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With a click, the living room's corner lamp woke to life. Through its pale lampshade it cast the northern side of the apartment in a cozy, warm glow and left pools of darkness in shadowed corners. The trinkets adorning the planes of the bookshelf reflected its fractured rays like glowing eyes; crystals and rocks, sculptures of varying sizes, an old antique clock ticking quietly. The soft light across the mismatched dark leather of sofas made them look soft and comfortable rather than cold and uninviting, decorated with pillows and neatly folded blankets.
Quietly, Lucien weaved between furniture and across the length of the room, his feet thudding softly against wooden floors and patterned rugs as he moved to a dark cabinet along the other wall to light a few candles. After a second of deliberation he lit a stick of incense as well.
From the entranceway behind him he heard the rustle of clothes and then the echo of a door closing. To his left, permeating though the windows and layers of dark, heavy curtains, he could hear the occasional car pass by, despite the late hour — or very early morning.
"Don't forget the lock, please," he said, softly.
Without responding Callista took the last bag of clothing from Ward. "I'll be fine now. Take the rest to storage. Be back before sunrise."
A moment of hesitation as Ward looked past her shoulder and into the dimly lit room. "I'll be fine," she repeated, forcing Ward's eyes to meet hers. "Go."
Ward shrugged and turned to walk, mumbling something to akin of "text me if you need anything I guess," before walking out the door.
Callista stood by the threshold, waiting to close and lock the door until Ward had gone back into the tightly packed van.
Listening to the old engine revving as she drove away, Callista suppressed the instinct to sigh.
What a fucking night...
"Shoes on or off?" She asked as she finally recognized Lucien's presence.
"Off, please."
Returning to the hall entryway, he put his hands in his pockets and watched Callista as she removed her footwear.
"Ward's not joining us tonight?"
"Later," she responded, focusing on her balance as she removed one heel after the other, rather than giving a more polite answer. "She's taking the last of the things from the house to storage." Each time the thought of the house entered her mind, the urge to sigh grew stronger. "She'll be back before sunrise." A statement. There were no room for doubt when it came to her ghoul, that much was clear in her voice.
She picked up the bags, though she carried them as if they were packed with naught but paper.
Slowly she walked in and up the half step though not too far to let him lead her where he wanted her and her things. She quickly flicked her eyes over his form, up and down before moving to the knick-knacks hanging on the walls and ceiling.
"You have taste." Another statement.
The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "I do," Lucien agreed and made a show of slowly looking around.
The apartment was a mix of old and new; sleek designer items and charming second-hand carefully picked and matched along with his clear interest for the spiritual sprinkled throughout with animal bones, crystals, and containers of dried plants and herbs.
"I enjoy a space both beautiful and comfortable... physically and spiritually. As I'm sure most do, to a degree," he said and then motioned to the living room. "Now, welcome in. Make yourself comfortable."
"If you say so," she hummed as her eyes followed his own. To her it was cluttered, yet everything felt deliberately placed. She imagined it suit him quite well.
With a nod sufficing as a thank you, she entered his living space. She put the bags down, stacking one on the other to not take up too much space. Again her eyes wandered. To his windows. Heavy, layered curtains standing between them and the outside world. To his bed just out of sight, just a few steps up. The crystal ball without a spec of dust.
"Do you often have guests over?" Again her eyes flickered over to the windows. She couldn't see if they had any additional protection. "Any during daytime?" She added with an added nonchalance as she took a seat on the couch hugging the wall.
Lucien watched her for a moment.
"Visitors during daytime? Not much anymore, I'm afraid,” he answered, voice casual. He turned around and approached the candle-clad cabinet, absentmindedly adjusting the incense holder by a centimeter as he asked behind him, “Would you like anything? Tea? I have some lovely aromatic blends. Quite soothing.”
She opened her mouth but quickly closed it. An ungrateful, maybe even stupid question. Instead she forced her shoulders to relax, leaning back into the couch. "If you're having a cup, I can take one."
A moment of silence, interlinked with the clinking of cups and running water.
"I was asking in case Ward should know of anything like that. Wouldn't want her to shoot anyone of yours." She watched his back, looking for... something. "Can't be too careful."
No answer was given aside from a thoughtful hum.
A moment later Lucien turned around, a small wooden tray in hand carrying two white porcelain cups, each of different design. They were both placed neatly upon matching saucers.
He walked around the couch across Callista and sat down, placing the tray on the table between them. Only one of the cups had anything in it, floral-scented steam steadily rising.
“Chamomile,” he divulged, motioning with a hand. “Feel free to drink it or empty it out in the other cup… once you’ve had a moment to enjoy the fragrance.”
Callista looked between the filled and empty cups, then finally to Lucien with a questioning look but made no further comment. Instead she simply nodded and reached for the filled cup. She could feel the heat radiating through the porcelain. This close the smell was strong but not overpowering. But her dead stomach nevertheless still turned at the very thought of drinking it.
"Do you still drink it? Not…adding anything?" She said, pushing down the grimace at the thought as she poured the tea into the other cup.
"Unfortunately the benefits of drinking tea has been overpowered by our innate repulsion of... anything other than our preferred diet." His mouth grew a faint smile. "No, I thought we could do a bit of tasseography if you'd like. Please leave just a bit of tea left."
Her nose slightly scrunched up at the new word, but followed his directions nonetheless to the best of her abilities.
"I've never heard of that before," she began. She managed to only spill a few drops. Drops that ran down the edge and then outside of her cup, then finally down onto to the table. "What is it?"
At Callista's curiosity his eyes softened slightly. "You may be more familiar with the colloquial term of tea leaf reading. One may use it for insight into a situation or one's self, or for a glimpse into the future. Quite interesting, if I say so myself..."
His eyes traveled along the cup and the stray drops of tea glittering on top of the dark surface of the table.
"Now, swirl it around a few times and pour out the rest of the liquid. Do you have anything in particular you're thinking about?" He stretched out his hands, palms up, fingers adorned with rings.
"A lot of things. I don't have the time or luxury not to," she responded a bit too quickly, nonchalantly swirling the tea around in the cup. She took her time, her eyes distant for a moment as if in deep in thought. "How about... is this place safe for me? For a day at least," she said, the same air of nonchalance in her words as she poured the rest of the tea out.
"So?" She asked expectantly, looking at him as if she attempted to pierce his form with her examining gaze alone. "Did I choose poorly?"
He let out a huff of amusement. "An understandable worry, I suppose. I could placate you with promises but perhaps inferring for yourself is of higher value. Let's see, shall we?"
Slowly, he reached across the table and touched Callista's hands holding the cup, fingertips barely brushing the back of her hands. His eyes roamed the dark patterns inside the china.
"Tell me, what do you see? We're looking for symbols, objects. Us humans are wired to find likeness in shapes and patterns — pareidolia, I believe it's called." His words were soft as he spoke. "What can your eyes make out?"
At first she didn't move her eyes from him. In fact, she didn't move at all to his touch. Unmovable. Stiff? It was hard to say.
But once she saw whatever she was looking for, she too looked into the cup.
"I suppose that could be a... tree? Evergreen. A flying bird and a-" for a quick moment her lips pursed into a thin line, before just as quickly turning back to normal. "Could be a cross, I suppose."
She lightly shrugged her shoulders. "What does it mean? That God will cause the house to fly away in our sleep? A tree breaking through the window?" she asked with a fleeting sarcasm in her voice, veiling the anticipation in her eyes as she looked back up at him.
Lucien's gaze was still locked to the cup. He let out a thoughtful hum in response.
"Well, although your guesses may lack finesse I place credence in your eyes. A tree symbolizes good luck, actually. As well as prosperity and happiness. Likewise, a bird could mean the same. It is also a symbol of a good journey." His eyes traveled back up to Callista's, caught her gaze over the rim of his decorative reading glasses. "It sounds like you've made a good choice, that this route turned out to be a good path to walk in preparation for the future. Now, the cross..."
With a wave of his fingers he motioned along the rim of the cup.
"The location of the leaves denote different things. It's position along the bottom indicates the distant future. A cross there could signify trouble or delay... Death..." His eyes flicked back up, pools of black. He let the words resonate for a moment before he continued, voice dark and soft. "It... also looks a bit like a dagger to me. It means you'll receive help from your friends. Fitting — in this case — I would think..."
"Well, I will have to take your word for it," she huffed. "With my lack of finesse and all."
Putting the cup down she was the first one to pull away, his rings feeling cool as they graced past her skin.
"But just in case; as promised, Ward will look over us both during the day," she continued, her now free hand grabbing her tie to loosen it as the other rested on the couch backrest."I supposed you're not interested in helping me with my work using your... is it witchcraft?" She looked up at him, letting go of her tie to wave away any sense of judgment. "I don't mean anything by it. I've just never seen any of- I've just never seen it before. God knows... we could use any help we can get after tonight."
Lucien reclined back, the air between them — although somewhat thick still — felt less charged. Folding his hands in his lap, he tilted his head to the side as he listened.
"Well, any and all insight I am able to give I will, of course, share. Although anyone can look at and discern their own meaning out of leaves, I will perhaps be as brash as to say not all can do it like me." He looked to the mirror hanging among the dozen images of the gallery wall behind Callista, knowing that if she chose to stand right now the mirrored glass would reveal nothing. Hidden from a perspective more complex but clear to the naked eye. Just look...
He blinked, brought himself back to the present.
"...To see what others can't, to hear the unsaid, to feel and to predict... These are the unique gifts I possess. Witchcraft, spiritual sensitivity, sixth sense... you may call it whatever you like. I am here to provide." He smiled faintly.
"I wouldn't know anything about... anything like that," she shrugged. "I've met others, from your clan, and if there's one thing I've learned it's not to even try to understand. You're reliable. That's enough for me, so I'll take your advice into consideration."
Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes followed where his had wandered.
"Did you do any of this when you were still alive?" she asked, forcing her eyes away from the mirror in as cool of a manner as she could. "Was it your... unique gifts that made you famous to begin with?" Giving him no time to respond she fished out her phone out of her pocket, unlocking it with a matching pen. "It wasn't hard to find you. You or Carmilla." Unfortunately, she added to herself.
She briefly looked at the feed. It had changed quite a bit in the last 5 years. "It's an impressive following. It should earn you a pretty penny if you did sponsorships."
He looked down on the phone in her hand, an upside down collage of familiar faces staring back at him in various poses and outfits. A happy man. Ambitious. Yet, he was missing something... His eyes yet unopened.
Slowly, Lucien answered. "I used to do plenty. Though it's been a long time since then... I've left that life behind."
"Hmm," she hummed as she slowly scrolled through the feed. "I didn't know there was this much of an audience for that sort of thing. My guess was modeling..." Her voice distant, as if him being there to listen was merely a coincidence.
She couldn't help but wonder what happened to her pictures. Glancing up at him she compared the him to the pictures. Did they look any different? It had been years since she saw a candid picture of herself. In the moment. How different did she look compared to...
"A shame, but probably a good thing. No need to drag attention to yourself if you aren't prepared for what follows," she said, another shrug as she locked her phone, laying it face down on the table.
"Indeed..." he murmured, a faraway look in his eyes. "...But no, anything spiritual was just a private hobby of mine. It is part of what brought upon my embrace, but that sort of thing was not part of my career."
"I see..." She looked at his eyes. She knew that look and quickly turned to look at… well anything else. "Well, I'll keep my end of the bargain and teach you what I know, if you want. Whatever that's worth. Also, let me know if you need anything to continue your work. I think we'll need it." She glanced back at him from the corner of her eyes. "Well, you've read me. Tell me what you are thinking about."
Lucien amusedly raised a brow.
"What I'm thinking about? Well, as a wise woman once said; 'Many things. I don't have the opportunity not to.'" He looked to the ceiling with a dramatic sigh as he spoke, repeating Callista's earlier words back to her. "Not a moment goes by where my mind is quiet and empty, I'm afraid." He looked back at her, lips stretched into a faint smile.
Then, the humor left his face and only a thoughtful expression remained. He watched the half-shadowed silhouette of his guest, dark hair shining beautifully in the lamplight, the glitter of her dangling earring as she moved; an intricate cross, glowing gold.
"...Tell me, Callista; are you religious? I've noticed a tendency for religious imagery, both on your person but also in the private sanctuary of your home." Head tilted curiously, he continued conversationally, "Does God still hold a presence in your unlife?"
The change in her demeanor was undeniable. From relaxed — or as relaxed as she seemingly she was able to accomplish — in the midst of an eye roll of his teasing, to the unmovable stiffness of a wall.
"Yes," she responded cautiously, throwing one leg over the other to take up more space on the couch. She would not be made smaller. "Believing in God again didn't seem so crazy when it turned out that things like us, werewolves, ghosts and-" She nodded towards him. "-magic exists." Her head tilted slightly upward, refusing to look away from his gaze. "Why are you asking?"
"It is of no ill will, I assure you," he said calmly, noticing her defensive hackles raise. "I understand your point. My embrace... it widened my worldview, I suppose you could say. The revelation of occults such as what you mention... It certainly makes one feel that nothing is impossible, even Him."
He let the words settle, watching the half-hidden tense lines in Callista's body language.
"...I can imagine," she answered, avoiding any sense of pittance in her voice. "If anything, with all the shit around us, of course He would be the one responsible for it." Another shrug followed by a harsh response, though not as defensive anymore. A slight relaxation in her shoulders, still holding her strength in place.
Again she cocked her head, to not look down at him anymore. The gold of her earrings glimmering in the soft light. "Do you believe then? In a God?"
Nodding slowly to her words Lucien responded, "I do. I grew up in a religious household, in fact. Me and my- ...family attended mass every Sunday up until around lycée — ah, high school." Mirroring Callista, he cocked his head. "Although I rarely, hmn... practice with the same reverence as when I was younger, I do believe God watches over us still."
A moment of silence.
"So did I," she responded, being the first one to break eye contact by looking away. "Growing up religious I mean. Orthodox Catholic. Though I was never much of a believer. Not a good one at least." A shadow of a smile. "I'm not worshiping any old man just because he's God," she quickly added. "I'm damned either way. It won't change anything even if I feel bad about it, so might as well give him something to watch." Again she looked back at him, her eyes unnaturally reflecting in the light. A dare in the corner of her painted lips, to whoever would question her.
Lucien only looked contemplative, fingers loosely interlocked in his lap.
He hummed thoughtfully. "Damned because of your new nature, you mean?"
"We are murderers, Lucien. Our lives- deaths, started with murder. We survive due to it." Callista spoke as if it was something inherently mundane. Something to not avoid and particularly to not dig deeper upon. As boring as the lint she was had begun to pick off the blanked behind her back. "How can any of us be anything but that? I don't know about you, but God has never appeared as the forgiving type."
"I see your argument. Yet an existence such as this is rarely something one chooses, is it?"
He's still, they both are. Undead; no need for the illusion of breathing — of life. Behind him, one of the candles starve and burn out.
"Far be it for me to assume the will of God but... would a choice placed upon someone else automatically doom them? Did you want this?" Before Callista has time to answer, he continues. "Regardless of how well you may adapt to your new reality, I'm simply pondering the damnation of the catalyst. The bullet, so to say. You would blame yourself for being shot?"
"No," she answered almost a bit too quickly. Deflective or practiced. "I would blame the one with the gun. Then the one who was dumb enough to give it to him." The air felt as cold as they were. Her jaws tensed. She had said too much. Shown too much. She had been seen. And yet...
"You're good," she huffed almost accusatory with a small amused half smile. There was something about the situation. Maybe it was the couch. The faint smell of the herbal tea. The drilling. It felt strangely nostalgic. "Quick... Smart. I like that about you."
His brows raised slightly and an amused smile developed past his initial deadpan candidness.
“I suppose I’m glad you find my perspective agreeable.” He nodded, smile genuine, though tinged with humor. “Thank you. I do my best. You’re quite the intelligent woman yourself. In more ways than I think you’re aware of. I think your stay here, and the no-doubt intriguing interchanges it will bring will benefit us both.”
"Well I don't know if you're right about everything-" A soft mur of a chuckle. Running deep in her throat like whiskey. "-But you're right about that part. It benefits us both to stick together. Continue doing your best, stay alive and I will make us successful. Just let me know if you need anything."
"Make us successful, you say? Quite some confidence, there. Though I get the feeling it's not unearned," Lucien hummed. For a moment his gaze turned contemplative before he continued with, "What is success to you, Callista?"
"Money. A ludicrous amount of it." She flexed her fingers, examining her nails.
The black french tip was chipped. Even one of them was still slightly burnt from the fire. The smell of the gas and smoke lingering between the nail folds. Her mind wandered to her legs, wondering if her skin was still red and cracked from the previous burns.
"Money gets you places most can only dream of. It makes you... somebody," she continues to explain, waving offhandedly towards her phone on the table. "You noticed it when you were alive, right? Maybe you got money after becoming somebody but at the end of the day, all they care about are numbers. Now holding onto those numbers-" She flicked her nail, turning her eyes back to him. "-that requires power. Now more than ever that someone could literally rip you apart if they wanted to.
"What about you? And for the love of god don't say something as cliche as ‘love’ or ‘friends’ or I'll need something stronger," she scoffed, nodding towards the cups.
Although she was somewhat jesting, Lucien sat silently, expression impassive.
“Power… is knowledge,” he began, speaking slowly. “About yourself, your allies, your adversaries… It’s knowledge of the past, to be able to extrapolate from previous events or from skills you’ve gained to be able to devise the optimal course of action — the correct one. And if you know what you’re doing… it will be.”
He ran his gaze over Callista; down her face, along the shoulders and over the dark lines of her clothes, her pained nails and crossed legs. It wasn’t a look of judgment, nor did it appear like he was trying to gleam anything out of her appearance or body language. Perhaps he was lost in thought, or perhaps what he was seeing in her was something incorporeal, metaphysical… Maybe nothing at all. Maybe something only he could see.
“Money is powerful, yes,” he continued, thoughtfully. “But without knowledge you wouldn’t know what to with it, would you? And then where would you stand? You have the numbers, yet sooner or later they will trickle through the gaps of your fingers like grains of sand.”
"I've been in the business for the better part of a decade. I have multiple stock... investments. Even if I were to lose all of it again I'll be able to make it all back." Her jaw clenched and eyes hardened. As if she had been reminded of a bad smell that still clung to an already washed jacket. Something about the way he spoke.
"As for the rest-"
About the way he was looking at her. Like a child with the stolen candy in it's pocket was afraid to be caught by the adult looking a bit too close.
"-that's what I have you — all of you — for, right?" Uncrossing her legs, she spread them, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. The loose tie framing her toned forearms. Her collarbones peaking through the popped open collar. "You see more than most. I'll need that. Just be careful where you do it, hmm?"
He cocked his head, now to the other side. Then a small, polite smile grew upon his face once more.
"Unfortunately, I can't turn off my senses that easily. But I will, of course, try to keep my nose as clean as I can. Time will do the rest." He unclasped his hands, ran them down his thighs and let them rest upon his knees. Mirroring Callista, he leaned forward.
Tone conspiratorial, he murmured, "I don't distrust your Knowledge, my friend. I have a good feeling about you. Trust what you know, and your actions will lead you down the right path." His smile widened.
"You better." The same confident smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Her confidence was unwavering, yet the way her shoulders slightly slumped it was clear that whatever he had seen, true or not, were good news.
"You were the one to ask me to teach you." Another quick smile before her eyes grew darker. "That will be our deal. No boons or anything. Just me teaching you how to defend yourself and you will keep those senses going so you can see what I can't. Then I will take us both down on the ‘right’ path... It's a better deal than I give most. Even those who I spend the day with."
A deal was made. A promise.
"But I have to warn you-" She leaned further, refusing to show any hint of the physical closeness bothering her. This close the gentle smell of the herbal tea became intermixed with whatever aftershave he was using. "I won't be gentle."
Lucien breathed out a chuckle and moved to recline back into his seat. Tilted his head back gracefully, confidently; revealing — and displaying — the bare skin of his long neck might have been both a sign of confidence and maybe even a taunt of temptation. A reminder of who they were.
Their eyes were still locked together.
His fingers slotted back together, and with a smirk that matched her own he whispered, "Oh, I didn't expect you to."
"Good." She leaned back as well, seemingly content with the reaction he had given her. "Then I've given you the right impression of myself. That you can relay to the others. If they start talking. As for the rest..." She broke the eye contact, her gaze falling to the floor before quickly returning into place. At him, with a meaning look. "That will stay between us, won't it?"
Lucien gave her an amicable nod. "Of course. I've no desire for gossip. Our conversations as friends are our business only."
"Just making sure-" Callista hummed, lips pressed thinned. "-because you might not feel the same after a couple of nights together." It was said with such certainty. A promise or an assumption.
With a tug on one end, her silk tie easily slid off, lazily folding it off to the side.
"But I'll take your word for it. For now." A short nod, though it was impossible to know if it was from satisfaction or gratitude.
Eyebrows raised in amusement, Lucien moved to rest an elbow on the arm of his seat, planted his chin in his palm and watched Callista make herself comfortable.
"Planning to put me through the ringer then?"
"They-" She nodded towards the covered windows. To the outside world. "-won't be gentle just because you are soft spoken or pretty. They will probably try to take advantages of that fact."
One of her hands, as nonchalant as she could, touched the couch's fabric. It was softer compared her couch. Definitely not as expensive. But softer. If it weren't for the unnatural hold daybreak held over them she didn't think someone like her would be able to rest here.
"So I would only do you a disservice if I went soft on you now."
Lucien hummed. "Well, I requested training for a reason. I know where my strengths lie, of course... but it would be foolish not to work on myself in other ways. So," he nodded in her direction. "I do appreciate your guidance when it comes to the art of combat. From what I've seen you're certainly not lacking as an artist of violence." He smiled roguishly.
"There's... there is nothing artistic about it," Callista huffed, scrunching her nose at the sudden approval of what she did. Who she was. Again she started clicking her nails, digging deep into the nail bed of her thumb. "It's just instinct... I guess. I don't..."
She looked down on her nails, staring as hard as it will take to convince anyone that it didn't mean anything to her. Her nail dug deeper. Something was stuck in there, she was sure of it. She could feel it. The wet grain that she never seemed to be able get out.
"I do what I have to." Her eyes snapped back to him. Steel once again. "I suggest you do the same."
Smile still on his face, he stayed quiet for a moment before responding, tone mild. "Of course. We all do, to some degree."
Lucien then casually moved his gaze around his room, traveling across the various decorations and knickknacks adorning his living space.
"Instinct..." he pondered. "You give off the image of a confident woman, Callista. You enjoy giving that impression. And who doesn't? I do the same."
His gaze caught upon a black marble bust, cracked and glued together with gold kintsugi, facing the darkness of the room, unseeing. With his face to the side, she could see his eyes past the gold frame of his glasses, hazy as he seemed lost in thought.
"Is instinct inherently bad? Are we to be ashamed of what we're good at? What does it mean, to have a talent for the unsavory? I do see art in violence. There is a deliberation and fluidity in the movements required; you want to be efficient, and in doing so you polish your very instincts. The flowing motions of kung fu, the sharp jabs of boxing... Are they so different? I think the mastery of one's self is admirable, the goal of violence being inherent or not."
"Well, all I'm saying is calling what I do ‘boxing’ might be... a bit much. I've only taken a few classes and that was years ago."
The monologue seemed to have snapped her away from her nails. Even the assumption that her confidence was simply an image seemingly swept past her unnoticed. Her eyes glanced over her knuckles, rubbing the palm of her hand over them.
"Just temper your expectations. If you are looking for ‘art’, you won't find it with me. The best I could do is probably a pretty knife."
Again, her eyes found his. Distant. Something she didn't quite understand, but also did. Her shoulders dropped as if her dead lungs made her capable of releasing a deep sigh.
"We can change the subject. If you'd like," she said, crossing her leg, looking away from him and to the mess of trinkets he seemingly made sense of.
"If you wish."
Lucien’s eyes followed hers, wondered for a moment what she saw — what she thought of it — but then discarded that thought as irrelevant.
"Do you have any hobbies?" he asked. "Something to wind down with after work?"
"Really?" An eyebrow raised she managed to look back at him.
The normalcy of the question seemed almost absurd.
"Out of all things... that's what you want to ask me?" Shaking her head, she huffed out of her nose as she suppressed another smile from creeping in. Too many had been set loose already. "No. Do well tomorrow and I'll answer that. See it as a... motivator. "
Lucien smiled, the lopsided angle of his mouth almost playful. He tilted his head further as it rested on his palm. "Well, how exciting. The answer to that question must be compelling indeed for it to be given to me as a reward. What kind of things does a lethal businesswoman such as you get up to, I wonder."
"Keep wondering, Lucien. You are good at that. Which is why I think it will work well as a motivator." Mirroring him she tiled her head, resting the back of it against the wall behind her. "You are the one who called it a reward."
Not once had her mind wandered towards the work waiting for her in one of her bags. Only when he mentioned her profession, did she feel the sting of guilt for not performing her early morning duties. How long had it been since she last spend the night simply talking? She honestly couldn't say.
She continued, "Make sure to be fed beforehand, alright? It will help you focus."
"Hm, well. I have to admit there are always... quite the amount of impressions around, always battling for my attention, fed or not. Like a... captain steering his trusty vessel through a great storm... But this captain is no green behind the ears; he's hardened with experience. He knows what a storm requires of him." Lucien moved his free hand as he talked in graceful motions, like the weaving of waves of which he spoke. Then he stilled, blinked, and moved his attention back to Callista. "I will stay well fed, and my mind honed," he professed, hand still and with his index finger held up in a promise.
"I hope you will. For your own sake, Captain," she huffed, half rolling her eyes at the childish motion all while still mirroring him with her own finger. Whatever kept him focused and made this, what would turn out to be a week long stay, less awkward.
The phone vibrated hard against glass surface of the table. It only had the time to vibrate once before Callista quickly snatched it back. Unlocking it with a swift motion, her eyes ran down the screen.
"Ward is on her way." Without even bothering typing out a response she slipped it into her pocket. "I was planning on letting her sleep early evening after we've woken up."
She stood up to get one of the bags; Ward's most likely, as it was the only duffle bag. Packet to the brim, with a faint smell of cigarettes and cologne coming off of it.
"She could sleep on this couch. A good line of sight of the door." However, to grab the bag, she had to walk past the armchair, Lucien, and the mirrored desk. "Unless you had other plans for our sleeping arranges."
Despite her standing in the way of the mirror, it nevertheless reflected Lucien. Callista nowhere to be seen on it's surface.
Lucien rose from the couch, glanced around the room as he answered, “You can both feel free to rest wherever you’d like. I have sofas and chairs abound, as you can see. Wherever you feel most comfortable.”
He walked around the sofa and quietly moved the few paces past the room divider and into the hallway. He ran his fingers along the soft fabric of the armrest of an expensive-looking designer chair facing the entranceway, then motioned to the closed door in front of him.
“Bathroom here. The rest is open concept as you can see. I sleep up those stairs. No kitchen and no refrigerator for your blood bags — as we discussed — I’m afraid.” He turned back to Callista, smiling faintly. “Other than that, make yourselves at home.”
Another nod. The closest she would allow as gratitude, it seemed. Then, she turned her attention fully to her baggage, unpacking what she valued to be important. A laptop. A stylish black makeup bag. Both placed on the couch closest to the wall. Before she could unpack anything else, her phone vibrated once more which was then quickly followed by a short couple of knocks on the door.
She looked to Lucien. Her mouth with a rare softness to it slightly parted, as if she was about to say something before closing it tight again, closing her bag before moving to open the door and letting Ward in.
Then it was as if Lucien wasn't even in the room anymore. As effective as as a factory manager, she began directing Ward around. Pointing were she had planned to sleep. What she needed to be unpacked. Where the bathroom was. The distrustful look towards the windows. A small, disapproving scrunch of her nose at the mention of the seeming lack of a coffee machine.
After that, she went to work, herself, sitting back down on the couch and opening up her laptop. Even as she started feeling her body stiffen — a promise of the coming sunrise — she was tapping as fast her fingers could, attempting to follow the speed of her racing thoughts. She only looked up from the work once Lucien moved towards his bedroom.
"Lucien," she spoke. The bright light of the screen reflecting of her eyes. "...I'll see you tomorrow."
He paused, hand on the railing to his loft, and turned his head to see Callista over his shoulder. After a second he turned fully.
"Of course," he answered. "And I'll see you. Rest well, Callista." As he softly stepped up the stairs his low voice drifted down:
"Mind the sunrise."