Akrasia

Chapter 3: Lacuna II

The days that follow pass by similarly—Scott attending to his own business in the grey mornings while Drift and Shelby poke around the woods, finding nothing, yet still reading into every leaf, mushroom, and snapped twig that they find, and finally reuniting with Scott in the late afternoon, capping off the evenings with a dinner of "rare steaks" and "wine".

Come nightfall, Drift excuses herself to her chambers—much to the bafflement of Scott and Shelby, for night-time is of course when the fun truly begins. But, more than a creature of the night, Drift is a creature of habit, and she has spent the last several months pretending to be human, and her entire life before that being one. So, even if she does not sleep, she has become rather accustomed to—and, indeed, enjoys—the hours spent in her own privacy signalled by the setting sun, and is loathe to change this. They do however manage to persuade her to join them and stretch her wings for the occasional midnight meander, and Drift is surprised by just how much she has missed simply flying with the two of them. Yet for the most part, Drift spends the nights with her only company being her books.

That is until her sixth evening, following the arrival of another letter: pre-paid, and sealed with wax.

It arrives for her early in the morning with the rest of the post—and there it remains for the rest of the day, as upon seeing it her heart skips mortifyingly in her chest and she is keenly aware that the other two vampires in the room heard it, and thus refuses to further acknowledge its existence until she is alone in her room. And there can be no doubt in her mind that they both heard, for twin pairs of red eyes dig into her with unasked questions for the rest of the day.

Or, well, unasked from one party.

"Sooo." Shelby turns to Drift, twirling her parasol absently as they part ways with Scott for their morning stroll through the grounds. "You arrived here in a carriage."

Drift's eyes flick to Shelby. "Sure did!" she says, smiling.

"That's amazing! I've never been in a private carriage before, I didn't know being a detective paid so well!" Shelby says, eyes wide with wonder, and then they consider something and tap a finger to their lips. "Say, if you get paid to investigate stuff, do you think I could get paid to investigate Bigfoot sightings?"

Drift snorts. "Maybe if you find someone rich who is as passionate about Bigfoot as you are—but, no, I'm afraid it pays me atrociously. Part of why it's taken so long to visit is I needed to save for the postal wagon. Then, well, a friend insisted on the carriage and paid for that, instead."

Shelby stops walking and frowns at her. "Oh. Drift, if you needed money, Scott would have paid for it. Why didn't you ask?"

Drift also comes to a halt, making a face like she bit down on a clove of garlic. "I don't want his charity."

"But you'll take this friend's?" Shelby stares at her, then her eyes narrow. "It's the same person who's writing to you, isn't it?"

"I—" Drift falters, turning her head away and fixing her gaze on the winding creek poking out behind the twisting willows. "I didn't want to accept his money either, I just—it's complicated." She sighs, and looks back at Shelby. "It was just easier to let him pay for the carriage."

"Him...?" Shelby mutters under her breath, and Drift watches her head tilt and her eyes fill with more questions. Then, Shelby's brow furrows and she chews her lip, and after a moment she says. "Drift are you, like, okay?"

Drift stares at her for a moment, and it takes all of her willpower not to burst out laughing. "Yeah Shelby I'm... I'm fine? Why do you ask?"

"Well, I just..." Shelby takes a moment to consider their words, and Drift wonders how they don't puncture their lips with their fangs with that habit of theirs. "I never thought you'd have a guy as your sweetheart." They finally settle on.

Drift can't hold back it back any longer, the sheer confusion on Shelby's face and incredulity in their voice causing her to double over and red begin to prickle in the corner of her eyes. "Oh my god," she wheezes. "Ohhh. No, yeah, so true Shelby!" she barks out, and attempts to stifle back another snort, only to need to take a few moments to catch her breath as she breaks into a brief fit of coughs instead, failing to hold back the second wave of giggles and exclaiming between huffs and wheezes. "You know, you know, the last man who tried to court me ended up as a murder case!"

"What?" Shelby shrieks, her voice shifting up several octaves, accompanied by a brief sizzling noise as Shelby's parasol teeters out of her hands momentarily. "Drift?! You killed someone?!"

Drift startles, and the giggles die in her throat. "Oh, no no no, I didn't kill him, I just—ah..." a sheepish hand comes to rub the back of her neck. "Sorry, sorry. I shouldn't really joke about that actually. It was just—" she shakes her head. "Never mind. Yeah, no, I would never have a man as my companion, you're correct."

The frown returns to their face, and the parasol firmly above their head. "Is this guy bothering you, then?"

Drift snorts and fights back another fit of laughter to mixed success. "Well he's annoying that's for sure." She giggles. "But it's nothing you need to worry about. He's, just. Y'know, a friend of mine."

Shelby huffs, blowing a strand of her hair out of her face. "But who is he? You've never talked about him."

Drift's smile falters. What was it that Aimée had said? Half the truth is easier to maintain than a lie, or something? "Ah, well... he's Aimé Hawthorne—an eccentric who knows everyone who's anyone, and who I confer with on some of my cases sometimes."

"Oh." Shelby says, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. "Will you... have to go back, then? Is he writing to you about a case?"

Drift shakes her head. "I couldn't say, I've not read the letter yet." She shoots Shelby a reassuring smile. "I don't think so, though—his last letter was basically just reminding me to let him know I arrived safely. He did pay for my carriage, after all. If anything, he's probably just sending me some gossip in my absence."

"Gossip?" Shelby eyes her suspiciously. "In a wax sealed letter?"

The skin at her wrist itches, but she continues to smile at her. "Why, but of course! I'm sent only the most top secret gossip, Shelby!" she chuckles, and resumes walking down the path. "No, he sealed the last letter too, remember? He's... just... like that—very particular, never does anything by halves."

Shelby trails after her, her parasol spinning in her hands again. When she says nothing, Drift glances back, and is met by Shelby's searching eyes, a slight wrinkle in her brow as she chews her lip. "You seem... fond of him." She says, eventually.

Drift blinks. "Well I... I mean, I'm fond of all my friends, of course?"

"Mm." Shelby hums, clearly unsatisfied by that answer.

It's Drift's turn now to scrutinise Shelby, falling into step beside her, a frown on her face—she takes in the restless twirl of her parasol, the air of irritation reflected in her brow and the nonverbal response, the way she picks up her pace as she notices Drift watching her, the nature of the questions she's been needling her with all morning, and a question of her own forms on her lips. "Shelby." She says, a note of bewilderment colouring her voice. "Are you jealous?"

Shelby's whips around to look at her. "What? No! Wh—why would I be jealous?!" Her pale face begins to fill with a rosy pink hue.

Drift laughs, a grin spreading onto her face. "Shelby!" she exclaims, then drops her voice into a low purr. "Do you like me?"

"As a friend." Shelby huffs, turning away and striding down the path.

"Mmm." Drift hums, catching up with her easily, the sound of animals beginning to mingle with the burble of the creek as their route draws closer to the livestock area. "And yet you seem to be awfully interested in my potential suitors."

Shelby glares at her from out the corner of her eyes. "I'm just curious about this friend who you're so fond of that you've never even mentioned in your letters before!"

The grin drops from Drift's face. "Well—"

"And besides." Shelby cuts her off. "If I was jealous like that, it wouldn't be over a boy."

A wave of nauseous guilt floods Drift's stomach, but she forces the smile back onto her face and laughs, trying to maintain her teasing tone. "I don't know, jealousy isn't always rational, Shelby."

"Well, I'm not jealous." Shelby huffs, and trudges on.

Drift swallows back the guilt of lying to her (it's not her place to divulge that information, it's fine, it's fine, she doesn't need to know) and keeps pace, regarding her as they go. Shelby's cheeks are flushed and slightly puffed out, with a frown fixed on her face. It's cute. She's reminded of a little field mouse.

Her eyes flick down to the slight pout on Shelby's lips. Not for the first time, she considers what it might be like to kiss Shelby.

Something soft, sweet, and gentle, she imagines. Nothing at all like the violent hunger she has with Aimée. She wonders how the pomade blackening her lips would taste, and what it's like to feel the numbing saliva of another vampire in her mouth. Would it tingle like Aimée says hers does? Or is she immune to it, as another vampire?

Shelby scowls at her. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about kissing you." Drift says honestly, and then her eyes widen simultaneously with Shelby's, her hand flying to her mouth, heat flooding her face. "Didn't—didn't mean to say that."

Shelby just stares at Drift with huge eyes. Their lips part slightly, and the shock of white between their dark lips pulls Drift's eyes instantly. And if Drift's well fed heart had not been pounding so loudly in her ears, she would have heard Shelby's doing the same. But she can't—so, basking in her own embarrassment, she breaks her gaze away to stare intently at the bark of the nearest tree, both of them suddenly as firmly rooted into place as it is.

After what feels like an eternity, Shelby's quiet voice breaks the silence—"You... can, if you want."

She turns slowly back to Shelby, whose eyes are now fixed onto the ground, their hands gripping tightly onto the handle of their parasol, their face practically glowing pink.

Drift's eyes soften. She steps closer and places a finger under their chin, lifting Shelby's face to look at her, and smiles. "Are you saying you want me to kiss you, Shelby?"

She's reminded again of a mouse as she looks into those huge, red eyes. She watches them drop to Drift's lips, watches her swallow, then part her own.

A rooster crows, startling them both.

Shelby's face leaves Drift's hand, turning to look at the coop down the path. "...Maybe we should go somewhere a little more romantic before I answer that." She says with a laugh, smiling at Drift a little weakly.

Drift glances at the stables behind it, and a mischievous smile crosses her face, crinkling her eyes. "I don't know, I've heard many a tale of young romance blossoming with a tumble in the hay."

"Drift!" Shelby exclaims, shoving her and looking away, face somehow growing even pinker.

Drift laughs heartily. "Kidding, I'm kidding!" she looks about, swinging her body along with her gaze as she goes. "Hmm! Somewhere romantic, huh." She leans conspiratorially towards Shelby and murmurs through the side of her mouth. "Y'know Shelbs, I'm weighing up our options here and they're not looking too good. Which would you say is more romantic: the creepy woods where, with our luck, Scott's probably lurking—or the lifeless pond with nary even a fish in it?"

Shelby laughs. "I suppose when you put it like that, the animals aren't too bad. But." She takes Drift's hand into hers and pulls her towards the willows. "If we step off the path, maybe we'll find something a little more fitting."

Drift hums and allows herself to be pulled along, the gravel at her feet replaced by soft moss, leaves tickling her face as they pass under the hanging canopy. The creek bubbles before them, clear mountain water cascading over green rocks, and with the curtain of weeping leaves around them, it suddenly feels very intimate and secluded.

Shelby's hand leaves hers, making its way back to the handle of her parasol to resume its agitated spin. Drift studies her, takes her in—the way her delicate features sit on her face, dusted with pink and painted with black, framed with soft, white locks that cascade down in curling rivulets. The dark twisting circlet in her hair that complements the makeup on her face and the ruffled layers that she wears—flouncing swathes of cloth in black and white, trimmed with golden threads—and the red jewel at the circlet's centre that brings out the ones in her eyes. Despite knowing just how dangerous Shelby can be, Drift can't help but feel there's an air of dainty elegance to her, gained alongside her fangs. Perhaps rather than a mouse, she would be better compared to an ermine—a sweet, delicate looking thing that is capable of hunting creatures several times its size. Drift brings her hand to Shelby's cheek, caressing soothingly with her thumb. "Hey."

"Hey." Shelby murmurs back, parasol stopping in place.

Drift flicks her eyes down to Shelby's lips and then back again. "So, about that kiss..."

Shelby giggles and brings their arms over Drift's shoulders, the rim of their parasol knocking lightly against the back of Drift's top hat, and leans their face into Drift's hand. "Okay."

Drift's free hand comes to rest at Shelby's waist, and she steps forward, Shelby following along and pressing against the tree. For a split second, Drift is reminded of the roles being reversed—of being the one against the tree, of an insatiable hunger, and the memory of a heat that causes her to shiver in its absence.

Something must have shown on her face, because Shelby's brows twist with concern. "Drift?"

Drift's eyes focus on Shelby's again, and she swallows. She focuses her attention on the gentle pressure of the thin arms encircling her shoulders, of the faint floral hint of Shelby's perfume, and forces back the memory of honey sweet blossoms, of salt, blood, and dark, teasing eyes.

"Sorry." Drift laughs, tucking back some of Shelby's hair behind her ear. "Got a little lost there. You're very beautiful, you know." She says, ignoring the twang in her chest as she does.

The frown leaves Shelby's face, replaced by a bashful smile. "Oh. Thank you."

Drift leans in, and the brim of her hat presses against the circlet adorning Shelby's forehead. Her hat does not fall to the ground when their lips touch, no hands make their way into her hair to knock it away. Shelby's lips are incredibly sweet—the slick, sooty pomade transferring to her own lips instantly, and along with it a wash of unfamiliar flavours like nothing she's ever tasted before, something she truly cannot describe: a nutty, caramelised sweetness mixed with a note of... something else, that she imagines must be what high class desserts taste of. Drift does not deepen the kiss—there is a shyness to Shelby's lips that keeps her kisses delicate and exploratory, coaxing Shelby into their own exploration, her hands gently cradling their face.

Just as she thought, it's nothing like kissing Aimée. But there is no tingling sensation, just the soft, pomade slick touch of Shelby's lips against hers, occasionally broken by the brush of their fangs.

In theory, the kiss could have lasted forever, neither of them needing to breathe and break for air. But Shelby does, eventually, break the kiss—pulling back and looking at Drift with dazed eyes that slowly come back into focus. And then she bursts out laughing.

Heat rushes to Drift's face. "Wh-what?" she stammers, bewildered by the laughter. It's not like she's a bad kisser, right? Aimée certainly likes it...

"Your lips." Shelby snorts, and pulls her hand back and starts to wipe them with her thumb, seemingly to little success by the face she makes. "I've made a hell of a mess."

Drift looks down at the black, smeared mess she's left around Shelby's lips and has an inkling of what she looks like right now, a relieved laugh of her own bubbling out. "Oh—well, I've not done much better."

Shelby's hand flies to her own mouth. "Oh! Mmm." She glances through the curtain of leaves back up the path, and mutters behind her fingers. "I don't know that I want Scott to see us like this."

"Oh god." Drift grimaces. "Could you imagine? Actually, I don't want to think about what he might say. Let's head back and clean up before he's home?" she offers her arm to Shelby. "Maybe you could play for me today while we're there."

Shelby reaches out to take her arm, then practically squeaks when she says the last bit. "Er." They cough lightly, then actually take her arm this time. "Maybe."

Drift smiles at her, and offers her hand. "Want me to hold your parasol for you? And, it's okay if you don't want to play for me. I just thought it sounded lovely the other day, I've never heard that melody before."

Shelby places the parasol into her hand, and then rests their hand on Drift's arm. "That doesn't surprise me, Scott wrote up the scores for some old songs he's fond of, so they're all centuries upon centuries old." They frown suddenly, and huff out an irritated breath. "And so is the way he wrote them! I can't read modern music at all! Like, there's only four lines on his staves, what is the fifth one for?! Why are the notes all round? I'm stuck with the stuff he's given me, and he complains constantly that it sounds all wrong."

Drift laughs, being careful to keep the parasol over Shelby as she gets more and more animated, leading them back to the path. "Well, I can't read any music at all so I can't help there, but I think it sounds beautiful when you play it, and." She lowers her voice. "If he's saying otherwise Shelby we might need to consider whether or not he's going deaf in his old age."

"Oh, no, I—" she giggles. "They just didn't have pianos in his time, Drift! It sounds wrong because he's used to ancient clavichords. He gets really annoyed that I can't put any vibrato on the notes, stuff like that."

"Mmm." Drift hums, unamused. "Well it sounds to me like he needs to get over it and pay you a compliment every now and then, instead of being such a miser while you're still learning."

Shelby smiles at her. "It's fine, he's just missing his own time, I don't mind. But I'm glad you liked it, I... think it would be nice, to play for you. Maybe I could even teach you a little bit, too?"

"Oh! Well sure, why not?" Drift says, then her eyes flick down to Shelby's lips again and she stifles a snort. "We should definitely clean up first, though."

Shelby's cheeks flush and her brows curl up. "Is it really that bad?"

"Wellll." Drift grins at her. "I could have definitely made it a lot, lot worse. It's fine, we'll be back soon."

Shelby just makes a grumbling noise in response, and Drift laughs.

The music room is awash with laughter and various mixtures of sweet and sour notes combined with bizarre chords when Scott returns, the pair of them squeezed onto the piano stool side by side and, well, getting silly with it.

At first, Shelby had played her some of the songs she has been learning, and Drift listened to it all with rapt attention, the music room coming to life with soft melodies, interrupted only by Drift's praise and Shelby's bashful giggles. But when Shelby was done playing everything she knew, she invited Drift to join her to go over the basics, and... things devolved very quickly.

In Drift's clumsiness, she discovered that when she plays a note they're not expecting, Shelby's ears flick involuntarily. This information Drift found simultaneously very cute and very funny, so she of course set about seeing how long it would take Shelby to notice she's doing it on purpose and why. A sharp note here and there, a minor third instead of the major and vice versa—small, seemingly innocent mistakes.

But as her giggles increased, so too did Shelby's suspicions, and by the time Scott arrives, Drift is just bullying Shelby with the worst noises she can make—but artfully, of course, merely slamming her hands on the keyboard is too easy—and Shelby is doing everything she can not to give her the satisfaction of a reaction, trying to work with whatever stupid nonsense Drift is doing beside her.

"Is this what they're calling music these days?" Scott says as he steps into the room.

"No!" Shelby exclaims. "Scott, Drift is tormenting me!"

Drift gasps and places her hand on her heart. "Why Shelby I would never! I've just never touched a piano before, I'm doing my best I promise." She flutters her eyelids at Shelby.

"Liar." Shelby retorts, and sticks her tongue out at her.

"Well, mistake or mischief, I've heard enough of that dreadful racket already. No more, please." Scott says, shaking his head and then promptly leaving the room.

"Wow, rude." Drift exclaims.

Shelby looks at her sidelong. "To be fair, you were making horrible noises."

"Shelby! What a terrible thing to say to someone brand new to music." Drift says, lifting her hand to her face to wipe nonexistent tears out of her eyes. "Why, I might never play ever again after that."

"Oh shut up." Shelby laughs. "Shall we go hang out with Scott? He probably just went next door."

"No." Drift sniffs. "You've both been so mean to me, I'm going to sulk in my bedroom." She says this teasingly, but Shelby's face falls, and with it so does Drift's act, her eyes going wide. "Which, which is to say." Drift stammers. "I'm just going to go attend to my correspondence first, and I'll join you both after that's all finished."

"Ah..." Shelby murmurs. "Alright, then."

Drift rises to her feet and offers Shelby her hand. "I'll try not to be too long."

"Mmm." Is all Shelby responds with, accepting the hand, then heading over to the door with her.