Reunion
not-yet-jean cernunnos & alisdair
not-yet-valesport
not-yet-jean cernunnos & alisdair
not-yet-valesport
"Ye're alive."
He'd sensed him coming from a ways off, but had continued to stand in the woods looking thoughtful and lovely, as if he hadn't the faintest idea. Using centuries of practice, he turned his head in the most attractive way he could, a toss of his hair and a flash of teeth. Then he paused.
"Why," he asked with disgust, "did you bring a crossbow?"
"Because I got a letter," Alisdair said, not putting the crossbow away and not coming any closer, "from someone claiming t' be you."
He blinked, a flutter of eyelashes. "Yes?" he said. "You did. From me. I was claiming to be me." This was not as romantic as he had planned for it to be, and he twirled around and put his hands on his hips.
"I thought ye were dead," Alisdair said, coming closer now, looking awestruck.
"Well," he shrugged, "only a little dead."
Alisdair stopped, a familiar flicker of irritation passing over his face. "A l'il dead," he repeated.
"A wee bit," he said. "They only cut my head off."
Alisdair put his crossbow away, but only so he could rub at the bridge of his nose. "Only. They only cut yer head off."
"Yes," he repeated with a frown, "and I am still very upset about it. You cannot have failed to notice my hair." He ran his hands through it with a tsk of irritation, let it fall just barely to his shoulders. "Would it have been so hard to pull my hair through? Mais, non. They cut it! You cannot even imagine how upset I was when I woke up, Alisdair, you simply cannot. I was inconsolable. It was wretched. Have you ever seen it so short? And it was shorter still! Monstrous."
"René–"
"Non! No no no, it is Damien now. A new world, a new name. You must call me Damien now, or I will not answer."
"Ye named yerself for the devil?"
"Oh, it is very fashionable now, I promise."
"Damien, how are ye alive?"
The man in question shrugged, buffing long and pointed nails against his vest. "Someone put my head back on. I had thought you would be the one to do it, mais, non, not even that! I had to wait, what? Decades! So long, Alisdair, that when I woke there were bugs in me." Alisdair recoiled. "Do not look at me so, it is not as if they are still there. I got rid of them. Obviously. What do you think I am? But it would not have been a problem, would it have, if you had put me back together sooner."
Alisdair threw up his hands. "Ye ne'er told me!"
"How was I to tell you when I was dead?"
"Before ye were dead!"
"What was there to tell!" He also threw up his hands, and they were shouting in each others' faces, now, requiring Damien to bend to reach the shorter man. "I was in two pieces! I ought to have been in one! It is simple math, you buffoon! It could not have been more obvious!"
"Reheading a corpse isnae obvious to anyone!"
"It was to Molly!" he said triumphantly, and he stood straight and crossed his arms, turning his head away from the shorter man.
"Who th' hell is Molly?"
"Molly," he said, "was an archaeologist. She was very clever and put my head back on – unlike some people – and she was quite nice and I would make introductions if she was not dead."
"Dinnae tell me ye killed her," Alisdair said with disgust, and Damien put a scandalized hand over his heart.
"Alisdair," he said, "when is the last time I killed someone? Directly? And on purpose?"
"Well I wouldnae know, would I? I havenae seen ye in a hundred years or so, I dinnae ken what ye've been up to."
"And whose fault is that. But Molly died of old age, I will have you know. People do that sometimes. Not me, but people. Other people. Or so I have been told."
"Is this why ye brought me here?" Alisdair asked, spreading his hands. "T' make me feel bad about thinkin' ye were dead?"
"A little," he admitted. "Mais, non." Damien suddenly twirled, every inch the dancer he had once been, gesturing around them with a grin. "Do you like it?" he asked.
"... the forest?"
Damien sighed, lowering his hands. "No, not the forest, you imbecile. The land! My land! Here, I will show you where the house will go, I have the perfect spot."
"Your land," Alisdair repeated, as Damien took long-legged strides away from him. He followed, though he did not indulge in the taller man's occasional cartwheels. "Stop showin' off," he yelled finally, followed by, "... is that a coffin?"
Damien came to a dead stop, did a fast twirl on the heel of one foot, and bent at the side to see past the trees to where Alisdair was pointing. "Oh," he said, straightening and waving a dismissive hand, "that. Yes, that one is mine, do not worry."
"Yer coffin," he repeated, and he did not move from where he was standing. "From... when ye were dead?"
Damien was growing impatient, so he came back to where Alisdair was, gloved hands taking his and trying to pull him along. He failed, of course, because no one could move Alisdair when he did not want to be moved. Not even Damien, not even at his strongest. "No, no," he said, "I just bought that. There is a craze for vampires now -- I told you, it is all very fashionable."
Alisdair, still standing still, slowly furrowed his brow. Damien circled him, and attempted to push him by the shoulders. Predictably, it did not work. "Ye got a coffin," he said, "so ye can pretend t' be a vampire."
"We can discuss this later, Alisdair," he said impatiently.
"It wasn't enough," he continued, crossing his arms as Damien dug his heels in to try and get traction, "t' tell people ye're a vampire and look like ye. Ye got a coffin. And ye stuck it in the woods."
"I do not tell people," he said, pushing at Alisdair with such force that he pushed his feet away from him, such that he was near parallel to the ground before he gave up. He pushed off of the shorter man to move himself unnaturally stiffly upright, as if he was a rake someone had stood on. "I insinuate. But then I – well, it is a funny story, actually. You would have loved it. Mais, non. You would have hated it. But I would have loved to watch you hate it."
"René–"
"Who? I apologize, monsieur, I do not know of whom you speak."
"Damien, what did you do?"
"Ah, well, as I say. It was very funny. The woman who inherited this land – and I will not say lady, because I assure you, she is not – she is under the impression that I am a vampire. She has left me this land, because she does not think she will need it. She is heading back to England, now, where she has somehow gained the impression that I am a Duke and she will be my Duchess. The coffin was rather a necessary touch, I fear, as she is most wretchedly nosy little baggage. We can only hope that her ship sinks--"
"René!"
"I do not know who you keep scolding, but he must have done something terrible to you, monsieur. Do not feel bad for her, anyway. Her tears tasted of spoilt milk, just the most awful little thing. You would have hated her."
"That doesnae mean ye should've lied to her."
"I did not!" he insisted, putting his hands on his hips. "I did not say a single thing that was untrue to her, Alisdair. She decided on all of these things herself, I assure you. I tried to dissuade her, but she insisted."
"This doesnae count as followin' the rules of our agreement," Alisdair warned, pointing a finger at him.
"I do not see why it would not," he said. "You said you do not like it when I lie, and so I have not lied. You cannot expect it to be my job to correct every misconception–"
"–deliberate misconceptions!"
"–and I agreed to nothing, regardless! Out of the kindness of my own heart, I do these things, no matter how unreasonable your demands–"
"I didnae demand anything except basic decency–"
"Damien?"
Their shouting match was interrupted by a small voice, and both men looked up simultaneously. A woman in a pale pink dress, trimmed in a shade of yellow so awful that even Alisdair did not care for it, was standing beside the coffin.
"Now look what you have done," Damien hissed at Alisdair. "Mademoiselle," he then called, sweetly. "I had thought your ship departed?"
"I told them to wait," she said slowly, "so that I could... get one last kiss..." She looked up to the sunny sky, and back down to Damien.
Damien looked to Alisdair. He looked to the woman in pink. Alisdair watch with interest.
"Portia," he said suddenly, "I am so sorry, mademoiselle, for I did not want you to see this."
"Damien?" she asked, at the same time as Alisdair warned, "Damien."
He gestured dramatically to Alisdair. "For, you see, he is a vampire hunter–"
"Oh sweet Christ."
"–and he has chased me here."
"Insinuate, my arse."
"You must away, dear girl, else I fear the distraction of your beauty will give him the upper hand."
"That's just mean."
"Oh, no," she said, "but I will just explain to him! That you are reformed, and we are in love--"
"Fuck's sake," Alisdair said, and rather than continue the farce, he pulled his crossbow out and shot Damien directly in the heart. Damien, as surprised as anyone, attempted to protest, and coughed up blood. Portia, to her credit, did not faint. Just screamed, and ran as fast as her skirts would allow. Damien hunched over, attempting to pull out the bolt now sticking out of his chest. Alisdair came closer, and helpfully yanked it out for him. Damien scowled at him as he retrieved a handkerchief, coughing blood into it as the wound healed.
"She ran away! Did you see how quickly she ran? I cannot believe she would run away. She loved me!"
"Not enough, apparently."
"You shot me," Damien accused petulantly, "in the heart."
"You started it."
"Why the heart?"
"It felt right."
"That hurt."
"Love hurts, Damien."
"Why did you even bring that?"
"I told you, I thought someone was... impersonating you."
"So you – wait." Damien stood straight, wiping blood from his face as he did so and stuffing the handkerchief into the hole in his shirt. "Were you going to kill him?" Alisdair put his crossbow away in silence. "You were! You were going to kill someone for me." Damien clapped his hands together in delight. "That is the most romantic thing I have ever heard of, Alisdair."
"It isnae like that," he said between grit teeth.
"You were going to avenge me! You must have missed me awfully. Were you upset? You must have been terribly upset. Did you mourn me? Did you wear black, Alisdair, did you weep for me?"
A glint in his eye meant he'd pressed too far. "That's it," Alisdair said, and before Damien could retreat Alisdair had wrapped his arms around his waist and lifted him entirely off the ground. Though much taller than Alisdair, Alisdair was the more sturdy of the two, and even Damien's legs were not long enough to reach the ground when he was balanced on the man's shoulders.
"Alisdair," he said, "you put me down immediately. This is extraordinarily undignified. Put me down you imbecile, this is not funny."
And while Alisdair did drop him, he was nonetheless unsatisfied, because it was directly into his coffin. On which he closed the lid, sitting on it before Damien could get his bearings and get out. "Dinnae ken why ye're complaining," he said to the muffled thumps beneath him. "I put ye down."
"Let me out, Alisdair, you let me out of here immediately!" Damien's attempts to escape were shaking the coffin, but with Alisdair on the lid, he remained trapped. Alisdair yawned, crossing his arms and settling in.
"How's about this," he suggested. "It's been a few hunnerd years, now, and we both know ye can use a contraction as well as anythin'. And here y'are, in America an' everything, an' ye still act like ye've ne'er heard of an apostrophe."
"That is because you have used them all, you sheep-buggering moron!"
Alisdair snorted. "So what I'm thinkin' is, ye say yerself a 'don't' or a 'can't' or an 'I'm', an' I'll let ye right out quick as anythin'."
"I will do no such thing you unbelievable – you insufferable pissant."
"See, now, if ye'd just said 'ye're an insufferable pissant', I'd be lettin' ye out by now."
Damien's attempts to break the casket apart ceased. Alisdair listened for more comments. There was nothing, and there was nothing for long enough that Alisdair decided to lay down on top of the coffin. In part so he could hear into it better, though it was also a bit more comfortable, in a morbid sort of a way.
Because they were both unbelievably stubborn, it was a half-hour before Damien said anything.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For coming. Even when you thought I was dead. I did not mean for you to miss me, but I am happy that you did, carissime."
Alisdair sighed. He frowned. He sighed again. He rolled off of the coffin. "That's cheating, céadsearc," he began, but before he could even finish lifting the lid Damien had pounced on him. With the element of surprise, he managed to knock Alisdair backwards and to the ground, kneeling on top of him and looking terribly pleased with himself.
"Ha! You fell for it!"
"Aye, silly me," he agreed with a roll of his eyes, "to think ye had a heart."
"You know very well I have a heart," he said, "because you shot me in it. And ruined a very expensive coat, I should add."
"Ye have plenty of coats."
"Had! Had! I lost them all, Alisdair, when they cut my hair!"
"... ye mean yer head. They cut yer head off."
"Yes, but that got fixed. I am still very upset about my hair, Alisdair. Wretched little peasants. I would kill them, you know, if they had not died of being... old. And peasants."
Alisdair could very easily get Damien off of him, but he made no move to do so, lying in the leaves and the underbrush instead. "Will ye stop sayin' peasants like that?"
"I will not," he sniffed. "They are wretched."
"No one who plays a reel as well as ye do gets t' complain about poor folk."
"I am not," he said. "I am complaining about peasants. Peasants are distinct. Peasants do not appreciate my skill with a violin."
"Is that so."
"Yes! Everything is all fun and games, but a gentleman shows up playing the violin and suddenly it is all Diable! Diable! and everyone is running and trying to set me on fire. You know how I feel about being set on fire, Alisdair."
Despite himself, Alisdair laughed, and Damien pretended not to be pleased at his success. "Ye're full of it, that ne'er happened."
"It did!" Damien insisted. "You were there! I swear you were. Or perhaps it was Elijah?" Alisdair scowled. "There was a little girl, you know, she had to help me. She said it was because I was too pretty to be the Devil – what a terrible job her priest must have done."
"I dinnae believe a word o' this."
"I swear that it is! I told her that I was an Angel of the Lord–"
"Oh, Christ."
"–and that everyone else in her village would go to Hell, because they did not recognize the divine."
"That's sacrilege."
"Oh, piffle. I was not lying."
"... yes. Ye were. That's the verra definition o' lying. That was a lie, that ye told."
"I mean. It was no more a lie than the existence of Hell in the first place."
"Men who cannae die dinnae get t' talk about the afterlife."
"Elijah would have told me if there was a Hell, Alisdair. I was in Rome when all this business started! No one said anything about a Hell. That was very recent."
"Ye're ridiculous," Alisdair sighed. "So show me where ye're gonna build this house o' yers."
"Oh! Yes, we got interrupted, did we not? Here, come, it is not far." He practically pranced, looking very spry for someone who'd just taken a bolt to the heart, while Alisdair followed with more of a heavy trudge. "Right here!" he said with a twirl. "It will not be a palace, not like the old place. There were these houses I saw in Boston while I lived with Molly, they were quite small but I adored them, Alisdair. We will build five of them! We can move between them depending on who we are trying to avoid. It will be just lovely, I assure you."
Alisdair looked around. "The town is over there," he said, pointing.
"Yes," Damien agreed, "for now. But it will flood, you know, sooner rather than later. The Natives might have warned them, but well." Damien shrugged, making a face and throwing up his hands. "They will deserve it, when it happens. And they will rebuild! And they will build around here, and soon the main street will go right here where this stump is right now, and we will throw the most marvelous parties this continent has ever seen."
"That's all well an' good," Alisdair said, "but right now the closest thing to ye is that church over there."
"I thought it would be funny," he confessed. "We will live in wonderful sin and we will wave to the church from our bedroom window."
"Will we, now?"
Damien had the grace to look abashed, for a moment, before feigning ambivalence. "Not that I need you, of course. I can live here perfectly well without you."
"Ye ken how t' build a house."
"Of course," Damien said, crossing his arms.
"How, then?"
"It is not difficult," he said. "You take a tree," he said, gesturing to one, "and you... cut it. Into squares."
"Uh-huh."
"And then you stack them. Into a sort of... cube," he said, roughly outlining a cube in large sweeps of his hand.
"A cube. Yer house is gonna be a cube."
"It will not stay a cube," Damien said, defensive. "Of course I will... add things to it. As I go along. To make it less of a... cube. The cube is just to start. It is a good shape. A starter shape."
"Fuck's sake," Alisdair sighed. "This is just... sad. Ye're like a snake that cannae dig its own burrow. Just lost without a place to steal."
"I am not a snake," he said, deeply offended. "Just watch. I will build a fantastic house, and you will be terribly jealous, but I will not let you visit. Not even for a party."
"I'll build yer house, ye ninny."
"Oh, thank goodness." Damien practically collapsed onto Alisdair's shoulders, kissing his face noisily and enthusiastically as Alisdair squirmed and made half-hearted attempts to bat him away.
"Dinnae get too excited," he said. "I'm makin' ye help."
"I will be marvelously helpful."
"Pawin' at me dinnae count as helpin'."
"... I will be moderately helpful."
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