|Summary:||A familiar face enters Damian's life again. A very dearest one.|
The place itself is rather... unassuming. to say the least -- I mean, it's some abandoned place after all -- but it's something that's very Damian-style. Abandoned, quiet, and most of all, creepy. It's the ruins of a cathedral out in Little Woods.
The note in her pants doesn't seem to bother Eira. In fact, it's probably some time before she even notices it's there. It's unfolded quietly, read, and when the letter 'D' is seen at the end - there's a faint touch of a smile. It reflects in the little glint of her pale blue eyes, a click of her tongue as it's tucked away to be kept until said date and time. Eira is a patient soul. At least, patient enough. Maybe a little less so when she thinks about that familiar face she's coming to meet. The Mekhet moves with a quiet grace inside, nearly melting into the shadows when she steps into the abandoned place before stepping out onto the rotten altar in plain sight. The girl spins on a heel, clad in sneakers, a thin black turtle neck, and faded worn jeans. "Don't try and scare me," The voice nearly purrs, barely a whisper as she waits. "Come say hi. Properly."
There's a dark silhouette shifting at the broken balcony at the top of the cathedral, about three or four meters high from the ground. He's on all fours, silently watching the girl's entrance into the building, perhaps to make completely sure that this is the actual Eira and not just some Kindred with the same name and appearance? Or even an impostor. Damian can recall the dangers she was facing as a vampire of her Bloodline though, how people were previously hunting her and anyone with her blood down. The crease of his lips part into a smile once he's sure that it's her, from the way she talks, her teasing. A loud thud as Damian finally leaps onto the floor, rising up from his crouched position. He's clad in a grey sweater and black cargo pants, with a pair of steel toed combat boots that has seen better days. Hands tucked in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, he slowly makes his way towards her. "Eira," his low voice echoes, ashen hair and blue eyes begin to be illuminated under the moonlight that's piercing through the non-existent rooftop. "It really is you, huh? What the hell."
The girl listens in silence as she goes statue still, but Damian doesn't keep her waiting long. How could he? Prolonged patience had never seemed to be his strong suit, and for some reason that makes her smirk. Nearly the same time that he thuds to the floor, Eira turns slowly in his direction. Those glassy eyes bat a few times as she bites her lower lip, a child-like impishness taking over her demeanor. Like Mum had hidden the cookie jar, but now she's found it. And it's hers again. "In the very flesh," Eira coos in his direction, the irony not lost on her as her gaze flutters over him before she sidles closer. "Tell me you missed me."
Damian doesn't stop. When he's made it certain that this is the girl that has disappeared in his unlife, which might've hurt his dead cold heart a lot more than he thought it would, or he thought -couldn't- even be possible, only for her to return again. But once that thought has settled into his mind? His smirk begins to fade, replaced by the same little scowl that colors his mood every night, his footsteps growing slower and hesitant, until he stops about a few feet away from her. Unles she decides to come even closer, of course. Perhaps he's afraid of being 'hurt' again, a feeling that he's never felt in decades, if not centuries, before she happens. "You know that I do. You always know better than everybody else." Of course he does, else he wouldnt've arranged this meeting in the first place.
She watches him closely, quietly, studying the way he walks, his expression, that tone of voice. The way he slows, the way he scowls. It makes her incredibly happy to see him uncomfortable like that, a spike of pleasure she's secretly missed, to know that she's the cause of the beginning of a bad mood so quickly after arriving. Her expression falters into something more somber, considering. At first she gives him his space as he stops and lets the silence linger before she offers a quiet simper of words. "I want to hear you say it, anyways." A touch hurt in that voice? And then she's moving that few feet forward, lower lip subtly protruding in the most minimal pout. "Unless you want me to say it first." There's a quiet offer in there - an apology, maybe, or reassurance, if he wants it. Her eyes take a moment to scan him over a little more closely, a flash of worry. "How have you been?"
If he was still human, his eyes would probably be bawling right now, lips trembling as words became so hard to utter, pain and sorrow and regret overwhelming him. He knows because he can feel those creeping up onto him, feelings that he never knew he could ever -feel- again, although they are significantly downgraded compared to how he'd feel as a normal human. But still, they're there, lingering just behind his cold and dead heart. A hand is pulled from inside his pocket, lifted up to caress over her temple, sweeping away some locks of her platinum hair. His mouth gapes open just a little to reveal that pair of fangs, the fangs that she'd become to be very familiar of by now. "I missed you," Damian eventually relents after hearing that hint of sadness in her voice, her regret. That's all he needs, to also know that she shared in his pain, a hollow and meaningless concept to their undead lives. His fingers retreat and fall to his side. "Don't worry bout me, it's just the same old bullshit." Damian tries at a smirk, but it comes off as forced and weak. "You?"
He says the words and it provokes a soft smile, her head turning fractionally into the feather-light touch of his fingers against her face. "And I missed you." Eira says quietly after him, coming through on that little offered promise of momentary vulnerability. Not with anyone else. Just him. Those saturated eyes of hers linger on his fangs, if only for a moment, before her lips press into a soft line and her gaze flutters back up to his face. A frown pulls at the corners of her lips at that smirk of his - not quite the one she remembers from before. A hand reaches up as the tips of her fingers brush against his bottom lip, as if a touch alone could change that. Eira knows it can't. "I worry about you." The statement is a little pressing, a quiet point being made and a reminder given before her fingers drop from his lip. "I'm better, now."
Those words almost got him, they really almost did, as much as he thought he could hold it back and be as stoic as he possibly can; the big bad vampire does not show vulnerability after all, right? Even worse when it's emotional. His bottom lip quivers a little, as if he was on the edge of shedding some tears, but then he turns away and walks, not giving her the chance to touch at his lip, and putting some distance between them. He stops after about four or five steps away, his back turned on her, and there is a split second where he's really pondering to just walk out of the church's doorway and leaving her be, never to return again. He's seen her face, his curiosity has been sated, what else could he want from her? "Why did you come here? In this city, out of the hundreds in this country. You think that you could just leave like that and come back, like nothing ever fucking happened?" Damian is barely holding his sneer back as he blurts those words out. Maybe this is what he needs; more answers.
Eira sighs, but she doesn't seem surprised. Her hand falls back to her side as she waits for it, what she feels to be an oncoming slew of that temper Damian is so famous for. While she waits for him to process she can't help but stare at the floor, though eventually it starts to wander quietly about the Cathedral until he speaks. Her head is turned up and to the right, gaze lingering up at that balcony from where he first came. To be honest, Eira hadn't known what to expect out of this meeting. Or maybe she did. Emotions were such tepid things with vampires, though with Damian? Once upon a time she knew how to read him quite clearly. "I didn't know you were here," She answers quietly with her eyes still up on that dusty railing. "After a while they all just blurr together. A city of dreams, one after the other..." She'd been running for so long, but Damian might not understand. "I would look for you. Sometimes." Eira adds on as an afterthought. "But you were never there. No one had seen you." A sad simper of a smile. "But you found me. Didn't you?"
Damian heaves out a sigh. Not that he needs to, leaving behind the concept of 'respiration' ever since he became one of the undeath, but it's reflex. A reflex that he still remembers until now, to show his frustration, or to vent away his frustration. But he's frustrated either way. He brushes a hand over his ashen hair, the other planting on his hip as he seriously considers the exit now. Again he relents, this time shown by him dropping his hands to the side, and a turn of his head to give the woman behind him a sidelong glance. "Maybe you did, maybe you didn't. Doesn't matter much now, because you're here eitherway. I thought you've died or some shit, staked by a group of mortal hunters, or maybe the danger that was following you around finally caught up to you? Fuck, I tried so hard not to give it any thoughts, but then I did for some time."
He turns to fully face her again, though this time with the distance still put between them. "I found you as much as you found me. A little bird came whispering your name, and I thought my dead heart stopped beating for a second, before I fucking realize it's never been beating for centuries," he says with both glee and sadness mixed within those words. "I have to go. I need to give this a more thorough thought-- I can't think straight when you're right here, right in front of my fucking face, like some ghost that came back to life again."
Eira finally turns to look back at him with a rather neutral expression. She listens to his words and offers a sigh, much like his. Not physically needed. Just a habit of expression, especially when it comes to him. "Damian." And the pale shadow is back in front of him, reaching on her very tip-toes to attempt to leave a brush of a kiss against his cheek. "I'm as alive as I can be. Here. Now. With you." Those fangs try and brush over what skin she can reach before Eira steps away, a bit of a coolness entering those eyes as she levels him a look. "And I'm not leaving." A fact? A promise? Either way, a statement.Damian is barely even startled when she's suddenly all up in her face. It only confirms that this is -the- Eira that he's always known; quick, stealthy, and unexpected. And extremely adorable for a vampire. He gives her a bland stare for a second, when she tries to tip-toe and plant a little fanged kiss on his cheek, but when she tries to step away he's quick to grab onto her arm and pull her closer, holding her in his cold embrace. He brushes his own lips on her forehead, a nod of his head when the promise is given. He might very well hate himself for the rest of his life if this ever goes downhill again, but God forbid if he can't put his trust on the little Mekhet. He's missed her so very much. "My shadow," he huskily whispers while he caresses her platinum hair, before reluctantly letting go. "Let's go back to my haven."