F r i e n d A t N i g h t
Sequel to Prodigal Son
AN: This is a sequel, but it can be read separately. The plots are separate, so it would be easy to follow. Takes place in 1933, a few months after Rosalie's change, in Denali, Alaska.
Chapter One: Momentary Truce
"It's a bit unnerving," Kate whispered to Esme. "She has very few problems with your lifestyle."
We watched from a distance as Rosalie was going to hunt again. While some of us were thirsty, no one wanted to be in her way when she attacked some poor animal. She had a lot of anger to take out, it seemed. Some of it even made me wince.
She was very fast. Not as fast as me, but still very fast. Her quick reflexes I noticed, and the way she was able to advance on the moose. It looked at her from where it stood in the bushes, moving out of the way to make room for her as if she deserved the vegetation more than it did. Once it realized she wasn't one of its kind, It froze, stopped in its tracks, trying to camouflage. But Rosalie knew it was done for. I suspect that it did, too. Her lips widened in a smile before she sprung forward, onto its back. A deafening crack alerted me that she had won, and her face pressed into the animal.
"Very interesting," Carmen affirmed. "I cannot smell a drop of blood other than what was originally in the animal. Nothing on the ground, at the very least."
Carlisle smiled, proud of his new daughter. "It's hardly difficult to watch her hunt. I hardly feel any desire..." he trailed off, but his thoughts finished the answer. Any desire to kill her.
That was a huge problem with watching while she hunted. If I watched Carlisle or Esme hunt, I would become territorial and start trying to fight for their kill. Originally, anyway, before I could find an animal to hunt myself. But here she was, hunting, keeping the blood under control so that we could watch.
"What an unusual ability," Eleazar declared.
Esme shook her head. "She has no abilities, as such. She just exhibits very diligent behaviour. It's the strength and will she had as a human, and it really helps on the hunt."
I heard many murmurs of agreement, and some of the girls nodded. Tanya remained still, eyes fixed on Rosalie. She wasn't enjoying the fact that her clan had a new respect for Rosalie. It almost overpowered their respect for her. Impossible, but that was what she was thinking.
-o--o-o--o-o--o-
"Really, Edward, you should be grateful of her," Esme said. "She makes very good company."
She couldn't realize how untrue that statement was. It nagged at me, especially the way Carlisle's thoughts echoed hers. She was practically designed for him...Beauty and intelligence...The capabilities of keeping him in check...And he's smart enough to keep her under control, too... It was perhaps the second or third time I'd heard his thoughts about Rosalie and I that way.
I didn't want to address it. It would be bad manners to say how much she annoyed me, especially when it wasn't her fault at all that she was irritating. I knew that her parents had brought her up this way. And Carlisle was determined to make it work between us, when I didn't love her at all. Not in the brother-sister way, not in the friendly way, not in the child way, not even in the love-hate way. It would take an effort for me to tolerate her, and many years of being polite.
There was no denying that Rosalie was intelligent. Very smart. But in the shallow capabilities. She had strong comprehension of languages, but found no entertainment through reading. And she preferred more delicate pieces of music to the ones with emotion. She liked the way art looked, hung on a wall, but not the compassion the artist had when creating it. She had no ability to look beyond the ordinary, everyday human emotion.
I waited in the house for her to come in, slam the door behind her, and waltz directly past me up the stairs. She might look at me, once she got to the top, or she might not. Then she'd take off her bloodied clothes from the hunt, and put on something suitable for entertaining. A beautiful dress, one that she saved from her old things.
"How was your hunt, Rosalie?" I asked her, just like every other odd day. When she went hunting, I always asked her. She would always have the same answer.
"It was dynamic," she replied. A new descriptive word, today.
She was only anything but one-dimensional when it came to her thoughts about blood. Colourful, sweet. Hot, pulsing. Singing to me, calling for me to come...
It was amazing that she ever kept it under control at all.
She was as passionate towards the hunt as the Denali girls were towards men. Them being former succubi, my point was quite clear. She had an addiction to blood, the taste of it, the same as I'd always had. For any of our kind, blood was an addiction that rivalled any other. Rosalie and I had one thing in common at least.
-o--o-o--o-o--o-
She was sharing a room with me in the house's attic now. Since so many people were in the coven now, there was hardly enough space for all of us.
I just wasn't completely sure that I could stay in the same room with Rosalie.
"What are you doing?" I asked her quietly. My voice was a little sharper than intended, too, which it always seemed to be lately.
"Putting my things in here," she said, just as smoothly and just as sharp. She laid her trunk down on the floor with a wooden thud. She still underestimated her strength, which was almost as annoying as it had been in the beginning. The slamming doors, the loud clicking of her shoes...The stomping up the stairs...The crashes of things falling to the floor...
"No, then there won't be enough room for my records." I felt my teeth clench together. The records were the only thing capable of drowning her out. Without them, living -in a matter of speaking- would be impossible.
"Sure there is," she said, a little rude, even for her. "If you just put them in here!" She picked all the records up in her arms, and stuffed them into the bottom of the trunk. I cringed at her in utter disgust and horror.
"Why don't you just throw those dresses out?" I asked, plainly annoyed. "Or, it would be my honour to get rid of them for you." I pulled one of her dresses out of the trunk, and motioned to the door. Downstairs there was a fireplace, and flames that would just love to eat the silk up.
She gaped, horrified. Her thoughts were screaming at me as I inched further and further towards the door.
"Put it down now!" She shrieked. It seemed I had hit a nerve this time.
"Why should I? You can't just run in and take over my life! My things." I spat the words more than spoke them. Could I actually run down the stairs and throw them in the fire. Yes. And not just because of my records. She was taking my place.
She stared at the bundle of fabric in my arms, and her eyes widened. She was thinking about every time she'd worn the coral-coloured, brocaded silk dress. It seemed childish to me, that she was thinking about Royce.
Royce smiled at her as she met his gaze confidently. Lifting her chin with the tip of his thick finger, he kissed her chastely.
Such a sharp contrast to the images of Royce I was normally bombarded with through her.
When she broke away from him to take a breath, he moved his lips to her chin, pulling a blonde curl from her face. Rosalie smiled at that, clutching the back of his neck firmly. He ran his finger down her collarbone, and left it gently on the capped sleeve of the bodice.
Not wanting the memory to continue, I tried to tune out her voice. Though now, it seemed, she was throwing the images at me violently.
"It's all about him, then?" I asked impatiently, eager for images of the repulsive kiss to leave my mind. How could she still think of that fondly, when he'd destroyed her? It disgusted me, how he'd drawn her in and then taken advantage of her in such a manner.
"No, that's not all it's about!" She said mockingly, her mouth twisting. "Those are mine! Memories, just as your records are to you!"
"Records don't make me remember my murderer," I said acidly, tearing a layer of fabric off the dress in my arms. I threw open the door -the latch making a hole in the wall- and sprinted down the stairs.
She took off after me, carrying my records with her. "They'll melt as quickly as my dresses in the fire," She said, her hand moving to open the screen of the fireplace. One of the records dropped into it, bending as the flames licked the sides. I would have grabbed it, but while holding her dress it was impossible. She was too fast.
I ground my teeth together contemplatively. "Fine," I groaned. "You can have it back. Not that I see a point, since it's only Royce." The name sent the taste of venom to my tongue.
"You don't understand," She whispered, tossing the records smoothly onto the floor. I did the same with her dresses, thankful that we'd now come to a momentary truce. I mourned the record until I realized that it was older, and not one of the best.
"I understand perfectly. Royce was a thoughtless romance to you. And you can't accept that he would do this to you, because you love him."
Her eyes narrowed, eyebrows angling downward. "Not about Royce." She clicked her tongue in vexation, and rolled her eyes. "About me running in and taking over your life. Do you think I honestly want to be a vampire?"
I thought she had. It was apparent in the ways she used her talents tokill Royce and company, and her amazing ability to hone said skills. Besides that, she exhibited the remarkable self-control that was necessary for her to have the vegetarian lifestyle of Carlisle, Esme, and I. Then again, I supposed that had nothing to do with wanting to be a vampire.
"I'll take that as a no," She said bluntly. "All I want right now is to go home to my mother, my father, my brothers, and tell them I'm fine. See Vera again, and ask her how her husband is finding her job and how her son's been doing."
When I didn't respond, she continued.
"I had my entire life planned out, and now everything is impossible."
My life had been just as planned as hers, I realized with a start. More so, though I'd never wanted a wife the same way she wanted a husband. My parents had worked to secure a future for me. And when I died, Carlisle saved me. If he hadn't I'd be dead. I'd never considered anything else, and his decision was very justified. I didn't really want my old life back. Not anymore, anyway.
"It's not impossible, Rosalie. You chose to live with us, chose not to be alone, and there are not many alternative choices. The alternatives being solitude and death, I think you've taken the best option. This life is not really so different from your old one." It surprised me how hopeful I sounded, especially since I had only just begun believing what I was now preaching. Not so long ago, I was the same as her. "You still have lots of time to make things happen for yourself."
"Lots and lots of time," she amended. It sounded grim, even to me. "But what am I supposed to do with all this time?"
She'd have lots of time to buy mirrors...And even more time to primp herself in them.
"I don't know," I said truthfully. "But we're going somewhere else soon. Carlisle's tired of Alaska, mostly tired of the girls hogging Esme. I have to admit that I'm quite tired of them, too."
She smiled for the briefest of moments. "So you don't have feelings for Tanya?"
Why did everyone ask me that? It's not as if I chose to have her attack me every day!
"I have told Tanya that my feelings remain purely plutonic, and she returns the same feelings." It sounded like the truth, but she would catch the lie. Tanya may eventually get over it, but Rosalie would still delight in the way Tanya's eyes followed mine.
"I don't believe you," she said firmly as she made her way back up the stairs. Sitting on the bed, she tapped her fingernails on the frame out of habit.
"Well, I won't mention Royce again if you fail to bring Tanya up in conversation." That should make my existence a little less painful.
"Deal. But first you have to replace my dress. And anything else you may have instinctively broken," she said sharply. A few things came to mind. Like a vase that I had smashed one night. I had been under the impression that she hadn't noticed that.
"Then you have to replace my record!" I shouted angrily.
"No deal. You play them too loudly. And since I can't just fall into an unconscious slumber whenever I wish, I need the peace and quiet." She enunciated the syllables with impatience.
"You could have had all the peace and quiet you wanted in a grave," I said with annoyance. My nose wrinkled at the scent of the perfumes she was pulling out of the trunk. Essence of roses. How could I not have guessed? And what need would she have of them?
"Be quiet," She hissed.
And for once, I could not have agreed more.
-o--o-o--o-o--o-
AN: So that was essentially the introduction to the entire story. I could really use some reviews for this one, especially concerning errors. Also, if there was something you liked in particular, I'd love for you to tell me.
The title is referring to another parable. The parable of the Friend At Night is where the phrase comes from "do unto others as you would have them do unto you". I think this is a good way of showing how Rosalie and Edward grow to become friends. Also, A parable seemed appropriate since The Prodigal Son is a parable.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and this colossally long author's note! :)