Cruising At Hyperspeed

[Trillian]

CICERO HAD GIVEN AMI INFORMATION how to dull down the sound in the nightclub, so her supernatural hearing didn't get overwhlemed in the place.  He also, as a quickie, sent information to her about focussing on one sense over another, heightening it beyond the 'normal' heightened threshhold for vampires.  He wouldn't be sure if she could utilitise this until she tried, but it was good information to have.  He didn't want to overwhelm her too much, but it was hit and miss if she could process or use what he was teaching her, because he couldn't really remember what he had or not been able to do at her age.  Even if he did remember, it didn't really apply.  Ami had already surpassed what was normal, because she'd moved beyond the baby bird stage in a couple of weeks.  In spite of her ability, she was still vulnerable to almost every vampire physically older than her - more so to the ones who didn't like fledges.  What would they think of an advanced fledge?  Intrigued or threatened?

They'd walked past the woman tending the door of the club, and Cicero acknowledged her with a glance and mental touch - feeling her immense age instead of that strange sensation of being absorbed like he'd had whenever he contacted the demons this way.  They weren't here, and their smell was almost completely gone, which meant they'd not been around for a while.  He didn't know what that meant, but if the club was positioning Ancients at the door, then they were still looking after their visitors.  The woman was already chatting with another couple of vampires outside the club, and there were no mortals in the queue.  That was unusual in itself - were they all inside?  It wasn't as though Cicero and Ami had come early in the night.

When they entered, he was immediately struck by how busy it was.  So everyone in the queue had been let in.  There were a lot of mortals on the dancefloor, doing their best sardine impressions, moving together as a single-minded unit.  He looked at them for a moment, and then a woman moved past him carrying a tray full of clear alcoholic drinks in triangular glasses.  Commonly used for margueritas or martinis, he remembered.  The rims of the glasses had been encrusted with salt, and he knew that was a clue.  He would've asked Ami which was which, except he decided he didn't really care, and looked down at his fledge instead.

She'd worn the dress and looked fantastic in it.  It didn't polish her so much as enhanced the appearance of confidence that she naturally exhuded.  She'd done her hair artfully too, and her makeup was its usual impacting self.  He'd seen her without it and liked both looks, in their own way.  Without makeup, she looked vulnerable, with it, she looked more like the way her mind worked.  When he saw her in the dress it gave him mixed emotions: he wanted to both admire her in it and pin her down to rip it off.  He could clamp down on the second desire, but every time he felt the need to get hot and heavy with her, he shared it with her.  It certainly trumped phone sex.

[Harlequin]

The markets hadn't been so difficult – the crowded smell of humans had been masked and mixed with so many other things that Ami noticed it only peripherally, but Risk was a different story. There just had to be more Humans here than normal, and the only other scents competing for her attention were those of sex, intoxicants and a veritable bouquet of supernaturals.  She immediately felt hot under the skin, and the images her sire sent her certainly certainly weren't helping. Only an inch shorter than him in her new 5-inch heels, she sent him a sidelong glare. Did he not remember the clear-head conversation?

 Quit that. She sent with it an image of a snapping Doberman Pinscher to illustrate her feelings. She was tense and on guard as it was, immediately glad of her decision to wear her spiked leather jacket over the dress. She didn't need it to fight the chill outside, but it gave her armor. She was also glad of Cicero's instruction – otherwise the music inside the club would be deafening. Music her folk were providing.

As they entered, she glanced toward the stage, and smiled. The band wouldn't be able to see her over the glare of the stage lights, but she was still happy to see them. They had a long set to play, though, and she was going to need to feed again if she expected to be able to deal with this place.

[Trillian]

Her imagery of an attack dog made him laugh, and Cicero conceded.  He would still feel those desires, but he wouldn't share with her.  He could feel how overwhelmed she was by the place, it was thrumming up their bloodline and into his thoughts, and he knew he was only getting a percentage of what she felt - and what he was experiencing was annoying.  He was compassionate, but felt somewhat helpless.  This was something that only the passing of time could help her with.

Then there was warmth and pleasure, and he followed her gaze to the band playing on stage.  He was surprised that they would perform without her, though there were enough of them on stage to be able to carry through.  She would still be able to play with them, and he considered turning his bedroom into a music room for her.  The only thing he was currently using his bed for was resting on whilst reading, but he could do that on the couch in the living room.  There was also the idea of using the bed for sexual activity, but the only people he was sleeping with now (and wanted to sleep with) were Tucker and Ami.  The latter hadn't even given him the opportunity yet, though they'd started angling down that path.  Lazarus was now no longer part of his sexual activity, and though he was still angry at his sire for trying to kill Ami, he'd created a much more interesting existence for Cicero as a result.  Who knew he'd want a fledge of his own, after all?

Her desire to feed niggled at him and made him want to do so as well.  He was using a lot of his powers with her, and needed to drink more than usual to sustain them.  He wasn't thirsting, but he didn't want it to get to that stage.  He leaned toward her, as if to speak in her ear, but his forehead touched her temple and he sent a message his usual way, sharing with her his own desire to drink, and why, and that they should find someone independently.  He would keep an eye on her, of course, and even when he wasn't directly watching he believed he would leave himself open in awareness for her.  This was the best place for her to hunt on her own - with willing donors aplenty and little chance to upset other vampires.

[Harlequin]

Just as he spoke to her without speaking Ami inclined her head slightly as if to listen, and nodded in response to his message. Though the club was overwhelming, she agreed that this would be the safest place for her to strike out on her own for the first time.

Thus, they parted ways. It was the first time they had been more than an apartment's length apart, and Ami found that she liked the fact that she could still locate her sire even after losing sight of him.

Ami gravitated toward the bar, elbowing her way through the crowd as she'd become accustomed to when mortal. Tonight, she was aware of a different kind of whispering, and of eyes on her back. She was recognized as first as the absent member of the band onstage, and then as a fledgling Vampire – usually in that order, from mortals. The Vampires in the room tended only to notice the latter. It was their eyes she could feel like daggers.

She found a seat at the bar, lucky girl, and settled into it, leaning back on the bar to watch her band pound through one of their original songs. Chance was on bass tonight, and doing a pretty amateurish job of it – he carried it off, though, much in the spirit of Sid Vicious, his idol. She gave him props for that, but she could see Morgaine was angry from the pinching at the corners of her eyes, though she grinned through it. Vivanne was getting better at that keyboard, though.

She was almost distracted enough not to notice the pretty blue-eyed girl shuffling her feet in her peripheral vison – but after about five minutes, it became clear that the teenager wanted something, so Ami turned her gaze that way, brow raised in question. The girl ("Audra," she introduced herself)was cute, with a round face and frame, wearing a tight black skirt and tank top under a cropped jacket.

After a few moments of stilted conversation regarding Ami's place in the band, and her recent change, the girl got down to business, offering her a drink. It took Ami a moment to realize what she meant – having never had such a thing offered to her before – and another moment to accept. Feeling a little lost but refusing to show it (though Cicero would feel her trepidation), Ami let the girl lead her away from the bar to a secluded corner of her choosing (the girl's proposal of finding a vacant room was rejected outright).

Once there, though, Ami was completely at a loss. Cicero had shown her how to subdue a victim – but this victim didn't need to be subdued. She was, in fact, the very opposite of needing to be subdued, melting into Ami's arms as she bent her lips to her throat. A memory of her first time being bitten by Archer rose unbidden to the front of her mind, and she followed his lead – kissing a tender trail from the edge of Audra's jaw to her throat, pressing her tongue to the pale skin and scraping it with her teeth gently, preparing her for the sting to come.

Despite her normal distaste for this place, Cicero would feel his fledgling's nervous excitement. She had always held nothing but contempt for the Humans that offered themselves to the vampires, like the one whose hands had just found their way to Ami's hips; whose soft sighs were echoing so musically in her ears.  Now that she was on the other side, though, she could understand their use – the dynamic was simple, clean and honest. Better by far than the back-alley assaults she'd become accustomed to.

Still, there was something altogether too slick about the whole thing. It was too convenient to really feel comfortable.

More feelings for later. Ami stuffed them away and bit down. Flesh give way under the sharp points of her fangs and the girl made a soft sound of pain, that melted into another sigh – but all Ami heard was the beat of her heart. As she became lost in the rhythm of drinking, Ami's knee found its way between the girl's thighs and Audra pressed herself closer, grinding into her agressor.

Caught in the wanton heat and blood of her victim, Ami growled against her throat. Her body reacted automatically, pinning little Audra to the wall they'd found themselves up against as her hand found its way into the smooth black hair and pulled hard enough to hurt. Cicero could no doubt feel the fire building in his fledge, but her thoughts were not with her sire now.

[Existentially Odd]

Taking her role as hostess seriously, Jeanne followed shortly after Cicero and Ami entered.  It was enough time for the sire to lose his fledgling, she noted as she walked up behind him and that annoyed her, because she'd thought she recognised the girl but hadn't been sure.  The annoyance compounded what she was already harbouring thanks to her conversation with the door vampires, which including reiterating that there was to be no queue tonight, among other things. She hated repeating herself.

My apologies, she spoke into Cicero's mind as she approached him, her dancer's body moving with innate grace inside the black halter evening dress she was wearing.  She wore no undergarments beneath the figure-hugging garment, the cluster of diamonds gathering the dress at her left hip matched by a glittering diamond necklace adorning her graceful neck, the decorative teardrop diamond on the end pointing to the cleavage between her small breasts.  The dress was backless and flowed to her ankles, the toe strap of a pair of diamond-studded stiletto sandals visible peeking out at the front as she walked.  Tonight, her brunette hair extensions were gathered in a large bun towards the top of her head, the sleek strands offset by a thin, diamond-covered hair tie holding the bun in place.

Have you received a brochure yet? she queried the ancient simply, holding her position at his back, eager for him to turn and look at her so that her gaze might linger on his beautiful countenance.

[Trillian]

Cicero turned and watched Jeanne as she approached, noting her dress and the fact she'd spoken easily into his mind.  A favoured method of communication between the elders.  He could feel her age - a little younger than him - but he also recognised the easy touch she had on his mind.  She wasn't clumsy; her touch matched her dress - simple, graceful and potent.  He was immediately wary but offered her a polite nod a moment before she asked her question.

Immediately he understood that she was deeply involved in the club they were in.  He'd assumed she had something to do with it when he'd glanced at her outside, but now he knew beyond a doubt.  He faced her properly then, distracted between her offer of a brochure and the feelings coming at him from his fledge, who'd picked up a willing donor and was debating how to proceed.  He wanted to send her more information, but thought some things were best left for her to figure out.  It was only after a short moment that he realised he was being offered something.

He looked down at her hands at the pamphlets she held and then up into her face, wondering why a creature as refined and important such as herself was bothering performing the mundane tasks for the club.  He sent her his negative response and then cut away to oversee his fledge's thoughts once more.  As a result, he looked quite distracted.  Because he was concentrating on Ami, he felt her bite into her donor and begin to drink, and he tipped his head back a little, looking at Jeanne with a new expression that would likely be accepted as sultry, but wasn't for her behalf - unfortunately.

[Existentially Odd]

She was intrigued by the complexity of his response; he felt like family, communicating succinctly in a layered manner, so that all the nuances of his meaning were gifted to her at once.  It was flattering that he did it that way, like he was aware she was adept at communicating on multiple levels at once... though it could also just be that he was so distracted, he wasn't aware of what he was doing and he'd simply 'let fly' his feelings.  She'd withold her judgment until she responded in kind and he had to interpret her.

Risk is becoming Venture, she told him, holding out the brochure in an automatic fashion, offering him VIP access at the new club.  Along with these thoughts she sent her dispassion for the menial task but her respect for her family's patriarch.  There was likely a tinge of culpability and a sense that her presence here was part of her penance but he'd barely get a taste of that at the back of his throat (for that was where she felt it, where it dwelt inside her being) and he'd have to be very good indeed to unpack it.  Following the dispassion came a sense of gratitude that was really the intellect's version of a spoken platitude, acknowledging his age and skill and thanking him for his concern that she wasn't being appreciated.  It wasn't in her to defer, even thoughs he knew he was older, but she was happy enough to accept his skills as equal to hers.

She doubted he was concentrating enough to catch all of her nuances though, and quirked an eyebrow at the expression on his face, her demeanour already dismissive.  She'd done her job, he had better things to do; she'd move on as soon as he took her offering.

[Trillian]

She caught his attention with her reply.  It was sent him in the same manner, which was something he didn't often experience - even with other elders.  They tended to send communication in the same flat manner as they spoke - with words and sometimes a bit of feeling in their tone.  Cicero was often surprised with the lack of exploration for the dynamic quality of mental communication.  He was sure there were aspects he hadn't tapped into, because he had no teacher.  Now that he was paying attention and unfolding the many layers she'd cast his way in return to his own response, he recognised the emotions behind her sire.  A very old sire, who she'd somehow wronged.  It was subtle, but it was there, and it took him a moment to get it.  So long, in fact, that she'd started moving on after handing him the brochure (and an immediate and unthinking reaction of his was to take it).

He reached a hand out to her, brushing fingers on her elbow and causing her to pause and look back at him.  His fledgling wasn't forgotten, but she was feasting and he'd watched her many times to know that she was aware of heartbeats and mortal health.  He sent back acknowledgement to Jeanne of her situation, interest in her ability to both recognise and respond to his manner of communication, and a desire to communicate some more.  His hand dropped from her elbow and he shared some of his feelings about his sire; contempt at being mentally superior, hurt by his jealousy, the fact he'd forced Cicero's hand to create a fledge and the fact he would likely forgive him after a number of centuries past.  Jeanne would likely understand that Cicero and Lazarus (for she would glean both their names from the sharing) only stayed together a few years and separated for many centuries.

Will this apply to my fledge also? he asked in the standard manner, lifting the pamphlet slightly.  Perhaps, if not, he could get another one from this woman for Ami.

[Existentially Odd]

No, but here's another for her, she responded, careful to hand him a flyer that afforded his fledge access to a VIP donor, rather than VIP room access.  There were limited amounts of the latter and she was very selective about who she gave them to; it was the reason she was performing this delicate task rather than entrusting it to one of the vampire employees.

The subject of Cicero's fledgling compounded his former sharing about his sire and Jeanne also admitted to him that she'd experienced some confusion due to his assumption that Charon was her sire rather than her patriarch.  Although she unravelled his information - and even his desire to communicate with her - in a linear fashion, her response was anything but, for she came from a creative sphere, where music and dance were everything.  She therefore responded with synchronicity and an undeniable cadence, her responses blooming out of one another like flowers sprouting from stamens in a conga line of colour, aroma and pizazz.  Her mind was a garden, deep and lush with verdant life, burgeoning with a rhythm that only those with a heartbeat were usually attributed as bearing.

No - the first petals unfurled, a stark white and regal Calla Lily - Charon was her sire's sire, the patriarch of the family and she, a lingering tendril of a beautiful, deadly vine wound around the huge, healthy trunk of the family tree.  Yes - the second bloom burst into being, iridescret indigo, layered and varied by degree of viewing in and of itself - she could communicate with him as he was comfortable, she'd been trained by thousands of years of experience for over a thousand years; very few could appreciate her garden outside the boundaries of her family, even fewer were ever exposed to it, so he should be grateful that he was able to sense it now.

Pity - a simpering yellow blossom, sickly and unattractive opened to him - Lazarus was lost to him and the circumstances were presented as multihued aphids crawling upon the petals, scrambling for importance but ultimately conveying her view of the sire issues as small and poisonous by comparison with the existence of the fledgling.  And she - an alluring, beautiful crimson rose grew into being, the very kiss of the petals as they brushed against one another in their effort to open the beat, the essence, the heart - she was what mattered.  Was she known to Risk, was she Ami?  Is that who she was?  How was she worthy of him - and she was gorgeous because all fledglings, all bewilderingly, heartbreakingly precious babes were to Jeanne - but he was bewildered and enamoured as all new parents were but if so, how and why had he chosen to yield to his sire's ultimatum and conceive when he could have let her die?

Also, there was the reinforcement as her flower shrank back into a bud, that she was not worthy, not in the family's regard and also not of the VIP room at Venture, for she would be a thorn in amongst the roses, the teeth in the smiling faces.  She wasn't ready for them, though he oughtn't restrict himself and he certainly shouldn't be offended.  It was the natural order of things and her time would come.

She watched him interpret the subtle beats as each flower opened for him, the backdrop of her garden evident but still not open to him for he hadn't proved himself worthy of her, and she was both trepidatious and excited.  Charon would be pleased with this connection but it was a threat, too, for it wasn't family and family was everything.

[Trillian]

He was fascinated; it was impossible not to appreciate her mind like the artform it truly was, and obvious to him that he was looking at the kind of mind that Ami's could become.  He wanted to share this sentiment but wasn't creative enough to package it to her the way she'd done for him.  Perhaps this was why he coveted mortals whose minds worked differently from the rest - because the rest were much like him as a mortal: ordinary, straight-forward, linear and limited.  He'd tried communicating in such a way, thinking that his creative ability as an artist should influence his ability to communicate in such a way - but his visuals were much like his paintings.  Colourful.  Static.  Abstract.  Surreal.  Difficult to interpret.

If he hadn't had Ami tethered to him, he could've fallen in love with her; with this Ancient being.  He almost felt like he was falling in love with her now.  He knew there was a possiblity that he was picking up on the seduction of the feeding - he could certainly feel it thrumming along his bloodline with a clarity he would never have anticipated.  It was almost making him salivate, and was certainly awakening a more primal side to him.  It was an inopportune moment that he would meet this woman at the same moment he felt vulnerable.  Or perhaps it was for the best.

Her time would come, he agreed, for they were creatures with nothing but.  Anything else were the things that they made for themselves.  Her idea of a family was both seductive and appalling.  If only he'd had what she'd had, what great things could he do?  He'd taught himself to fly because he'd seen another vampire doing it, then sought that vampire out to help him further.  What were the many things he couldn't do because he couldn't see them?  How old was her patriach, if she was his fledge's fledge,

How could, through all of that, he still not know her name?  Such things were impossible to keep hidden away when communicating so deeply.  She could box up her thoughts and present layered information in visuals and even sound that had presented itself not as music but as... something else, something he'd never experienced before.

Please, meet my fledge, he sent to her, carefully sending a portion of an almost desperate need for her to do so, her mind works much like yours, but if she eventually learns to communicate half as effectively as you, I would be proud.  He sent the vampiress his regret at being unable to teach her properly, at his fear that his limitations would eventually impact on Ami, at his disappointment at himself for believing he was well advanced in mental communication because he'd had no idea it could be like that.

Ami would receive the quality of his last message to Jeanne.  She would know Cicero wanted her to meet the woman he was speaking with, and that she should join them if she wanted to learn more.

[Harlequin]

The girl's heartbeat sped up, spilling even more of her lifeblood down Ami's throat and telling the vampire to pull away. It was as difficult as it ever was, but Ami withdrew as the girl's mewling grew more frantic, her pawing and grinding more insistent. As her fangs slid from her donor's flesh she felt a familiar tense shudder run through the frail body beneath her hands, and the girl's mind fractured into a thousand pieces. Ami couldn't help a wicked smile as she pierced the flesh of her bottom lip with one fang and sealed her donor's wounds.

Yeah, groupies had their place.

And then she really wanted to be where her sire was. Meeting someone. Wanted that worse than she wanted to fuck someone – and she wanted that pretty bad. Goddammit.

Audra seemed happy enough to coast from her climax all on her own, and Ami left her without a word. The crowds shifted for her with an unfamiliar ease, and she was soon approaching her sire and his new companion, the hum of her frustration dissipating. She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets as she sidled up next to Cicero, shoulders hunched habitually (even though it made her dress sit oddly).

The shoulder-hunch was also part of an instinctual reaction to the overwhelming age of the woman Cicero was  with – presumably the one she needed to meet. Looking at her, Ami realized that they'd met before, peripherally. She remembered her from one of the few meetings with management that she hadn't been able to weasel her way out of – and had spent the majority of being surly and non-communicative at the back of the group. She knew Risk was run by a clan of ancient and secretive vampires – and that this woman was probably one of them – but that was it. If they'd been introduced, Ami had been very busy not listening. She hoped that didn't come back to bite her in the ass, now.

"Hey," she said, nodding in greeting to the woman, then casting a sidelong glance at her sire. She wasn't good at people.

[Existentially Odd]

Jeanne viewed him impartially, though his fawning over her talents was flattering and it had been a very long time indeed since she'd received any positive reinforcement or appreciation.  Her presence here and in Charon's life was still a concession of necessity, she felt, and her role towards him far more simpering even than Cicero's towards her.  There was a reassuring amount of synchronicity between her and this ancient, in that sense, and it made her like him against her will.  He was deliciously handsome, an admirer, a raw, unbeating heart on a sleeve due to his new fledge and everything about that was alluring; she knew well enough that she ought to stay away.  Knew herself well enough to cling to that shred of impartiality like a shipwreck victim clutching onto a bit of flotsam, lest she succumb.

His concerns fell like raindrops on the smooth leaves in her mind and she showed him them rolling off and onto the grass below; in this manner she told him that his fears were unnecessary, that the plant would grow regardless.  The leaves, however, soon changed colour, darkened, and this was her warning to him that he should be careful how he tended his delicate new shoot, for the manner by which he fertilised it would be how it would grow.  He shouldn't taint the newling with these fears, but imbue her with the best of him and watch her blossom in her own way, appreciating her for what she was.  As long as he did his best, and fed positivity, what grew for him would be everything he could hope to achieve.

At no point did she offer assistance or advice in this task - beyond the imagery that his positive attention would encourage like growth - but when Ami appeared beside him she couldn't help herself from interfering, for she was still a yearning heart without a childe of her own (circumstances which she'd engineered and was at fault for, and Cicero would get a flash of two tree stumps in a dark and dusty section of her garden, one thicker/older than the other, both raw-looking and bleeding sap, demonstrating how freshly-hewn they were from her life, the choking cloud of grief hanging around them palpable) and this fledgling was lauded as special already.

Firstly, she smiled; it was sincere and lit up her eyes, lifting her graceful lips so that her dimples showed.  Secondly, she stepped into Ami's space and cupped her face with the hand not holding the brochures.  Thirdly, that hand drifted from her face to a shoulder and she pushed it back, encouraging Ami to correct her posture even as she addressed her.  Hello, Ami, she greeted, and the warmth of her affection went with it as she embraced the newling's mind.  Cicero would feel this embrace distinctly and Ami probably would, too, for a sudden stone wall was erected around her garden and she and Ami were within, while Cicero was without.  A tendril of connection between sire and fledgling remained, tunnelling beneath the wall and Jeanne didn't have the impulse to block this blood bond as well - she wasn't sure she had such power anyway, and had never really considered even trying until that moment.

Regardless, Ami and Cicero were connected but she took Ami's attention forcefully, surrounding her with her feelings of intrigue and acceptance, admiration and encouragement.  It was sunshine bathing them in their secluded spot and she closed her eyes briefly, tipping her head back as she'd done millenia ago to a real sun, encouraging the fledgling to bathe with her in the intense warmth she'd conjured.  Her vision of Ami as a seedling was gifted into the young one's mind, as well, and she showed it drooping in its slump, then highlighted its beauty as she straightened it, reaching for the sun.  I am Jeanne D'Arshan, she breathed into the fledgling's mind, her thoughts as accented as her spoken words ever were, and you should be prideful, childe, as you have been imbued by your sire, for by your bearing will you be judged and he knows more than any other that you are better than a surly attitude and poor posture.  Stare the world down if you would, but do it from a loft built of respect and compassion and you won't go wrong.

Jeanne was a dancer, with the strong core, innate grace and immaculate posture of a ballerina.  Ami was a musician but a maker of it, rather than a personification of it as Jeanne had trained to be.  She didn't think it had to mean that Ami should slouch her way through her existence, though; she was as unusual as Cicero had implied, for her scent was not that of a newling, but of a shade of him.  She'd not encountered anything like it and her nostrils were adance with the scenting of the two of them, side by side, he the paint pot and she the watered-down offering to the side.  A canvas appeared in the garden with them, and she painted on it for Ami's amusement, a tonal observation running from deepest blue on the left to palest bluish-grey on the right; they were shades of one another, Cicero and Ami and Jeanne was deeply envious of their beauty.

Startled by the emotion seeping into her heart, she stepped sharply back from the fledgling and withdrew her greenhouse effect from her as well, fearing she'd overstepped her welcome.  Her expression was troubled as she looked at Cicero, sounding a heartbeat into his chest, where it originated from herself; from her heart, she was sorry.  Fledglings... connections... they were her weakness and her sorrow.  Abruptly, she cut herself off from communicating with them, needing to close herself off from any nearby family members as well, lest she be reprimanded.  Her eylashes fluttered as she smoothed her expression into a mask of polite interest.  "She's lovely, I'm sure she'll make you very proud," she told Cicero, preparing to take her leave and deliberately not looking at Ami.

[Harlequin]

Jeanne would feel Ami's jaw tense under her hand, back moving mechanically to straightness as her shoulder was pushed on. She was shuttered and on-guard as soon as her space was invaded, and for a moment fear fractured the garden the Ancient lead her into. Soon she was suffused with the warmth and care the other vampire was sending her, and the image resolved. Her face turned upward despite herself, toward the sun that she would never see again, rendered so lovingly and so true to life. There was a coldness gripping her chest, though, keeping its heat out. She realized she was fighting back tears. She swallowed them down, hating that such a visceral reaction ad been awoken in her so easily. The sun was dead for her; there was no point crying over it. Crying never did anyone any good.

The world Jeanne presented was reflected in glaring technicolor in Ami's mind, sharper edged and brighter than any Earthly landscape. The Fledgling felt like she'd stepped into one of Vivianne's chalk drawings. She could taste Jasmine and magnolia in the air, heavy and dripping with dew. She reached out to her sire's mind, to share her wonder, only to find her way blocked by a mossy stone wall. The absence of his thoughts unsettled her more than she had ever anticipated, but she drew comfort from the continued presence of their blood bond.

The Ancient's words reminded her of her father when she was a child (Stand up straight, Amelia. Don't climb trees, Amelia – OH FOR GOD'S SAKE DO NOT SPIT ON PEOPLE AMELIA. – even though her full name wasn't and never had been Amelia)  before he had given up on her.  Something in her sneered at the idea of giving up the chip on her shoulder, but the message was heard. Respect had always been something people had to earn from Ami, and this Jeanne certainly had it. Compassion was hard for Ami, too. But there were a lot of things that were hard for her that she'd have to learn to deal with.

She approached the canvas with interest, and amusement it evoked indeed. Her lips twitched upward.

And then all of it was ripped away as soon as it had come, and Ami was bereft. Ami understood that she'd been given something beautiful and unique from this woman, even if she didn't fully understand it. And now the Ancient wouldn't even look at her. The sorrow in her was palpable.

Ami reached out to grasp her elbow – a light, fleeting brush of fingertips before she withdrew "Thank you."

She was saying that an awful lot lately.

[Trillian]

He watched Ami slump and was resigned that this was her manner and he couldn't change it.  His emotions weren't ringing of disappointment, she would not feel this, but of a bemused tolerance that he hadn't chosen a fledge that had social graces.  Such things weren't necessary these days, she was a modern woman, a modern vampire, and the most important thing she could do was to behave respectfully to an Ancient.  She'd done that, so this was all he required.  He was therefore stunned when Jeanne fixed Ami's posture; not that the Ancient had done so, but rather Ami had allowed it.  He retained the opinion that Ami would've given him lip and pulled away if her sire had made this maneouvre (though he wouldn't have), but it was nice to know that she didn't push back with powerful strangers.  Her survival instinct was strong indeed, that she could battle her very nature.

And then his connection to her was gone.  He could still feel his blood bond with her - the constant throbbing not unlike the beating of a mortal heart.  Knowing this now, he thought he could understand why vampires made fledglings.  Why did he not feel this with Lazarus then?  Was it different from the fledge's perspective?  Or was it because Lazarus' blood bond was thinned from having so many fledges?  He had to ask Ami, whose real heart had been beating not so long ago.  He followed her, his eyes fluttering closed the better to focus.

He found himself facing a wall; a garden wall, he instinctively knew.  Ami and the Ancient woman were together within it.  Where he was there was night, but Ami was experiencing something different.  He wasn't sure what it was, but knew it was positive and good from their tether.  He tested the wall, placing his palms flat against it, marvelling at the detail of the stone and moss, of the leaves trickling down from trees that topped the wall itself.  He looked up and saw light playing with shadow.  So he was in the dark while Ami had a lit garden.  He pondered the artistry of such a thing and found it beautiful in its metaphor.  Ami would return with answers, so he didn't have to try and crumble this wall.  Part of him wanted to work on it, to see if he could pick away at the foundation - but such a thing would be felt and considered rude.  He trusted that Ami would warn him along their bond if things turned sour.

She returned soon enough, and the garden was gone.  Only the club light penetrating the thin shield of his eyelids remained and he opened them, to look at both women.  The Ancient turned to leave and Ami gave her thanks in a manner that was akin to worshipful.  Jealousy pierced Cicero's soul and he placed a protective arm around Ami's shoulders, drawing her to him and offering her a smile before looking at the Ancient she'd thanked - either meeting her gaze or watching her retreating back, depending on what Ami's touch brought them.

[Existentially Odd]

Jeanne couldn't help herself - even though it was the sire's forgiveness she ought to be seeking - she turned and smiled beatifically at Ami, paused in her retreat because she couldn't help but be drawn to the childe.  She was open and enthusiastic, despite her defensive presentation, willing to accept the gifts offered her.  Moreover, she was thankful, and that was awesome.

It was just... meeting Ami made her yearn for a connection of her own, and mourn what she'd forsaken.  Yet again.  Perhaps she should be seeking something meaningful but she still questioned if she was ready.  It might always be the case.

"You're welcome.  You know where to find me, if you need anything," she offered in her warm French accent, looking pointedly at the brochures in Cicero's hand.  Risk would be gone soon enough but her role would transfer to Venture.  With another apologetic look at the handsome man wrapped around Ami, she inclined her head in deference and left them to their night.  She was certain that Charon would be interested in this exchange and she was pleased to have something to discuss with him.