February 21, 1999, Seacouver, Washington
"We need to leave for Connor's at five," Duncan stated quietly. He sat at the kitchen table, mug of steaming coffee in front of him, his fingers wrapped around the rounded edges. His eyes had a slightly bleary look to them, and he found it easier to peer into the blackness of the coffee than to watch for Richie's reaction.
"I know that," the younger Immortal answered. He lay sprawled on the floor with notebook paper and his textbooks spread before him. "Oh, man," he sighed, and he flipped the pages of the book, "this paper's going to be killer. Hey, Mac, did you know Martin Heidegger?"
"No, why?"
"This paper. We have to write about the relationship between philosophy and literature, and use two ancient texts, and two modern ones. Modern counts as anything since seventeen hundred. I have this feeling that this guy probably lived before these things even existed."
"Oh?" Duncan found a grin forming around his lips. "What's your professor's name?"
"Oh, uh, Pierson. Professor Adam Pierson. He's like the youngest member of the faculty there. But I swear he belongs to the club. You know him?"
"Can't say that I do, no. What's he look like? Have you actually seen him carry a sword?'
"Oh, man, Mac, you're doing your parental voice again. I thought we've got past that." Richie sighed, and he shut his book closed. He pulled his body into a sitting position, and he began to stretch, his legs in a straddle position, and he reached his arms to his toes. "But no, I haven't seen him carry one. But he's like... I don't know, the anti-Immortal! Probably about six feet, very lean, and he wears these really bulky sweaters over his shirts and ties. And blue jeans. He's the only one of my professors who wears jeans. It's kind of refreshing, actually. More human-like."
"But you've never seen him with a sword?"
"Well, no. He just kind of looked at me first day of class, and he nodded. Didn't say anything to me. I mean, I've seen him only once outside of class, and that was when I stopped in his office to ask the question about that test three weeks ago."
"I remember." Duncan sipped at his coffee. "Don't worry too much about it, Rich. He seems harmless. I doubt he's really as old as he says."
"Yah, I mean, I live with this really old guy. You probably have what, like three hundred years on him?"
"Gee, thanks." But Duncan did grin this time, and he sneaked a glance over to Richie, who having finished his stretches, had no stood, to collect his papers and books. He saw the mischievous smile that Richie was desperately trying to hide.
"I'm going to shower. Want to join?"
"Ah, no, better not."
"Probably a good idea," agreed Richie. But Duncan swore he heard the barest hint of disappointment in Richie's voice. "I think I may visit the library, see if I can find any more books for this bloody paper. I'll just meet you at Connor's?"
"Sure."
Richie nodded, and he carefully balanced his papers and books in his arms, only to drop them onto his bed, before he grabbed his towel. He paused again between his bedroom and the single bathroom, and he looked at Duncan, who still hadn't moved from his seat at the table. "Mac?"
"What?"
"Are you ok with this? About me brining Mira to Connor's tonight? Because I could call her, and..."
"No, no, it's fine. Honestly."
"Ok," he nodded again, and several seconds later Duncan heard the bathroom door slam. Duncan winced slightly, and he drank more of his coffee.
Twenty minutes later, Richie emerged from the bathroom, dressed, and his hair still damp. He disappeared into his bedroom again for his wallet and keys, before he padded closer to where Duncan sat for his leather jacket and helmet. He hesitated slightly. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"I'll see you in a couple hours then," he sighed. And he leaned down to quickly kiss Duncan on the lips.
He whispered something against Duncan's lips, but Duncan swore he imagined hearing those three specific words. When he heard the front door close behind Richie, Duncan sighed, and he stood. A workout, he decided, he needed a workout.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------
Mira de Ghent had just stepped out from her shower when she heard the crash come from her kitchen. She frowned, and still with only the towel knotted over her body, she grabbed the baseball bat she kept behind the door, and crept to the bedroom door.
A second crash sounded.
With the bat tight in her grasp, Mira peeked around the bedroom doorway, and she frowned. "Dylan, how many times I have asked you to not stop in uninvited?"
"Oh, a dozen, at least," he grinned. "What's with the bat?"
"To hit you with," she sighed. "How'd you get in here anyway?"
"Magic," he stated, but the grin he still wore ruined the serious tone he was going for. "Nice dress. Going out?"
"Oh, please." She turned back into the bedroom, and she tossed the bat onto her bed. "What do you want?"
"To talk."
"So, talk."
Dylan sighed, and he walked cautiously into the bedroom. Mira no longer wore the towel, but now a pair of panties, and bra, with a silver tank top. She frowned at his appearance, and she motioned over to the bed. He mumbled a thanks, before he sat on the spotless white coverlet. "Mom and Dad are visiting Japan next month."
"I know that. They've been planning this trip for months."
"To Japan, Mira? Where they still think you live?"
"I know, Dylan. I'll them, soon. Just not right now."
"When?"
"Soon! I promise." She paused to button her skirt. It was a black one, almost schoolgirl in design, and reached to her knees. She frowned in Dylan's direction, the skirt buttoned. "Anything else you wanted?"
"No... Well, just... Rebecca misses you."
Mira's frown deepened. She crossed the room to search the dresser drawers for her silver tights. "I miss her too, Dyl. Tell her that."
"What do you see in this place, Mir? What's so special about the Pacific Northwest, that you're risking everything?"
"Freedom," she whispered, and she paused, before she added, "I need to finish getting ready. I'll call you in a couple days, ok? Keep me posted on Mom and Dad's trip, please? And, promise me, you'll let me take care of this, ok?"
"Ok," he sighed. He nodded. "Have fun."
He waved, before he reached into the air of the bedroom, and pulled a door. He grinned at her lop-sided, before he stepped through the door, and shutting it behind him, the air returned to normal. "Bloody show-off," she murmured. "You cannot create wormholes, you know."
Mira sighed, and she proceeded to finish readying.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------
Richie sighed, and he tossed the books into his bag. He hadn't yet left the library parking lot. He had run into Angie while he flipped through philosophy book after philosophy book, and she had almost suffocated him, she had hugged him so hard. And, they had jabbered between the shelves, until finally both had looked at their watches, and realized they had to go. "Give me a call sometime, Rich," she had grinned at him. "I miss your bad jokes."
"Yah, yah. I will, I mean."
"Good, see ya," she had waved. And, now straddling the seat of his motorcycle, he sighed. Somehow, everything always seemed much simpler, and much more humorous, when Angie was around. He sighed, yet again, and he shoved his helmet on his head, before he hit the clutch, and hurried through the streets to Mira's apartment.
At least, this time he wouldn't get lost.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Next Chapter: the dinner at Connor's.
Coming Soon: Duncan and Richie come to a discovery about themselves, and their new relationship. Also, more with Adam Pierson!
"We need to leave for Connor's at five," Duncan stated quietly. He sat at the kitchen table, mug of steaming coffee in front of him, his fingers wrapped around the rounded edges. His eyes had a slightly bleary look to them, and he found it easier to peer into the blackness of the coffee than to watch for Richie's reaction.
"I know that," the younger Immortal answered. He lay sprawled on the floor with notebook paper and his textbooks spread before him. "Oh, man," he sighed, and he flipped the pages of the book, "this paper's going to be killer. Hey, Mac, did you know Martin Heidegger?"
"No, why?"
"This paper. We have to write about the relationship between philosophy and literature, and use two ancient texts, and two modern ones. Modern counts as anything since seventeen hundred. I have this feeling that this guy probably lived before these things even existed."
"Oh?" Duncan found a grin forming around his lips. "What's your professor's name?"
"Oh, uh, Pierson. Professor Adam Pierson. He's like the youngest member of the faculty there. But I swear he belongs to the club. You know him?"
"Can't say that I do, no. What's he look like? Have you actually seen him carry a sword?'
"Oh, man, Mac, you're doing your parental voice again. I thought we've got past that." Richie sighed, and he shut his book closed. He pulled his body into a sitting position, and he began to stretch, his legs in a straddle position, and he reached his arms to his toes. "But no, I haven't seen him carry one. But he's like... I don't know, the anti-Immortal! Probably about six feet, very lean, and he wears these really bulky sweaters over his shirts and ties. And blue jeans. He's the only one of my professors who wears jeans. It's kind of refreshing, actually. More human-like."
"But you've never seen him with a sword?"
"Well, no. He just kind of looked at me first day of class, and he nodded. Didn't say anything to me. I mean, I've seen him only once outside of class, and that was when I stopped in his office to ask the question about that test three weeks ago."
"I remember." Duncan sipped at his coffee. "Don't worry too much about it, Rich. He seems harmless. I doubt he's really as old as he says."
"Yah, I mean, I live with this really old guy. You probably have what, like three hundred years on him?"
"Gee, thanks." But Duncan did grin this time, and he sneaked a glance over to Richie, who having finished his stretches, had no stood, to collect his papers and books. He saw the mischievous smile that Richie was desperately trying to hide.
"I'm going to shower. Want to join?"
"Ah, no, better not."
"Probably a good idea," agreed Richie. But Duncan swore he heard the barest hint of disappointment in Richie's voice. "I think I may visit the library, see if I can find any more books for this bloody paper. I'll just meet you at Connor's?"
"Sure."
Richie nodded, and he carefully balanced his papers and books in his arms, only to drop them onto his bed, before he grabbed his towel. He paused again between his bedroom and the single bathroom, and he looked at Duncan, who still hadn't moved from his seat at the table. "Mac?"
"What?"
"Are you ok with this? About me brining Mira to Connor's tonight? Because I could call her, and..."
"No, no, it's fine. Honestly."
"Ok," he nodded again, and several seconds later Duncan heard the bathroom door slam. Duncan winced slightly, and he drank more of his coffee.
Twenty minutes later, Richie emerged from the bathroom, dressed, and his hair still damp. He disappeared into his bedroom again for his wallet and keys, before he padded closer to where Duncan sat for his leather jacket and helmet. He hesitated slightly. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"I'll see you in a couple hours then," he sighed. And he leaned down to quickly kiss Duncan on the lips.
He whispered something against Duncan's lips, but Duncan swore he imagined hearing those three specific words. When he heard the front door close behind Richie, Duncan sighed, and he stood. A workout, he decided, he needed a workout.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------
Mira de Ghent had just stepped out from her shower when she heard the crash come from her kitchen. She frowned, and still with only the towel knotted over her body, she grabbed the baseball bat she kept behind the door, and crept to the bedroom door.
A second crash sounded.
With the bat tight in her grasp, Mira peeked around the bedroom doorway, and she frowned. "Dylan, how many times I have asked you to not stop in uninvited?"
"Oh, a dozen, at least," he grinned. "What's with the bat?"
"To hit you with," she sighed. "How'd you get in here anyway?"
"Magic," he stated, but the grin he still wore ruined the serious tone he was going for. "Nice dress. Going out?"
"Oh, please." She turned back into the bedroom, and she tossed the bat onto her bed. "What do you want?"
"To talk."
"So, talk."
Dylan sighed, and he walked cautiously into the bedroom. Mira no longer wore the towel, but now a pair of panties, and bra, with a silver tank top. She frowned at his appearance, and she motioned over to the bed. He mumbled a thanks, before he sat on the spotless white coverlet. "Mom and Dad are visiting Japan next month."
"I know that. They've been planning this trip for months."
"To Japan, Mira? Where they still think you live?"
"I know, Dylan. I'll them, soon. Just not right now."
"When?"
"Soon! I promise." She paused to button her skirt. It was a black one, almost schoolgirl in design, and reached to her knees. She frowned in Dylan's direction, the skirt buttoned. "Anything else you wanted?"
"No... Well, just... Rebecca misses you."
Mira's frown deepened. She crossed the room to search the dresser drawers for her silver tights. "I miss her too, Dyl. Tell her that."
"What do you see in this place, Mir? What's so special about the Pacific Northwest, that you're risking everything?"
"Freedom," she whispered, and she paused, before she added, "I need to finish getting ready. I'll call you in a couple days, ok? Keep me posted on Mom and Dad's trip, please? And, promise me, you'll let me take care of this, ok?"
"Ok," he sighed. He nodded. "Have fun."
He waved, before he reached into the air of the bedroom, and pulled a door. He grinned at her lop-sided, before he stepped through the door, and shutting it behind him, the air returned to normal. "Bloody show-off," she murmured. "You cannot create wormholes, you know."
Mira sighed, and she proceeded to finish readying.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------
Richie sighed, and he tossed the books into his bag. He hadn't yet left the library parking lot. He had run into Angie while he flipped through philosophy book after philosophy book, and she had almost suffocated him, she had hugged him so hard. And, they had jabbered between the shelves, until finally both had looked at their watches, and realized they had to go. "Give me a call sometime, Rich," she had grinned at him. "I miss your bad jokes."
"Yah, yah. I will, I mean."
"Good, see ya," she had waved. And, now straddling the seat of his motorcycle, he sighed. Somehow, everything always seemed much simpler, and much more humorous, when Angie was around. He sighed, yet again, and he shoved his helmet on his head, before he hit the clutch, and hurried through the streets to Mira's apartment.
At least, this time he wouldn't get lost.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Next Chapter: the dinner at Connor's.
Coming Soon: Duncan and Richie come to a discovery about themselves, and their new relationship. Also, more with Adam Pierson!