[reserved for Existentially Odd]
BEN'S EXISTENCE APPEARED busy and fulfilled. The supernatural Academy that held Kerr's name was small but finally operating efficiently after a few initial hiccups. He'd managed to rope three older vampires into mentoring and lecturing full classes of fledglings who either had no sire, young sires or sires unwilling to teach. There were a few other creatures - a couple of demons, a few different faefolk and surprisingly, a human educated in all manner of supernatural understanding. He suspected she dabbled in witchcraft and had made a mental note to see her about expanding classes to include a small curriculum in that as well.
The city had fallen, in a way. There were a few supernaturals that still managed their districts but nobody was policing anything... not properly. He'd extracted himself from it, after trying on an ambassador's role. It hadn't been the right fit and he'd known it but tried anyway. As the districts broke down, Ben's social circle minimised to the point where he didn't even go out to the vampire clubs anymore. He had his blood delivered in baggies and they were all he drank from. He'd retreated from his friends and acquaintances. He'd refused every one of Ichabod's tentative and Murphy's stubborn attempts to talk until they'd appeared to give up. He lived in isolation; almost.
It was the almost that was important. He'd advertised for an aspect shifter to look like Kerr but was unable to be fooled by his attempts (not because he didn't look like Kerr for he'd looked exactly the part), but because he didn't talk like Kerr, either with words or accent, or move like him, or use the same expressions. It was like watching Kerr being taken over by someone else. It allowed him to exactly understand the pain his sire would've felt seeing Jack in Ben's body. Ironically, it made him feel closer to Kerr, even though his sire was dead.
And there was no coming back from that, but Ben had managed to find a way to wrap himself up in Kerr's memory. He'd found a way to talk to him, to be touched by him, to be loved by him once again. He knew he was fooling himself but it didn't matter. He was getting what he wanted. And the vampire that was giving him Kerr back... he was getting what he wanted, too. Ben didn't know what his motives were, but he didn't care. He just never wanted it to be over.
It was always the same; three nights a week, a little after midnight, Kerr would come to his door. It wasn't Kerr but it was, because his memory of Kerr was being used for the imagery and familiarity. What he heard, felt and saw was his sire... even if it wouldn't look that way to someone observing them. Someone watching would observe a beautiful young man being seduced by a man-creature with a monstrous visage. He didn't care what Charon looked like in reality--he never saw it. He didn't even care what kind of vampire Charon was--whether compassionate or murderous, because all Charon let Ben see was his beloved Kerr. Ben looked at Charon with love, because he saw Kerr. He held, kissed, and made love with Kerr.
And so, when he opened the door a little earlier than usual one night, to find Kerr standing before him, he assumed it was his usual lover. The sensation of being in the presence of his sire was a little stronger than usual, but it had been something Charon had been able to fake as well--though Ben's memory of the bond had distorted and faded a little over time. Ben's smile broadened and he felt himself bouyed by the extra zing put into tonight's appearance. Deep in his subconscious, he understood this must mean Charon had fed recently and his mental connection was stronger than usual. On the surface, though:
What is that expression? I've not seen it before
"Kerr," he greeted warmly, though calmly.
