Chapter Text
It's bright. Like, really bright. The sun's glaring down on him unforgivingly, the heat sinking all the way into his bones. He wished he could just pull off some of the layers keeping him suffocatingly warm, but that would be improper.
The thought almost makes him scoff. Almost. Because he didn't want to face the consequences of if he did. And also because it had been so ingrained in him not to.
Don't do anything to ruin the image of his parents, don’t act like a commoner, don't react, don't have friends, have allies. Don't let your emotions show, don't play all your cards at once. Don't, don't, don't. It drove him mad, the constant don't of noblehood. But, alas, it was what he was born into.
And, even more unfortunately, being born into a new family - one borne of a union between two older noble families to form a new bloodline - didn't excuse him of any of the expectations.
So, perfection it was.
And perfection meant standing in the blazing heat, sun in his eyes, while his father addressed the crowd. Absolutely still, absolutely silent. The picture of grace.
His eyes flicked briefly to his right, where his sisters stood. The faintest sheen of sweat shone on Alice's brow, but she ignored it with practiced grace. Louanne stood similarly, arms at her back, only the slightest furrow of her brow to show her discomfort. He made a point to mimic them. Better for all three of them, that way.
It took nearly three hours before they were finally back at the manor, the air no cooler inside than it had been out in the sun.
It didn't take long for the house servants to come, ushering the three Goldsmith children into their rooms, while their parents split off to their respective offices. Sachairi went without fuss, not commenting as the servant stripped him of his formal wear and redressed him into an only slightly less suffocating outfit. The servant left without a word, and Sachairi sat on the edge of his bed.
These days were long. And not just per the season’s usual. It was tiring, how many public displays they were expected to make. And they had to make preparations for the next festival, and then there were even more appearances to be made. Oh, and the gala Mother had planned for that next week.
No wonder the servants were so quick in their ushering.
A knock on his door had him turning his head, calling out an invitation.
The door opened slowly, Louanne leaning on the frame lazily. She gave him a smile, slightly droopy with the heat of the day.
“Alice says everyone's ‘distracted’.” She put air quotes around the word, accentuating it with a fond roll of her eyes. “Will you be joining us, in the garden?”
Sachairi sat up at the invitation, beaming up at his older sister. “Of course!”
She chuckled, offering out her hand as he practically darted out of bed and to her side.
They walked through the halls of the manor, hand in hand, speaking in lowered voices to not call attention to themselves. Alice would be waiting in the center of the garden, likely playing in the fountain already.
It only took them a few minutes to work through the maze of rose bushes to the ornate marble fountain in the center, where Alice was, in fact, already waiting. She turned with a wide grin, green eyes glinting. She had her skirt racked up around her knees, her shoes off to the side of her, and her feet dangling in the water.
“Took you long enough.” She teased, reaching an arm out to invite the other two closer.
Sachairi didn't hesitate, clamoring up the tall fountain edge and removing his own shoes. The moment his toes met the water, the heat of the day was quickly forgotten.
The water was cool and clear, the fountain cleaned frequently and thoroughly each time. He avoided leaning into his sister, as much as he wanted to, but they were a lot closer than their parents usually permitted.
One of the few perks of the manor being so busy. At least they got to actually spend time together.
Louanne settled in on Sachairi’s other side, letting the ends of her skirts dip ever so slightly into the water. A contented sigh escaped through her nose, her eyes closed and head tilted slightly back.
Sachairi smiled, tempted to mimic the posture. Alice quickly dragged him into a conversation about her latest storybook read, though, and he found himself enraptured in a world of men who could turn into wolves, lovers calling out their names to bring them back to humanity.
He was grateful to have these moments.
Just him, and his sisters. No expectations. No hounding to be better than everyone else. Just easy conversation, and relaxed postures.
“Are you even listening?” Alice chastised. Her grin gave away that she wasn't truly upset, however.
“No.” Louanne said from beside him, still sitting in that oh-so-relaxed way. “The birds are much more interesting.” She teased, just barely opening her eyes, watching Alice from the corner of one.
“Of course you aren't. Sachairi, what of the old crones?”
“I'm sorry, I was lost in thought.”
Louanne chuckled. “Always a dreamer…” she murmured, quiet enough Sachairi wasn't sure if he'd actually heard it or not.
“So, basically, with werewolves-”
Alice's words carried on, rambling about werewolves and grandmothers, while Sachairi listened intently, Louanne smiling beside them.
~~~
Scott blinked slowly. The closest he had gotten to sleep in centuries was the few hours he would allow himself to sit and zone out completely, tuning out every sound, every thought, every image within his sight. It was strange to “wake up” from these moments, more akin to waking up as a human than any sleep he had endured throughout his vampirism. The slow coming back of all his senses, starting with sound, then sight, and eventually being able to piece together coherent thought.
Shelby and Drift were sure to scold him for such practices, if they knew.
As vampires, sleep wasn't a requirement by any means, though it was beneficial for maintaining psychological health. But many other things also worked for such purposes. Though, Scott admittedly didn't partake in many.
He eyed the golden locket sitting just an arm's length away, on his nightstand. It sent an intense wave of something through his chest, but he grabbed it anyways and clasped it around his neck, fingers just barely brushing the metal pendant.
A shiver danced over his spine, the unpleasant sensation from earlier coming back twofold. He allowed himself a minute to let it settle before getting up and preparing for the day.
It was probably nothing.
Shelby was waiting in the kitchen, a bottle of blood already set out for him. He knew this one was meant to be his because they were actively flitting about the kitchen, using up what few human ingredients they had (they always kept just enough to seem normal in the event of a human visitor), trying for perhaps the hundredth time to try and make something edible for vampires while still being solid and at least vaguely human.
Judging by the two attempts already sitting abandoned on the counter - one blackened with burns and the other still raw and extremely bloody - it wasn't going too well for her.
A feeling in his chest had him smiling as he watched their third attempt, tamping down a chuckle. It took him a moment to identify the feeling as some sort of combination of fondness and amusement.
He'd been working on identifying his emotions ever since they started popping back up, all the way back in Oakhurst.
Some were obvious, like his care for Shelby and Drift. Some were more difficult to pinpoint, such as the guilt that had started building about fifty years ago. He also hadn't expected the desire to go back and fix what he had broken. He knew that was well out of his capabilities, even now that he was nearly back to his full potential.
It was odd, the way the emotions curled in on themselves, and around each other. How the emotions could shift and change. It made the task of identifying them much more difficult.
“I just don't get what I'm doing wrong!”
The most recent batch of attempted cupcakes was of… undesirable consistency. There were strange chunks of an unknown substance thick within a bloody batter that was too thin.
“Do you need to mix it more?” From where he was sitting, it looked like the flour and other solid ingredients had bunched together and were refusing to meld.
“I've been trying to mix it for the past hour!” Shelby lamented. “I think our mixer's broken…”
Scott shook his head, standing and walking around the island to join her at the scene of the culinary crime. “Hm… I'm inclined to agree. Unless, of course, we're talking about the machine. It's been working without issue.”
“Scott!” Shelby laughed at the jibe, pushing him playfully. “It's not my fault the thing won't mix!”
He did chuckle then, searching the drawers for one of the spatulas they kept. Upon finding one, he immediately brought it to the butchered batter, breaking apart the clumps of flour and sugar and whatever else Shelby had assaulted their creation with. “Of course not.”
Shelby watched with rapt attention as he folded the blood into the other ingredients, instinct guiding him through the familiar motion, a small smile on his face.
“I didn't know you knew how to bake.” She commented.
He paused, only briefly, before resuming the motion. “Well, when you've been around as long as I have-”
“You've tried a bit of everything, yeah, I know. You've said. Multiple times.” They rolled their eyes, though the smile plastered on their face told him they didn't mean it rudely.
He didn't comment on it, and he didn't let his smile slip.
As much as it felt like it was going to, he wouldn't let it.
“I didn't know you knew how to bake.”
Such a simple comment. Not even anything worth noting. Just another observation she made about the centuries-old vampire living with her.
So why did it bother him so much?
…
Because he didn't know, either.
He definitely knew. How to bake, that is. He vaguely remembered making pastries, though he couldn't remember when or why. He knew he was better at cooking, though it was much harder to cook for vampires than to bake for them…
Why did he know that?
How did he know that?
He shook off the thoughts quickly. He could deal with them in the evening. For now, he was helping Shelby.
The batter had taken on a much better consistency, now that it wasn't being aggressively beaten together by a mechanical nightmare Scott still didn't quite understand. He helped them spread it between the cupcake tins, lined with colorful paper Shelby had insisted on ages ago.
She put it into the oven herself, setting the timer for 25 minutes. It seemed a bit long to him, but they insisted that it always took longer to bake than the recipe said.
He ended up pulling them out a whole ten minutes early.
The desserts were definitely not balanced correctly for vampiric consumption, but given they turned out edible this time, he took them up to the rooftop Abolish often camped out on to watch them. He didn't leave a note, he didn't need to. Abolish would know.
Returning to the apartment, he hesitated at the door for just a moment.
...
He didn't look forward to unpacking the day's earlier revelation.