Joscelin Fitzthomas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dredefulchilde) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2017-01-05 03:56 pm
dredefulchilde) wrote in undergrounds2017-01-05 03:56 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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.
no subject
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."
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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."
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"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.
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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?
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"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."
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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.
no subject
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..."
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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."
no subject
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.
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"A sentimentalist to the last," he replies, though he can't hide a smile. "Not that I'm complaining."
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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."
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"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."
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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."
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"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."
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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.