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Legundo wants the keep the mirror. And for once, it's Louis telling him he can't.
Usually, it's Owen starting the fights. Making a fuss over nothing. It'd been that way since he was turned. Which, aside from the more obvious issues at hand, Doc had found the most frustrating. How they had gone from playful banter to constant squabbles. And for what? An equal amount of misery felt had Owen just let him die?
It's always something with Owen. Like Legs going out during the day to care for his patients, or coming home late from work. Standing too close to something that could be made out of silver, or God forbid stare too long at a particularly sharp piece of wood. Always. Something.
But with Louis..? Well, he's not as blameless as Owen thinks he is. Far, far from it. Frankly, the only thing stopping that man from stooping to the levels of Legundo's former generals and the nobles that lined their pockets is his desire to spend eternity straddling the moral high ground like his afterlife depends on it.
Nonetheless, he is trying. And throughout this whole humiliating, miserable process, he has been Legundo's only source of aid. He's patient. Perhaps, upsettingly so. With the kind of resilience you'd need to watch someone fail a million times, and could only obtain by living a thousand lifetimes. From seeing just how little it all matters.
So, it's surprising. That Louis is so dead set on getting rid of a damn mirror of all things.
It had been one of the few things Legs had bothered to haul over from his old lodging. Most of his old life had been work, which was all holed up in his office back in town. The rest were mostly reminders of a time long passed. Things he strangely did not want to taint the little home Louis and Owen had made for themselves. Despite everything.
He'd took the mirror because Louis had felt bad. That he had nothing to bring to their little haven. It won't feel like our place. He'd said. And it took everything in Legundo's power not to say, because it isn't. Instead, he dragged Owen into town (or perhaps, Owen had dragged him, he's still not too sure) and grabbed what he could.
Some were picked more intentionally than others. Family photos, mostly. Books. Even a post card from his brother-in-law. Anything to fill the space on the wall of his new office. A place shrouded in a darkness that felt wrong to see through. The mirror was a random pick. He knows he can't use it anymore. But he didn't really care that much either. He'd leave the reminders of war and poison back at his home because that's what they were. His. A burden for him alone to carry.
Legundo's lack of a reflection though? The knowledge of what he now lacks… The broken shackles of the beast lying on the cell's floor. That falls on the lap of Mr. Lafontaine and the lumberjack who started this all.
A bit of a spiteful backdrop for a piece of decor, but he hadn't even meant anything by it originally. For fuck's sake; it's a mirror. A sheet of glass! It's only now, that Louis is so deeply perturbed by the thing, and that Owen stands in the doorway of Legs's room trying to convince him to be rid of it by proxy; does that spite become intentional.
"You're making a fuss over nothing," Owen says. Legs almost laughs at irony. "Just throw the thing out! It's useless to us anyhow."
"I bought it, you know," he replies. "Recently. It'd be a waste of money."
He's found himself reorganizing the shelves again. Counting the items lined up on them like he doesn't already know the number by heart. The mirror's gone from being propped up on the floor this morning to being hung where Legundo is hoping it will stay.
"So, give it to someone else!" Owen throws his hands up in the air. "Go on, it'll be like charity. A good deed. You like those!"
"Most people do, Owen."
"No, no they don't. They like the idea of them. It's different with you and Louis."
"But not for you?"
"We've been over this. Stop trying to change the subject!"
The Yellow Wall Paper. Godey's Magazine and Lady's Book. The Scarlet Letter. Legundo fantasizes about tossing each and every one of them at his sire. Not that he ever gives into such urges. One miniscule and irrelevant win for his self control.
He runs his fingers claws through his hair as he turns to face Owen. Still getting used to the white hair. Owen's eyes had already been red by the time it happened. He hadn't noticed, though. The detail was entirely too subtle to see in most lighting… He often
wonders how they got that way. How much blood had to be spilled to make that change.
"Why does it matter? Why does he care so much about this one thing!?"
"I told you, he's spiritual man!"
"He's a goddamn vampire, Owen, of course he is!" Legundo sighs. "I just don't understand what this has to do with mirrors!"
"We can't see our reflections Legs."
"I know. I'm not stupid-"
"Well clearly you are! Or else you'd have figured out how disrespectful it is by now!"
"Do you know? Or is that just another thing you're still figuring out? That you're going to shove all the responsibility of onto Louis to teach me instead of doing it yourself like you should?"
Owen makes a noise. Something halfway between a growl and a purr. His brow furrows, and there's a flash of his fangs. That look that now haunts Legs in the few times he can manage to sleep. It disappears almost immediately, maybe as Owen can feel the fear rising in his fledgling, but it had been there regardless. Then, he just looks sad.
"Don't--" Owen begins. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? Louis is just…"
He trails off, and there's a silence. They just stand there, Owen still in the doorway, and Legs in the center of the room. Making half-assed attempts at eye contact, as the grandfather clock further down the hall ticks on and on.
"He says we are our reflections… That we become them when we…" he mutters, fiddling with his hands. The scars are still there. Scars from long before Legundo was even born. "You're looking backwards in time, Legs. And they… Louis's coven, they say it means you're turning away from the-"
"- from the gift?" Legs interrupts. His expression becomes grim.
Owen scoffs in reply. "Whatever the Hell you want me to call it. But that's what he believes."
"I thought he didn't follow coven code anymore."
"It's not code. Its more like… religion, I think."
Vampires have religion. Of course they do. Why wouldn't they? When the beliefs of humanity could never comprehend a world not centered around itself. There's a million little implications from that alone. For now, though, Legundo makes a mental note to write it all down later.
Vampires have religion. They have superstition beyond the necessity of their banes. It's not just garlic and silver and the stuff that'll hurt them. There's more. There always will be more. And for once, Louis believes in something greater than his own self sacrifice.
Despite it all. Despite it all, Legundo wants to understand. To be understanding.
They just have to do the same for him.
"…I.." Legs starts. "I get it. Okay? It makes sense."
Owen looks almost relieved for second, but the discomfort comes back as Legundo continues.
"-But you two cannot seriously expect me to bend over backwards for these little requests when half the time you won't even tell me why! I mean, he's been upset for days, and I had to get this out of you! Do you have any idea how infuriating this is?"
He means that about so much more than the mirror. Than the little spats he and Owen have. Though, right now, he'll let that statement mean whatever it needs to mean to get him out of Limbo.
There's no response from Owen at first. His mouth hanging slightly ajar, like words had formed but gotten stuck in his throat. Legundo could practically see the neurons firing off in his head as he figured out what to say. A set of unoiled gears turning and faltering as every second that passed made the growing tension in the room worse.
"I'm sorry." is what he musters up. And Legundo feels a pit form in his stomach.
"I know you are." he replies, letting his shoulders relax. "You've said it a million times."
More silence. More ticking of the clock, crickets chirping outside. Louis's quiet footsteps coming from downstairs, stopping after a bit, and leaving Legs to wonder if he's eavesdropping. He hopes he is.
"I'll talk to him." Owen states.
"What?"
"I'll talk to Louis. About the mirror."
Legs is taken aback. Quite a bit actually. Enough to try and tap into the bond between him he so thoroughly despises, to pry at Owen's thoughts and see if he is being sincere.
But even a second in that space between them is too overwhelming. Too traumatizing.
His head throbs. A sharp pain shooting through his temples. He hisses in pain, hoping the noise was quiet enough not to notice.
"…Thank you?" he says, reluctantly.
Owen just nods, turning to leave before he catches himself on the doorway once more.
"You don't need anyone's permission though…" he adds. "He's not going to do anything unless you let him."
Legundo frowns.
"Yeah, that's your job, isn't it?"
That line, he mutters. Whether or not Owen hears it, he can't be sure. There is no acknowledgement. All Legs knows is that he's alone again. And soon, there's talking downstairs. A kind far more stern than he's used to hearing when it's those two.
Legundo gets to keep the mirror. And Louis doesn't say much about it after a while. He just stays as far away from it as he can. Sometimes, Legs will come home after a day in the clinic, and see a towel or sheet draped on top of it. Still, it's there.
It stays, and for the most part it remains uncovered. A new kind of reminder. Whereas the memories of battle and bloodshed remain at his old place, this one stays at that manor in the woods he finds himself at more and more frequently. A hanging portrait of what's been taken from him. Of what's been released unto the world.
Not a way to look away from the present but to see what lurks in it. To see an empty room where he should be standing and know that despite how long it has been - that despite however many months have passed (and that number grows far quicker than he would like) his hair and beard are still the same length. That no new wrinkles have formed on his skin, that the pain in his body that has been there for ages has dulled. That his skin is now just as cold and dull as the wooden contraption he uses as a leg, or the glass bulb meant to replace his eye on the same side.
That he is his reflection.
Oh, and that Owen is still trying, too. Much as he's made it seem the opposite recently. Legundo will start seeing the guilt in him everywhere. And it will only hurt more each time he fails to give into it.
An equal amount of misery.