I'm back! We're back! The Smahlt-Ver Leths are back! I realized I haven't updated this since June, which is a record wait time for what's supposed to be my easy story :') the other day I was thinking about how I used to fly through writing/editing just so I could have A Chapter, Any Chapter to post. And how aggressively I've since over-corrected that habit. Some chapters are easier than others, and this one was much harder than anticipated. I'm glad to be done with it. I'll probably shift my focus back to Bloodline for the next while.
You might have noticed I have a new pen name. This is bittersweet. I've been roxypony since 2008. I'd been wanting to change it for a while so I decided to time the switch with the first chapter I post since I got married (very successfully) last month. Something about the symbolism of closing one chapter and opening another, idk I used all my brain cells on this update.
Chapter 21: Armchair Psychology
Kurda had never been in the habit of lounging around and drinking for hours on end. There's probably a correlation with the fact that people he wants to lounge and drink with are usually in short supply. Most vampires like to swap combat stats and retell tales of past battles while they lounge and drink. Best case scenario, Kurda gets bored. Worst case scenario, Kurda gets angry.
But now Cyrus was here. And there was no one Kurda would rather lounge and drink with, because after years apart it was only just hitting him how well he'd done with his first apprentice. He'd successfully mentored a quiet, insecure young human into a clever, well-spoken fully-fledged vampire with no shortage of original thoughts and opinions. And admittedly, a lot of them were Kurda's. But not all of them. That was the fun part.
So they drank and they lounged in the Hall of Khledon Lurt, as one does during the Festival of the Undead. It was all too easy for Kurda to lose track of time and of how well his buzz was progressing. Then Mika and Gracie showed up.
It had only been 24 hours since Kurda got Gracie all kitted out in a toddler-sized version of all Mika's wardrobe staples. A fun little joke to lift Mika's spirits after a stressful time. He didn't go into it with the expectation it'd be reciprocated. But sure enough, Mika arrived at the second night's feast walking hand-in-hand with what looked like a three foot tall Kurda. From the crisp tan pants, to the white t-shirt, the bright blue jacket that tied it all together, to a miniature roll of parchment sticking out of her pocket. It was all there. (And Kurda didn't like to brag but he had a clear advantage here. She already had his hair and eyes.)
"Oh gods, Mika! You didn't have to!" Kurda clumsily laughed-sobbed as he picked Gracie up. (That was the specific moment he realized he was more buzzed than he thought).
"I didn't? That would've been nice to know before I spent the past three hours getting this together." Mika snorted. But his eyes were glinting with self-satisfaction at the ensemble.
"When did she get this jacket?! It's the exact same fabric as mine that got wrecked in the tunnel collapse!"
"It was your jacket. I know you said you were going to throw it away. But clearly you couldn't go through with it because I found it in the laundry crate. There was just enough usable fabric for the tailor to make this."
Kurda grimaced. "Oh gods. Please tell me you didn't assign that poor tailor a weirdly specific project with three hours notice. On his night off."
"Gods, no. I made Gracie ask him. Nobody can say no to that face."
"Legally speaking, nobody can say no to your face either."
"I know. But I like when people like me."
"Daddy, I'm you!" Gracie giggled into Kurda's face as he held her at eye-level. Gods, every time he thought he couldn't love her more, she found a new way to make his heart swell.
"I've never looked better!" He laughed, tickling her nose and making her giggle even harder.
"I told her she's not allowed to swear while she's dressed like you." Mika contributed.
Kurda shot him a halfhearted dirty look, knowing it wouldn't fool anyone. "She's not allowed to swear at all."
"That's what I said."
"Uckle Cyrus, look at my map." Said Gracie. She pulled the parchment from her pocket, unrolled it, and held it out to Cyrus. It was a series of interconnected circles and lines but he leaned closer and made a big production of scrutinizing it.
"Well, you've got a steadier hand than I ever did." Cyrus told her at last. "And I think you might even have a better eye for detail than your father. She's going to put you out of work, Kurda." He added with a wink.
"Good. She can go after his job instead of mine. The number of times I've caught her eyeballing my throne is a little concerning." Said Mika conversationally.
Cyrus laughed. But it sounded forced and came after a faint pause. Which was fair, Kurda supposed. Cyrus just wasn't used to this. He didn't know Mika like Kurda did.
"I see some old friends from my cub years over there." Cyrus told Kurda, gesturing vaguely. "I'm going to go say hello."
"Sounds good." Said Kurda, squeezing his shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later."
"That's one of your former apprentices, right?" Mika inquired with vague interest as he sat down beside Kurda.
"Yes. My first. Cyrus Karim."
"Ah. I've heard a few of the Generals say good things about him. Seems like he turned out alright." Said Mika. "Despite, you know, you."
"Wish I could say the same for your apprentice." Kurda replied scathingly.
"Pfft. Arra was barely my apprentice. I didn't even blood her. I just let her follow me around for a few decades. Usually she told me what to do."
"Yeah. That tracks. Hey, can you watch her? I've got to get some more of the ice wine. Looks like they're running low."
Mika nodded and took Gracie back. Kurda headed for the bar table for a refill of his beloved, limited-edition ice wine. Only to change course for the appetizer at the last second, because Caliban Montoya was standing directly in front of the ice wine.
Caliban, or Cal (derogatory) was chatting animatedly with a fresh-faced young vampire that looked half Kurda's age. That was neither here nor there. Kurda and Cal's casual relationship ran its course in less than three weeks, six months ago. Kurda had been avoiding him since then. And it wasn't difficult considering they didn't run in the same circles. But now there he was, and all Kurda could think about was the humiliation of being told I can't handle you, you're too much, I'm done. Discarded like a dog with behavioural issues because Cal was afraid of a challenge.
And now he's blocking the fucking ice wine?! Is there no justice in the world?!
Make no mistake, Kurda is acutely aware he dodged a bullet with that one. He'd subconsciously pieced that together before they even broke up. But it still fucking hurt, and he'd rather just not be perceived by the man at all. Especially on a night when his only responsibility was to have a nice time.
Kurda breezed by the appetizer table, loaded his plate as quickly as he could, and disappeared into the crowd again. To his relief Mika was distracted sharing a plate of steak with Gracie. He was cutting it into bite sized pieces, alternating between holding the fork out to her and taking one for himself. He probably hadn't seen Kurda's abrupt detour.
Or so Kurda assumed, until Mika glanced up from the steak and fixed him with a withering stare of exasperation.
"That doesn't look like ice wine." Mika remarked, eyeing Kurda's plate with disdain.
Kurda tried to play it off with an airy wave of his hand. "Changed my mind. Decided I was more hungry than thirsty."
He'd had just enough wine (not ice wine, mind you) to forget Mika's eagle eyes could see through bullshit.
"Really? It had nothing to do with the fact that your ex is lurking the bar table trying to pick up?"
Be cool, Kurda.
"Caliban's here? Hadn't seen him."
"Hmm. Could've sworn I saw you walk right past them and hide behind the appetizers."
"There was more ice wine left than I thought. I was more concerned about getting my hands on some olives before the supply runs out. They only ship olives in once every twelve years, you know." Said Kurda. He punctuated that with a dismissive wave of his hand. Worth a try.
"Don't care, hate olives." Mika predictably blazed right through Kurda's attempted diversion to get back to the heart of the matter. "How'd you miss them? They weren't exactly being subtle. I almost went over there to tell them to keep it in their pants or get a cave."
"Have you just been sitting here people-watching this entire time?" Kurda snorted.
"I've never been sober at the Festival before. It's fascinating." Mika replied, straight-faced. "And don't try to change the subject. Please, for the love of the gods, don't tell me you're still hung up on him. I forgot he existed until just now."
There was no point in brushing it off. Not when Mika's shoulder was the one he cried on in the aftermath. Kurda rested his elbows on the table, leaning closer so he could hiss at Mika, "Of course I'm not hung up on him! I'm glad it ended. My only regret is that he beat me to it."
Mika cracked a thin smile. "That is pretty regrettable. But I'm glad you're glad."
"Can you go… I don't know, bully him out of the way or something? Just long enough for me to sneak in there?" Kurda sighed. He was so beyond over all of this.
Mika pondered that for a moment. His eyebrow was still raised like he had more thoughts about the situation than he was letting on.
"I could. Easily. I'd probably even enjoy it." He replied at last. "But it's my night off. And this isn't my battle. It's yours."
Kurda raised that eyebrow right back at him "Well, I'm a pacifist."
Mika dropped his jaw and slapped the table in mock surprise. "You are? Fuck, why don't you ever talk about it?!"
"Mika."
"Sorry. But you know what you have to do, right?"
"I know, I know. I need to hold my head high and walk past him like we've never met." Kurda replied grimly.
Mika cringed like Kurda had suggested something atrocious. "Gods, no. That's the worst thing you could do. Pretending you don't see him would be no different than getting down on your knees and pouring out your heart over how bad he hurt your feelings."
"How are those two options even in the realm of similarity?!" Kurda shot back, massaging his temples. This was already a bigger headache than it was worth.
"Because you both remember exactly what he did, and that he's the one in the wrong." Said Mika crisply. He looked Kurda dead in the eye and let those words hang in the air for a moment before adding, "So you can ignore him, and let him draw the conclusion he got to you so badly you can't even look at him six months later. Or you can walk right up to him and make him feel lucky you even bothered to acknowledge him."
Kurda narrowed his eyes, nodding slowly as he mulled that over. Somehow it almost made sense, but he was instinctively a little skeptical of the Sire Ver Leth playbook
"Wouldn't that give the impression I'm happy to see him? Like I want him back or something?"
"Not if you play it right. You both know you're well out of his league. It's why he broke up with you in the first place. Couldn't handle standing next to someone he knew would always be smarter than him." Said Mika. Kurda felt obligated to roll his eyes, but it was a hard sell. Because that was exactly how it went down. And Mika knew it.
"Walk confidently. Make a bit of small talk, as if he's boring you. Look him up and down like you're checking to see if he's still as adequate as you remember, which he will be. And don't go around him. Wait for him to get out of your way. Which he will." Mika added.
Kurda couldn't help himself. He laughed out loud. Suddenly it seemed absurd that he'd even considered avoiding the drink table just because Cal happened to be standing between him and the ice wine he'd been waiting for since last Council.
"Gods, Mika. How do you know all that?"
"Because I'm almost as smart as you." Mika fired back. His steely eyes were the picture of seriousness, but the twitch in the corner of his mouth didn't go unnoticed.
Kurda took a deep breath, steeled himself, and made a beeline for the bar table. He made a point of walking with purpose.
Cal caught Kurda'a eye first. But something told him that Cal wouldn't have been the one to initiate a conversation.
"You would station yourself directly in front of the wine table. Why does that not surprise me?" Kurda greeted him breezily as he drew even. "Nice to see you, Cal. You look well."
There's a big difference between you look good and you look well. Especially when paired with a patronizing once-over, as per the Sire Ver Leth playbook.
"Ah, Kurda! Likewise. Been a while. I haven't seen you around much." Cal greeted him with equal amicability, but he felt awkward as shit. Kurda could see it in his eyes.
But it got better.
Cal's young companion's eyes widened with interest at the sound of Kurda's name.
"Kurda? As in General Smahlt?!" He gasped.
"Guilty as charged." Kurda replied, taken aback but refusing to show it as they shook hands.
"Wow! I was hoping I'd run into you at Council! My name's Riven Rahman. I've heard all about you! You're a legend! They say you're going to unite the clans someday."
"Legend is a strong word." Kurda laughed. "I'm not presumptuous enough to believe that's the majority opinion. From my understanding, the term public nuisance gets thrown around far more often."
"Well, I don't care what all the old traditionalists say. I think all your ideas are incredible. I'm going to start training to be a General as early as next year! I hope I've passed all of my trials by the time you get nominated for investiture. You'd have my vote!"
"I can't say I'll be hunting for a promotion any time soon. But I truly appreciate the support. And please, don't risk your life over those ridiculous trials for my sake." Kurda told Riven seriously. Riven nodded, still starstruck. Kurda had to suppress a smile at the sour look on Cal's face as he added, "Looks like you've got a clever one here, Cal. Try to keep up."
Cal forced a smile of his own, but it looked more like a grimace. "Guess we've been blocking the good wine. Haven't we, Riv?" He mused. Riven shrugged, but followed Cal as he stepped back away from the table and out of Kurda's way. Kurda didn't look back. He didn't have to look back to know Cal's eyes followed him all the way back to the table.
"Was that so hard?" Mika inquired as Kurda sat back down.
Kurda shot him a brittle smile. "I'm not exactly on the bandwagon, but I'll admit the Sire Ver Leth playbook isn't a total miss."
"And?"
"Adequate was too kind a phrase, and I can do better than Cal."
"Gods damned right you can. Who's next?"
"Next?"
"You just said you could do better."
"I didn't mean right now!" Kurda protested.
Mika ignored him completely, scanning the crowd for a moment before picking a target and pointing. "How about Renley Azerion? He made it fairly obvious last night he's single."
Kurda didn't bother looking where Mika was pointing, choosing instead to glare back with disdain. "I'd rather hook up with a Guardian of the Blood."
"What's wrong with Renley? He's probably one of the top three Generals right now. He doesn't even have any disfiguring facial scars. And look at that jawline!"
"He was in my preliminary hand-to-hand combat training group before we were Generals. Conceited prick. I don't care what he looks like. I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole if he was the last organism on earth." Kurda declared staunchly. But his words clearly weren't hitting home because Mika was cracking up. Kurda glared and swatted his shoulder. "Stop laughing, you absolute man-baby. I said organism. And since when do you assess mens' jawlines?"
"There's maybe half a dozen women in this clan. Life's too long not to be open-minded." Said Mika, once he'd finished snickering at the word organism and rearranged his face back to businesslike. Kurda arched an eyebrow but otherwise succeeded in keeping his surprise to himself.
"Personally I'm more open-minded to celibacy than I am to being Azerion's flavour of the week. Hard pass." Said Kurda.
"That's a little dramatic."
"Then why don't you go hook up with him? Hell, he'd probably propose if you stood still long enough."
"Focus, Smahlt! This is about you. What about that guy over there?"
"Now you're just pointing at random. Why are you so invested in my love life, or lack thereof?" Kurda retorted. "Have you considered redirecting that energy back to yourself? Since you're so open-minded?"
"I don't have that kind of spare time." Mika replied, like that was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Kurda almost rolled his eyes right out of his head. "Right. I'm sure it has nothing to do with your crippling phobia of emotional intimacy." He snorted as he swirled his wine glass. Mika eyed him reproachfully all the while.
"My what now?"
"I know you heard me. And you know I'm right." Kurda deadpanned. He took a sip of the crisp, sweet wine and innocently held Mika's gaze all the while.
"Saying you're right doesn't make you right." Said Mika.
Kurda smirked back at him. "I know. Being right makes me right."
Mika rolled his eyes and inhaled, and Kurda grinned in anticipation of whatever slicing retort Mika had locked and loaded. But the moment was cut short by the thunder of footsteps behind them, along with the great booming voice that still made Kurda want to pour wax into his ear canals despite the fact they were mostly on alright terms these days.
"Mika! There you are!" Arrow bellowed as he drew even with them.
"Here I am. What's going on?"
"Nothing. Jus' missed you." Arrow slurred. He threw an arm around Mika like he hadn't seen him since last Council. They'd been apart five hours at the absolute most. Kurda observed them with mild disdain for a moment. Normally when Arrow is drunk off his ass, Mika is too. Such are the social obligations of the vampiric elite. Kurda wondered if Mika was feeling even slightly dejected about sitting on the sidelines tonight. But if he was, he wasn't showing it.
"I missed you too, A."
"Uckle A!" Gracie shrieked, waving eagerly at him from her perch in Kurda's arms. Wherever Uncle Arrow went, shenanigans and horseplay ensued. Gracie lived for it. His face and eyes were alight with adoration at the sight of her.
"Queen G!" Arrow practically bellowed. He never failed matched her enthusiasm seamlessly. They even have their own inside joke. The premise is simple; they exchange a double fist-bump, Arrow pretends to gasp in pain because she's that strong, and Gracie laughs so hard she falls over.
"Well, that's my cue. I'd best be heading to the tournament." Said Kurda as he stood up from the table.
"Finally you're putting those lightning reflexes to to good use, Smahlt!" Arrow remarked with genuine interest that took Kurda by surprise. "Which of the tournaments you in? Kickboxing? Axes?"
"Speed chess." Kurda corrected him wryly.
Arrow's brow furrowed with a comical level of amazement. "We have a speed chess tournament?"
"Gods, even I knew that. I can't believe they let you work here." Mika snorted.
"You should stop by." Kurda told Mika seriously as he handed Gracie back. "I enjoyed demolishing you in slow motion last night. I can imagine how much more fun I'd have at top speed."
"Please. I had to be half a barrel of whiskey deep for you to barely stay ahead of me. I'll just stay here so you can take the easy win. You need it more than I do." Mika retorted without hesitation.
Kurda shot him one final, scathing eye roll over his shoulder. "I'll see you later. Gracie, I love you. Mika, you're the worst."
He made sure to quickly turn his back so Mika couldn't see him smiling.
Mika rolled his eyes at Kurda as he always did. Then he watched him walk away. He didn't always do that. But tonight he did.
Kurda looked weightless as he moved through the crowd, pausing here and there to make small talk with acquaintances. It was beyond Mika's comprehension skills why it had taken a pep talk from him, of all people, to get Kurda past Cal. Mika would've given his right arm for even an ounce of the self-assurance Kurda seemed to draw from within. To wake up and just know he was enough. In spite of public opinion, not because of it. Kurda had that on fucking lock.
Mika didn't know if Kurda knew that. He hoped so.
"What're you looking at?" Arrow inquired earnestly. And loudly enough to snap Mika back to reality.
"Nothing. For a second it looked like Rojas and Flint were about to start a brawl over there, but it was a false alarm."
"Oh! I remember why I was looking for you!" Said Arrow, eyes suddenly alight with triumph."Can you fix this?" He turned in his seat to allow Mika a clear view of his left side. Arrow's arm was dangling uselessly at his side, limp and floppy. And the angle at which it connected to his shoulder was, to put it in layman's terms, right fucked. Mika was no medic but anyone with a working eyeball could've diagnosed a dislocation.
"Charna's fucking guts, A. How'd you manage that?"
Arrow grinned sheepishly back at him, only appearing slightly pained. "Fell off the bars."
"Fell off or pushed off?"
"Arra challenged me."
"So you were pushed off."
"Can you just fix it?"
When you spend decade after decade training at and beyond an elite level, you don't have time to run to the medics for every little scrape or dislocation. This was not the first joint Mika had popped back into place and it probably wouldn't be the last.
"Alright. You know the routine." Mika sighed. Arrow braced himself resignedly against the table. Mika carefully gripped the afflicted limb and lined it up with the home it parted ways from. He eyeballed it, readjusted, double-checked. "Don't move. I'm gonna count down, okay? Five… four…"
"Don't count! Just do -"
Mika drove the limb home, reuniting ball and socket with a perfect calibration of brute force and laser precision.
CRACK.
"OW! Thank you."
"You fall for that every time." Mika chuckled as Arrow panted and massaged the shoulder.
"Uckle A hurt?" Gracie asked, visibly concerned as she sat on the table watching the pair of them.
"Not anymore." Arrow assured her. He was beaming once again. "But I supposed we'd better test the arm out before I get back at it, shouldn't we?"
Gracie's face went from worry to elation. She knew what was next. She stood up on the table with both arms in the air, dead-eyeing Arrow and demanding, "Up?!"
Arrow obliged, picking her up carefully and tossing her into the air. Once, twice, six times in total. Gracie laughed louder with every toss, and pouted when Arrow finally set her back on the bench.
"You should be getting back to the sporting halls." Mika suggested. "Challenge Arra to a rematch. Try to get some of your dignity back. But I strongly recommend you invite her to duel you on the axe range. Maybe just don't go near the bars at all. You're useless when you're concussed, and that means more work for me."
Arrow nodded, but Mika could tell he wasn't absorbing any of that. He was dead-eyeing Mika with what seemed like a disproportionate level of seriousness for the situation.
"She was looking for you earlier." Said Arrow. Such a casual statement, yet delivered so pointedly.
"I already told her I wouldn't be around the sporting halls tonight. Tell her she can find me at the Grandpa Table." Mika replied evenly, vaguely gesturing at the long table in the corner where Paris and Seba were sitting.
Arrow was still surveying him from across the table as though Mika had a crossword puzzle drawn on his forehead.
"Why didn't you two ever get together? You an' Arra? An' I don't mean friends w' benefits. I mean together together."
"Gods, not this again. Because I'm not a redhead with impulse control issues. It was only ever going to be him."
Arrow sighed, appearing almost disappointed by Mika's answer. "I know, I know. But that was a long time ago. An' I don't think he's ever coming back. We may never know wha' happened, but for him to cut contact w' Arra and Seba and Vancha and Purl…" Arrow's voice trailed off but he kept one eyebrow raised meaningfully, allowing Mika to fill in the blanks on his own. Which wasn't difficult considering they'd had this conversation at least a thousand times in the past half-century. Mika rolled his eyes but held his friend's gaze. Arrow was so genuine about this kind of thing. Mika couldn't fault him for that.
"Are you going to be the one to tell her that? Because it's not going to be me." Mika replied at last.
Arrow sighed again but didn't push the issue any further. He gave Mika another clumsy hug, patted Gracie on the head, and lumbered his way back towards the sporting halls to pick up where he left off. (Or more accurately, was pushed off.)
Only after Arrow departed did Mika feel the bittersweet ache of missing out. It wasn't about the drinking and fighting. He missed the opportunity to engage with his fellow vampires on equal ground. He only got three nights every twelve years when they didn't mince their words and tiptoe around Sire Ver Leth. But the moment of nostalgia was faint and brief. There'd be other Festivals. Gracie wouldn't always be little. So Mika headed for the Grandpa Table.
For as long as Mika could remember, whenever he looked at Paris and Seba together he felt like he was witnessing a sneak preview of how his and Arrow's friendship would look five hundred years from now. Always exchanging knowing glances like they were both in on the same secret joke. Finishing each other's sentences. Standing side by side, decade after decade, each an unconditional pillar of support for the other.
But every now and then, something subtle will pass between them. And Mika wonders if Paris and Seba's bond has surpassed the realm of the platonic. He can't explain it. But he can't shake it either. And once Mika sat down with Gracie, it took them about five minutes to forget he was even at their table.
"My goodness, you have gotten quite strong!" Seba told Gracie with utmost seriousness after letting her win an arm wrestling match. "You will be hunting grizzlies before the decade is up. Now we just need to work on your form. Might I suggest keeping your elbow on the table?"
"You always did have a knack for nurturing a competitive spirit!" Paris teased Seba, a cheeky glint in his eye. "Perhaps you should consider applying for the position of Assistant Games Master."
"Bah! My years of teaching have passed." Seba scoffed, waving his gnarled hand dismissively. "Besides, this one does not test my patience as unruly cubs tend to do. Miss Grace listens."
"Can you introduce me to this Miss Grace who allegedly listens? I don't believe we've met." Mika snorted.
Seba and Paris both glanced at him bemusedly, confirming his suspicions they'd forgotten he was there.
"Oh, I have no doubt she listens to everything you say. She made that very apparent in her first official address to the clan last night." Paris deadpanned, grinning wickedly while Seba chortled beside him.
Mika grimaced at the memory as he ran a hand through his hair. "Gods, I'm never going to live that down, am I? She was supposed to say Luck!"
"I personally think she smashed her public debut. Then again it should not come as a great surprise that a Smahlt-Ver Leth baby knows how to captivate an audience." Said Seba, then added as an afterthought: "As long as she leans towards the Ver Leth side where politics are concerned, mind you."
"Seba." Paris groaned. He gently jabbed Seba's ribs with his elbow, which Mika thought was a little ironic since Paris wasn't exactly the president of Kurda's fan club either.
"Ah dear, was that out loud? You will have to forgive me. I fear am growing rather brazen in my old age." Said Seba crisply.
Mika brushed it off. "I don't think she's planning on going into the family business anytime soon. But I'd assume her politics would mostly revolve around banning naps. "
Seba chuckled warmly at the evasive joke, but Paris was studying Mika from across the table. Those ancient blue eyes pierced Mika's psyche as much now as they did two centuries ago when he was a cub making questionable decisions.
"I wouldn't be so sure, Mika." Said Paris quietly." She looked as natural up there as you did."
Mika's brow furrowed incredulously. Of all people, Paris should've known better than to imply her future could, would, or should look anything like Mika's. Or that she'd turn out anything like him.
Please gods, anything but that.
But he was spared responding.
"I see Daddy!" Gracie chirped, pointing across the room. Mika half-turned in his seat; Kurda had just returned to the Hall of Khledon Lurt. There was a distinct spring in his step that suggested he'd finished the chess tournament on top. Not to mention the way he was smiling. It couldn't be more obvious in the way he was trying so hard not to look smug, because Kurda hates when people act smug, but still a little smug because he'd probably just set a new record or something.
Mika realized he was staring and abruptly refocused his attention back to the immediate vicinity. Gracie was flaked out in Seba's arms, reaching up to grab at his beard. It wasn't nearly as long as Paris's, which seemed to be causing her some inconvenience. But she was trying nonetheless.
"So much for your reputation as a crotchety old bat, hmm? I haven't seen you smile like that since Larten passed his trials." Said Paris. And until that point Seba had been beaming down at her like he'd never seen anything so lovely, while Paris's eyes brimmed with affection as he watched Seba watch Gracie. But it was short lived. The elderly Prince's face fell as he realized he'd touched a nerve. And there was no denying it. Seba's eyes went dark at the sound of the name.
"I'm sorry, my friend." Paris whispered.
"What ever for?" Seba replied with a harsh laugh that didn't fool anyone.
"I didn't think. I should have chosen my words more carefully -"
"What, you think I am some pathetic, fragile old man who cannot let go of the past?" Seba snapped. "You think I am not strong enough to hear the name Larten Crepsley?"
If it was anybody else, Mika would've stayed in his lane and watched the argument unfold. It was none of his business. But this wasn't a pair of rookie Generals he was pitting against each other to see which would take the high road. This was Paris and Seba. They took up space in his heart just like Gracie, Arrow, even Kurda did. This was family.
"Gracie, have you told Grampa Seba about Lovely's new trick?" Mika interjected as Paris visibly struggled to find words.
Gracie had no idea what was going on, but took her cue magnificently nonetheless. Because what is a Smahlt-Ver Leth baby if not a stellar public speaker and a instinctive strategic genius?
"Grampa Seba! I taught Lovely to jump in the air!"
Mika watched Paris exhale in relief as Seba's eyes lit up all over again. "Bah! You are telling tall tales, Miss Grace." He chuckled, booping her nose mischievously. "Lovely is not a jumping spider. His kind is built for strength, not agility."
"He can too! I hold the grub like this -" Gracie demonstrated by extending her arm, fingers pinched around an invisible grub - "and he jump!"
She wasn't lying. The godsforsaken creature did in fact jump up in the air (and into Mika's nightmares) when she held a grub out of his reach. And given the size of him, it was actually a pretty impressive feat of athleticism.
Neither Mika nor Paris were naive enough to believe Seba didn't see the diversion for what it was, but it didn't matter. Seba seemed equally relieved to let the topic of Larten Crepsley rest for now. Paris shot Mika an appreciative smile.
Mika considered packing up and moving on to allow Paris and Seba some space. But Seba was still holding Gracie comfortably in his arms and showing no indication he was thinking about giving her back. And she looked like she was entertaining the idea of going to sleep, so Mika poured himself a mug of cider and left well enough alone. Besides, every vampire in Mika's age demographic had been blind drunk for the past six hours at least. And drunk vampires are only fun when you're also a drunk vampire.
As Paris and Seba earnestly delved into a shameless gossip session about the clan's newer Generals, Mika's focus began to wander elsewhere. He'd already reviewed the same gossip with Arrow the night before. Not to mention his focus was once again pulled in by a flash of gold from across the room.
Kurda appeared to be deep in discussion with another General - Egan McCallan. Based on the animated hand gestures and the determined glint in his eyes, the debate was heating up. And it had to be highly political because Kurda's speech volume had already dialled up several degrees. Between that and lip reading, Mika was able to pick up a few words - "Stone" and "Hall" and "proactive" and "logical". No prizes for guessing which political rabbit hole Kurda was diving into.
Even prior to the dawn of their unlikely allyship, Mika couldn't help but respect how well Kurda held his own in a debate. Kurda was a world-class speaker - Mika would know that better than anyone. Personally he felt Kurda could talk circles around him. And if the clan ever bothered to listen to Kurda, maybe they'd reach the same conclusion.
There was a momentary lull in conversation at Mika's table, and he caught another snippet from across the room.
"No, I do understand where you're coming from! You're just thinking in the short term." Kurda was saying earnestly. "If implemented carefully, this would prevent a lot of potential turmoil in the long range -"
Mika caught himself smiling as he eavesdropped. Every now and then when Kurda felt really passionate about something, his words came tumbling from his lips in the form of a restrained half-yell that was never not accompanied by blue flames burning in his eyes. What people don't realize is that Kurda is a fighter. He fights with his mind, and it's a sharper weapon than any of the priceless swords hanging in Mika's weaponry locker. And out of all those endless Kurda-isms, that fighting spirit was the one Mika most hoped Gracie would grow to embody.
But for now she was growing sleepier in Seba's arms. She'd sway sideways with fluttering eyelids, then catch herself and straighten up. Hand to the gods Mika really had gotten better at enforcing her bedtime at her actual bedtime, rather than several hours after. But it was a special occasion so he was letting her social battery take the lead.
"How you doing, G?" He asked her, leaning over to ruffle her hair. And just like that, all traces of tiredness disappeared from her face. She grinned up at Mika like she was having the time of her life listening to old men gossip.
"Good!"
"Are you sure? If you're getting sleepy we can go to bed."
"No bed. Stay up!"
"Will you tell me when you're ready for bed?"
"Yeah!"
"For some reason I don't believe you." Mika chuckled. And Gracie snickered right along with him as if they were sharing a grand inside joke, because they both knew she should've been in bed hours ago. Mika caught Seba's eye and added in an undertone, "You know you can give her back any time, right? You don't have to spend your whole night on this bench just because she decided to get comfortable."
Seba smiled. His face was once again the picture of contentment. "Of course I know."
"Perhaps Mika is glad for the reprieve. But I for one would appreciate a turn holding my grand-human." Paris cut in peevishly. His sparkling eyes didn't match his tone, and Seba laughed ruefully.
Mika didn't catch whatever retort Seba came back with. One of the more crowded tables had emptied, leaving an uncluttered soundscape between Mika and Kurda. The passion in Kurda's voice sent a prickle of adrenaline shooting up Mika's spine.
"You glorify strength and honour, but if one single object has the power to destroy all of us, is our clan really that strong?!" Kurda was half-shouting. "One simple change could be the difference between preservation and extinction. And if you're afraid of that discussion, how strong are you really?!"
Mika felt every hair on his body stand on end. He didn't immediately turn around, but he tuned out Paris's anecdotes to focus more closely at the conversation happening at Kurda's table. To his dismay it seemed to be rapidly progressing from conversation to altercation.
Kurda was smart. Gods, he was so fucking smart that Mika felt his own brain resembled a box of rocks in comparison. Kurda was also opinionated. And determined. What Kurda wasn't, was afraid of confrontation. That was another thing Mika respected about him. But Kurda also wasn't sober. Not even close. He wasn't trying to instigate conflict, but his conviction tended to invite it regardless. And he clearly wasn't reading the room as acutely as he normally did.
"Why don't you tell me how strong I am, Smahlt? After all, you seem to know everything else." Egan McCallan growled back. The words were punctuated by the sound of a chair leg scraping on stone as McCallan stood up. That was enough to trip the hair-thin trigger wire in Mika's head. He turned around just in time to see McCallan and Kurda standing eye-to-eye.
A combat challenge was on the tip of McCallan's tongue; Mika could tell by the way his teeth were bared in aggression. In accordance with Festival customs, Kurda wouldn't be able to respectfully decline. And in accordance with McCallan's reputation as a bully, he wouldn't have accepted No as an answer anyway.
"Good evening, Generals." Mika pointedly announced his approach, pulling Kurda and McCallan's focus away from each other.
Kurda rolled his eyes in exasperation, as if Mika was cramping his style. "What're you doing here?"
"Same as you. Enjoying the Festival."
"What d'you want?"
"Not everything is about you, Smahlt. I actually wanted to talk to McCallan." Said Mika, offering Kurda a brittle smile before turning to the other General.
"Sire Ver Leth. Good to see you again." Said McCallan with a curt nod. Mika slowly looked him up and down, eyes lingering on the sleeve of tattoos that looked like they'd been done in a cave with a butter knife.
"It's wonderful to see you made it to the second night of the Festival. You're looking quite well." Said Mika. He nodded slightly as he spoke and placing a subtle note of patronization on wonderful and well. Sound familiar?
"Wouldn't dream of missing any of it." McCallan replied, brow furrowed in poorly-disguised confusion by the compliment. Mika wasn't widely known for delivering positive feedback.
"That's the spirit!" Mika chuckled as he clapped McCallan's bulky shoulder. His hand lingered there and he squeezed it as he leaned closer and added in an undertone "Between you and me, I don't think you've slowed down that much."
McCallan took the bait like a starving trout. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "…Slowed down?"
"The rumour mill can be cruel." Said Mika, nodding again with faux encouragement. "Don't let it get to you. You look as tough as the day you completed your Trials."
"You'll have to excuse my ignorance, Sire. I have no idea what you're talking about. Are you implying you've heard rumours that my skills have declined?"
Mika widened his eyes in alarm, let his jaw go slack, then slowly covered his mouth in horror. He hadn't delivered such a convincing performance since he pranked Chok Yamada by faking a near-fatal allergic reaction to a peanut. "Charna's guts. My sincerest apologies. I just assumed you'd heard by now. You know how vampires gossip. We aren't exactly masters of subtlety."
"They're gossiping about me? What the hell for?!"
"It's just that you've made a consistent pattern of only issuing combat challenges to vampires that have a significant disadvantage against you. You can't be that surprised your peers are starting to question if maybe…" Pause. Sigh for dramatic effect. Lower voice to a surreptitious whisper to deliver the kill shot: "…you're losing your edge. Their words. Not mine."
"That's ridiculous! Who started that rumour?" McCallan barked. Mika felt a droplet of spittle land on his cheek, which he wiped without breaking eye contact
"Personally I try to stay above all that. I just overhear bits and pieces. But I'll admit I started to wonder last night when you spent hours in the Hall of Baker Wrent targeting Master Blane's newest group of trainees at their very first Festival." Said Mika airily. "It almost looked like you were only picking fights you knew you could win. And I could've sworn you were about to have it out with Smahlt just now."
McCallan was growing more apoplectic by the second. His face itself looked in danger of rupturing. Mika leaned closer and continued in a stage whisper, "Kurda may be smarter than both of us put together, but between you and me he's kind of a shitty fighter. I don't care who you choose to challenge, of course. Just seems like a strange pattern for a General of your caliber."
"Mika, what are you doing?" Kurda groaned. "We were in the middle of a discussion!" He was still standing upright with his arms crossed, but Mika couldn't help but notice he was leaning on a table for support.
"Almost done. You can have him back in a second." Said Mika. He barely glanced at Kurda, instead keeping his eyes laser-focused on McCallan in a way that wasn't outright threatening but very much threw him off his game nonetheless. McCallan's mental gears were spinning so hard Mika could practically hear them. He gawked back at Mika with abject stupefaction, nostrils flaring and jaw twitching as he processed all that.
"When I was younger I always relished a chance to fight someone tougher than I was." He eventually forced out through gritted teeth. "It made me a stronger vampire. Now I'm returning the favour. I assure you my combat skills are not in decline."
"Ah. That makes perfect sense. Thank you for explaining. Now I've wasted enough of your time. The Festival of the Undead is a celebration of strength and honour, not gossip and slander. I'm sorry I brought it up. You were about to invite General Smahlt to duel you, correct?"
McCallan didn't look remotely reassured by that. "Indeed I was." He replied, eyeing Mika reproachfully.
"Perfect. I haven't had a chance to get my knuckles bloody yet tonight. If you don't mind me standing by to watch your duel, I'd be delighted to challenge the winner." Said Mika, flashing a dry smile and winking at McCallan, as though sharing an inside joke when really he'd just won a game McCallan didn't know he was playing. It didn't take a genius to do the math behind Mika's offer. McCallan would surely beat Kurda in any physical challenge. Just as surely as Mika would hand his ass to him in the next round.
There was that jaw twitch again. Couple beads of sweat dotting McCallan's forehead. And of course, a not-so-subtle bit of teeth grinding.
(There's an entire chapter about psychological warfare in the Sire Ver Leth Playbook. You can pre-order a copy from your local bookstore just as soon as Mika figures out how publishing works).
"Thrilling as that'd be, I'm late to meet up with a friend on the bars. I'd best be moving on." Said McCallan at last, managing an obligatory nod. Because Mika hadn't formally issued the challenge, he was still within his rights to walk away. And he did just that.
"Ah, too bad. I'll get you next time." Said Mika. He watched McCallan skulk away a moment then turned to face Kurda. Drunk as Kurda was, surely he'd be a little grateful for the way Mika saved his ass without making it obvious. But to Mika's surprise, Kurda was glaring back at him with reproach, arms crossed and hip jutted out - a stance of cool defiance. As cool as he could manage given that he was swaying where he stood. Mika looked him up and down and added, "And I'll get you to bed. You've done enough damage for one night."
Kurda's eyes widened, and for a moment he looked like Gracie whenever she feels there's a discrepancy with her bedtime. "But I'm not done!" He practically whined.
"You are, though."
But to Mika's surprise Kurda didn't protest when Mika looped his arm around him and steered him towards the door. Mika glanced at Gracie on the way out and was relieved to see she was busy playing cards with Paris. Mika would come back for her, but Kurda was currently the least functional member of the family. Gracie would just have to wait.
"You're welcome." Mika remarked as they trudged down the corridor. Kurda was doing very little walking; his feet were mostly dragging across the floor as Mika half-carried him.
"You weren't. And yet here you are." Kurda muttered, head lolling on Mika's shoulder.
"Sorry. Next time you're seconds from being knocked out, I'll wait for an invitation before stepping in."
"What are you talking about? We were having a conversation!"
"You were having a conversation." Mika corrected him drily. "McCallan was having none of it, and he was about to throw you through the wall."
Kurda rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation, momentarily displacing the wisps of hair that were hanging in front of his face. "Just 'cause he disagreed with my point doesn't mean he-"
"Had murder on his mind?" Mika cut in, eyebrow raised. "I know you haven't worked with McCallan much, but I have. And I assure you he did. This is why we have the no official business during the festival policy."
"Y'know, Mika, I feel sorry for you. It must be miserable to live your life on guard for the wors' possible outcome. People are more open-minded than you give'm credit for. I know I probably wouldn't have changed his opinion, but I was making him think! Isn't tha'better than nothing?"
Mika didn't entirely recognize the defiant, dishevelled mess staring up at him from beneath those platinum strands, and felt a stir of endearment in some back corner of his heart. He chalked that up to advance empathy, because Kurda was going to be so fucking hungover tomorrow. Mika shook it all off with a long-suffering sigh and an eye roll.
"Whatever you say. You're the expert."
"Thought it was whatever you say. You're the dictator." Kurda shot back.
"Oh good. You're a sloppy and belligerent drunk. How fun." Mika remarked sardonically as they bumbled their way up the final corridor to the royal suites. Based on how the journey went, Mika figured he'd better supervise the situation til Kurda was officially in his coffin and no longer a danger to himself. He briefly toyed with the idea of closing the lid as a safety precaution.
Mika remained in the corner, leaning against the desk as Kurda went about clumsily peeling his clothes off. You'd never guess by looking at him that he didn't devote a lot of time to honing his physique in the sporting halls. But his agile build and lean muscling weren't enough to save him now.
Kurda got his shirt halfway off before losing touch with his centre of gravity. Mika's warning of "Charna's fucking guts, be careful," went unheeded. Kurda swayed and began to tip over. This was going to end badly. But after centuries of elite combat training and almost two years of keeping Gracie out of trouble, Mika's reflexes were lightning. He managed to catch Kurda before he crash-landed into the desk chair.
"Gods, you're a menace." Said Mika, both arms securely around Kurda's torso to keep him upright as they stood there facing each other.
"And you… you're really strong, y'know that? Anyone ever tell you're really strong?" Kurda slurred, laughing as he snaked his arms around Mika's neck for support. His eyes were unfocused but he was smiling hazily nonetheless.
"I like to stay in shape. But for perspective, you weigh next to nothing. I have swords heavier than you." Said Mika.
Kurda responded with a theatrical rendering that would've made Shakespeare roll over in his coffin. He furrowed his brow and deepened his voice to inhibit a highly caricatured version of Mika - "Hurrr durrr, look at me, I'm Sire Ver Leth. I work out fifty hours a week and I like playing with my big, heavy sword! I have the biggest sword in the whole mountain, everybody look at me!"
He's here all week, folks.
Mika cupped his hand over Kurda's mouth, gently but firmly halting the spontaneous improv performance.
"You're done. Time for bed. I've had enough of you for one night. Actually for the rest of my life, if I'm being honest."
Mika proceeded to half-carry half-drag Kurda towards his coffin. Kurda did everything he could to make Mika's job harder, stumbling and swaying the whole way. Mika was solid as a rock and kept both of them on their feet.
That is until Kurda tripped into the coffin. And because his arms were still latched around Mika's neck for support, he took Mika with him. Kurda landed heavily on his back. It might've been painful had his fall not been broken by both his blankets and his blood alcohol content. Mika fell to his knees and would've come crashing down on top of Kurda, but he threw his right arm out to brace himself on the side of the coffin. It was a near miss - two inches, to be specific. That was how much space separated Mika's face from Kurda's.
Mika didn't have time to roll his eyes or deliver a scathing remark. One second he was stone cold sober. The next, a blazing headrush like he'd just taken a long drink straight from his finest bottle of whiskey. He saw Kurda every single day of his life but he'd never seen him like this. Lying there, bare chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath from the brief exertion. His usually pin-straight hair was all over his face, which only made the pink flush in his cheeks more noticeable. And that benevolently mischievous smirk. Like he'd figured out all of Mika's secrets and then some. And fuck it, that was probably truer than Mika was willing to admit - even to himself.
Kurda's gaze shifted slowly from Mika's eyes to his lips. Mika stopped thinking. Stopped breathing. The distance between them slipped from two inches to one when Mika's internal self-defence mechanism belatedly kicked in. It slammed the SOS button in the back of his mind that set the alarm bells screaming. Mika jerked backwards as if burned.
But when he'd recovered his composure after the brief slip, Kurda was still lying there staring up at him with the same hazy, contented smile. As if he knew the unprecedented effect he was having on Mika's psyche. But how could he possibly know? He was drunk off his ass. Mika's work here was done. He'd gotten Kurda safely to bed. There was no reason to stick around.
Mika turned away and busied himself with two tall glasses of water from the pitcher on the desk. Then he returned to Kurda's coffin - this time to crouch beside him at a safe distance.
"One for now." Mika firmly pushed the first glass into Kurda's hand before he could protest. "And one for when you wake up. You're gonna need it." He set the second glass on the floor beside the coffin and started towards the door.
"Wher're you going?"
"To go pick up our baby from Paris and Seba. They were kind enough to watch her while I rescued you. For some reason I was under the impression I was staying sober tonight to look after Gracie, not you. My mistake."
"You're not gonna tuck me in?" Kurda inquired, blue eyes widening in a mockery of innocence.
"Why would I tuck you in?"
"You tuck Gracie in."
"I like her better than you. No contest."
"That's no way to talk t'your… your baby-daddy." Kurda slurred, then cackled like he'd just cracked the comedy code. Mika rolled his eyes and fake-gagged, more to stifle his own laughter than anything else.
"Gods, I hate that phrase. The second the Festival is over I'm having it formally banned. Gonna sign it into law and-"
"Hurrr durrr, look at me, I'm Sire Ver Leth and I can ban words just because I don't like - HEY!"
"Goodnight, Smahlt." Mika closed the coffin lid and didn't look back
Gracie was still at the old mens' table where Mika left her. She was focused on a board game with one of Paris's old General friends who'd joined them.
"No bed. Play chess." Gracie informed Mika haughtily as he sat down beside them.
"That one's checkers, honey."
She didn't care. All she knew was she was winning. Which probably had nothing to do with the fact her opponent was so drunk he could barely pick up the game pieces. After what felt like an hour, Gracie's game concluded with a sweeping victory. Mika was about to tell her "okay it's time for bed, I'm literally begging you" when another General asked him if there were any updates on the reportedly destroyed way station. And fuck if Mika will turn down a perfectly good opportunity to talk about work. It's even more tantalizing when he's not supposed to be talking about work.
That was all it took. Thirty seconds of displaced attention. Mika was recounting his orders for the investigation team he'd be dispatching to the way station upon conclusion of the Festival. Then out of the corner of his eagle eye he spied Gracie pick up someone's abandoned mug in both hands and raise it up to her face. But it wasn't empty. There was just enough red liquid left that Mika could see it from where he was sitting.
It wasn't Mika's mug. He doesn't drink blood when she's nearby. Wasn't Paris's or Seba's. They're just as careful. It doesn't really matter who left the mug sitting around. All that mattered was Gracie spotted it before Mika did. Time ground to a halt. The rest of the world went silent.
Mika is not, and has never been a yeller. He feels yelling is an ineffectual form of communication best saved as a last resort. But the sight of her seconds away from taking a sip of the thick, red human blood was enough to unhinge some compartment in the back of his mind he'd never needed to access before. And stored in that compartment was just enough raw terror for his voice to snap like a whip as the words came flying out.
"GRACIE, PUT THAT DOWN."
She didn't know any better. But there wasn't time to ask calmly, or physically remove the mug from her hands. So he yelled. And she listened. The mug dropped on the table, tipped, and spilled. But she wasn't paying any attention to the grisly contents as it pooled in front of her. Her wide eyes were fixed on Mika, bottom lip already trembling with betrayal. She stared silently back at him out of huge tearful eyes that were screaming what the fuck just happened, Dad?!
And the worst part was Mika couldn't even fully explain what the fuck just happened. Because that would mean explaining what was in the mug and why it was critical that she didn't touch it ever. Or why everyone else could - just not her.
Gracie found her voice before Mika did. After several seconds of stunned silence that stretched out like an eternity, she dissolved into noisy sobs and Mika's heart splintered into shards at the sound. He instinctively picked her up and held her. She sobbed even harder, tears already soaking through his shirt and onto his skin as she mashed her reddening face into his chest.
"I'm sorry. Daddy's so sorry for yelling. Everything's okay. You didn't do anything wrong." Mika murmured over and over as he walked out of the Hall and down the corridor. He didn't have a destination in mind. He just walked. He walked until he reached a secluded staircase at the end of a deserted hallway. Finally he sank down to the floor beneath the old wooden stairs, back resting against the wall and Gracie still weeping messily in his arms. He didn't know what to say. Words didn't seem to be helping. So he rubbed her back in silence while she cried it out.
Eventually Gracie had to come up for air, and when she lifted her head she hit Mika with a watery glare. Clearly her feelings were hurt. Mika didn't blame her. She'd never been yelled at before.
"You okay, Gracie?" He offered tentatively.
She pointedly refrained from answering, brow furrowed in resentment at the rhetorical question. Mika switched tactics. "You got a little something on your nose. And your chin. All over the place, really. Can I get that for you?"
She managed a stiff nod, and held still as Mika set about dabbing her face with his sleeve to wick away the mixture of tears, drool, and snot that had accumulated there. This shirt was about to become a total write-off, but it was a small price to pay.
"There you go. All clean." Mika gently booped her nose before withdrawing his hand. She didn't allow him a smile, but her lip twitched. "Are you okay?" He repeated, more pointedly than before.
Gracie's chin began to quiver all over again. "Daddy mad at me?"
Mika's mind was blank. For someone who always had an answer, and a confident one at that, he felt completely lost. But the moment he yelled at her was already well on its way to permanently branding itself into her core memories. Whatever words he chose would determine how the memory ended. All he could do was take a deep breath and guess at what Kurda would say if he was here.
"No, Gracie. I'm never mad at you. Sometimes people shout because they're mad. But sometimes it's because they're scared." Mika told her at last, while gently tucking her hair behind her ears with the hand that wasn't covered in snot.
That seemed to hit home. Her eyes went wide with disbelief as she stared up at him. As though the fact he experienced fear was a great secret the universe had been keeping from her. He didn't know why she found that so shocking. She'd seen him face off with a tarantula before.
"Daddy get scared?"
"Yes. When I saw you were about to drink from the grown-up cup, I got very scared. Because the drink in that cup wasn't for you. It… it would've made you very sick. I needed to get your attention right away. So I shouted at you. Do you understand?"
She nodded. To Mika's relief, the sting of betrayal appeared to be abating. Her expression had softened back to the usual intuitive curiosity that had Mika fully convinced she understood more than she was capable of communicating.
"It's not your fault, you hear me? I should've been watching. But even though we were both scared, you listened so well. Thank you for listening." He added, voice finally cracking.
Gracie abruptly stood up, wrapped both arms around his neck and began to pet the back of his head earnestly while telling him, "Don't be scared, Daddy."
It took Mika a second to realize she was trying to comfort him exactly how she was used to being comforted. Sure she got her outward confidence from Mika, but that innate compassion was all Kurda. Maybe it wasn't always a vampire thing. But it was a Kurda thing, and that made it a Gracie thing. And not for the first time, Mika wondered if Kurda had any idea how much better the world was because of him.
"Thank you, Gracie. I feel much better now." Mika told her honestly after a minute or two. "Do you feel better?"
Gods, finally. There was that smile. That cheeky, gap-toothed smile that reached all the way up to her bright eyes.
"All better."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"That's my girl. We're still friends, right?" He held out his hand. And after taking a minute to ponder the offer, Gracie nodded and pressed her palm against his and looked up at him with those huge, wondering blue eyes.
"Daddy?"
"Gracie?"
Please don't ask what was in the mug please don't ask what was in the mug please don't ask what was in the mug.
"I ready for bed now."
Mika almost laughed in relief.
"Finally."
Their heart-to-heart seemed to have been enough for Gracie to shake it off and move on. She chatted Mika's ear off all the way back to their suite and fell asleep seconds after her head touched the pillow. Mika readjusted her blankets, extinguished her torch, and quietly closed her door behind him.
Mika didn't bounce back nearly as quickly as Gracie had. Tonight's near miss had been a sobering reminder of the chasm that existed between her fragile human life and the supernaturally enhanced lives of those around her. He'd grown complacent.
He changed into his sleep clothes but didn't feel ready to lie down. He chose instead to sit at his desk for some time. Drank some water. Ate some emergency snacks. Took some deep breaths. Read some boring meeting documents in an attempt to regulate whatever internal system had his mind spinning off its axis. It kind of worked. Eventually Mika figured since he'd successfully put both Kurda and Gracie to bed (in that order) it was only fair he did the same.
He didn't realize how tired he was til he finally curled up under his blanket. For once it worked in his favour that he was already running on insufficient sleep from the night before. Otherwise there'd be no telling how long he would've laid there while an endless reel of what-ifs played through his mind. He only had to endure maybe half an hour of that (which is pretty good for him) before he finally began to doze off.
And then he heard the soft but decisive squeak of his door handle. He already knew what this was. He didn't feel an ounce of surprise. Only bone-deep resignation, because tonight was not the night and he was not the one. But he couldn't have expected Arra to anticipate that.
The benefits layer of their long-standing friendship was founded on a premise so simple they never even had to speak it out loud. Arra needed a distraction from the mountain of unclaimed baggage Larten Crepsley left her with. Mika needed the stress relief from being Mika. It had been a long time since either were in a place where romance or emotional availability were on the table. So they hooked up every few years. No harm, no foul, no strings.
"Gods, there you are. Been looking everywhere for you." She was technically whispering, but by the loosest definition. Mika heard the whiskey in her voice before he smelled it on her breath.
"Hey. Sorry. Had a lot going on." He greeted her quietly. "How was your night?"
He didn't know why he bothered with pleasantries. Arra didn't even do pleasantries sober. She slipped into Mika's coffin, peeled his blanket back and confidently straddled his hips. Normally the wicked glint in her eyes was almost enough to kickstart the century-old crush he'd put on ice. But tonight had been anything but normal.
"Arra, wait a second -" The words were smothered on his lips as she leaned in and kissed him with every bit of her signature brazen energy. As she slipped her hand in the direction of his waist, Mika pulled back enough to force the words out.
"Hey. Arra. Stop. Just listen to me." He gently grasped her wandering hand, halting its course and redirecting it back up to a neutral space. She let out a low hum of indignation coupled with a puppy-dog-adjacent stare he couldn't deny had worked on him at least once or twice in decades gone by.
"Gods, what? Why are you still dressed?" Arra huffed. Even at the absolute best of times, she was never one to take anything slow.
"My daughter is asleep in the next room." Mika told her firmly. "We're not doing this tonight."
Arra's brash audacity faltered, and Mika could tell by the flicker of guilt in her eyes that she genuinely hadn't even considered that. But she gathered herself and fired back, "Hmm. If only there were other rooms."
"Don't look at me like that. I'm not rejecting you. I'm just… rescheduling you." said Mika, laughing softly at the way she rolled her eyes at him.
She slowly sat up, taking him in at eye-level. "So this is it? You're really kicking me out?"
Mika held her gaze for a moment, countering her chilly reproach with calm neutrality. Her shrewd glare was as sharp as when she was stone cold sober. But even sitting down she was still swaying back and forth. Mika hadn't seen her this drunk since the dawn of the post-Larten era. He sighed.
"Here's the deal. Gracie wakes up at 6:00 sharp, every day. I'm not kicking you out, but I am saying you have to be gone no later than 5:30. Then I am kicking you out. No matter how hungover you are. And the clothes stay on."
"Gods, Mika. When'd you get so boring?" She groaned. But she allowed him a hazy smile as he rolled his eyes and lifted the blanket to admit her.
"When did you get so needy?" He retorted, straight-faced.
"I've never had to try this hard. Usually you just take the hint."
She wasn't wrong. Mika chuckled into the darkness as he slipped an arm around her small, comfortingly familiar frame.
"Don't take it personally. Just bad timing." He closed his eyes and exhaled. Arra muttered a complaint under her breath but leaned into him all the same. And within seconds she was asleep. They'd slept like this countless times over the centuries. Sometimes out of necessity to keep warm. Sometimes because it just felt nice.
Sex is one thing. You don't have to feel anything to have sex. Some say it's recommended, but ultimately that's at the discretion of the parties involved. Sleeping requires a much deeper level of intimacy. Vulnerability. Mika can quite literally count on one hand the number of people in the universe with whom he feels secure enough to close his eyes and sleep without a second thought. But even though Arra was one of them, sleep was determined to evade him a little longer. Something felt off.
Not that anyone asked, but if Mika had to pinpoint his most and least favourite things about himself he'd only need one answer. It's the fact his mind doesn't have an off switch. He's always, always on. When there's a mission to accomplish or a problem to solve, it's a superpower. When his body is exhausted and all he wants to rest but his mind won't let him, it feels like punishment. Regardless of whether he's done anything wrong. And he hadn't done anything wrong. Charna's guts, he hadn't done anything at all. He was overthinking it. He overthought everything. Every time.
Mika's freight train of (over)thought finally derailed when Arra rolled over in her sleep, nestled her head in the crook of his arm, and mumbled something that vaguely sounded like a bar challenge.
"We can go to the bars tomorrow." Mika murmured, feeling a tug on his heartstrings. Even though he'd long since outgrown the feelings he once harboured for her, Arra was still Arra. And Mika still liked being with her. Clothed or not.
He closed his eyes again and there it was waiting for him. Slamming him like a lightning bolt, searing the backs of his eyelids. The image of Kurda lying there in his coffin. Staring up at Mika with that drunk-but-still-smarter-than-you grin. Eyes gleaming beneath those strands of messy platinum. Cheeks flushed. Soft pink lips close enough to touch.
Fuck.
Those who've already been there done that with this series will recall the romantic detour Mika took with Arra in Call It What You Want before ultimately realizing he's in love with Kurda. I'm not going to re-write Call It the same way I'm rewriting This Is Us. I'm going to scrap almost everything that happened in that story and rebuild from scratch. But there will be similarities. All these rewrites are still going to lead into Bloodline eventually. Anyway this is me sending y'all flowers for your endless patience. *
- roxy