undergrounds | They say it's your birthday - Open to Islington Nest and Allies

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They say it's your birthday - Open to Islington Nest and Allies

6 January - Islington

Even after all this time, the amount of change that can take place in a simple twelve month span is still surprising.

Just one year ago, Joscelin been newly returned to London, scratching out a living on the fringes of vampire society and forced to attach himself to various mind-controlled individuals for a steady supply of blood. Now he's sitting in an expensive flat at the heart of Islington territory, a significant--if deliberately less visible than many others--player in Nest politics. Hunting for sport's been banned by the new regime he helped put in place, which is unfortunate, but he doesn't go hungry and it's still something of a novelty to feed from a completely willing donor.

And, most importantly, Millicent's gone.

It still doesn't quite feel real. So much has changed since the summer. Long experience has told him that Fortune's Wheel is rarely still, but a temporary respite is not unwelcome. Not when his star is on the ascendant, the same as Jean-Claude's.

Well, he can think about that later. It's January again, and that means it's his birthday.

This year, he's decided to throw a little party. Nothing big, nothing which would attract the attention of those he still doesn't want to upset. Just a few close friends (which he doesn't have, but it's the most applicable term here), some wine, and a bit of cake.

No candles, though. They wouldn't all fit.

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Joscelin's flat is fairly large and tastefully furnished, if a bit spartan. No expense has been spared, however, on the electronics. A huge flat screen TV occupies most of one wall, with all of the latest video game systems hooked up to it. Joss keeps looking over at it, almost longingly. Why did he bother throwing this party, again? It's not like he's unused to birthdays; he's had nearly seven hundred of them. Other people are dull and annoying at best, dangerous at worse. What madness had possessed him to invite them into his home like this?

Loneliness, quite possibly, though he'll never admit it to himself, much less anyone else.

He is not the most attentive of hosts, and small talk is hardly his forte, but he'll make an effort for his guests. Sort of. At the very least, he'll ensure that the wine doesn't run dry and there's plenty of blood to be had.

Anyone who tries to sing to him will be threatened with evisceration and shown the door.

Edited 2017-01-06 02:37 (UTC)

Natasha isn't entirely sure what she's doing here, aside from the fact she was invited. She knew there would be blood, which makes accepting a little masochistic... But she was invited, and it feels to her like there's something to be said for showing up.

Maybe it's because she suspects that he's lonely. She's seen flashes of it. When she caught him outside the orphanage, for one. Since then, as well. She can only imagine what it's like being a child forever. Her own sire had refused to change her when she was in her early twenties, even. That one thing, she can consider a kindness from him.

It doesn't really matter why in the end; she's here now. And she comes bearing gifts. The parcel is wrapped in gold paper, probably leftover from Christmas but non-specific enough to still be appropriate for a birthday

She glances over his entertainment center as she sets her present off to the side. "If I'd have known you liked these, it would have made shopping for you a lot easier."

Joss raises an eyebrow at the gift. He supposes that's what you do on someone's birthday, but he hadn't given much thought to it. He certainly hadn't expected to receive one.

"They're a diversion," he shrugs. "I find that blowing things up is an excellent way to relieve stress."

And the blood and gore is so well animated these days.

Edited 2017-01-07 04:11 (UTC)

"I don't doubt it. Besides, it's a way to pass the time." Not one she particularly enjoys, but who's she to judge? She doesn't dwell on it either way. "Sort of what I was thinking about when I got you this. You'll need someone else though."

Natasha might have grown up on the street, but she wasn't raised so poorly as to show up to someone's birthday without a gift.

When he opens it, he'll find a chess board. Rather nice, in black and stainless steel. She has no idea if he plays, but Natasha figures if he doesn't care for it, no harm done.

Joscelin does open the gift, right then and there in front of Natasha, with an eagerness that is much more fitting for a boy of twelve than his true age of six hundred and eighty years. His eyes light up when he sees the chess set. It's sleek and modern and quite attractive.

"Do you play?" he asks, indicating the game. Joss certainly does. His father had shown him the ropes during his brief mortal life, and he'd honed his skills through the centuries. "It would be a nice change of pace to play with someone other than Jean-Claude or mind-controlled humans."

"I've been known to play from time to time." She would like to think she has a good mind for it too, though she knows better than to brag. Experience goes a long way and she has relatively little to judge from his reaction. She had hoped he'd appreciate it.

"It's the kind of game that people like us ought to take up. For a lot of reasons."

Joscelin nods his agreement. "There are those of us who would do well to remember its particular lessons. Raymond Harris, for instance." A smile crosses his face as he remembers the glorious bloodbath that had been the Harris's demise.

"I've been playing since I was about eight years old, and I find that sometimes the game can still surprise you."

"People like Raymond don't do well at chess. They're just trying to get as much as they can at the moment. They're not thinking about their future moves." That was something Natasha's sire had stressed to her, about vampires and about dictators, since both had been relevant. They had all of the time in the world, as long as they were careful. They had to understand playing the long game. Dictators didn't think that way. They played for the moment.

Of course, he'd been thinking of Stalin when he said that, and his own long game had been cut short, but the lesson stuck.

"I'd love to play you sometime. Can't promise any surprises, though."

"You're new," Joss shrugs. "That's enough of a change of pace. I don't often get to play with new people." He can't exactly sit in the park and play with strangers, given the whole 'lack of a daylight ring' problem.

"I do hope Jean-Claude considers his future as well. I think he will. He's older and tends to take a longer view of things."

"I'd like to think he will. He's smarter than he lets on." That last part is said with a little humor. She wasn't sure of it, the first time or two they spoke. She was too busy being suspicious of London's vampires to consider their virtues.

"You're right. I am new. And I'd be happy to play again sometime."

Joscelin actually smiles, for once. "It's a date, then," he says, and finds that he's actually excited by the prospect. There is something very odd about Natasha Romanoff. He finds her frustruating and confusing at best, obnoxiously naive at worst. And yet he continues to spend time with her. There are days when he finds himself craving her company and her conversation. It's contradictory and damnably annoying.

And he really is looking forward to beating her at chess.

"I'll bring my best." Natasha smiles back, both pleased to find something that interests Joscelin that doesn't involve violence and because she's curious how the game will go. Not because she thinks she'll win. Not the first time they play, at least. But because there are so many different ways to lose.

"You'd better. You won't last very long without it."

As far as Joscelin can tell, it's not boasting. He's stating simple fact.

He's probably not wrong. Only one way to find out, and Natasha's not going to oversell her skill before she knows what she's actually up against.

She's a realist.

"We'll call it the second part of your birthday present."

Jean-Claude is of course in attendance. Ever the one for a social gathering, he is perhaps more conversational amongst the attendees than Joscelin is himself. Not that he blames the other vampire, of course. Truth be told he is a little surprised to find himself at such a gathering arranged by the other vampire, but he's hardly complaining. He knows what it is to feel lonely himself. Not that he'd admit to it, but why else would he surround himself with the people that he does than because he does not truly want to be alone himself.

Grabbing a fresh glass of wine, though he's barely touched the last, if he's being honest, Jean-Claude makes his way over to where the other vampire is hovering and glancing over at the set of electronics that Jean-Claude knows for a fact would hold his attention far easier than the crowd of people in the flat.

"Bon anniversaire, mon ami," Jean-Claude greets him, raising his glass as he approaches.

Joscelin inclines his head in acknowledgment of the toast. For someone throwing his own birthday party, he looks remarkably put out over the whole situation.

"Thanks," he says, swigging from his own glass. He's been avoiding Jean-Claude for the last couple of weeks, ever since the other vampire caught him high on fae blood, but their bond is closer than that particular embarrassment. "This is how one generally celebrates these things, isn't it?"

Jean-Claude offers a gallic shrug in reply to the question. It's true, Joscelin does not truly seem to be enjoying himself, in this get-together. Jean-Claude does not think the other vampire is truly all that suited to playing host to such an event, although he refrains from stating as much outright.

"One may celebrate however one so chooses," he replies. "It is to mark your birthday, after all."

"Six hundred and eighty years old," Joscelin sighs, and it's only because he and Jean-Claude know each other as well as they do that he allows the other vampire to see how tired he is. While he has no desire to give up the ghost any time in the future, the relentless march of the years are taking their toll. He's not adjusting as well to being back in the Nest's semi-good graces after more than a century away as he thought he would. He feels more like an outsider than ever; a relic of the Bad Old Days. And without Millicent to hate, he's adrift.

Maybe that's also why he's throwing this party. He needs something to do.

"Usually I wield my age like a blunt weapon, but right now it feels a bit burdensome, if I am going to be honest with you."

Jean-Claude flicks a smile at the other vampire, although it is soft and perhaps a little sad. He wishes there were some way he could try and make this easier for him, but he understands himself what it is to continue to exist while the rest of the world seems to change around you. He wishes that he might be able to take the other vampire in his embrace to comfort him, or at least hold his hand, but he knows better than to attempt such things with Joscelin at any regular moment. And besides, he has enough in the way of sentimentality yet in store for him.

"Perhaps it does, yes. Though you wear it well, if I say so myself," he comments, tilting his head at the other with a gentle smile. "I can only hope to find myself so well off, the fifty years from now when I reach six hundred and eighty years myself. You will be there to celebrate with me in turn, yes?"

Joscelin shrugs. "If I'm still stuck with you, yes," he teases. "You're like a bad penny, Jean-Claude. There's no getting rid of you."

Where will they be in fifty years? Will Jean-Claude still be head of Islington Nest? Will Joscelin even still be in London? He's lived here for most of his absurdly long life--it's home, and it will always be home--but vampires travel.

Well, vampires with Daylight Jewelry do. Joss isn't one of them right now.

"You'd better still be around in twenty years when I hit seven hundred."

Jean-Claude smiles again in response the the other vampire's words. Like a bad penny... "You say it as though that is a bad thing, mon ami," he replies, wryly. "Is it not a good thing to be so reliable as that? Of course I will still be around. It is as you say. There is no getting rid of me, not now, or ever."

He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand for a moment as he regards the other vampire carefully, as he contemplates the position of the sun in the sky -- nearly dawn, he believes, although you'd never know it, the flat shut up as tight as it is. He nods his head away from the crowd, that has started to dwindle at this point, but some of them are in this for the long haul and the party is still well underway. He wants to catch Joscelin on his own for a few moments though.

"Come away with me for a moment, mon ami," he requests. "I have something for you. But it is not for me to give here."

"What a comforting thought," Joscelin replies, pulling a face. This is banter, isn't it? He hasn't done it in ages, and he'd forgotten how fun it can be.

He raises an eyebrow at Jean-Claude's request. "Now?" he asks, curious, but he ends up following Jean-Claude out of his own flat, into the back garden he shares with the other tenants (who don't know he exists). It's not as if his guests will know he's even gone, after all.

It will be dawn soon, so Jean-Claude had better get on with whatever he's about to do. They only have a few minutes available to them.

"I'd really rather not burn to death on my birthday, so please be quick about it."

Jean-Claude offers the other vampire a secretive smile as Joscelin gripes to him about his choice of time, but does not explain himself. He merely motions the pair of them to step further out into the gardens together, ostensibly to enjoy the fresh air together.

"Mon ami," he says to start, carefully sensing where the sun is in the sky so that he is not timing this too close for comfort. "When contemplating what it was that I could give you on such an occasion as your six hundred and eightieth birthday, in the end I knew there was only one answer to such a question."

He stops them in the middle of the garden and places his hand on Joscelin's shoulder, so much as to stop him as it is to turn him to face him. A gentle smile on his lips as he goes on to carefully ask the little vampire.

The sky is starting to lighten at the edges and Joss finds himself growing nervous. What is Jean-Claude yammering on about, anyway? What sort of present is he going to bestow?

And then Jean-Claude turns him around and the realization suddenly hits. Could it be? After all this time?

"Do you...? A-are you...?"

His normal eloquence has completely failed him. Is this what he thinks it is?

Jean-Claude's gentle smile broadens slightly, squeezing Joscelin's shoulder slightly before he slides his hand down the other vampire's arm to take his hand. Producing a little velvet box from within the lines of his jacket and pressing it into Joscelin's hand as he does.

"This belongs to you, mon ami," Jean-Claude says quietly, his voice soft and low in the hush of the dawn that is a minute or two away from breaking around them. "I think it is about time that it was returned to you once more."

Joscelin stares at the box in blank disbelief, feeling its weight in his hand but unable to open it for fear that it won't be the single thing he's wanted more than anything. His nightly obsession.

His ring.

Finally, as the sky lightens around them, he opens the box. There it is, a battered ring of Ancient Roman make, set with a single blood red stone. Aurelia's ring, the one he'd taken off his sire's hand moments after her murder.

The sun is climbing now and he has seconds before its rays hit him and turn him into ash, so he hurriedly puts it on, even though it is far too big for his small hands. The practical part of him makes a note to find a new chain to hang it on, but that doesn't matter right now. Not when he is standing in daylight for the first time in one hundred and twenty years and sobbing his gratitude into Jean-Claude's shoulder.

Edited 2017-01-25 06:41 (UTC)

Jean-Claude is confident that Joscelin will open the box before he lets himself burn to ash, and he is there to whisk him away to safety before it all goes south. But it doesn't. He watches with quiet patience as the little vampire opens the box and plucks the ring out with shaking hands, slipping it on his finger even though it is far too big for his fingers.

He finds himself lowering to his knees in the damp, dewy grass, not bothering to care whether it will ruin the leather of his trousers or not as he moves to wrap his arms around Joscelin's shaking shoulders, rubbing at them in soft circles.

"Ah, mon ami..." he murmurs, holding him close, cradling him gently. "Mon ami..."

Being held feels good.

Joscelin has spent the last five hundred years trying not to be a child. He'd been alone and without protection ever since Aurelia's death. He cannot allow himself to be vulnerable because vulnerability is weakness.

But no one is watching right now. No one is watching, and Jean-Claude is the closest thing he he has to a protector right now.

After a few minutes, the shaking subsides. He takes a deep breath and says, quietly, "Thank you."

Jean-Claude would be the first to point out that needing to be held does not equate to being childish. It demonstrates a vulnerability, yes, but allowing oneself to be vulnerable with another is showing them a trust. And it moves him, that Joscelin should trust him in such a way. For in truth, the little vampire is the closest friend he has, for all of their differences.

It pleases him, to be there for him. To be able to give him this moment, this trust, this protection. To allow him to just be, without the need to put on airs. And for a vampire of Joscelin's age to be allowed as much, of course he recognizes it as the gift that it is.

He rubs a gentle circle in Joscelin's back again at the breath, at the words, turning his head to press a kiss against the side of his temple. Knowing he is perhaps pushing his boundaries here, but Jean-Claude is and always will be a physical creature. He will take what he can from this moment for as long as he is allowed, before Joscelin builds up his walls again and all but shuts him out once more.

"You are welcome, my friend," he murmurs softly, in their shared native tongue.

Joscelin tenses and straightens and the moment passes. The mask is back in place. He's allowed far more physical contact from Jean-Claude than anyone else, but now it's time to end it. He pulls away abruptly, his too-big ring held fast in a tight fist.

"A sentimentalist to the last," he replies, though he can't hide a smile. "Not that I'm complaining."

Jean-Claude always regrets the moment when the mask slips back into place, but he recognizes why Joscelin feels as though it is necessary. Nonetheless he lets him step back and out of his arms, regardless of how much Jean-Claude would like to keep holding him and reveling in the other vampire's joy, for as long as he can.

He moves to sit back on his heels and after a moment, pushes to stand. Smiling at the other vampire in turn, before inclining his head at hi in agreement with the words. "I cannot argue with you there," he says. "You are not the first to accuse me of such things. I am glad you like my gift, though. Sentimental or not, it is good to see you happy, my friend."

"I am happy," he admits. More sentimentality. Christ Jesus, he's gone soft in his old age. But Jean-Claude won't fault him for it. Jean-Claude won't betray his trust; he's proven that time and time again. "This is quite the gift." He scrubs at the last of the tear tracks on his face, trying to hide all trace of his embarrassing emotional spectacle before they rejoin the party.

"The others won't thank you for it," he cautions. "Joss Fitzthomas in the daylight once again while they're stuck in the dark. I've skipped the queue because the Duke of London's playing favorites." He raises an eyebrow. "Of course, I'm not ungrateful."

Edited 2017-02-14 04:33 (UTC)

Jean-Claude shrugs slightly in response to the other vampire's cautions. "Let them complain, it is my gift to give."

He flicks a smile at Joscelin in turn, although the look on his face is somewhat sad as he suggests, "Perhaps it is my way of keeping you in line. Do not give me reason to take it away, I beg of you, mon ami. I will be allowed this one moment of favor. I do not think they will allow me a second."

That makes sense. It stings, a little, but it makes sense. Joscelin is not known in the Nest for his stability. The threat of losing his daylight privileges again would be seen as keeping him in line.

"Then I'll be a good little boy and mind my manners," he says, a little bitterly. "You'll notice, Jean-Claude, that I have not killed anything--human or otherwise--since Raymond Harris's little party, and have only fed off willing humans. I am capable of behaving, as boring as it may be."

"I have noticed, mon ami, and it is a reward for as much as it is anything else," he reassures softly.

Joscelin will understand the practicality of his need to keep a close eye on him. He can only hope that he will appreciate it, and not feel so stifled by it however. At least it is Jean-Claude keeping a close eye, after all. He does not think that it would go over so well if he were anyone else making the attempt.

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