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“Mmrrrph…”
“Words, hon. English, preferably,” Tolly tutted. “English from this century, would be best.”
Phyre groaned again and turned his head to glare mournfully at the Nosferatu across the tea house table. “I do not understand why I am telling you any of this.”
“Well, let’s see,” Tolly chirped, only slightly forcing his cheerful attitude. “You’re the big bad Nomad with a mean streak a mile wide and a habit of moonlighting as a delivery boy for anyone who asks ‘cause your ancient ass doesn’t have any hobbies. Not that it’s a bad thing,” the Nosferatu smiled wide and patronizing, “you’ve got all the clan heads left thirsting after your tall ass. Makes a lot of our negotiations a lot easier when they’re distracted by your murderous charm.”
Tolly looked down and continued tapping away at his tablet, making notations on the nearby notepad listing Phyre’s duties. They had both come to the mutual conclusion that Phyre didn’t really…. mesh well with modern technology just yet. So Tolly setup a general forum with the other Nosferatu slowly returning to Seattle for members of the Court to request meetings and air grievances. After the ball-crushing headache that was managing Lou (God piss on her soul) through Campbell and Ryong, Tolly was more than content with handling the small annoyance of handwriting his current Prince’s nightly itinerary.
Honestly, having a Prince that actually fucking listens and can handle a Sabbat army on their own is worth more than just a handwritten list a night, Tolly mused. Not that he’d ever admit that to the broody Elder.
“But back to your problem: you have got it baaaaad, honeybun.”
“I know, Tolly.”
“And you’re not exactly getting any younger, toots.”
“I know, Tolliver.”
“And your taste leaves a lot to be desir—”
“Take care how you speak of him,” came the throaty growl from the elder Kindred. The vibes, though still lighter than one would expect from a meeting between a Prince and their second, had become charged with violent intent from Phyre. The shadows on the edge of the cafe were growing and only a sharp cough and raised eyebrow from the proprietress calmed him enough to reign them back.
Gritting his teeth, Phyre bowed his head toward Mrs. Thorn in apology and turned his glare back on Tolly. “I will not tolerate further disrespect toward my intended—“
“News flash: you’re gonna get it,” Tolly said plainly. He had a grim look, one that usually preceded him honestly tearing down plans previously thought to be well-laid. “He’s still a wildcard, something that makes everyone nervous almost as much as you. More importantly, boss,” Tolly stared straight into Phyre’s serpentine gaze, “the whole… resurrection thing is still a bit of a spooky grey area where he’s concerned.”
Phyre went still as a statue and his pupils narrowed to thin slits. If Tolly had hair to raise, he was sure this would be the time. I am, once again, reaaaally hoping he can’t actually turn people to stone despite the ‘Medusa eyes’ rumor, Tolly thought hysterically.
“Not that it’s common knowledge of course,” Tolly said quickly, hands raised. “Just a few rumors here and there among some of the older members of Court that went to ground when Campbell died. Pretty sure only your BFFs like the wonderful Mrs. Thorn and myself know the whole story, but there is still a bit of… Sabbat speculation about how you found him.”
Frankly, Phyre terrified him. He was uniquely alien in a way a lot of Camarilla Kindred had simply forgotten how to be or had trained out of themselves. Or perhaps they were all too young to have developed this… unnatural aura, like a snake pretending to be a man and, honey, your scales are showing.
All that being said meant that Phyre was simply an unknown force completely beyond what he could predict with current Kindred knowledge. Having a Malkavian in your head as a best buddy for a week? Easy. Learning multiple disciplines, some of them conflicting, within days of waking? Sure thing. Raising the dead from Final Death and into a completely new body? Stick a fork in him, because Tolly was done trying to wrap his head around just what Phyre’s limits were.
Finally, movement.
Phyre sighed deeply, seeming to deflate. Tolly relaxed a millimeter when Phyre laid his head back down on the table, only to twitch imperceptibly back to attention when he must have misheard a “My apologies.”
Tolly blinked.
“I’m gonna have to set this to record, come again?”
Phyre groaned again into the tabletop. “I said I am sorry, Tolly.” He turned his head to the side to glare up at the Nosferatu miserably. “You are right. I must not lose my composure so readily, it is unbecoming of me.”
Tolly snorted at that. “Really? Unbecoming? You?”
Phyre frowned. “Must you be so childish?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, weren’t you just saying I was right? Not to mention how you were practically pulling him into your lap at our last meeting at Silky’s—“
“He could not find a seat,” Phyre argued, grateful his undead flesh could not flush with embarrassment. “Someone kept taking his chairs.”
“Precious, it was me,” Tolly sighed, exasperated. “I just told one of the punks around to take any chair he tried to sit on. Made it easier for you to make a move and you still didn’t do anything more than be disgustingly domestic in public.”
Phyre scrunched up his face in displeasure, hoping it would hide the little skip of joy at being seen as a couple with his intended. “It is not so simple,” he begrudgingly admitted. “I would not have him while he believes he owes me this. It would be… intolerable to me.”
Oh thank the lord we can’t cry, this would be the worst time for waterworks, Tolly thought irritably. I mean, they would be angry tears, sure, but nonetheless…
“Well, lucky for you,” Tolly finally said, with a pleased grin. “You have the best damn secretary in the whole of the continental United States. Hear he’s a real looker, too,” he added with a wink.
Frowning, Phyre looked up with brows furrowed in wary confusion. “What are you scheming, Tolly?”
Gathering his things, Tolly slid the notepad with Phyre’s written directives across the table and stood. “Oh, nothing, sweetness. Just do me a solid and handle this first job with all your usual Terminator-efficiency.”
“What—“
Phyre cut himself off when he heard Mrs. Thorn sigh behind him, Tolly giving him the slip with a significant look towards the Tremere Magister. Despite—or perhaps because of—being an Elder, he couldn’t help but feel slightly cowed at the thought of her giving him relationship advice.
“You worry too much, dear,” she said. “That boy has never been known to not speak his mind, nor keep from flailing it about.” She narrowed her eyes sternly. “If he had no desire for your company, be assured that he would have at least attempted to make you forget him before having the balls to actually leave. He is a wormy one, a consummate conflict avoider and nosy to boot.”
Another sigh and Thorn’s face softened as much as she could and maintain her careful air of professional disdain. “But I suppose he is… dedicated. To his work, to Seattle,” she looked at Phyre with a teasing twinkle in her eye, “and to you, my Prince.”
Oddly comforted, Phyre finally looked down at the list on the table and realized his council had quite literally planned an intervention of sorts. At the top of the list in Tolly’s neat scrawl was: Bag your Detective or die trying! He’ll be ‘investigating’ a lead in the park. Don’t keep him waiting! xoxo
Phyre huffed out a laugh. Perhaps it was time to heed his Hive. He wouldn’t keep Fabien waiting.