A Thousand Words

[Existentially Odd]

Owen had the grace to look sheepish when he realised Vincent had figured out where his thoughts had taken him; almost at the same time he'd figured it out for himself.  He was embarrassed not only because his unreasonable jealousy had caused them to fight in the past but also because he still felt he didn't really have a right to feel such things.  He'd left Vincent, after all, and had contemplated staying away from him permanently; what right did he have to now turn around and get possessive?  It was hypocritical of him to think the way he was and he blushed a little as his gaze fell and then slid away to contemplate the photograph they stood before.

This image was much more beautiful than the others and it could be interpreted quite deeply, too.  It was a shot of what Owen recognised as the New York skyline, taken from quite a distance away, through a window with rain pouring onto and dribbling down it.  Though the city and cloudy sky were bleak, the window was four panes of clear glass framed by warm, polished wood, shining golden beneath the photographer's lights in a most welcoming and happy manner.  Owen thought it likely represented happiness within a person or in a family or home, while the cold world was kept at bay, though he imagined it could be interpreted other ways - that the world's greyness and sadness would eventually seep into everything, if you opened up to it, for one thing.  Perhaps this photograph was a warning against such things.  Either way, it was a beautiful shot with details and texture in the wood and facets in the water droplets that his vampiric sight delighted in.

"Only in the sense that it might make them think they can have you, or connect with you in ways I don't want them to," Owen admittted, gnawing on the inside of his lower lip as he looked back at Vincent, his head bowed so that he was looking somewhat through his lashes at his sire.  A frown drew his eyebrows gently together.  "Plus... you took all the responsibility, so now he thinks it was all your fault, when really you were just... well, you didn't mean to upset me, you thought you were doing the right thing.  Hurting me wasn't intentional but the way you told him makes it kind of sound like it was."  It was a difficult situation, really.  He didn't want Ben to think that Vincent was a cheater because he might grow interested in sleeping with him, having no partner or sire of his own - he didn't want Ben to see cracks between them where he might cosy in and he knew how alluring Vincent was.  Having Ben think Vincent was a bastard and responsible for all their dramas therefore worked in his favour, yet he also didn't want the man he loved to be misrepresented.

Owen was certainly becoming familiar with rocks and hard places.

[Trillian]

Vincent had no idea Owen was still thinking and talking about Ben.  The general language he was using was being accepted at face value and he had no reason to believe otherwise.  He thought Ben had been a catalyst for a broader conversation.  For this reason, he spoke candidly without thinking of specifics.

"They can try," he said with amusement, because he truly hadn't had many propositions in all his years on the planet.  Of course there were the Risk donors, and now the Venture donors, but he discounted them.  Any proposals they might make towards him would be impersonal and merely a means to an end; their desire to be submerged into pleasure by the bite, and their wish to continue the effect with sexual release.  He was flattered by their interest, but it was never considered more than a passing compliment paid by someone who had ulterior motives.  "Look at you, rushing to my defence," he said, feeling warm in his chest and squeezing Owen a little closer to him.  "What would you like me to say in future then, as to why we go home to separate houses?"

Because 'none of your business' just wasn't his style, though it certainly would be in his thoughts.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen gave a breathy laugh as Vincent observed him rushing to his defence then opened his mouth to give a reason as to why they lived separately but words failed him so he closed it again, his expression falling into a frown.  It was a difficult thing to explain and there were times - like right now - that even he didn't understand what the point of it was... but then he remembered how it felt to read all those documents and to realise he wasn't what he'd thought he was and it made sense to him.

He fell pliantly against Vincent as he was squeezed, using it as an excuse to wrap his other arm about his sire as well and bringing their faces within a breath of one another.  Staring into Vincent's eyes, he was still trying to think of a decent, vanilla reason they could give to anyone who was interested in knowing why they were together but... not.

"Um... I really don't know.  It wouldn't make sense to anyone else... doesn't even always make sense to me," he shrugged limply, giving his sire a wry smile.  "I suppose... I need some time to find myself?  That's very cliché isn't it?" he asked and laughed at himself.  "Though it's probably better than, 'We're exploring our individuality to better understand our relationship'!" he offered and giggled harder.  "Hopefully no-one asks," he mused, lifting a hand to brush across the very fine, very appealing shoulder of Vincent's new shirt.

[Trillian]

Vincent was aware of the fact they would be better off elsewhere.  Perhaps a nook, where they could talk, rather than discussing their relationship out here in this room filled with people idly wandering around looking at photographs.  He didn't particularly care about appearance's sake, but he felt stifled by how much they could discuss here.  It was a good place for small talk and recreating familiarity, but they were getting a little too familiar.

"Do you want to talk about this properly?" Vincent asked, pulling away from Owen a little so he could better look at him, and was holding him by his hips.  "Or return to it later, back at your place?"

[Existentially Odd]

Owen's eyes lit up as he remembered that he'd made allowances for this very event (yet in the middle of it, he'd somehow forgotten until prompted) and he pulled away a little so that he could look at his watch.  He'd arranged for the carriage to be waiting outside the arts studio from a certain time since he'd had no idea how enthralled they'd be by the exhibition and he wanted to be ready; he was pleased to note that it should be outside by now.

"I have a surprise for you," he grinned, returning to holding Vincent's hand.  "Somewhere where we can talk now.  Shall we quickly look at the rest of the exhibit, though?  It's waiting outside for us," he said enigmatically, drawing his sire onward.

[Trillian]

The haphazard way he was being told about the 'surprise' let Vincent know that Owen was quite excited over it.  He allowed himself to be led, and his smile returned.  Vincent was intrigued by what kind of surprise would have Owen brimming proudly.  Anything would be a pleasant surprise as long as it meant more time with Owen.  Every moment they had right now was a stolen moment, he felt, until the night they finally lived together again.

"I'm happy with either.  It depends which you'd prefer to have last longer," he said, wondering if the surprise was a quick thing like a gift or another event like the photography showing.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen gave Vincent a crooked look.  "That's not an answer!" he declared, though his sire's hint was enough to help him decide.  The idea of being snuggled under a blanket in the back of a horse carriage while it clopped around city streets and through the park was definitely the place he wished to be the longest.  "Come on," he urged and led Vincent around the gallery at a much brisker pace than they'd previously been achieving.  It meant that they occasionally had to lean around people to see some of the photographs because they couldn't afford to wait for empty viewing spaces to open up, but it was enough to get a good feel for the timbre of the showing and also to see everything.

It made Owen feel much better that they saw every picture because he didn't wish to squander money (even if the tickets hadn't been expensive, since the artist was starting out) and it gave him a sense of completion that had him walking out with a satisfied smile on his face.  It faded when they stepped onto the footpath and he couldn't immediately see a horse and carriage but walking around the corner brought instant relief as it was very hard to miss a Clydesdale fancily attired and snuffling in a nose bag while a tophatted driver sat behind it looking at his phone.

"Here's the surprise," he told Vincent, lifting his free hand to indicate the horse as they walked towards it and then smiling hopefully at his sire.  "I know, it's nothing new to you to drive around in a horse and carriage but I thought it sounded really lovely and I wanted to do it with you - I hope you don't mind indulging me?" he appealed, tilting his head and throwing his sire his cutest look.  Vincent didn't get a long time to respond because, in his eagerness, they'd walked very quickly to the driver, who noticed them and nimbly got down from his elevated seat.

"Can I help you sir?" he enquired politely, waiting to be given a name before he welcomed them aboard.

"I'm Owen Harper and this is Vincent," he introduced them dutifully.  "I, uh, hired you for tonight," he said, unsure of exactly what to say.

Having heard the name he wanted, the driver was polished and casually reassuring in his response.  "Very good, sir, my name's Malcolm.  If you'll step this way," he said, urging them both to the side of the buggy, where he opened the side door and lowered the step.  "Mind your footing, it could be slippery.  Would you like the hood up or down this evening?  There's a nice thick blanket on the seat for you and the sides are raised enough that you shouldn't be bothered by the wind, but if you think you'll get cold, the hood offers extra protection."

"We'll have it left down, thank you," Owen answered confidently and used Vincent's held hand to guide him towards getting into the carriage first.  He expected his husband would be an expert at such things so he could observe the way he did it, just to guide him a little - as well as his action being polite.

"An excellent choice, sir, there's actually some sky and stars to be seen tonight, looks like those cold clouds might have cleared away for a few nights like the weather woman predicted," the driver said, continuing his small talk as he watched Owen ascend into the carriage after Vincent.  Once they were both in, he lifted the step and closed the door on them, then headed to his horse to removed her feedbag so they could be on their way.

Owen didn't watch him, he was too busy picking up the soft, heavy blanket that had, indeed, been placed on the velvet seat for them and settling down against Vincent's right side, the blanket tucked around them.  "Wow, this is nice," he breathed, surprised by how high the back of the seat and carriage was and how cosy it felt within.  They could see the traffic around them easily enough, yet there was still an element of being isolated in their own world too, especially with the candles flickering in their swinging lamps to light the interior intimately from each side of the carriage.  He smiled over at Vincent.  "Did you used to have one like this?" he enquired as Malcolm found his way back to the driving seat, called a warning that they were about to start driving and their unusual vehicle lurched quite smoothly into motion in the farthest right lane of the city street.  Cars were forced to slowly divert around them and Owen caught a few stares but his attention was held by Vincent when he spoke.

[Trillian]

He snuggled under the blanket with Owen, liking his surprise and feeling a little nostalgic because of it.  The traffic squashed any true immersion, but he knew he would be able to relish his nostalgia a little once they arrived at the park - a destination he calculated they were likely to head for.  It was sweet of Owen to organise this, and it was lovely how he asked about Vincent's history.  They'd talked a little of Vincent's life, of the history that he'd seen, but not of specific things like what he owned, or even what Vincent had done in his mortal years.

"I was a book-keeper," he said softly once they were underway, knowing his love would hear him and that the driver would not.  "We had no need for one, though my brother invested in a hackney and small wagon," he said.  "Nothing as beautiful as this or the horse that pulls it," he said, for a hackney was but a common breed, merely a sturdy riding horse and the wagon was a wooden contraption that only sat two and a tiny amount of supplies in the back.

[Existentially Odd]

"What sort of books did you keep?  Did you live close to your brother?" Owen enquired curiously, his head lolling against the padded back of the carriage and quite near Vincent's shoulder.  "Did you share the wagon and horse?  How many people lived in the... town?  City?  Where you lived, anyway?" he grinned, wanting desperately to be able to picture it.  Instinctively, his mind pressed at Vincent's, wanting to see his memories though he wasn't consciously aware he was making such a request.

[Trillian]

Vincent smiled indulgently at Owen.  It was surprising how much they'd talked of Vincent's life through the ages, and yet there was so little that he'd imparted on a personal level.  He supposed it was telling, that he would keep the details to himself and yet know everything about Owen.  It would help make them equals, if Owen knew his history.  Still, there was so much of it, and Vincent believed his life as a mortal was of little consequence.  Perhaps he was wrong about this, because he remembered his mortal years with much greater clarity than he remembered much of his time in the middle, after Lorica but before Abigail.  No, that wasn't quite right.  A lot of his time with Lorica was a blur, as well.  Another lifetime.

"Accounting," he clarified, wondering if Owen would think him a bore.  He cast his gaze sideways with some amusement.  "I was my brother's accountant, for the business he inherited.  I moved in with him when... when my wife and son perished in childbirth.  Salisbury was a fairly large town, and considered quite the bustling city back then.  It wasn't the size of London, but it was still noteworthy."  He was thoughtful a moment.  "I really couldn't give you an idea of population.  Maybe you should goggle it."

He mispronounced the name of the search engine that he knew was quite popular.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen smiled back at his sire.  "Google," he corrected quietly, his mind suddenly taken by the notion that Vincent had been married, with children.  He'd always known it, but it seemed that much of their discussions had centred on Vincent's life with Lorica, make her the dominant female in Vincent's life, yet there'd been another, before her.

"What was your wife's name?" he asked with a frown, tilting his head to regard Vincent properly.  He wasn't sure if he'd been told the woman's name and if he had, he'd forgotten it in lieu of remembering Lorica.  "How long were you married?"  He suddenly wanted to know everything about Vincent's marriage, how much in love they'd been, what having children was like, how devastated Vincent had been when she'd died.  "Was it hard... losing her?  Harder than Lorica?"

Funny, but it only just occurred to him in that moment that he'd never have children of his own.  It had never been important to him, not anything he'd ever thought consciously about yet... now that he realised it was an impossibility, he felt a pang of regret.  Stupid.

[Trillian]

"Marigold," he replied after nodding to the correction.  Google made more sense than goggle, considering a google was a large number, but he'd thought goggle made sense too, as though putting goggles on would help find things in the vast ocean that was the internet.  He'd have to simply remember that one.  "Only five years," he said.  The last few questions gave him a long pause as he thought about Marigold.  There'd been sadness, great sadness, because he'd learned to love her, but losing her to death had barely measured to losing Lorica's abandonment.

"No.  I'd proposed to Lorica first, you see.  She denied me and left.  I accepted the first marriage that was arranged for me after that.  Being with Lorica had been a dream, and when she left I had to wake up.  I was very young when I met her.  Fourteen, I believe."  A fourteen year old in that age was much like an eighteen year old now, because it had been a time when children had to grow up as quickly as possible in a harsh, harsh world.  It was a lovelier time nowadays, when childhood was cherished and protected.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen's expression showed that he was startled and the sensation likely travelled along their blood bond.  "You proposed to Lorica when you were fourteen?  And she was a how-old vampire?" he asked, finding it very difficult to imagine Vincent as a fourteen year old, let alone one proposing to an older woman.  He had balls, that was for sure.  Massive ones, figuratively speaking.

[Trillian]

Vincent chuckled.  "I had no idea how old she was, when we first met.  I thought she was as old as she looked - fifteen or so, though she'd been seventeen when sired.  We had quite the scandalous tryst, and it was during one of our sneak-aways that she eventually told me of her condition, but I was a love-struck boy who accepted everything at face-value and gave it no further thought.  My family was pushing me to marry because I would turn fifteen soon, and people would start wondering what was wrong with me that I couldn't find a wife, so I proposed to Lorica.  It made sense to me, but she told me I wasn't..." he failed to find the words, and shook his head.  "She left and broke my heart, so I married Marigold, arranged by my family, and had five years with her before she died.  I was a widower at twenty.  She was a good woman.  A kind woman."

[Existentially Odd]

Owen told himself that Vincent loved him more than he'd ever loved Lorica, but it was difficult to believe when that particular timbre was evident in his sire's voice... he mentally chastised himself for it.  What did it matter, when Lorica was dead, when she'd broken Vincent's heart more than once and treated him cruelly besides?  At least his track record was better... slightly.  He'd hurt Vincent deeply but he'd come back and here they were, fixing things.  It made him feel superior to a long-dead ghost - and he hoped desperately that Vincent didn't pick up on that.

"And you had... two daughters, wasn't it?" Owen prompted, wanting to hear more about mortal, twenty year old Vincent.  How dashingly handsome he must have looked then, without the lines of worry life had painted upon his face in later years to marr his perfect countenance.  "What was it like, being a father?"  He expected to hear tales of wonderful family bonding such as he'd been denied, since his 'father' had been dead and Vincent had kept his distance in that respect - stories of tucking giggling girls into bed at night, reading them bedtime stories and kissing foreheads with love.