: Rosmond's jokes were never lost on Waylon, and he hid his laugh behind a snort and an appreciative smile.

"I was just repotting some plants I'd been avoiding. I woke up a little early and wanted to keep my hands busy."

Rosmond: "They were sad?" He asked, bringing his hands to rest on Waylon's hips, chin to his shoulder. The most affection he would normally give during the weeknights.

"How long will you need me?"

Waylon: "No," Waylon laughed, but then he paused. "Well- actually, in a way they sort of are. When plants get too large or need better soil, you could call then 'sad' because of it, and you have to move them to a larger pot."

He paused again.

"Maybe just a few minutes? Just introduce me and we should be okay."

Rosmond: "By this logic, you are a plant." And he would explain should he have to. The smile on his face evidence of teasing.

"If he is inappropriate with you, I won't hesitate to correct him," said as simply as reciting a grocery list.

Waylon: Waylon crossed his arms over his chest and looked skeptically at Rosmond with an eyebrow raised.

"How do you figure that?" He could tell Rosmond was teasing, and he loved those rare smiles, so it was difficult to keep his own smile from tugging at his lips.

Then he smiled fully, and Rosmond's following words earned hands on his chest and an appreciative kiss from Waylon.

"Thank you, love. I'm glad I have you to set things straight if needed."

Rosmond: "You needed to grow in better soil than that which you grew up." Sounded logical, and correct of the man in front of him.

Rosmond would always accept those kisses. Fingers returning to Waylon's chin before dropping. "Tonight is for study. You'll find me in the library should you need me. I will be listening." Not from lack of trust towards Waylon, but caution for another witch in their territory. Gertrude insisted he was safe, but still.

Waylon: "Well, considering all of the dead things around here," he grinned and looked pointedly at Rosmond, "the soil is very rich with nutrients, the perfect type for a witch to put down roots." His own little joke in return.

"Then I'll make sure to say something to catch your attention if I'm in any sort of distress. When will he be here?"

Rosmond: "You flourish with death." They both did, given their circumstances. He would leave the subject there.

"Ten minutes, maybe." He paused, considered what Waylon might say. "Shout," he had to dig deep for something humorous rather than practical, "muffins."

Waylon: Waylon couldn't argue with that.

The joke that followed surprised Waylon again, but his laughter followed naturally as he pat Rosmond's chest.

"I'm glad we've established a safe word."

Rosmond: Waylon's hand was quickly captured, given a gentle squeeze and released.

"Are you finished with your plants?"

Waylon: Waylon squeezed back.

"Yeah, I'm all finished, do you think I should shower or change? I don't think the smell of dirt is off-putting, right?"

Rosmond: "I think you're too concerned about first impressions with this witch. You smell fine." Smelled more like Rosmond in this moment, without his cologne. Perhaps his response had been territorial. He had thought nothing of the witch before tonight. Aware of his youth and energy, but his potential power, how he might influence Walyon's interests, had only recently come into his field of vision. Feelings were still being sorted.

"I'm going to see to Gertrude."

Waylon: "Well, he is the first witch I've met outside of Leon," Waylon pointed out, completely oblivious to Rosmond's new awareness, "Callum only sort of counts." He grinned and leaned up to steal one last kiss before they parted. "Alright, I'll see you later," he hummed as he reluctantly released Rosmond's hand. Then he headed to the front door, with a little bounce in his step, to await their guest.

Leslie: Rarely did Rosmond question his own actions. An occurrence every fifty years at best. His aunt had assured the witch to be trustworthy. He was a kindhearted fool, she said, devoted to Edenton. Respectful of the handmade sanctum, and willing to preserve the peace. But how, Rosmond wondered, could he ignore the single casualty which brought him to their doorstep to begin with.

Leslie parked his SUV at the end of the driveway, taking a moment to consider what he was doing and why. A question which took only a moment before climbing out of the driver's side with his satchel slung over his shoulder.

The weather seemed cool for June. Rain on its way. He breathed deeply of the next breeze before shutting the door. He didn't belong here. Not from appearance. In cargo pants and flannel hooded shirt. His various jewelry, messy hair, and worn-out hiking boots. A stark comparison to the elegant towering domicile down the stone-covered path.

Waylon: Waylon waited in the entryway for a few minutes before deciding fresh air would help soothe the tension in his shoulder. He knew he was working this up to be something more than it was, so a little walk would help him work out the jitters.

Down to the end of the driveway and back, Waylon took his time, and as he walked he was glad he wore a pair of tight, black jeans and a large, maroon sweater to keep out the chill. It wasn't horrible, but if he stayed out much longer he might consider getting a coat.

By the time he reached the steps he heard the familiar sounds of a car parking at the end of the driveway. He turned to face that direction, and when Leslie left the car he smiled and gave the other an energetic wave.

Leslie: That was a face he'd seen only, what, once before? Leslie raised his hand with a pleasant-yet-confused smile. Good energy. Must have been Rosmond's intended. He too, didn't match this house.

"You must be Waylon," he called, still several feet away.

Waylon: Waylon nodded, his smile widening.

"And you're Leslie," he waited until Leslie was closer before offering him his hand. "I've seen you around through a window or two. It’s nice to finally meet!"

Leslie: Waylon's hand was taken with an unusual handshake, index finger pressed to his wrist before dropping to his thigh.

"That's right, we have seen each other." The details of that first afternoon were coming back to him. The man that had stepped out, looking around in confusion, that had been this witch. He was certainly a witch. His scent was expectedly herbaceous.

"So, it's your birthday coming up? I have to bring my A game."

Waylon: Waylon noticed the strange handshake, and he made a mental note to ask about it later.

"Yeah, the first time we 'met' I suppose I didn't actually see you, just felt you," Waylon chuckled.

"You will have to bring that A game, if Rosmond has hired you for my birthday dinner you must be pretty good. I don't know what he'll do if I give you a bad review," he grinned, obviously teasing. He motioned for Leslie to follow him inside.

"You thirsty or hungry at all?" he asked. He held the door open for Leslie before leading him toward the kitchen.

Leslie: "Curious to learn your gifts, if you're comfortable talking about them." His smile took on an air of politeness as Waylon teased, gauging the truth behind his words. All jokes had just a smidge of truth, and this was on the nose. A reminder of whom he was dealing with.

"I'd love a glass of water. Thank you." His smile returned in earnest. "Ready to get started?"

Waylon: "Oh- uh-" Waylon blinked, and his cheeks warmed with a sudden rush of embarrassment. Until this moment, he hadn't considered Leslie would want to see his gifts. Waylon had thought about the many things he'd ask or what they might talk about, but any scenario he'd pictured never included his own magic. It felt silly to think that now, but he did his best to recover from the brief pause.

"Yeah, I'd be happy to if you'd be okay with doing the same? My exposure to other witches and magic is kinda limited to two people and a druid, so it's just- nice to get to meet someone else," which Waylon meant in more ways than one. It wasn't often Waylon talked to a stranger who knew the nature of this place and its contents, so it removed a level of secrecy he had to maintain with most people.

"Follow me," he smiled and handed Leslie his glass of water.

"This is my room," he opened the door for Leslie and motioned him inside. "It's mostly where I practice, go ahead and take a seat, there's some chairs and a couch, whatever's your preference."

Leslie: "Two and a druid?" he echoed. That was pretty sheltered. His first thought became that of Hollowers, as he'd heard them called growing up. Maybe. Too early to tell.

Leslie followed along, satchel still over his shoulder, sipping on his glass. He took to the couch, pulling out an iPad from within. He'd expected this conversation in the kitchen; he would need to give it a once over eventually.

"Let's mix in a little bit about your food preferences while we talk about ourselves. If that's alright with you," he smiled. "Mr. Rosmond hasn't said anything about any allergies."

Waylon: "Yeah, I work two part time jobs. One is run by a druid, he's the reason I'm so into gardening," he grinned and gestured to the shelves, beds bellow the windows, and plants and drying herbs hanging from the ceiling. There was clearly a few feet of distance between any of the furniture and the plants. Plenty of room for Rosmond to move around without the threat of a frosted plant. "The other is a shop run by a witch. Then there was my grandma, but she- she didn't get to teach me much." Waylon shrugged and took a seat on the other edge of the couch, his own glass of water in hand.

When Leslie pulled out the iPad and asked about his preferences, the business-like feel made the warmth rise back to his cheeks. Once again, he felt silly for imagining this would be more of a social visit than a professional one, and once again he brushed his embarrassment aside with a nod and a smile.

"Yeah, I don't have any allergies," Waylon replied as he settled into the cushions, "and thankfully I'm not a terribly picky eater. The only food I really dislike are button mushrooms."

Leslie: Leslie was listening, interest in his eyes, but the utmost importance was getting down to business. Or, at least in appearance. This was his first time being hired by a vampire, and Hollower or not, he wanted to leave the house without a target on his back. Still, he knew exactly which druid Waylon spoke of; not a fan, but that was his issue.

But the young man was blushing. His excitement had to be coming from something. Perhaps loneliness? Too soon to tell, and he wasn't too keen on leaning on assumptions.

"Is it the texture, flavor?"

A few taps later, the iPad was lowered.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Your grandmother."

Waylon: "Both," Waylon laughed softly, "if it's diced and cooked into something I'm less likely to notice. Usually, it feels less like rubber and tastes less like dirt when done that way, but most people don't seem to be able to incorporate that taste into a dish very well." He smiled. "You can feel free to use them if you think you've got a good recipe, I'm always down to try something new."

He paused at the mention of his grandmother, and his smile softened.

"It's alright. She's the only reason I know about magic and my own abilities. I'm just grateful I have those few..." He paused and his smile brightened again, "magical memories with her before she passed." A horrible joke, and by the sparkle in his eye, he knew it.

"Do you have relatives who are witches?"

Leslie: Leslie typed another note as Waylon explained. He gave eye contact when the subject returned to his grandmother. If Waylon was willing to joke about it, maybe it wasn't that recent; or maybe it was his way of coping. Either way, the witch smiled in return.

"The majority of my family," he confessed. "Do you know what Verbena are?"

Waylon: Waylon nodded.

"Only a little, but I remember Leon mentioned they use blood magic?" Waylon blinked and his eyebrows rose. "Are you Verbena?"

Leslie: "Ah yes," Leslie gently scoffed. "Yes, that's what I am. Leon, I'm guessing, is your witch?" He was already familiar with the druid. Just matter of elimination.

Waylon: "Oh- sorry- I didn't mean to offend you," Waylon quickly replied, concerned that Leslie's scoff meant he'd said something rude without knowing. "Leon is the other witch, I help run his shop on his days off, and he didn't tell me much about them. The little he did say didn't make the Verbena sound bad."

Leslie: "Oh, I'm not offended. It's what I expect people to say." Realizing he was staring, his gaze returned to his iPad.

"What's your favorite meal?"

Waylon: "Why do you expect people to say that?" Waylon asked with a curious tilt of his head.

"I really like stuff with salmon, especially smoked salmon, in it," Waylon replied after a short pause. "I don't have a favorite meal or way I like it prepared, since I usually keep it basic and mix it into a fresh salad or sandwich."

Leslie: "Salads. Noted." His hand came away from the tablet again. Making sure to balance giving Waylon attention and his reason for being here.

"Because there's truth to it. Though, with some, it's all they want to see."

Waylon: "Raspberries are a favorite too," Waylon added as an afterthought. Then he shifted to sit cross-legged on the couch.

"I guess even witches can't escape stereotypes?"

Leslie: "As evident every Halloween," Leslie smiled. "I don't help matters. Every year I pull out my tried-and-true costume. Doesn't help my reputation here."

Waylon: A grin tugged at the corners of Waylon's mouth.

"You don't actually wear the black pointed hat, do you?"

Leslie: "Green, thank you," Leslie laughed.

Waylon: Waylon laughed as well and shook his head.

"That's amazing, and it gives me a few ideas for next year, just to see Rosmond's reaction." Waylon's smile warmed as he pictured it.

Leslie: "How long have you been with Mr. Rosmond?"

Waylon: Waylon paused and turned his gaze toward the ceiling as he thought back to their first meeting.

"Seven years," he answered with a nod. Then it hit Waylon just how long he'd been with Rosmond, and his eyes widened slightly.

Leslie: Leslie knew that look quite well and smiled to himself. He busied himself with some notes.

"Doesn't feel like it, I bet."

Waylon: "Not one bit," Waylon laughed as his gaze fell back to Leslie with an incredulous smile. "It's so strange to feel like barely any time has passed...."

Waylon placed his chin in his hand, propped up by the back of the couch. "What about you? Do you have someone who helps time pass?"

Leslie: "Feels like I only just got here, and that was," he blew out a breath, "oh... 2014, yeah."

The question put a smile on his face. A rather obvious one. "Mhm. Found myself a fisherman. Took us years to come to our senses and take the leap."

Waylon: "I came here in 2015," Waylon chuckled. "I met Rosmond in the middle of the woods, just after I got here."

His smile widened as Leslie talked about his fisherman. "How'd you two meet?"

Leslie: "On the beach. The woods and the beach, you and me. That must mean something. I think it's significant meeting people in nature."

Waylon: "I like that, and I totally agree. Being with Rosmond has been pretty significant to me, and a big change in my life," and Waylon liked that he and Leslie, and their partners, have meeting like that in common. "I used to travel a lot, so it's a bit of a change staying in one place for so long." And only now, realizing how long they've been together, does he understand how significant it's been. He hadn't been on a trip in so long... maybe it was time to suggest a little bit of an extended outing.

"How long have you been a chef?" He grinned. "I'm sure your fisherman enjoys having one at home."

Leslie: "I went to culinary school when I was nineteen. So I've had my toes in something since then. Worked at The Pearl Pond since I stepped foot in Edenton. So if it's one thing Tristan can trust me with, it's a po boy," Leslie chuckled.

Waylon: "Ugh, a po boy sounds amazing right now," Waylon groaned. He hadn't eaten dinner yet, but that could wait until after all this. It was nice to get to talk to someone new, to have a casual conversation without a voice in the back of his mind reminding him to be careful. "How did Rosmond come to ask you to make dinner for my birthday?"

Leslie: "Do you have ingredients to make one? Could do a trial run." His smile faded into something professional as Waylon continued. "Mr. Rosmond has my information. Gave me a call. I imagine it might be... pretty lonely, cooking for one."

Waylon: "It can be," Waylon stared down at his glass for a moment with a smile. "I used to cook for Rosmond and Charon, but neither of them really eat anymore." He looked back up at Leslie and his smile warmed. "Rosmond will keep me company while I cook and eat sometimes, buuuut it's not quite the same as cooking for him."

Waylon's eyes lit up when Leslie offered to cook, but he couldn't help the twinge of regret when he noticed his smile change.

"I definitely do, and you're welcome to anything in the kitchen," Waylon motioned for Leslie to follow him back to the kitchen.

Leslie: "I can imagine. But he's still with you." Ever the optimist, as Waylon would continue to learn.

"Thank you. Mind if I have a look through? Need to know what equipment I might need to bring." The iPad was stuffed back in his satchel before following behind.

"What's your favorite cake?"

Waylon: "Exactly," Waylon agreed with a nod. He wasn't alone during his meals, and he had his favorite person's company, that's what mattered. They didn't have to be eating for it to count as time together.

"Sure, feel free to root through the cupboards, test stuff out," Waylon nodded. "I really like red velvet cake."

Leslie: "When you say you like red velvet cake, do you - have you had traditional? A very chocolate cake with beet juice for coloring?"

Waylon: "I like them both, but traditional is my favorite. My grandma made the traditional type, it was her favorite too." Waylon hopped up onto one of the counters, out of the way from where Leslie would explore, and leaned back on his arms. "I haven't eaten traditional red velvet in forever, tho. I haven't really found a recipe I like, and to be honest, I'm not the greatest at baking. I've also had a hard time finding a place that bakes it traditionally."

Leslie: A quick glance was given as Waylon hopped onto the counter. He smiled to himself as he began opening cabinets and exploring drawers. Most prep would be done at home, but the actual cooking would be done on site.

"I know just the person. Mind if I take liberties with your birthday dessert?"

Waylon: Waylon watched Leslie move around the kitchen, and his legs swayed slightly from his perch.

"Feel free," Waylon grinned and nodded, "I love trying new things. Do you prefer cooking or baking?"

Leslie: "I try to do as little baking as possible. There's someone much more capable in town for that. A few, actually."

Waylon: "You and me both," Waylon laughed. "I've been yearning for a piece of carrot cake for months now, so you should definitely point me in their direction." He paused and leaned forward so he could reposition his arms. "What's your favorite thing to cook?"

Leslie: "More than red velvet?" The iPad was placed on the kitchen counter. A few more things typed in.

"I prefer simple and clean. Roasted meats and grilled vegetables. Poached tomatoes and smoked ribs. Fresh pasta and butternut squash bolognese. That sort of thing."

Waylon: "Oh no- since we've been talking about it, I definitely want some red velvet cake more. Plus, a quest for carrot cake gives me a reason to go exploring." It had been a while since he'd been in town for anything other than groceries, so this was a perfect opportunity for a little adventure.

"All of that sounds delicious."

Leslie: "Any of that sound like a birthday meal to you?" he chuckled. "Please, doesn't matter how elaborate. It's your day."

A card belonging to Templeton Breads & Sweets was pulled from his wallet. The number of one Logan Riley written on the back.

"This is the best bakery in town, and this," he flipped the card, "is a dear friend of mine, and she'll be helping me with your cake."

Waylon: "It does," Waylon nodded, and he paused as he considered what they'd talked about. "Is there any sort of soup or salad that would go with salmon?"

He took the card offered to him, and grinned as he looked it over. "It looks like I'm going to have to make a trip- I'll have to thank her for her help."

Leslie: "I'd say as there are stars in the sky, but that's going overboard. There are plenty. Is that what you want? Salmon for your birthday?"

Waylon: "Smoked salmon, please," Waylon grinned. He was starting to get excited for tomorrow, and in the back of his mind he made a note to ask Rosmond if he would be... drinking, anything.

Leslie: Leslie continued on, slowly but surely relaxing in Waylon's presence.

"Sweet, spicy, or both?"

Waylon: "Spicy," Waylon smiled to himself as he felt Leslie relax little by little, and he felt himself do the same. He'd worked himself up over this introduction, but now he wasn't really sure why he'd been nervous about it.

Leslie: "These questions will be tedious, forgive me. I should make a survey or a web page - or both. Doesn't feel as personal, though. So, what about... chutney, for example? Grilled salmon with a mango and coconut chutney with wild rice, that sort of thing? You said spicy, not sweet, would you rather a salsa instead?"

Waylon: "No worries, I'm happy to answer them," Waylon giggled. "And actually I love mango, you should do that one. I'm fine with both, I just enjoy food with a bit of kick."

Leslie: "Waylon, this is your birthday," Leslie chuckled. "I'm not sure if you want it to be a surprise or definitely have a dish in mind. I don't want to overwhelm you."

Waylon: "Oh," Waylon laughed, "sorry- I just assumed it was meant to be a surprise! I would like it to be a surprise. I really enjoy trying new foods, and I haven't been able to do that in a while. I haven't traveled much, so I'd love to try whatever you decide to make." That would be the piece that would make the meal the best for Waylon.

Leslie: "Alright. All that in mind, then not-surprise surprise it'll be."

One last walk through, checking the oven, the pantry, Leslie nodded to himself.

"Alright. I've got everything I need." He took a breath and smiled. "Now that formality is out of the way, we can get back to magic, and that trial run of po boys. You really don't mind my cooking something for you now?"

Waylon: "You don't have to do the mango, I'm just excited," Waylon laughed. "What I'm really saying is that I'm not opposed to you putting mango in there, if you so choose."

His eyes lit up when Leslie steered them back to the topic of magic (and the po boy), and he shook his head. "I don't mind at all. If I can help somehow just let me know."

Leslie: Leslie had so many inappropriate questions. What it was like, living among the undead, was the foremost question. Something about Waylon felt touch-starved, despite of his clear affinity. This house was cold, and lonely.

"Certainly. I didn't see flour when I looked in the pantry. Mind showing me?"

Waylon: "Yeah, it's right in here," Waylon hopped off the counter and motioned for Leslie to follow him. He rooted around one of the higher shelves for a moment, and then he offered Leslie the bag of flour when he turned back to face him.

For as long as he had lived here, Waylon barely noticed the emptiness around him. He was aware of it, but it rarely weighed on his mind. He had Rosmond and a few outlets to escape from the house if he so chooses, and he'd grown content with that.

Only recently did he start to think about branching out, about trying to meet new people in the area and explore. If he did linger on it, perhaps he was a little lonely, but on top of dinner, Rosmond was helping scratch that itch quite nicely with this meeting.

Leslie: He would follow behind, taking the flour with a smile, hesitating only a moment as their fingers met. He caught his age, and general health. Much too fast to catch anything else. Meditation was usually required for an in-depth analysis.

"I sometimes give lessons while I cook. Would you like something like that, or just let our conversation flow?"

Waylon: "Oh I would love to learn," Waylon nodded, and his eyes lit up. He thought he felt... something, when their fingers brushed, but he didn't give it much thought. He was too excited to get to learn something new to consider the magic that brushed his own just yet. "I can cook and talk at the same time."

Leslie: Leslie had a feeling this was going to be a one-off. Rosmond had purchased his time for a birthday meal, but afterwards, he doubted he would have it in him to accept money. Waylon was going to become a friend. There was no doubt about that, and friends ate for free.

"Well, we always begin with mise en place. Just a fancy phrase for prep work." He would spend the next five minutes gathering every ingredient required and placing flour and beaten eggs in separate bowls.

"Forgive me if you've already said, but how much experience do you have cooking? You said you cooked for the house, what is that usually?"

Waylon: Waylon listened very intently to Leslie's instructions.

"I have quite a bit of experience! I spent a lot of time traveling, and wherever I went I made an effort to learn how to cook local dishes. It was kinda... my souvenir of the area. For the house here, I took requests, but I liked to show them some of my favorite meals. Curry, Pho, and Malva pudding are some of my favorite things to make. You'd have to ask Charon and Rosmond which ones they enjoyed the most." He leaned against the counter with a smile. "Really tho, I love watching people cook- everyone always has their own little tweaks and recommendations on how to make a dish, and make it special. I enjoy that connection with people."

Leslie: Leslie smiled, cracking a few eggs into a bowl to beat. A man after his own heart. Love of cooking seemed a familiar trait among witches. He wasn't the least bit surprised. Only happy the stereotype remained true.

"Now, I know you don't mean the flower. You'll have to teach me malva pudding sometime." He then chuckled. "Your reason speaks for itself. Look what we're doing right now. It's one of the reasons I love it, too. I love putting together meals, my mother loves making people tea. It's who we are."

Waylon: Waylon laughed and shook his head.

"No-no. It's a South African dish- a sweet pudding with a spongy base with some caramelization, usually apricot jam on top, and custard or ice cream with it. It's the only thing I can confidently bake, but I love it." He tried not to grin too widely when Leslie mentioned reversing their roles, because that meant there were potential future visits, as well was friendship, and it made him happier than he cared to admit.

"Sounds like my kind of people. My grandma had an extensive garden, and I do remember she used to always have homemade cookies, or finger sandwiches with fresh lemonade, out for any friends she might have over..." Waylon was quiet for a moment, a little surprised by the memory surfacing. He wondered why she had been in his thoughts so much lately.

Leslie: Leslie listened intently, as though their roles had indeed switched. He had a feeling Logan would have a better understanding, being the baker of the duo. Still, he nodded.

"I don't have to see it to know I'd love it. Apricots are my favorite."

With the mise en place in place, he turned his attention to the stove. Letting the oil heat up, it was time for a quick sauce with what ingredients were available.

"Do you have a garden here? In the backyard?" He couldn't remember having seen one, but he hadn't been looking. "You might fancy a visit. It's not finished, but I'm quite proud of my tomatoes. Cucumbers, cabbage... Herbs are in the sun room. Flowers around the house."

Waylon: "Oh, then you absolutely will," Waylon nodded in agreement, and a proud smile followed Leslie's question about gardens.

"I have a few," he gestured back towards his room. "The flower beds beneath the windows are where I try to grow herbs year-round. I have plants all over in there and our bedroom, but I make sure to keep them out of areas Rosmond tends to be in," he smiled warmly as he thought about how sweet and adorable it was that he was so concerned for Waylon's plants. Even if it was only because he didn't want to upset Waylon, despite his assurances that it was okay, it was still cute. "He has a very cold touch, and he always feels bad when it affects one of my plants.

There's a garden outside where I grow vegetables and fruit in the summer, and Rosmond just told me he's having the greenhouse out there fixed up for my birthday." Waylon grinned again as he thought about the plants he planned to put inside, and his eyes lit up as Leslie suggested a visit.

"I would love to visit!" he replied a little too quickly as excitement rushed through him.

Leslie: He couldn't say he'd ever heard of such a thing. Vampires being cold, certainly. But those he'd met had felt... not the way Waylon described. Must have been unique to his faction, or whatever they called themselves. He didn't have the lingo down.

His thoughts had jumped to the greenhouse and how beautiful that would be when Waylon exclaimed. He couldn't help but smile. The young witch had good energy.

"Perfect."

Leslie looked down at his work station and laughed, quietly and brief.

"I can't wrap my head around never meeting you until now. Feels criminal, like I should apologize."

Waylon: Waylon giggled and nodded.

"I feel like I should too. I have sequestered myself away since I moved here, guess I needed one hell of a break from all that moving around. I'm just glad we met now," he grinned at the other, his tone teasing, "who knows how bad I would have felt if it had taken longer." He tried not to think of it as time missed, and more of proper timing. He liked to believe there are right and wrong times to meet someone for the first time, and he hoped this was one of the right times.

It was then that Waylon felt a familiar scratch of tiny claws up his back, and from under Waylon's collar popped a ferret, whose nose twitched as he looked Leslie curiously up and down.

"Ah-" Waylon smiled and gestured towards the furry friend perched on his shoulder. "Valens, this is Leslie. Leslie, this is my familiar, Valens."

Leslie: Leslie glanced up from the stove, doing a double-take and smiling. Looked just like his own. The word familiar was different, however.

"Valens? I haven't seen a familiar in so long. How did the two of you meet? Oh! Wait." The eye was turned down, offering a finger for Valens' inspection. "Nice to meet you."

Waylon: "I found him in my room in Leon's shop. I happened to open up the book he was inside," Waylon replied as Valens leaned forward to sniff at Leslie's finger.

A brush of wind and a blink later and he stood beside Waylon, his usual smirk on his lips.

"Nice to meet you too."

Leslie: "OH!" Familiars Leslie had encountered in his youth had never changed in front of other witches. Whether it was part of a familiar's social mores or simply an intimacy they refused strangers, he never thought to ask. Seeing a grown man suddenly beside Waylon took him by warranted surprise.

"Ah, um - hello," he laughed, warmth hitting his cheeks.

Waylon: "Hello," Valens chuckled at Leslie's reaction, a mischievous smirk on his lips, and he disappeared the next moment with a small brush of air. His head poked out from under Waylon's collar again, in his ferret form, and he watched Leslie and his work intently.

"Sorry, I've found he likes to do that. He's appeared behind patrons in the shop a few times- but we've come to an understanding now," he reached up to give Valen's head an extra aggressive pet, and Valens bit his finger playfully in response.

Leslie: There and gone. He had reached to offer a proper handshake, letting his hand hover a moment before rubbed against his thigh. It seemed every other witch had a familiar. Even his mother, Hazel, had a rather large house cat named Constance. Elusive as cats could be.

He found himself envious of both Valens and Waylon.

"He's helping you learn magic?" Leslie asked, turning back to their prep.

Waylon: "Sort of," Waylon replied, and he dropped his hand as Valens nestled against his shoulder. "Some things I like to study on my own, I sort of follow magic where my interest lies, and he helps me fill some of the pieces- or points me in a direction to look. I like discovery, and learning new things, so it's been a lot of going at my own pace.

He glanced at Leslie.

"Did you have any sort of school that taught you magic, or was it something passed down from your parents?"

Leslie: Leslie turned his attention back to the stove.

"I'd call it both. Wasn't Hogwarts, but it was a community of witches in Charlotte. All of like-mind. We were raised together until our late teens. Some went to high school, others remained homeschooled. We all still keep in touch. Share rotes, recipes, still see each other every seasonal festival. I think you'd love it."

Waylon: "That does sound amazing. Having a community of people  to share those things with, it sounds nice," Waylon smiled softly and nodded. "I wasn't able to start practicing until I reached college, and even that was all self-taught."

Leslie: "Doesn't have to be anymore." He didn't even hesitate. It wasn't a consideration not to offer a fellow witch a sense of belonging. Hollower or not, he would be family.

Waylon: Waylon blinked, stunned by Leslie's response.

"Really?" he asked, the disbelief obvious in his voice. It couldn't be that easy, could it?

Leslie: "Associating with vampires doesn't make me afraid of you. Of course you're family," he smiled. "You should have something like that in your life. Aside from, of course, your boyfriend."

Waylon: "I'd love that- I'm just surprised- that you would just... invite a stranger in like that." Waylon stared for a moment, still surprised by Leslie's generosity, but his smile warmed when his boyfriend was mentioned.

Leslie: "Well, you're not a stranger, are you? You're Waylon. You're a witch. You're kind, curious, and deserving."

Waylon: Waylon was quiet for a moment, and then he gave Leslie a warm smile. "Thank you. I appreciate that. Very much."

Leslie: Waylon's response was curious. Mutual politeness was a given, but it seemed as though he was unaccustomed to being treated kindly.

"Have to let me know when you're free. Introduce you to my - boyfriend is so informal, isn't it?"

Waylon: "It is," Waylon chuckled. "I think partner might be better, at least for Rosmond and I- we've been together long enough." He grinned and ignored the scratch of tiny claws traveling down his back.

"I would love to meet him! Maybe I can introduce Rosmond to you both as well! He's shy, but he's very sweet if you give him the chance."

After a pause he pulled out his phone.

"Could I get your number, so we can plan something?"

Leslie: Leslie couldn't put his finger on why their relationship felt... alien. Wrong wasn't the word he was looking for. Not for the reasons that might upset. Someone so young, so kind, so full of life, loving a vampire. It reminded him of himself, just years ago with -

He didn't want to think about that during this visit. It was a bad comparison.

"Of course." After the exchange of numbers, Leslie shifted on his feet.

"Can I - May I ask you something?"

Waylon: Waylon grinned as his phone was returned, and he tilted his head curiously at Leslie as he shifted.

"Sure, what is it?"

Leslie: "Have you ever let him... " Leslie gestured to his neck.

Waylon: Waylon blinked at Leslie for a moment, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Let him.... oh!" realization dawned on him and he shook his head. "No, no. He's very adamant that that never happens- drinking my blood in any form." He tilted his head to the side. "Why do you ask?"

Leslie: "Just curious." He didn't believe in many secrets, but having not one vampiric lover, but two in his lifetime was a bit of information just for him, and Tristan.

"Are you curious?"

Waylon: "About what?" Waylon asked with a tilt of his head.

Leslie: "About being bitten," he chuckled.

Waylon: "Oh- yeah. I've asked Rosmond about it a few times."

Waylon: "The unique fangs for each type of vampire is really interesting."

Leslie: "There are?" he was a terrible liar, and the inflection in his tone was hardly that of innocence. Just a terrible imitation of coy.

Waylon: Waylon rolled his eyes and smiled.

"How many different types of witches are there?"

Leslie: "As far as I'm aware, there are... I think... nine factions? Ten?"

Waylon: "Which one do you think is the most interesting?"

Leslie: "I'm biased to my own," he smiled.

Waylon: "Fair enough," Waylon smiled in return. "So, what makes yours more interesting than the others?"

Leslie: "It's one of the oldest forms of magic. Short of soothsayers, but they can be found in all sorts."

Waylon: "Soothsayers?"

Leslie: "Vision seers."

Waylon: "So your faction, what are they classified as? Are they similar to soothsayers?"

Leslie: "Any witch can have visions. Every faction, we'll keep calling them, is based on what we call Traditions. It's... our believes. Like... a combination of religion and culture. Anyone can learn from any faction, but that's not your home."

Waylon: Waylon nodded slowly, and he listened intently.

"So, what is 'home' for you, then?"

Leslie: "I'm what's called Verbena. We welcome anyone into our home," he chuckled, smiling at Waylon.

Waylon: "Well, I'm glad for it," Waylon gave him an appreciative smile in return. "Do you have any favorite spells or rituals?" The young witch was aware he was asking a lot of questions, but he was grateful for each answer.

Leslie: Leslie didn't mind at all. He was all in favor of supplying someone's curiosity.

"A few, yeah. Transmutation is one of my favorites. Turnip into a rose, that kinda thing."

The witch held his hand in front of Waylon, squeezing his fist to white knuckles. Slowly, before their eyes, his hand became transparent and then disappeared altogether. The release of his fist, his hand reappeared, cold to the touch, should Waylon investigate.

Waylon: Of course Waylon would investigate, and his eyes lit up as he watched Leslie's hand disappear. He reached out to touch his hand when it reappeared, and Waylon looked surprised by the chill that met his fingers.

"Why are you cold? How did you did that?"

Leslie: "Equivalent exchange for my body heat. It's a spell to do in a pinch, and it skirts dangerously close to hypothermia."

Deep breath. "This is called Force magick."

Waylon: "Force magick...." Waylon repeated, and he glanced at Leslie as he took that deep breath. "You okay?" he asked, suddenly concerned something might have gone wrong with the spell.

Leslie: "Yes," he chuckled. "I'm fine. Just got a funny sense of déjà vu. I'm teaching my little girls magick, too. And a friend from New York."

Waylon: "You like teaching then?" Waylon asked and smiled. "How old are your girls?"

Leslie: "They're teenagers now. Adopted them last year." He wasn't about to go into the details of their relation. There was bound to be an uncomfortable silence if he were to explain they believed they were cousins, but were actually half-sisters. He wasn't a keeper of secrets, usually, but this would he would. They were bound to figure it out eventually.

"Love teaching. Been told that's what I should have been; more than instructions and demonstrations as a chef. We like what we like."

Waylon: "That's awesome," he smiled softly, trying to picture adopting preteens. Caring for children was a responsibility Waylon wasn't sure he would ever be fit for. He'd never really thought about it too hard.

"Well you're a natural," Waylon grinned, "speaking of- what are you doing now?"

Leslie: "Right now, we're getting ready to fry. Waiting on the oil to reach temp, then we'll do these in batches."

Leslie paused a moment, debating if he should ask or not, but curiosity ultimately won.

"Children in your future?" In this house, he doubted it, but he could always be wrong.

Waylon: Waylon nodded, watching intently, and then he paused at Leslie's question.

"I haven't really thought about it very much," he shrugged and leaned against the counter. "I wouldn't be opposed- it's come to mind a few times- but I've never asked Rosmond seriously about it. It was mostly in passing."

Leslie: Leslie nodded, placing in the first batch of battered shrimp.

"Nothing wrong with only a passing thought. He's never said anything about it? Nothing about his thoughts on children?"

Waylon: Waylon tilted his head to the side as he thought about it.

"Well, we kind of avoided getting too far into it at the time... I'll have to ask him again. Things are pretty different now, I'd be curious to see what he says."

Leslie: "Different?" Not wanting to pry, but assuming it was safe to continue the conversation, since Waylon felt comfortable enough to mention it.

Waylon: "He wasn't always a vampire," Waylon smiled, "and he's become much more outspoken since then. You should listen to him talk about his work sometime, it's fascinating to listen to."

Leslie: Leslie stared into the pot of frying shrimp as he tried to remember the basics his parents had taught him. Even what little he'd gleaned from the vampires he'd known. Nothing was coming to mind.

"He wanted to become a vampire?" He promised himself this was as far as his nosiness would go.

Waylon: Waylon paused and then shook his head.

"Not originally... I guess I'm the one who pushed him towards it. Because of his age, there was a chance he would just... turn into a pile of dust on some indiscriminate day..." Waylon could feel himself getting emotional thinking about it, so he took a slow breath. "So I asked him to consider it."

Leslie: "Get one answer, gain a hundred questions," Leslie laughed cautiously. He moved the first batch of shrimp over to a plate with paper towel - not his preferred method, but it worked in a pinch. Onto the next.

"You've always felt safe here?"

Waylon: "Fair," Waylon laughed, "but some of those are probably better for Rosmond himself." His mouth started to water as the shrimp was placed onto the plate. It smelled fantastic, and Waylon was starting to feel the hunger setting in.

"Maybe not always. There was a time where I thought Gertrude disliked me, not to mention there are definitely things in this house that can easily kill me, but being a member of this house means I'm protected- from what I understand. Gertrude has also been patient with me and my own mistakes, and Rosmond wouldn't let me stay here if he truly felt I was in danger."

Leslie: "I'm sure you know to always salt your hard work after the fryer. Otherwise, it won't adhere."

So caught up in their conversation, he forgot this was meant to be an impromptu lesson.

"Yes, she is... much more benevolent than expected." His initial reason for stepping foot on the property hadn't held a grudge. Still, he struggled with how he felt on the matter. Death wasn't to be taken lightly.

He certainly wasn't about to say anything remotely negative under this roof. The walls, without doubt, had ears.

"Fortunate enough to be considered part of the protected class."

One of the shrimp, finally cool, was offered to taste.

Waylon: "I didn't know that, actually," Waylon laughed. "But I'm happy to know that now. I don't get to entertain much but I'm sure I'll make use of it someday!"

He nodded in agreement.

"She is. I didn't really appreciate all she's done for Rosmond either, when we were first seeing each other, but I can see it now." He glanced at Leslie.

"So... what were you snooping for that got you "protected class" status?"

After a brief pause Waylon popped the offered shrimp into his mouth. His eyes lit up and he groaned.

"Damn, this is delicious! You're making me even more excited for dinner tomorrow..."

Leslie: "The status came with being a witch. I can't say if that's an umbrella protection. You'd know better than I. As far as why I was here... " He looked at the counter. "I was looking for someone, for a friend. She was... concerned."

That was all he intended to say on the matter. It wasn't his story to tell.

Waylon: "It's hard to say," Waylon admitted eith a shrug. He wasn't sure if it was an umbrella protection or not, but with all of these questions, he was starting to realize he really should make more of an effort to get to know her. Gertrude seemed the type to see the value of having witches under her protection, but he often wondered how much Rosmond's love for him factored into her generosity.

"So... this someone is here?" Waylon asked. The only other residents of this household were undead, so that was a little concerning.

Leslie: Leslie simply nodded, before smiling politely. "Everyone's... fine. More importantly, my friend has peace of mind. That's all I care about. I'd do it again." Though, he said the last rather quietly.

"Ready to assemble? Short of making aioli from scratch, this is exactly how these are made at The Pearl Pond."

Waylon: Ah- Waylon took the hint and dropped the subject. Whatever it was seemed resolved, so Waylon decided not to press.

"Ready!" Waylon nodded and an excited grin flashed over his face.

Leslie: A mildly spicy shrimp po boy, then, complete with shredded lettuce, thin tomato, and a quick mayo relish.

"I wonder if we'll see more like us. People we haven't seen, thinking they're alone in town. Something about Edenton speaks to us."

Waylon: Once complete, Waylon took an eager bite of the food. Another sound of approval came from the back of Waylon's throat, and he gave Leslie a thumbs up.

"This is awesome," he hummed, and he shimmied to sit on a nearby counter to continue eating his food.

He smiled at the thought of meeting others like them, the potential for a community simply unaware of each other was fun to think about.

"I have a weird feeling we will," Waylon said after a thoughtful pause. "If you and I didn't know about each other, I'd like to think there's more of us just waiting to be met." Another bite, and Waylon's legs kicked happily back and forth.

 Leslie: The man was nothing short of adorable. The kicking legs really solidified that thought, as Leslie joined him at the table with his own.

He had to wonder how this worked. Having someone so sweet living in this house. How could this man love a vampire - he knew the sting of that infatuation a little too well. He wished him all the fortune in the world, quietly.

"What's a spell you've always wanted to learn."

Waylon: "Hmmmm..." Waylon hummed thoughtfully over his sandwich. "I've always wanted to learn how to unlock something that's locked - like a door or a chest or something! I've tried a few different spells but I can never seem to get it quite right." He shrugged. "How about you? What's a spell you've wanted to learn, but haven't?"

Leslie: Leslie visibly perked, having the better sense to swallow his bite before attempting to speak.

"I know one. Takes a bit of practice, but if you don't mind a bit of discomfort, you'll get it."

Another bite, this time as he considered the question for himself.

"Becoming an animal takes years of practice, and the near complete consumption of that animal. If you see a mage become a lion, you can assume they're... probably unsavory. I'm willing to make exceptions for old age, or finding the animal already dead."

Waylon: "Oh! Yes, I'd love to learn of you wouldn't mind teaching me!" His eyes lit up and he smiled excitedly at Leslie.

His eyes widened as Leslie explained animal transformation.

"What animal are you trying to become?"

Leslie: "No, I don't mind teaching you at all. In fact, I love teaching."

Another bite of his sandwich later, he took a breath and smiled.

"A barn owl. Loved them since childhood. What would you want yours to be?"

Waylon: "Well I love learning new things, so that works out perfectly!" He grinned and used a few more bites of his sandwich as an excuse to mull over Leslie's question.

"Irish Setter," he replied and nodded slightly. "Is there a reason you chose barn owl?"

Leslie: "Loved them since I was little. Chased one around the yard, according to Hazel. As cliché as it is to say I understand them," he shrugged. "Calm, grounding, wise, watchful, playful, too. I've always wanted to fly."

Waylon: Waylon grinned over at Leslie.

"I could see that. We've only just met, but it seems like it would suit you, and flying does sound like a nice perk."

Leslie: "Right? Some people wanna be fish. I wanted to be an owl." Reminded him so much of Tristan. Reminded also of the question, where would a bird and fish live if they loved one another...

"Your boyfriend a dog-type, too?"

Waylon: Waylon sighed soflty as he finished his sandwich, disappointed that it was all over. His sadness was short-lived as he tried to picture Rosmond as a dog.

"Absolutely," he grinned after a brief pause, "that man has a very effective 'puppy-dog-eyes' look that I'm especially susceptible too." He glanced at Leslie and his legs kicked back and forth again.

"What about your partner? Are they a bird-type too?"

Leslie: "Forgive me. I haven't seen it yet," chuckled Leslie. "But it's not that I don't believe you."

Ah, the mention of Tristan widened his smile. Blooming into something rosy.

"No, no. Not at all. Opposite. My sailor is a fish."

Waylon: Waylon laughed softly, and nodded in agreement.

"I don't think he really uses it around others, he is normally very stoic."

It was cute to see how Leslie's smile changed at the mention of Tristan.

"That's a cute combo, a fish and a bird-those are two very different worlds."

Leslie: "They are, but, somehow we make it work. Did you know owls can swim?" His smile bordered on impish, and he laughed. "Funniest damn thing you'll ever see."

Waylon: "I saw a video of it once," Waylon chuckled, "it was hilarious." He grinned over at Leslie.

"Makes ya'll even cuter. I don't know of many other birds that can do that."

Leslie: "Maybe if I'd grown up with Tristan I would have pursued a duck." A thought which had him silently laughing. "Maybe. Hey... random question: have y'all ever been to the winter gala hosted in town?"

Waylon: Waylon paused and then nodded. "Yeah, we have actually," he tilted his head curiously to the side. "Why do you ask?"

Leslie: "The more we talk, the more I recognize you. Or I thought I did. I do! Was it... A red suit? Like, maroon?"

Waylon: Waylon tilted his head to the side as he studied Leslie for a moment. Realization followed, and his smile brightened.

"Oh! Yes- and you were with a man with longer hair, pulled back into a ponytail? That's your sailor?"

Leslie: His own smile broadened, looking down in reflection of that night and his sailor. He then nodded.

"That's my sailor. Didn't think he'd make it. Not exactly his thing, dances."

Waylon: "Well he seemed to hold his own just fine," Waylon couldn't remember much outside of his time alone with Rosmond, but he could remember seeing Leslie and Tristan dance. A perfect night, if there was one. He gave Leslie a teasing grin.

"He did seem a little stiff though."

Leslie: "I can't recall having seen you and Mr. Rosmond on the dance floor. Just off in a corner. A little stiff himself?" Not Waylon. Not from this brief encounter could he assume him so shy.

Waylon: "Very, he's not much of a dancer- outside of a waltz," Waylon giggled, "but I did manage to convince him to sway off to the side with me. He puts up with quite a lot when it comes to me. What did you have to do to get Tristan to join you on the dance floor?"

Leslie: "I'm... not surprised," he chuckled. Just knowing Rosmond was a vampire was all the information he required. Maybe younger vampires were different, but not Rosmond.

"I think it was seeing me on the dance floor with someone else," Leslie said, ducking his chin in feigned shame.

Waylon: Waylon laughed.

"Ah, that'll  do it. Is he the jealous type, or did he just decide it was his turn then?"

Leslie: "I actually can't answer that. All this time I'm not certain. He's not - not jealous where it gets in the way, but... he's something."

Waylon: "Possesive?" Waylon offered with a tilt of his head.

Leslie: "Those words have negative - but it's not like that. He's never told me I can't do something. But he... steps in. Shows up. You know? I think it comes from... past relationships." A lot to share with someone he'd just met, but Waylon had good energy.

Waylon: Waylon nodded in understanding. He wanted to ask more, but he figured that was a future story for Tristan to share, or perhaps it was best not to ask.

"Sounds like he loves you a lot."

Leslie: "Oh, we've fought about that." Leslie smiled, brow arched playfully. "Apparently, we loved one another for years and said nothing. Thought the other didn't mean it. Like idiots."

Waylon: "For real?" Waylon laughed. "That's... unfortunate, but hilarious- and amazing. It sounds like ya'll were the plot of a romcom."

Leslie: "I can let you in on a secret." Leslie leaned forward on the counter. "There was this new man at the bar. Pete's Pub. A friend of ours told Tristan I was flirting with him. That same night, you know what happened? All the confessions came out like a broken dam."

Waylon: Waylon grinned and laughed as he shook his head.

"Sounds like someone should have told Tristan you were flirting with them sooner!"

Leslie: "I like to believe Fate means something. Maybe she doesn't touch everything, but stepping stones. Maybe... maybe we just weren't ready."

Waylon: "I can see that," Waylon nodded. He could say something similar about meeting Rosmond. Had he met Rosmond any earlier, Waylon wondered if he would not have stuck around. "Sometimes people need to work on some personal growth before the time is right."

Leslie: "Absolutely. I do believe that. As much as it might sting in retrospect, you can only move forward. I need to remind myself that every now and again. Again more often than I'd like." But his smile remained honest.

Waylon: Waylon gave an affirmative nod, and he leaned back onto his hands.

"Dwelling on the past too much can only hold you back," Waylon paused, and his smile widened.

"Thank you- by the way. This was really nice, and that food was amazing."

Leslie: "Thank you for giving me a chance. Now, if you don't mind, the dish soap is under the sink?" Already intent on cleaning his mess.

Waylon: Waylon shook his head and immediately hopped from the counter.

"No no, you made the food, I'll clean this up," the witch began to bustle around the kitchen.

"Are you thirsty at all?" he asked as he began to fill the sink with hot water and soap.

Leslie: "It's part of the job!" He laughed. "Alright, but you're not to clean up the day of." Little did he know, Rosmond would be pushing him out with the last forkful from Waylon.

"I could have some water. I'll get it - your washin' dishes."

Waylon: "Alright," Waylon agreed with a chuckle, and he rolled up the sleeves of his swearer to start washing the dishes. "Cups are over there," he motioned to a nearby cabinet.

Leslie: Waylon's birthday meal had been planned to the last detail. Regardless of only feeding one, a multicourse meal had been carefully crafted to suit the client's tastes. Client, yes, and friend.

First course of baked eggs in tomato cups, Parmesan cheese, chervil, basil, and sage. Second course comprised of salmon en croute, fish shaped, with mango chutney sauce. Third course, stuffed acorn squash and wild rice.

Only a single dessert for Waylon's final course. A multitier cake, half red velvet, half carrot, with a cream cheese frosting.

The idea of Waylon eating alone was heartbreaking. Leslie wondered if the young witch had anyone else outside of this great house, but he wouldn't dare ask. And he wouldn't assume on their budding relationship to join him for dinner. He remained in his chef's coat without exception, keeping as professional as possible.

"Was it all to your liking?" Rosmond asked. Since Leslie's arrival, the vampire had refused to leave Waylon's side.

Waylon: Eating alone was something Waylon never noticed any more. At first it was strange to be the only one with food, but what was dinner if not time to sit down and enjoy each other's company? The only thing that made their time different was that Rosmond didn't eat, so he easily adjusted to the new normal of their meals. He missed making food for someone, but it was a small price to pay for their time together.

He made a note to see if Leslie wanted to take some of the cake home with him, because Waylon was sure he wouldn't be able to keep it all to himself.

"Every part of it was perfect," Waylon replied with a contended smile, and he reached across the table for Rosmond's chilled hand. "The food was fantastic, so thank you for such a lovely dinner." A perfect gift for a prefect evening.

Rosmond: That warm hand was brought to chilled lips. He didn't have to do anything, he realized. The gesture was enough. But still, with Gertrude's suggestion, a present awaited at the end of the long table. A black leather box, sans paper or bow.

"Thank you for your service." Rosmond caught Leslie's gaze, and held it. "You may leave now."

The witch almost protested, insisting on washing dishes, but the look in the vampire's eyes was enough to hold his tongue. He even felt in appropriate to bow.

"Happy birthday, Mr. Dahlberg."

Waylon: Waylon's smile warmed as Rosmond's lips brushed his skin. The smallest of gestures always melted Waylon's heart, and if not for their company he would have leaned across the table to kiss the vampire tenderly on the lips. That would just have to wait for later.

He was about to ask about the gift on the table but stopped when Rosmond addressed Leslie. An embarrassed flush rose to his cheeks when Leslie bowed, and he gave Leslie a polite wave with his free hand. He wasn't sure how formal to be in this situation, but he figured he didn't have to be too stiff at his own birthday.

"Thank you, Leslie, the meal was really lovely!" Waylon gave Rosmond's hand a squeeze and smiled over at him, "Rosmond has good judgement in chefs. Please take a piece of the cake on your way out for you and our sailor, if you like? I plan to eat plenty of, but I wouldn't mind some help- it is a lot for me to eat alone!"

Rosmond: "If that's your birthday wish." He wouldn't reject as he felt might have been appropriate, if only to smooth things along. He had a feeling Rosmond had his own objections, but was keeping quiet.

Not wanting to rock the boat, Leslie waved his last goodbye and excused himself from the room.

"Do you want to open your present now?" Rosmond asked.

Waylon: If sharing cake with a friend was considered a birthday wish, Waylon was happy to make it. He could sense something was off in the air, but he figured his offer was innocent enough. He gave Rosmond a lingering look before diverting his gaze to the leather box between them.

"Absolutely," he grinned and carefully opened it. (edited)

Rosmond: The gift appeared quite simple, if not a little on the macabre. An obsidian grim reaper, sitting calmly, staring off at something no one would ever see, concealed by its cloak.

"Gertrude has infused it with her magick." Simplest terms. Perhaps he would explain in detail someday. "It will glow when a wraith is near." In this house, almost always. (edited)

Waylon: Waylon inspected the little reaper curiously, turning it over gently in his hands. If Gertrude had a hand in this, he would be sure to thank her later. Even if it was only Rosmond's asking that prompted her help, magic- when given, was always something special to Waylon.

"It will be perfect for my RV," Waylon beamed, and he carefully placed the figure back in its box to admire it another moment. "I'm sure I don't need something as useful as this here. I'll be sure to let Gertrude know I appreciate it too." He turned his smile to Rosmond and reached across the table for his hand. "Thank you, love."

Rosmond: The little figure was already aglow. To be expected, especially with what was shambling upstairs.

"The longer you are here, the more this will be a part of your life. This is... just an alarm."

Rosmond stared at the figure, squeezed Waylon's hand.

"Has Leon instructed you on spirits?"

Waylon: Waylon nodded in understanding.  He knew there were... things in the house he didn't fully understand.

"He hasn't, spirits are not really his thing, I think. I've definitely seen him talk to things I can't see, but we've never really discussed them in depth," Waylon shook his head. "Why do you ask?" (edited)

Rosmond: "My question is only relevant to your surroundings. The more you understand, the stronger you are. Safer. It's all I want for you."

Waylon: "I know," Waylon smiled as he remembered a time when Rosmond was reluctant to share much of anything with him. Their bond had grown and changed over the years, and it made Waylon happy to know Rosmond trusted him in a way now that he hadn't in the past. Not everything was revealed to him, but Rosmond was right, the more he understood the things around him, the safer he would be.

Waylon rose from his chair and crossed the distance between them so he could wiggle his way onto his vampire's lap.

"You are very serious today," he noted as he took Rosmond's hand in his own and rested them on his lap. "Is there something else on your mind?"

Rosmond: Rosmond looked up from their laps, mildly surprised that Waylon had caught as much. The older their relationship, the keener Waylon seemed to be. Perhaps it had taken the witch this long to read him. He couldn't be blamed for that. He knew what he looked like.

"I'm just aware of our time together. It wasn't... a confident stride. We met at a very difficult time in my life."

Waylon: Waylon had always been insightful, especially when it came to Rosmond. He was the most stoic person Waylon had ever met, his expressions nigh unreadable, and yet they'd connected in a way that led them here to this moment. His intuition and empathy had always been sharp, but it had taken time to feel confident in understanding the subtleties of Rosmond's mannerisms.

"You were going through a lot," Waylon agreed with a nod. He squeezed Rosmond's hand and smiled as he remembered some of their first dates. "A lot has changed since then."

Rosmond: "You've been with me with every step. Even... when I didn't allow your presence. Is there something you want?" It was his way of showing gratitude beyond the excuse of a birthday. Waylon deserved more, in his eyes.

Waylon: Waylon tilted his head thoughtfully as he considered Rosmond's question. He is well cared for and protected, he has a loving partner who is as thoughtful as he is stoic, and he's making new friends, what more could he ask for?

"I... I would like to take a trip to visit my parents. I want to go through some of my grandmother's things. I keep having this feeling that there's something of hers waiting there for me... and- I'd like you to come with me, if Gertrude would allow it?"

Rosmond: Waylon’s hand was pulled between his own. Might as well have been clasped in frigid stone. Consideration only took a moment of silence, staring at the table between them. And then, a singular nod.

Waylon: Waylon had to bite back a laugh at such a dry, and yet perfectly timed joke. Waylon knew might be biased when it came to loving Rosmond's sense of humor.

"Mmm, I guess this is the perfect time for me to ask-" he paused and flashed Rosmond a teasing grin, "-do vampires need coats? Even with this chill?"

Rosmond: "Contrary to our skin, we can feel." His brown and tan aviator jacket was removed from its wooden hanger.

"What are you doing tonight?"

Waylon: "I know, I was just teasing you," Waylon hummed, and he hesitated before answering Rosmond's question.

"Well, if you have some time I'd love to spend some of the night with you," he started with a sheepish smile, "and- and I was going to introduce you to a new friend of mine."

He set the paper bag down on the ground beside him before he reached back into his hood and carefully pulled out a sleepy, white ferret. Waylon held the ferret up with both hands for Rosmond to inspect.

"This is Valens," he explained as the ferret's mouth opened wide in a yawn, and it's little red eyes blinked blearily up at the vampire before him, "he's actually a familiar. My familiar- if things go alright."

Rosmond: Rosmond watched quietly. His patience fulfilled as his companion began explaining. Familiar, of course.

"I expected a dog," he confessed. "German shepherd or Irish setter."

The coat hanger was returned naked, coat heaved to his shoulders and smoothed.

"Nontraditional?" Meaning he should expect to see a human face in a moment.

Waylon: A pout jutted from Waylon's lower lip as he set Valens down on the ground beside him.

"Well now I want a german shepard...." Waylon looked at Valens expectantly, and Valens returned the statement with a glare.

Well that's just rude! A voice echoed in their minds, and with a soft brush of wind and a pop, Valens went from ferret to human in a blink of an eye.

"Yes," he answered Rosmond, and he leaned towards the vampire in a slight bow. "I'm Valens, it's nice to meet you."

"He was trapped in a book, I found him in the new little workspace Leon gave me in the shop," Waylon explained, earning a pout from Valens.

You didn't have to go and tell him that!

Rosmond: "You'll wish for him to live here?" The familiar was studied a moment. The look in his eyes rather indiscernible. "It's not for me to say," he continued. Waylon must have known already. "Gertrude will see to him. If that's not what you want, then we'll have to come to a different arrangement."

Waylon: Waylon was a little surprised with how easily Rosmond seemed to be with this introduction. The witch had been expecting him to be more surprised than this, but with more thought, it made sense for Rosmond to be more reserved around a complete stranger.

"I only want him to live here if you're okay with it," Waylon smiled softly and reached out to tangle a few of his fingers with Rosmond’s.

"My trailer is an option, if you don't want him to stay here- or if- especially if- you think introducing him to Gertrude is a bad idea.

Plus, the shop is another option. I'm sure I could arrange something with Leon for him to stay there."

Valens stared between the two, and he cocked his head to the side.

"This Gertrude, she's the one who dislikes you, right?" he asked, making Waylon blush.

Rosmond: Rosmond looked back to the creature. Those he had met had been full animal, or too deep in their animalism to ever return on two legs. Seeing one speak was a new experience.

"We survive on secrecy. We are nothing without it. I do not fault her wary judgement."

The closet door was shut with his free hand.

"This is your decision. If you wish to speak to Gertrude or not."

Valens: Valens blinked back at Rosmond curiously when he noticed his was being watched. His head cocked to the side, and he offered Rosmond a smile.

Waylon dropped his hand from Rosmond's and took a step back to look up at Valens. It couldn't hurt to ask her, this house was plenty big enough.

"Alright, we can ask her," Waylon decided with a short nod, and then he looked to Rosmond. "Would you go with us? Your aunt intimidates me..."

Rosmond: "Yet I do not?" He was aware enough to find this humorous, though it hardly registered in his eyes. "I will. I would prefer that way. Are you ready now?"

Waylon: Waylon shrugged. "You wouldn't hurt me, Rosmond. Your aunt on the other hand... sometimes I just get this feeling like... she'd rather not have me around...." He shrugged again and glanced at Valens. "Shall we?"

Valens nodded, and with a soft brush of air he was a ferret again, perched on Waylon's shoulder.

Ready! echoed through their minds.

Waylon looked up at Rosmond and nodded.

Rosmond: "I am not a ghoul anymore. I may have you if I please." A rather bold statement for a two-hundred-year-old servant. However, his gaze returned to the familiar. "I have no say of him."

Rosmond watched as the man returned to his creature form. They were led from his room, door shut behind them.

"Upstairs to the left," he reminded, taking to the old wooden stairs with intricate iron railing. What he needed was to go down to the basement, but that would have to wait. He would not have Waylon speak alone on such a matter. This was more than catching his aunt in the hallway.

A large dark wooded door at the end of the hall, open as per usual in the nightly hours. The soft sorrowful melody of a flute solo resonated in the near empty hallway.

Gertrude sat off in the corner of the room near a music stand, an empty cold fireplace. Long green dress splayed out surrounding her large wood and leather chair. Bare feet just peeking from the gold rimmed fabric.

Her hands came to rest in her lap, flute delicate between her fingers. The silver matching her fingernails.

"Hello, family."

Waylon: Waylon blinked at Rosmond and stared for a moment, a little startled by such a sudden, audible declaration. He liked that - probably a lot more than he should have, and he looked away from Rosmond as his cheeks flushed. Valens' snorted in his ear, but Waylon ignored him. A few questions about Gertrude were murmured between Waylon's link with Valens, which he replied to the best of his knowledge, including Gertrude's age and few things about her background.

To greet her properly of course! First impressions are important. Valens explained when Waylon asked.

As they approached the familiar door, Waylon steeled himself to greet the lady of the house with a smile.

"Hello, Gertrude," Waylon hummed as they entered, and he gave her a small wave. It always struck Waylon just how beautiful she was. "How are you? Do you have a few minutes?"

Gertrude: The differences in their age not only in appearance, but in posture; the frankness of his words; a glaring disconnect threaded delicately by the man just behind the witch.

She could not fault Rosmond for his dalliance. Waylon was a beauty, in a manner only youth could possess. Those to see to the end of forever had to treasure and preserve the bearable. Until bored, at least.

Her smile polite. The nearest chair offered with a simple quiet gesture.

"I'm well with your company. Please, spill your thoughts."

Waylon: "Thank you," Waylon approached the offered chair, as he assumed it'd be rude not to accept it, and he eased into it carefully before he met her gaze and smiled.

"Well, I wanted to introduce you to someone," he started, and the witch reached back to grab the little white ferret hiding along his shoulders. Waylon held Valens up between his hands, and the little ferret gave Gertrude a nod in greeting. "This is Valens, he's- he's actually my new familiar," with a little brush of air, the ferret in Waylon's hands disappeared, and in a blink he reappeared in human form before Gertrude, kneeling politely on his right knee in front of her and her chair.

"M'lady," Valens offered in greeting, keeping his head bowed as he waited for her response.

Waylon sat tensely in his chair, watching Gertude closely to try and gauge her reaction. He had no idea what Valens was doing, or why, and he struggled to hide the blush of embarrassment rising on his cheeks.

Rosmond: Rosmond watched, guarded between those two precious beings in the room. Waited for something substantial for his intervention, though expecting little. His aunt was polite to the living, when it suited her.

Her smile reached her eyes with the new appearance, though she remained perfectly still.

"Well," she said, "what manners are these?" The tip of her middle finger gently tapped upon Valens' shoulder.

Valens: "Manners not used for some time, and sorely missed. Like a familiar dance nearly forgotten," Valens replied as he rose with the tap to his shoulder, keeping himself bent slightly in a bow until he reached his full height. He gave her a charming smile once he was righted, and his eyes shone brightly with excitement. She was a beautiful being, and to have heard such lovely music, Valens was curious to ask for more.

"I am Valens, Lady Gertrude, it's a pleasure to meet you. I thought the music I heard was something recorded, Waylon didn't say you were a musician," he commented as he folded his hands behind his back.

Gertrude: "In my day, one must have many talents. Queens are so easily dissatisfied. Books, languages, music, art, embroidery - all becomes quite dull without the attention of a stalwart male figure."

Valens was given a slow once over. Studied from his hair to his fingernails.

"You're to be his familiar?"

Valens: Valens kept his smile light and his posture straight, but relaxed, as he was inspected. Even at his height of 6'5" he stood with a confidence, and while his clothes were casual, a pair of jeans intentionally torn at knees and a black t-shirt, he stood as if the clothes he wore were a bit more formal. This was completely different from Waylon's first impression of Valens. It surprised the witch, as it brought into perspective just how little he knew about the other. From the greeting to the way he stood now, Waylon had quite a few questions.

Outside of his attire, Valens was well groomed and clean, and to a sensitive nose, lemon and sandalwood were the base of Valens' cologne.

"I am," he nodded. "And we came to ask if I might stay here as well, under your roof."

Rosmond: There was something in her smile which Rosmond immediately recognized. Though truthful, it was incredulous. Graceful though she was, in his years of experience in her presence, this was a smile bordering on interest. It was promising yet itself dangerous. This Valens seemed to know just enough from age or historical curiosity to teeter on that edge. His words tiptoed on elegance, but modernized. Her lack of offered hand had been noted by her nephew. Perhaps to keep her frigid skin to herself, though that had not been given thought before tonight. He was curious.

"Have you been informed what sleeps under this roof, Mr. Valens?" asked with just a hint of playful tone.

Valens: "Waylon mentioned vampires, but that's the extent of my knowledge," Valens replied truthfully, and he fell silent again, as he assumed Gertrude was about to explain.

Gertrude: "Vampires, ghouls, my nephew, his companion - your master. Many things which must not leave this house. Experiments and projects suspended in various stages. All of which are precious. I don't see before me a man in need of a winded explanation of the severity of secrecy in this house."

Valens: "Your observation is correct," Valens nodded. Gertrude was right, he needed no explanation. "Secrecy and privacy are values I can understand. Nothing I observe in his house shall leave it."

Gertrude: "You're all aware of the consequences to this house should it be compromised. Waylon, your familiar is your responsibility, just as Rosmond is mine, and you are to each other. I would rather not have a disappointment again in this century."

Valens: Valens spared a curious glance to each person when addressed by Gertrude, very clearly holding himself back from asking the obvious question to what Gertrude was referring to.

"Understood," Waylon replied with a small nod. He remembered the state Salt's disappearance, and reappearance, had put the house into. He definitely never wanted to see something like that repeated.

Gertrude: Her smile was soft. Honesty was up to interpretation.

"Waylon, are you truly aware? Rosmond trusts you, naturally, but have you spoken a word of us outside of these walls?"

Waylon: Waylon opened his mouth to answer, but his reassurance died on his tongue when he realized he had talked about Rosmond, at the least.

"Yes," he answered truthfully, and he hated the sudden pang of embarrassment that gripped his chest. He resisted the urge to try and defend himself, to explain why or what was shared, but he knew in the end it didn't matter the reason, and he had to embrace that. There was no point in lying, and if he did want to prove to Gertrude that he meant what he said, or at the least wanted to do better, and lying was the opposite of the message he wanted to send.

"I have talked about Rosmond with my employers. The witch who's been training me, and Callum, at the flower shop."

Another curious tilt of Valens head as he looked between the two as they talked.

Gertrude: Gertrude's stance remained the same. A steady, still figure on her chair.

"From one witch to another. To be expected. How much did you expose? That of a loving companion, or concern for a vampire?"

Waylon: Waylon's cheeks were a shade warmer than normal, but outside of that he remained relaxed in his chair.

"I mentioned once Rosmond was a vampire after I asked Leon about different forms of magic he had encountered, outside of that of witches. Leon launched into a story about a 'lovely night he spent with a Tremere woman with the most interesting abilities' and that's when I mentioned that my boyfriend was a vampire. Leon went on to gush about the intoxicating qualities of a vampire bite, and then moved on to talk about the fae," Waylon exhaled softly, and scanned his memory for any other time he might have mentioned Rosmond, or the house. Then he looked up at Gertrude, his expression serious. "It was a mistake, regardless. I'm sorry, for whatever an apology is worth, but it won't happen again, and it hasn't happened since."

Gertrude: "Mm." Something in her eyes, the way her smile did not budge, had Rosmond walking behind Waylon's chair. Stood to his left. Her patient silence stretched until Waylon's apology.

"How fitting. Your mentor speaks of... our cousins, as it were. Highfalutin spells, their noses in books, chasing praise for little discoveries. But your Leon is correct. A Tremere's kiss is exquisite."

Gertrude looked up, compared Rosmond and Valens. Height, eyes, posture.

"Am I correct in assuming Rosmond is your first?"

Waylon: "Leon is... eccentric, and odd. So based on your description, they sound like a group he'd like."

The stare Gertrude gave Waylon sent a chill down his spine. It'd be very easy for Gertrude to reach out and simply... end - him, and when Rosmond moved behind, Waylon wondered if that's what Rosmond feared. He didn't show that he worried the same, outwardly, but his heartrate certainly did.

"Rosmond is my first long-term relationship," Waylon answered with a nod. He felt confident Gertrude wasn't asking about his sexual exploits or past flings, so he kept further comments to himself.

Gertrude: "Your first long-term relationship. Is he also the first of his kind for you? Have you not felt the sharp kiss of another?"

Waylon: Waylon tried not to let the fairly personal questions rattle him. It was a strange line of questioning, and he wondered where Gertrude was trying to get with it. It occurred to him his version of "long-term" must be very different from a vampire, but it was the only way he knew how to differentiate his relationship with Rosmond from others in his past without explanation.

"He's the first of his kind for me," he confirmed with another nod. "I haven't felt... the sharp kiss of another. I don't have any interest in anything like that."

Gertrude: He was patient and courteous, as Rosmond must have instructed. It seemed rare nowadays, such manners seemed out of fashion by the majority. Or so she was told. What little she'd witnessed had been aware enough to mind their heads.

"No? You're not at all curious what it would feel like to have Rosmond's teeth in your neck?"

Waylon: "I was curious, and I did ask about vampire bites early on. I'd heard the bite was supposed to be pleasurable and wanted to know if - if Rosmond would benefit from my blood in a different, or similar way. Rosmond explained his bite would be painful, and even if it wasn't, Rosmond said he didn't want that. So, if he doesn't want that, I have no interest."

Rosmond: Something in Waylon's response stirred Rosmond's insides. Between four years and a century of mild interaction, there was something to be said for Gertrude's polite gaze. He realized something had snagged her.

"That's very kind of you, nephew, to want to spare your companion such undue misery. How very foolish Victoria was, to call you empty in the chest. Though, I fear you will be in for a shock, should there be a time when you are bereft supply."

Rosmond's voice remained level as he said, "Should such a night arrive, Waylon will be far out of my reach."

Waylon: A mixture of uncertainty and confusion swirled tight in Waylon's chest, and his brow furrowed. Had he said something he shouldn't? He couldn't tell from their exchange if that were the case, or if he just made a fool of himself, and Rosmond in turn.

He swallowed the urge to explain he'd offered his blood to Rosmond, especially in a situation where blood his blood was needed. Something told Waylon those words would mean little to Gertrude, and even if they did, Rosmond had refused. He wasn't sure what to do, or say, in a conversation clearly not his own, so he watched Gertrude quietly instead.

Gertrude: Her smile deepened as her gaze returned to the familiar.

"And you, Mr. Valens? Do you have experience with Cainites?"

Waylon: Waylon didn't like the way her smile deepened.

"I do not, Lady Gertrude," Valens shook his head and straightened a little when addressed directly. "My experience with vampires is limited. No witch I have served has been so involved with them, but I have encountered them. Unfortunately, I can't say Cainites were those I met. They were clients of my master at the time and enjoyed their privacy."

Gertrude: A small hum escaped her. That unrelenting gaze had decided upon something.

"I would very much enjoy more of these talks in the near future. You have, I see, the beginnings of a fine coterie, Rosmond. Be sure it keeps. Perhaps I might find something useful for you to do. Stretch your legs." She scanned the room for objections.

Waylon: Waylon glanced back towards Rosmond before he looked back at Gertrude to give her a nod.

"Of course."

A reserved smile found Valen's lips, and he tilted his head towards Gertrude.

"May I be so bold-" Valens started with a slight, polite bow, "-as to ask to call on you again, as well, Lady Gertrude? I would enjoy hearing you play again, if you do not mind an audience." Valens did not straighten as he waited for Gertrude's response.

Gertrude: How pleasing his request. At least given by her expression.

"I will leave myself available an hour after sundown. The rest is decided upon our conversations."

Waylon: The smile on Valens' face was warm and pleasant as he straightened back up, and looked at Waylon expectantly.

Waylon took Gertrude's words and Valens' look as his cue, and he rose from his chair.

"Thanks for your time Gertrude, until next time." Waylon glanced to Rosmond for further direction. He wasn't sure if there was anything else he was missing, and figured Rosmond would let him know if he did.

Rosmond: Rosmond took to Waylon's opposite side from Valens, bowing from his chest.

"I will require you in an hour. Do not roam too far."

Her childer straightened, waited for Waylon and his familiar to depart before following. The door was left open. The sound of her flute returned.

Waylon: Valens was the first to break formation once they were past the door. A soft brush of wind announced his change - and a moment later he was nestled back into the hood of Waylon's sweater.

Waylon was silent until they returned to their bedroom. Only reaching for Rosmond to attempt to tangle a few of the vampire’s fingers with his own. It was a silent request for reassurance, of what - he wasn't quite sure.

"I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble," Waylon said quietly once the door was safely closed behind them, and he finally looked up at the other.

Rosmond: Rosmond followed behind Waylon for the short journey to his bedroom. He was as aware of Valens now as he had been before. He existed, but he was not a hindrance. The witch's hand was gently held, pulled closer after his apology.

"We are not as strict as the Camarilla, but we still adhere to the Masquerade. I ask you to be choosey with your confessions. She might use this to call upon a favor."

Waylon: "I'm sorry. You told me once it wasn't wise to lie to vampires - and while I'm sure there's no way to get your aunt to like me, lying to her certainly didn't seem like a way to make her approve of me," Waylon sighed softly, and he ran his free hand through his hair as he leaned into Rosmond.

"What does it mean - for her to call on a favor?"

Rosmond: Waylon's hand remained planted to the young vampire's chest as he explained. "Favors are the highest currency of our people. Not to be taken lightly. For your honesty to your mentor, she might demand a task of you, when an acceptable need arises."

Waylon: Waylon stared quietly at his hand against Rosmond's chest, and he watched his thumb brush idle lines over the other's shirt as he contemplated what to say next.

"Well... then I will just have to rise to meet whatever task she asks me to complete," he replied, with a confidence betrayed by his distant expression. It terrified him, the unknowns of what she might ask for, but in the end, he'd made his choices. He had to face that, just as he'd agreed to face Rosmond's world at his side. Well, whatever parts of his world he'd allow Waylon to see, anyway. "I don't know what I could even help her with, but I'll figure it out when she asks," Waylon nodded and looked up to meet Rosmond's gaze with a small, determined nod.

Rosmond: "We'll know when we know," said Rosmond. He remained still, allowing Waylon as much time as he desired to lean against his cold weight. They had an hour, after all.

He had ideas of what his aunt might request; something to do with his magic, or something to do with him. There was no use in predicting. Only to mentally prepare for the future.

Waylon: Waylon leaned there for a bit, taking what solace he could in Rosmond's unwavering presence. The witch sighed and looked up at Rosmond with a small smile.

"Again... I'm sorry if I've gotten you into trouble," he apologized, and he took Rosmond's hand in his own so he could give the other's fingers an affectionate kiss. "Will I get to see you after your work Gertrude tonight?"

Rosmond: "If there is still light, I will come and find you. Unless you intend to leave, then all we have is now."

Rosmond reached up for Waylon's wrists, gently, very carefully squeezed.

"I will not hear another apology from you. You won't do it again. It's over."

Waylon: "I'll be here for the night," Waylon nodded, and as Rosmond held his wrists he nodded again. "Alright, it's over," he leaned up, as if asking Rosmond for a kiss with a tilt of his head.

Rosmond: His silence question was answered just as quietly, pressing cold lips to warmth, eyes half closed.

"We have now less than an hour. What would you have of me?"

Waylon: "Will you cuddle with me in bed for a bit? Just in case I've fallen asleep by the time you return?" Waylon asked with a soft smile.

Rosmond: "Less asking in the future, Waylon. You're free to make demands of me." He released Walyon's wrists, looked behind his neck for the small creature in his hood.

Waylon: "Fine, then I demand-" he smiled sheepishly and took Rosmond's hand, "-that you join me in bed until you have to meet with your aunt."

As if on cue, Valen's head poked out from beneath the fold of Waylon's hood, and he blinked up at the two of them in a way that was obvious he was still chasing away the last tangles of his nap.

He sensed a shift happening in the air, and had caught most of Waylon's 'demand' and slipped from Waylon's hood with a long stretch, and in a small flurry of fur and the brush of air, he scampered over to the brown bag Waylon had set down earlier. He stood on his hind legs to tip the bag over with his front paws, slipped inside, and out of it he started to tug a small cat bed, one perfect for his size in ferret form. Without pausing he tugged it right out of the room and into the hall, and a human arm reached in a moment later to close the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

Waylon took that chance to tug Rosmond toward the bed and ease into his side of it.

"I'm going to have to show you, when next we have more time, how much I enjoyed you saying you would 'have me as you please'," he flashed Rosmond a cheeky grin.

Rosmond: Valens was considerate, he would give him that. His departure silent and, though Rosmond would not admit, humorous.

And despite his great strength and size, the vampire was pliable to Waylon's silent commands. Followed at the witch's heel. He made short work of settling center of the bed, carefully pulled his companion to his cold chest.

"Show me?" Brow tight with brief confusion. "Show me now."

Waylon: Easily, Waylon melded to Rosmond's side and tucked his head against the vampire's shoulder. It'd become a reflex, seeking the comfort of Rosmond's cold frame. Despite the chill he wanted Rosmond ever closer, and he draped his arm lazily over Rosmond's ribs.

For a moment Waylon was confused by Rosmond's request. There wasn't much time to show Rosmond what he meant - surely, he didn't mean right now - and then Waylon realized it was just that his suggestive undertones had gone over Rosmond's head.

Waylon smirked, amused by Rosmond's consistent inability to read his suggestive phrasing. Then he propped himself up onto his elbow so Rosmond could see the cheeky glint in his eyes.

"Like this," hummed as he leaned down to Rosmond for a kiss. It wasn't their usual kisses, as often they were soft and lingering. This kiss used tongue as Waylon's lips teased Rosmond's, and his hand snaked ever lower down Rosmond's chest, then his abdomen. At the hem of his shirt Waylon's fingers slipped beneath, and they spread over cold skin to tease under the button of his jeans.

Rosmond: He wondered how his touch had not yet made Waylon uncomfortable after years of chill. Still his fingers roamed. Just less than an hour now. Of course he wanted to see now. He saw no sense in delayed gratification. His stoicism had caused another misinterpretation. Not the first and certainly not the last.

And he certainly wasn't going to say otherwise. Not when his line of question had earned Waylon's lips and eager tongue. One he greeted in kind. He could do nothing to warm the hand underneath his clothes, yet instinct told him to press his hand firmly against his skin. Out of possession and desire for his touch.

"Plenty of time," he whispered.

Waylon: Over the years Waylon had grown used to the press of Rosmond's chill. It was a comfort now, a desire only satiated when Rosmond was at his side. The first touch always tingled as hairs rose over Waylon's skin, but he always settled into it with ease. Eventually he'd come to yearn for those cold hands teasing his skin. Like now, as he laughed against Rosmond's lips. Waylon always felt a rush when he reacted differently than how the witch would assume.

"I couldn't possibly show you just how much I liked that with only an hour," he hummed, and the sudden give of a button made his fingers dip lower, teasing down the zipper of Rosond's jeans, "but I'll give you a taste, for later." A promise whispered as he hooked his leg over Rosmond's thigh, and pressed his mouth to Rosmond's for another passionate kiss.

Waylon carefully freed Rosmond from the confines of his jeans, and pulled away only to grab lube from a drawer in the bedside table. He coated his fingers with it, and carefully stroked Rosmond as his lips returned to his vampire's. While he was obviously hard where his hips pressed to Rosmond's thigh, Waylon made no attempts to touch himself. His focus was on Rosmond alone, and he teased Rosmond's lips open with his tongue before playfully nipping at his lower lip.

Rosmond: Rosmond watched, as though this were happening to someone else. Caught up in the moment. Of the taste of Waylon lingering on his lips. Of long promising fingers he should have pushed away. He allowed himself free and firm, despite himself.

It was only when Waylon offered his tongue once more did he finally manage to react, pulling from his willpower to speak.

"You shouldn't," he warned. "It will be red." A fact which had not deterred intercourse, as condoms had been sued to spare Waylon the sight of blood. This manner would conceal nothing, and it was enough to give him pause.

Waylon: Rosmond's words gave Waylon pause, but not because he feared the color of what would come from Rosmond's length. He just didn't want to continue if it made Rosmond uncomfortable. No matter how many times Waylon reassured him he was prepared, Rosmond always warned Waylon of his fluid's new appearance. Waylon wasn't sure if it was unsettling for Rosmond to see, and he didn't want to push if it was.

"I've told you already," Waylon breathed against Rosmond's lips, breathless and wanting. "It won't bother me; I know what it will look like. I wasn't idle while we were apart," his hand smoothed over Rosmond's stomach and waited there as he stole another kiss.

"Can I continue? I promise, Rosmond. It's not a problem." And with permission, Waylon had a perfect way to prove it to him.

Rosmond: That phrase interested him. Waylon had a way with words, hooking his taciturn lover's tongue and wagged it.

"What does that mean?" asked between gentle kisses. He wanted to say yes, but would offer one final condition. "A condom..." As with intercourse. It seemed a reasonable suggestion. "You say this is not a problem, because I have not allowed it to become one."

Waylon: "I told you, I looked up blood play videos while I was away from you. The sight of blood, or what looks like blood, doesn't bother me. I knew things would be different when I saw you next. It was a way of...trying to prepare- to embrace what you are- if that makes sense? It may not be like what I saw in some of the videos, but I also don't see it as all that different."

Waylon paused at Rosmond's suggestion.

"What if I told you, I didn't want one?" Waylon looked at him intently between kisses, nipping playfully when their mouths parted. "If it makes you more comfortable, we can use one, I have no problem with that," he followed his words with a reassuring kiss, "but we don't need one for my sake."

Rosmond: This type of acclimation stripped a kind of innocence from Waylon. When it had begun, he could not say, but it had. He didn't like it.

But he would kiss him again, saying nothing as he considered what course of action was that of least resistance. He nodded.

"Once." He forced himself to continue. "See how... we feel."

Waylon: "You sure?" Waylon asked quietly, giving Rosmond one more out if he didn't want to do this. "I don't want to make you do it if it's something you really don't want to."

Rosmond: Fingers lightly brushed along Waylon's sharp chin. "You're supposed to show me how much you enjoy the manner in which I speak."

Waylon: Waylon hummed softly, encouraged by the touch, and his hand slipped back down to wrap around Rosmond's length and lazily stroke him to hardness.

"You're absolutely right," he grinned, and began to kiss along Rosmond's jaw. He lingered, and took the time to suck a possessive spot on Rosmond's neck. Slowly he shifted, and he kneed Rosmond's thighs apart so he could kneel between them.

Rosmond: Rosmond managed a smile, careful in returning Waylon's squeeze.

"It will always be arduous with you. Because... you deserve more."

Waylon: Waylon's eyes narrowed, and he let go of Rosmond's hand to cup either side of the other's face.

"Don't be a fool." And this time he placed a kiss firmly on Rosmond's lips.

Rosmond: Love in action. Waylon was lifted into Rosmond's arms. Hands firm on his thighs. Two steps forward and the witch was gently squished between the wall and his vampire.

Waylon: Waylon's breath caught as he was lifted and pressed to the wall, and his arms wrapped around Rosmond's shoulders, holding him close. His heart was pounding, but he felt grounded, loved, and safe in only a way Rosmond could provide. He said so with his kiss, with the way his fingers trailed through his hair and along his jaw. There was no one better.

Rosmond: A heartbeat like thunder in his ears. Each pulse felt on his exposed skin. He must have been hungry, which made his nearness hazardous to Waylon's health. But he knew himself. Knew he could kiss this man breathless, carry him to their shared bedroom, and placed him on the bed without concern.

"I need to eat."

Waylon: Waylon clung to Rosmond as he was carried to their room, and took a few slow breaths to try and catch what he'd lost between their lips.

"Alright..." Waylon knew offering his own blood was a solid no, so instead he took Rosmond's hand and gave it one final, extra-tight squeeze. "I'll see you later?"

Rosmond: "In an hour," he confirmed. His free hand brushed over Waylon's hip, slipped cold fingers under his shirt. "I'll see to my errands. Where might I find you?"

Waylon: Waylon nodded, and he placed his hand over Rosmond's to steal a couple more seconds of his touch.

"I'll be here. You can check my room downstairs too, there's some plants I've started to grow down there so I want to spend some time with them." He paused. "Before you go, can you promise me one thing? At least try to stop thinking like that, okay? If I'm not allowed to be a fool about us, you aren't either."

Rosmond: Rosmond hovered, resting on his forearm, studying his companion in earnest. The witch deserved every kiss which followed. Especially that which lingered between his eyes. The one that said, 'I love you' the strongest.

"I'll do better. In the future."

Waylon: Waylon refused to turn from Rosmond's earnest gaze, as he matched it with an intense look of his own. He meant what he said, and he knew that Rosmond would understand without words.

Waylon's eyes fluttered closed as Rosmond placed kiss after kiss, and they didn't open again until the vampire pulled away, leaving the lingering tingle of his kiss between Waylon's eyes. Waylon could feel the message there, and he smiled.

Waylon: "Yeah? Do you remember when this movie came out? Or does this movie remind you of the 1970s?"

Rosmond: "I remember many movies showing. The theater's changed hands, renovated, still yellow letters. I remember Jaws, the line filled the street."

Waylon: "Well I'm glad you're getting to see this one now. I've loved this movie since I was a kid. My dad was a fan and he showed it to me, maybe when I was a little too young," he chuckled. "I've never seen Jaws though, I'm not a fan of shark movies. Sharks are pretty cool in real life."

Rosmond: "I couldn't make time. For Jaws." He thought a moment. "I saw... Logan's Run, American Graffiti. There was a protest outside of The Rocky Horror Picture Show."

Waylon: Waylon nestles just a little closer to Rosmond as the music picks up, and he munches on the popcorn. "I've seen Rocky Horror Pictures Show, that's a great one too. If you haven't seen that one, we should watch it. The other two I've heard of as well but-" he jumps as the alien screeches.

Rosmond: His arm instinctively wrapped around Waylon's shoulders.

"I wasn't allowed. Town was too busy."

Rosmond: "This is interesting."

Waylon: "Town was too busy?" he rested his head on Rosmond's shoulder and he tilted his head up towards Rosmond with a smile. "Yeah?"

Rosmond: "Over showing. Too promiscuous." Or so they said. He didn't have an opinion.

"Wouldn't freezing have been the best option for survival?"

Waylon: "Ahhh," Waylon nodded. "Well, you're in for quite a show with Rocky Horror Picture Show."

"Yeah, and safer considering the circumstances. That's what the one crew member was asking but no one seemed to want to listen to him."

Rosmond: "Because he's a complainer. People shut their ears to them."

Waylon: "Mhmm... it's unfortunate that they probably should listen this time. Kinda like the boy who cried wolf type situation."

Rosmond: Expecting Waylon to cling, Rosmond squeezed the witch's arm.

Waylon: Waylon definitely clings, and he grips Rosmond's hand tightly.

Waylon: "Still startling, no matter how many times I see it."

Rosmond: "How many times have you seen this?"

Waylon: "Since I was a kid - at least 15 times?"

Rosmond: Rosmond looked from the TV to his companion.

Waylon: "What? I watched it a lot when I was younger, and shared it with a few friends in college!"

Rosmond: "But this isn't your favorite film?"

Waylon: "Mmmm... my favorite older film, yes. My favorite film.... Is an animated one actually. It's called Howl's Moving Castle."

Rosmond: "It was colorful." He wouldn't forget the first film Waylon had suggested, but to have watched a film fifteen times confused him. "Is it like re-reading a book to you?"

Waylon: "It's kinda like re-reading a book. I also just liked to share this film with other people, it's why I've seen it so often. Not a lot of people my age have seen it, and it's fun seeing people's first reactions to it. Howl's Moving Castle I've seen more times though. That's a comfort movie I liked to watch when I was sad or lonely, or sick. Or days when I wanted to watch something simple and sweet. You're the only one I've watched that movie with."

Waylon: Waylon starts to tense a little and squeezes Rosmond's hand.

Rosmond: Rosmond pulled Waylon's hand to his chest, over his heart as he used to when alive. Nothing now but stillness, unless he willed himself to pulse with life. Only on request.

His fingers were gently squeezed as Ash became violent.

Waylon: Waylon squeezed gently back, and relaxed again against Rosmond as Ash was lit on fire. His thumb traced idle circles over where he used to feel that heartbeat.

"Jones is the best character in the whole movie. Best cat, very important."

Rosmond: "Is he now?" Rosmond then realized the room was just a bit too quiet. "Where is your ferret?"

Waylon: "This is my favorite shot in the film." Waylon says as Ripley descends the ladder.

"And he is," Waylon nods, very assured and confident in his opinion of Jones' level of importance. "He said he didn't care much for this movie, 'sci-fi really isn't my thing' is what he told me." Waylon shrugged. "Plus, it's nice that it's just you and me."

Rosmond: "Where has he gone?" The same rules which applied to Waylon applied to his familiar, with the exception of Gertrude's invitations. He trusted Waylon, but he could not yet say the same of Valens.

Waylon: "I believe he's curled up in the cat bed in our room taking a nap."

Rosmond: "Was he born a ferret?"

Waylon: "Yeah, the witch who made him a long time ago gave him a human shape from his ferret form."

Waylon: Waylon jumped as the alien's hand shot out at Ripley.

Rosmond: "Would explain his length." Waylon's hand was squeezed again.

Waylon: "His length?"

Rosmond: "Height."

Waylon: "Ah - yeah he is pretty damn tall." Waylon squeezed back.

Rosmond: "Like a ferret." Still his terrible attempts at jokes.

Waylon: Waylon thought it was funny, and chuckled softly. "Exactly." He tensed and squeezed Rosmond's hand as Ripley prepared to blast the alien off the ship.

Rosmond: "I see why you find this appealing."

Waylon: Waylon relaxed finally and nestled his head against Rosmond's shoulder. "You liked it?"

Rosmond: "Yes. I liked it better than the film at the drive-in."

Waylon: Waylon laughed and nodded. "Me too. Much much better."

Rosmond: Waylon was offered a piece of popcorn having fallen from the bowl to his lap.

"Man overboard."

Waylon: Waylon giggled and opened his mouth for the offered popcorn. "I'm glad you liked it."

Rosmond: "Thank you."

Waylon: "Thank you for watching it with me," he leaned over to give Rosmond a gentle kiss. "Did you want to watch another, or are we good on movies for the night?"

Rosmond: Rosmond took his arm back to check his watch. His phone in his back pocket might as well not exist.

"We have time. What do you want?"

Waylon: "Hmmm, do we want to watch another horror movie, or something more mellow?"

Rosmond: "Please do not make me watch another comedy."

Waylon: Waylon laughed and reached up to gently pat Rosmond's cheek. "Don't worry, love. I promise, no more comedies. I don't really like 'em either, to be honest."

Rosmond: "You like what you are."

Waylon: "And what am I then?"

Rosmond: "Otherworldly."

Waylon: Waylon smiled softly and that earned Rosmond another kiss. "Smooth-talker."

Rosmond: "I am?" But he smiled, gently, and offered another kiss.

Waylon: "Absolutely," he accepted the kiss gladly, and gently cupped Rosmond's cheek. "You act all innocent, but you really do know how to make me melt. Must be that poet in you."

Rosmond: "I'm no poet." He refused to move from Waylon's hand. "I can think of more constructive things than another film."

Waylon: "I beg to differ," Waylon smiled against Rosmond's lips and pulled just far enough back so that he could meet Rosmond's eyes as he smiled. "Yeah? And what are those things?"

Rosmond: Waylon was slowly pushed back against the couch, encouraged to lay completely as he reached for his belt, button, and zipper.