undergrounds | just walk on in ( for joss )

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just walk on in ( for joss )

It started as an absolutely routine trip to the store. Nancy'd ducked into her nearest magic shop, looking to replenish a few of her supplies. You could never have enough candles or sage, after all. With a small basket tucked under her arm, she'd picked up a few different items, looking at new herbs and books on charms. She almost didn't notice him- but when it was almost too late she noticed his soft, dirty-blonde hair.

As soon as she saw it, she knew who it was. It was the boy- Joss, Cooper had told her- the one she had taken in after she'd found him. A child vampire, she'd been heartbroken for him, though Cooper alleged he'd truly been over six-hundred-years-old. She could hardly believe it, and honestly it was the very last thing on her mind when she saw him. She'd spent hours imagining where he was, hoping he was okay after he'd run out of her apartment. To her, he'd been a sweet, lost boy, not some old, cruel man.

But isn't that how it always went?

"Joss!" She called, and immediately ran over to him, wrapping her arms around his small shoulders. "You're alright!"

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More than a month on, and Joss still has gaps in his memories.

Not significant ones, not anymore. All the major events of his long life are there--all the tragedy, murder, and mayhem that had shaped his personality--but little things. 1683, for instance. He remembers fuck all from 1683. Periwigs were involved, he imagines, and a cursory glance at Wikipedia told him who was monarch that year, but there's a great big hole where 1683 ought to be.

More importantly, however, he doesn't remember anything about how he got cursed or who cursed him. He remembers very well, cruelly well, everything that happened after, but nothing else. That is unacceptable. He was weak before; it's not going to happen again. Maybe he's gone a bit overboard with all of the wards he's putting up around his person and his flat, he thinks, considering a wolfsbane potion on the shelf, but whether it was fae or witch who put him in such an embarrassing state doesn't really matter. What's important is that it never happens again.

Then someone shouts his name and throws her arms around him and it takes all that he has not to snap her neck instinctively.

"Have some decorum," he hisses, eyeing the other shoppers. People are watching them. "One wouldn't want to draw too much attention to oneself."

Joscelin Fitzthomas is very much back in control of his own faculties. 1683 be damned.

Nancy takes a step back instinctively at the harsh tone of voice. She was used to hearing it come from the lips of far older-looking men, but to hear it from a boy as old as her brothers- she's furrowing her brow.

"Joss?" She repeats, letting go of him. "It's me- Nancy- don't you remember me?" she places a hand against her chest, above her heart. "I was so worried about you, after you ran off-" after Cooper had scared him, something she'd been furious over. Chasing out the young ones, scaring them, she could hardly abide it.

But here Joss was and he looked healthy and lord, she hoped he remembered her. That hew as doing alright.

"I remember you." Christ, he wishes he didn't. He'd spent ten days as a weak, obnoxious, embarrassing child. Had he really been so naive and emotional in his mortal life? Would he have stayed that way had he not died young? He knows he shouldn't dwell on these questions, but they gnaw at him and worsen his already sour mood.

Poor Nancy.

"You're making a spectacle of yourself. Please let go of me."

She doesn't understand. How could this boy be the same one that just a month ago had been fascinated by a simple ball of light? She'd watched him play with it until it naturally went out, let him cry on her. And now he was harsh and cold.

She let go of him.

"Joss- what's wrong? C'mon, you can talk to me, love." She speaks at a much more calm volume now, keeping her eyes trained on him.

Weak. He'd been foolish and weak and stupid and now there's a woman going misty on him to remind him of every second of it.

"You were very kind. I must thank you for that. As you can see, though, I am quite well now. Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary."

Go away.

Well, she wasn't going misty until you decided to go there. Now, she was, tears welling up in her bright green eyes. This was the sort of person that sweet boy was, so direct, so cold?

"Is that- You don't want-" he didn't want her help? Her companionship? Anything to do with her.

Her chin quivered and she finished her sentence with a tight voice: "...anything to do with me?"

"God's wounds," Joss swears under his breath. She's crying now. Why won't she just leave him alone and hang off of someone else for a while? No wonder she and Cooper get along so well. They both reek of sentimentality; it's slightly nauseating to behold.

"I was cursed." It's far more information than he wants her to know, really, but perhaps the truth will set him free. "You came upon me while I was in that state--and you do have my thanks for that--but I have, as you can see, recovered. I am truly grateful for the assistance you provided in that most unfortunate circumstance."

The tears don't fully fall, not yet. Instead, she looks at him through slightly new eyes. "You were cursed?" She repeats, taking a timid step toward him again. "Fuck- I'm so sorry to hear that. Who would have done something like that?" Surely not other vampires, though Cooper hadn't spoken favorably of Joss in the least. Someone with a vendetta, she was sure.

It's nice to hear him thanking her, all the same. "I only did what anyone would have done. Far better it was me that found you than anyone else." If Fagin had found him, that would have been a disaster. She'd have come to the den to find a massacre, of that she was oddly certain.

Joscelin sighs. "When one is a vampire of my, er, stature, it tends to make one something of a target." He feigns nonchalance about the whole sordid mess, hoping to stem the tide of tears. The last thing he wants is for her to draw more attention to them than they are already getting. He wants to know who cursed him, and how. He wants to draw the truth out of them slowly, painfully, making them suffer tenfold for every day he suffered. He wants them to beg for the release of death before it's granted.

And he wants Nancy to stop crying and leave him the hell alone.

"On that point we are agreed." She'd stopped him from killing any more people; the fact that he'd only slaughtered one person in his amnesiac state was something of miracle. He'd massacred more than thirty people the first time he'd been let loose following being turned. Also quite by accident. The thousands of other deaths which had followed had been anything but.

"Still, you kept me from my...baser instincts." Is this honesty? Really? "And you understood what the signs meant. Jean-Claude's tenuous little peace holds because of you. And, ah, it's Cooper's peace as well, I suppose." He's flattering her, hoping to keep her distracted long enough to stop crying.

She lets out a sigh, and wipes at her eyes, clearing them of tears. "I hope you find them," she says with certainty. "But please- be careful." Kenzi hadn't been as careful as she should have been, when she'd been investigating a curse that Nancy had been given. It lead to her death and subsequent rebirth on Nancy's couch.

She presses her lips together, and nods. "Thank you," she says softly, fighting the urge to reach out and stroke his hair. She doesn't need the flattery. Just the acknowledgement and appreciation.

"What happened after you left?"

"Cesare Borgia got to me, eventually." Honest and simple. He'll make small talk to assuage her fears about his wellbeing and then make a swift exit. "I passed the next several days in his hotel until I could be assured that I was, once again, fully in possession of my faculties." And he's better now. Really. So please leave him alone.

Of course. Cesare.

Nancy nods. "Good- good I'm glad he was able to help. And I'm so so sorry about Cooper's reaction. He was just scared for me, he knows I haven't necessarily had the best time of it and didn't want me getting hurt." Even though Nancy firmly believed that Joss would not hurt her of all people.

"I'm glad your memories are back." It's a happy ending. Of sorts.

Another eyebrow raised at that. "Your Mr. Cooper reacted sensibly." No hurt feelings here; Joscelin knows well what a monster he is. "I do have something of a reputation." He's even proud of it. He hasn't survived this long by making friends or being nice. "And I know that I am not exactly his favorite person in the Nest, incapacitated as I was at the time." Nor is Cooper his. He still hates the fact that Cooper is their elected representative in the Night Council. It's complete and total foolishness.

"As am I." He moves to walk away, but she's still blocking his escape route. "Good day."

It sounds so silly to hear him being called Mister Cooper, but Nancy doesn't dwell on it. The reasons for Mr. Cooper's fear, then, seemed perfectly rational, but Nancy found it hard to equivocate the young boy that had slept in her arms, who had cried on to her shoulder.

But this same boy, who'd snuggled close to her, was now itching to get away. She wanted to keep him here, to talk, to get coffee, maybe, or a drink. But she's not sure where to go from here, and that's why she gives him a nod. "Oh- yeah. Right. Right." She forces a tight smile and wipes on her eyes again.

"You let me know if you need anything, okay?" Just so he knew. That she was there. Even if he didn't want anything to do with her.

She's finally going to let him be, praise God. Joscelin nods curtly and turns away, only to catch the sad look on her face. It tugs at whatever is left of his conscience. Nancy had been there for him. He hates being reminded of what had happened in February, but he hates feeling indebted to someone even more.

With a slight groan, he turns back to face her.

"Please allow me to repay your kindness by...er..." Throwing money at the problem. "Paying for your purchases today. Or, perhaps, lunch?"

Nancy shakes her head. "No, I can't accept that." It was charity, in a way, though Joss had seen the digs she now shared with Cooper. It was a far cry from where she'd grown up, stuffing newspaper in cracks in the walls to keep the cold out.

Fagin never did like to pay for the heating.

"Maybe we could do lunch?" We. The two of them. But no- she was pressing her luck. "You don't have to do anything, if you don't want to. I didn't do it for a reward.

Vampires tend, as a rule, not to be terribly altruistic. Genuine kindness is a rarity amongst Joss's kin, and someone is always playing an angle. Joscelin is no different. He doesn't want to buy Nancy lunch. What he does want is to kill as many birds with one stone as possible: convince himself that he has done everything he can to no longer be in her debt and maybe even convince her to tell Cooper that Joscelin Fitzthomas isn't such a bad little monster after all. Plus, he was raised to be a gentleman.

"I insist." His voice is firm.

"The owner of La Parisienne is in the Nest. She can ensure we are not disturbed." It's too much to hope for a glass of wine when the (mostly human) daytime staff are present, but at least there is a special booth near the back reserved for the undead.

Hey. She's been trying to convince Cooper of that since she met Joss.

"...Alright," she says after a moment, weighing it. He wasn't the first vampire to take her out to a nice meal. Not to mention, she had no problem with underage drinking and would happily order a glass of wine for him. She had booze in her purse almost always, anyway.

"I'd like that a lot, actually. Thank you, Joss." She assumed that's what she could call him. If he wanted her to call him something else, she didn't doubt that he'd inform her.

The restaurant is not trendy or hip by any means, though it does manage to exude expense in its dark wood furnishings and overly fussy atmosphere. It's old fashioned to a fault; only its wealthy and immortal owner manages to keep it running. Joscelin and Nancy get a few curious looks from the only other lunch patrons in the place--an elderly couple--but the head waiter has been around for a while and doesn't bat an eye at being bossed around by a child. He knows who this precocious youngster really is. What he really is.

"The salmon is quite good," Joss informs Nancy in a pointed way. As a gentleman, he will be ordering for the lady. He's posturing, in a way he doesn't usually feel he has to, but she caught him at a vulnerable time, and he doesn't want her to remember him only for his weakness.

Nancy was no stranger to dates with vampires where they took the lead. She follows without complaint, eyeing the decor of the restaurant. She doesn't mind that it's not a hip place, means it's far more quiet for them. It's still quite a few steps up from where she'd normally find herself, if left to her own devices.

"Is it?" She asks, looking over the menu that she already can tell she won't get to decide what she's eating. She's used to it.

"D'you want me to get you something to drink?"

"So I'm told," he replies mildly. Of course the salmon's good. It had an article written about it in The Daily Telegraph once. In 1982. He orders it every time he comes here and now is no exception.

When Nancy offers to buy Joscelin a drink, he stiffens. Goes even colder. Is she pitying him? Does she still think of him as a child to be coddled?

"No, thank you. I've no wish to attract any more attention than was already drawn to us earlier, this particular establishment's ownership notwithstanding."

She's not pitying him. She's trying to help an older man stuck in a kid's body.

"Oh, of course." She says with a tighter smile. "You don't mind if I drink then, do you?" She was going to drink regardless. She always had a flask on her person these days, it seemed. Something that should probably be cause for concern.

He smiles thinly. "Not at all."

Joscelin considers showing off his knowledge of fine wines and ordering her some expensive vintage, but he instead leaves it to her to order her drink. He's growing tired of being gentlemanly; this is more social interaction with a mortal that isn't a food source than he's had in weeks and he finds it tiring.

"And how is Cooper?" He doesn't actually want to know.

Nancy, actually, goes for a gin martini. One that's mostly just gin, truth be told.

"He's brilliant," Nancy starts to gush. "Working for the Night Council really suits him, I think. Just had a birthday last month, too. That was something special." She'd given him one hell of a birthday surprise. But it wasn't something she was going to share the details with a very old vampire in the body of a very small child. That was really not okay in her book.

"I imagine." This is getting intolerable. He doesn't like Cooper--he may even hate him--and hearing about him isn't making his mood any better. He'd asked to be polite, not because he cares.

"I must admit that I was somewhat surprised by the election results. He's risen rather swiftly through the ranks." He can't help a little bit of bitterness in his voice. "I thought Cesare Borgia was more likely to win the seat."

There are worse things in the world than having lunch with a pretty girl, Joss. Especially not one that you did have your face buried in the breasts of. Even if it was for comfort.

"He used to be in-charge of part of a nest back in the United States," Nancy explains. "Most people just like to make it seem like he doesn't have any experience because he looks so young." She presses her lips together. "I like Cesare well enough, but... I couldn't vote for him, in good conscious."

Oh dear. Now Nancy's given him an opening.

"'In good conscience," he echoes, a little mockingly. "Conscience hasn't got anything to do with it; it's not a trait vampires put a lot of stock in. No matter how young we look." Cooper has very little sympathy from Joscelin in that regard. At least he had gone through puberty before his death.

"Having a conscience is a sure way to end up on the business end of a wooden stake or a silver bullet."

"Pardon me for being human, then," Nancy says, frowning. Already now she was wishing she'd ordered a double martini. "A conscience is a rare thing, where I come from." Fagin certainly had none to speak of, as had been the case with her boyfriend before Cooper.

"And I've managed to survive with one so far."

"And where is that?" He's smirking as he tucks into his salad. "Where do you come from, Nancy?" He enunciates the syllables just enough to draw attention to his BBC-perfect accent.

He sighs patronizingly. "You're young. You'll grow out of that soon enough."

Nancy purses her lips, looking at Joss over the top of her martini glass. "Saffron Hill," she tells him plainly. She'd been raised in poverty, working on the streets by the time she was thirteen. It was only recently she had any money at all, and most of that was Cooper's.

"No, I don't think I will. If I was going to have grown out of it, it would have happened already."

Had the upper-middle class existed in the fourteenth century Joscelin would have been born into it - the beloved youngest son of a ruthlessly ambitious cleric whose pretensions of status and hunger for power had gotten him a bishop's mitre and made him a big fish in the relatively small pond of Cambridgeshire - but he's experienced his share of cold and hungry nights during his exceptionally long life. You'd think that would have given him a little empathy, diluted his classism and open contempt for the common man, but it had only cemented it further. He grins mockingly at her. "Lovely place," he replies sarcastically.

"More's the pity. You'll not survive very long."

"It was a roof over my head and a place to sleep." There was an upstairs loft where they all slept, an odd miss-matched collection of mattresses and miscellaneous furniture to create a bit of a make-shift dorm. She remembered it fondly, thinking of the warmth they'd created in that place. Even if Fagin hadn't turned the heat on.

Sometimes Saffron Hill really could be a lovely place.

"You're the second person to tell me that in as many months." Mogget, too, had made it known she wouldn't live long. "Not that it's anything new to me. I'm surprised I made it this far." She's astonishingly frank about it. But girls with her sort of life never lived long.

She's not rising to his baiting. She keeps deflecting him, saying things that are damnably reasonable when he wants her to get upset so that maybe he won't feel the nagging sense of owing her anymore. He needs an excuse and she's not giving him one.

Time to go nuclear.

"Then why do you keep on? You're temporary, you know. Even if you don't get yourself killed you'll get old. You'll wither, lose your...charms, and Cooper will move on to greener pastures. You're mortal; that means you're replaceable."

Her face falls.

Temporary. Her blood turns cold at the word. She'd never considered herself that. But that's what happens when you're hundreds of years old. You start to view others as temporary. Like her problems didn't matter, because in five years she'd be dead.

"He promised me." He'd be there for her when she was old and grey and he'd be there with her. She knew that would never be the case, deep down. But it was a safe thought. Like being with Cooper wouldn't end.

But that was temporary, too. Bill would get out of prison, and she'd leave Cooper. Or they'd come to the point where what they wanted was so different that they couldn't stay together- Nancy, after all, wanted a real family. Cooper couldn't give her that. They both knew it.

She swallows. "And there are people that need me. As long as I'm alive, and I don't intend on letting them down."

Nancy doesn't look at Joss.

It's a victory, but it doesn't feel like one.

Joscelin has gotten what he wanted: he's drawn blood. He can keep twisting the knife, but he finds there's less sport in it than he thought there would be.

So instead he finds himself saying something he normally wouldn't. "People are weak and fallible. They will invariably disappoint you." He sounds surprisingly bitter. "Don't put too much stock in them, or their promises."

She keeps her gaze on the table, takes a drink. She's going to need even more to drink when she gets back to Cooper's flat.

"They might, and they do. You don't need to tell me- I know. But that's not me. I try to keep my promises, to the best of my ability. No honor among thieves, all that, but at least I'm trying."

"You can keep your promises all you want and still end up disappointed," Joscelin points out. "Self-interest is what makes us human." He smiles ironically. "Well, in a figurative sense. I haven't been human in a very long time."

Still selfish, though.

"I've never been a selfish person. Funny, considering I was raised by one of the most selfish people I know." The bitterness was hard to miss. "But I'm always surprised by the goodness in people."

She tried so hard to see the good in people. Of course, her bar for what was considered good and what was bad was considerably low.

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