Forever Young (iso Anya)

[oliver]

It was at times like these that he could truly appreciate the gentle lull of the night. A hush that falls upon the world, leading dreamers to dream and weary eyes to close. For one who'd lived for so long, Oliver still had a little trouble getting used to the noise of the modern world. From the scream of distant racing cars to the smallest beep of a cell phone, it all became a reminder of how old he really was...

But here in the quiet of Kensington Gardens, he could just slip into another pocket of time where everything was just still. Except for perhaps the soft chirrup of the crickets or the shift of leaves in the breeze, the grounds became a sanctuary for those who still prowled these late hours. It didn't matter if you were a four hundred year old being or a seedling breathing air for the first time, under the canopy of stars it was a different story.

And speaking of stories...
"Hello boy."
Dark eyes fell upon the famous statue of Peter Pan and Oliver decided to take a closer look. Vampiric sight allowed him to see everything; a pedestal covered with frozen depictions of rabbits,people and squirrels. Frozen for all eternity like the fairy tale character who stood as proudly as he had since his creation. Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up.
Oliver looked at smooth bronze features that would never age, and couldn't help but smile a little. They weren't that much different after all.

"Forever young..."

[jourdainka]

The night felt good, comfortable. Like a security blanket under which Anya had been hiding for over two hundred years.
Having stepped out of her home, she decided to let her feet take her where they may. As it turned out, she had walked dazedly to Kensington Gardens.

Stopping to sit down, Anya noticed something glinting across the way. She recognized the lilting scent and slightly glowing skin immediately; vampire.
I'll just ignore it. . .she thought to herself, taking her little satin slippers off. A light breeze picked up, stirring the leaves and her hair. She smiled serenely to no one in particular. A change was imminent, she could sense it.

Anastasiya loved change.

In fact, she yearned for it, thirsted for it. When things grew stagnant she went stir-crazy, and the last time she had gone a little crazy. . .no. She didn't want to spoil such a nice evening out.
She snorted at the thought, seeing as how she hadn't gone out with another person for a very long time.

Absentmindedly, Anya let her eyes drift back over to and settle on the stranger. Perhaps she would go speak with him. Perhaps. . .

[oliver]

Funny how it was easier to pick out a walking vessel with no heart beat ,rather than a body with one. Perhaps it was from mingling amongst the living for so long that the sudden lack of life was as easy to spot as an uneven hem.

He wasn't wrong.
There by the sitting area facing the pond was a glow to rival even the moon herself. All blood-drinkers had the same unnatural glow, but Oliver had been so careful not to bump into too many of them in this long stretch of unlife... He'd almost forgotten how lovely it could be.
Lithe-limbed porcelain doll sitting on a bench, smiling to no one while the wind swirled the leaves for her entertainment. Another who would forever be just as youthful as she looked now and just as fair, frozen in just the right time her maker would have wanted to keep her in.

She could sense him, most likely had before he chanced upon her.
So he waited by the statue, until he caught her eye, and bowed low in courtly greeting... And as a means of inviting her to maybe join him on a night such as this.

[jourdainka]

Anastasiya blanched a little, if only inwardly, at the politely elegant gesture.
It'd been awhile since she had had any contact with members of her. . .species. And when she had, they had been brash and rather cocky for her liking. She felt, even if some were more powerful than others, that they should all treat each other with equal respect.

If she had a working heart, she was certain it would be beating with the anticipation of conversation, actually giving those vocal chords a little action.
This vampire was a male, she could plainly see now, and she wondered vaguely what he was doing alone. Most of the males she had met (or avoided) had had at least one female in tow, perhaps even a human. He looked breakable to an untrained eye, but Anya knew there was clearly more beneath the surface.

She found herself staring at the shape of his dark eyes, lovely inky almonds amidst the rest of his attractive face
She giggled accidentally, startling at the sound of her own tinkling laughter.

The thought of actually breaking the monotony of her own thoughts felt like a thrill, a dangerous game. Who was this other? Was it worth finding out? Anya figured that she had nothing left to lose, and perhaps, if nothing else, she could gain a new connection in the world of night.

She stood, ready to acknowledge the presence of this creature so like to herself.
Preparing her delicate throat, she gave a tiny cough- practically inaudible to a human ear-and then spoke.
"It's quite lovely here, isn't it?"

[oliver]

Silver bells were ringing lightly in his ear, and Oliver couldn't help but duck his head in modesty for being the cause... If he was the cause. It wasn't often that he'd elicited such a reaction in anyone, the quiet vampire wasn't known for making people laugh. He was like the cat who walked on his own, usually on his lonesome.
What of human companionship or siring a childe? He never wanted another to suffer the same cursed existence. Save for one man those many, many years ago. And was perhaps his only eternal regret.

Somehow he'd never been truly accepted by his own kind , especially when he preferred the company of mortal beings and did not revel in the hunt of their species. But at the same time he was needed, required for his services and skill with the needle so they mostly left him alone.
But he had heard many horror stories of vampires who'd pursued their own kind, and vampires, like their mortal selves, could be the cruelest of creatures...

"It's quite lovely here, isn't it?"

Her voice was lilting, accented words that made the English language sound almost exotic, she had the voice that could easily translate into song and he wouldn't be surprised if she was a singer herself. Her face was cherubic in its shape with finer bone structure and the clean lines of a girl just barely maturing.

Oliver looked into twin pools of amethyst and wondered absently if she would be the one to end his unlife tonight. Here she was, this wandering blood-fae all deceptively delicate... Could she perhaps be one of the cruel beauties he'd often heard about? That lured other vampires into a false sense of security before draining them dry?
He didn't know.
And at the moment, he couldn't really care. At least not tonight.

"Lovely, yes..." he replied with little tilt of his head, "But not so much that we should mourn when the daylight returns to snatch this moment away."

An enigmatic hint of a smile before he gave a half bow.
"Oliver Galworthy, at your service."

[jourdainka]

"Anastasiya Alkayev. . .very pleased to meet you."
She could barely contain the excitement at speaking. She had to keep her voice steady. As she took in the vampire before her, she noted that he was beautiful, extremely so.
Most male vampires she met were brash and arrogant, but this one. . .he had an air of melancholy about him, and he seemed more refined.

"So what brings you here tonight? Not that I mind the company," she added. Running her fingers through her hair, Anya smiled, a true smile, blooming over her features. This was. . .enjoyable. She felt as if something had been lifted from her, as if perhaps a raincloud had finally dissipated above her.

This vampire was different, she could sense and see that. He was very exotic looking, with a velvety voice to match his eyes. She felt like a girl, a real girl. She could almost feel the cold over her skin warming. There, in the gardens, she felt a little blossom begin in her heart.

She felt almost. . .human not physically of course, but she felt emotions awaken which had been hibernating for over 200 years. As she waited for his response, she held up her hand, watching as a firefly lit upon her finger. Anya allowed her gaze to travel to Oliver's eyes, where they stayed. She loved eye contact. . .

[oliver]

"Rad s Vamee poznakomit'sya..." (glad to meet you)

He hoped he had said the right thing, what with him never really learning Russian despite his time spent making dresses for the late Princess Natalia and her mother Princess Tatiana. Then again, both had had a firm grasp of English and he'd never needed to pick up on a new language.

Anastasiya...
Another name that was borne of royalty and prestige, though he doubted that she was the real Romanov princess of the same title. She could still certainly pass off as one of the royal family. Just from the way she held herself ,her posture and cultured tones. Oliver knew she had definitely not been a washerwoman during her life under the sun.

"So what brings you here tonight? Not that I mind the company,"

A blink and he takes a moment to think on that. Fingers adjusting the cuff of a self-tailored coat while he spoke, "Perhaps the same reason you're here? Or maybe not. One must admit that immortality encourages the need to, roam..."
The fluttery beat of grandiose wings led his line of vision from silver buttons to a flitting firefly, following it all the way to the perch on a dainty finger.
"In a world of concrete, steel and false lights, I tend to long for the comforts of nature... And since a trip to the countryside is out of the question for us, sun allergic folk," this he said with a smirk, "I go for the best alternative there is."

Dark eyes flicked up to a gaze that locked onto his, sharing the eerie green glow of the firefly.
"So small a creature, the firefly, and yet in ancient Mayan myth they were thought to be the living embodiment of stars. Whereas we, are considered to be symbols of death. And yet, our species share a similar luminescence..."

He paused to smile back at her, eyes twinkling with hidden cheek,"Funny thing, human myth."

[jourdainka]

"Rad s Vamee poznakomit'sya". . . came the soft but sure response.

As she listened to him wax poetic about the fireflies, she couldn't help notice how attractive he looked with that impish smirk on his face.

"Ochen horoshyi!" (very good) Anya smiled as she spoke. She was inwardly pleased that he could pronounce her native tongue with the correct consonant combinations.
"B'y govoritye na Russkom yaz'ykye?" (do you speak Russian?)

Before waiting for his reply, she spoke again.
"I too grow tired of the endless dark. Sometimes I wish so hard to see the sun and feel its warmth on my shoulders. . ."
This Oliver was sympathetic to her plight, she thought, and how could he not be? He suffered the same affliction as she did.
Too many vampires felt powerful and superior for their abilities and longevity. Perhaps Oliver had been plucked from the branch as a bud as well, not given the chance to choose whether to grow or be preserved in wax.

Anastasiya scrunched up her face in distaste at the memory of her transformation. She didn't like to remember the feeling of being pulled out of the frying pan just to be thrown into the fire. When her family had been attacked and killed by the pack of werewolves, Anya had barely time to catch her breath when she was snatched up by her maker. She shook her head. This wasn't the time for thoughts about the distant past. It made her feel archaic.

"So, Mister Oliver, why are you alone? Haven't you got a human or a companion? Or do you prefer solitude?"

She hoped she wasn't asking too many questions. She was just so curious. Anya had tried to make her voice sound more high-class, more like the other vampire females she had met. They
always had control of a situation. However, it came out soft and sincere, as usual. She couldn't mask her emotions behind a harlot's voice. It just wasn't her.

Anya danced over to the bench where she had been sitting and patted the space beside her, motioning for Oliver to sit down. She hoped he would join her, as she had so much more to ask. . .

[oliver]

He doesn't remember the sun very well.
In his time, England had always been dank, dim and dreary. Like everything had been painted in a shade of grey and all was covered in tones of misery. Not that he could say much, for even in the lowest state of poverty he could only remember being happy. He could only remember warm smiles, the scent of lavender and the gentle brush of fabric under his fingertips... that was his sunshine.

"Da, nemnogo." (Yes, a little.)
Sheepish tilt of the head as he then confesses in the hushed voice of one who was admitting something he wasn't very proud of, "But not enough to be confident in a full conversation."

While the nymph of the night stepped lightly towards her previous seat, he followed behind quietly at a respectful distance. Not because he feared her or didn't enjoy her company, but he was still a conservative soul. Back in the day when contact men and women were kept minimal and mostly at arm's length, and anything closer would have been only between two very intimate individuals and never in public. Not that the roaring twenties hadn't been an eye opener; the very first mini dress of the flapper era took some getting used to.

He wonders which era she comes from, which period of history she was taken from like a page torn out from a book. If he were to guess, he had a feeling that while she wasn't old enough to have been present during the time when Alexander first tried to conquer the world, she wasn't all that young either.
Nothing like one of the newly risen fledges created on a whim by those no older than their childer.

"So, Mister Oliver, why are you alone? Haven't you got a human or a companion? Or do you prefer solitude?"

"It's not so much the need for solitude or the lack of love in another's company that has me wandering alone," he says taking the offered place by her side, " More that I'd rather not have another carry the burden of being stuck to a blood consuming creature."

All this was said with an almost flippant air, like a joke. But there was truth to the jest, the kind that made young eyes look as old as the ages.
"I'm never alone, not really. Not when the world is so full."
An unneeded breath later and he cocks his head at the lovely, but deadly being beside him.
"So this question could also apply to M'Lady death, yes?"

Oliver was curious too.

[jourdainka]

"You're very insightful, sir, and yes. I too prefer to be alone, but not for the same reasons persay," she paused, searching for the right words.
"For such a long time I lived with my creator but. . .many years ago he turned me away. I don't need the company of a child but I find myself sometimes inclined to want it. But then, I feel horribly selfish at the idea of stealing someone's future."

Anya stopped, inwardly appalled at herself for spilling her 'soul' to a stranger. Surely he couldn't want to know the terrible things she'd done. The moon was hiding behind those dark navy nightime clouds, and she could just make out its glowing form. Anya felt oddly at ease with Oliver. She could sense that he didn't expect anything of her, he didn't want to fight. Just to converse. This calmed her considerably.
Staring up at the moon, perhaps for guidance, she continued.

"I find it is also quite a bit easier to travel alone. No one to slow me down, no one to nag me to speed up," she laughed to herself.
Suddenly, a memory took her, and not a pleasant one.

Moscow, 1974. Anastasiya was thirsty. She was so very thirsty. She had been abstaining for nights, as the recent inquiry as to why so many deer were turning up drained of blood just outside the city limits. Anya was not going to abstain any longer. Before she could think better of it, get her appetite in check, she was out the door; a silvery streak down the road. Her quick feet had carried her to a large, almost palatial structure which she immediately recognized as St. Andrei's, a very prestigious boarding school.
"Oh no, oh no. . ." she moaned to herself as involuntarily she began walking up the steps and into one of the dormitory buildings. She felt something bubble within her, then she caught the scent. . .and she blacked out.

When Anastasiya awoke, she was covered in blood, she was sated. She looked around at the fifty or so bodies of prepubescent boys whom she had massacred. She fled from the school, sick over what she had done. . .

Anya shook her head. She despised that memory. It was one of the only things about herself that she would change if she could. Instead of dwelling on it, she tucked a loose curl behind her ear and looked at Oliver.
"Don't you get lonely? Or are you content with your own self?"

She knew what her answer would be. The lonliness of being trapped with her memories was sometimes unbearable. Shaking off the unpleasant feeling once more, she tried on a smile, feeling herself calm a little.

[oliver]

Oliver could sense the moment she became lost in thought... and not very pleasant ones. The smooth youthful brow took on a slight pinch, the smile melted from her lips parting slightly as she drowned in what he could only presume to be her past. Eyes that had once been bright and mirthful, glazed over. Haunted.

Where have you gone Anastasiya?

What could it be running through her mind? That makes her freeze up so, with a myriad of emotion swirling in deep irises; frustration, helplessness... maybe even fear. Oliver says nothing, yet. Just waits patiently for the moment to pass, keeping a sort of silent vigil by her side.
All nosferatu ,while gifted with heightened senses and eternal life were cursed with a mind that retained everything. Painful memories that could never fade, and would replay over and over like clockwork.. For him, when regressing into things he'd rather forget, he goes into a whirlwind of delirium and fanciful madness. Not the most likable habit, but at least he'd survived through each episode.

And it seemed as though Oliver shared another similarity with the pale princess; Abandoned by their sires. Till this day the tailor never understood why his maker had turned him and then left him after the three days of his metamorphosis. Whether it was because he grew bored or decided that having a childe would be too much work, the dark haired vampire would never know. Sometimes he wonders if he'll ever cross paths with his sire, but he high doubts it.
For all he knew, his sire could be dust by now.

"Don't you get lonely? Or are you content with your own self?"

"Sometimes..." Oliver lets his gaze drop, blunt teeth nibbling on a lower lip, "Sometimes when I am idle, the empty void leaves me vulnerable to myself, and I feel like a caged animal. The mind can be such a horrible place to be locked in, each memory just as vivid as the time it was made..."
A short, bitter bark of laughter and he too shakes his head.
"You'd think this was our punishment for being what we are. A price to pay for the lives we take, even if we need them to keep going."

Then just before he could get any more morose or cynical, he flips back into something more light-hearted and returns her smile. It wasn't often that he found another to talk to, open up to this way... He'd been so wary of his own kind that most of his thoughts were his and his only. This conversation with the Russian vampire was indeed rejuvenating , therapeutic almost.
And he was actually enjoying himself.

"I try to keep myself busy of course, that way I don't feel the sting of loneliness as badly as I used to. So all in all... I suppose I can be content to just be on my own. So long as I am occupied most of the time."

Was his fair companion lonely? While she sounded as if she didn't mind wandering solo, he could feel that in some way, she was seeking comfort in the company of others who wouldn't leave her like her maker did. And that was something Oliver could deeply sympathise with.

[jourdainka]

Watching Oliver's face intently as he spoke, Anya held back a smile. Perhaps this was what it was like, to have a friend, someone to be fond of. All her attempts at friendship, albeit with humans, had failed miserably. The ones whom she had resolved not to change had grown suspicious of her, and tired of only meeting at night. The ones who she had revealed herself to had had disastrous results. One tried to kill her (and obviously failed) so Anya had no choice but to kill the girl. Another started an angry mob and had them storm the gates of Spyridongrad, where she had lived with her Master in Russia. The third was in an insane asylum still, muttering to himself and wasting away.

Anastasiya thought for a moment, then spoke slowly.
"I know what you mean about needing to be preoccupied with other things. Being alone with your thoughts. . .sometimes it can be. . .suffocating."
She absentmindedly twirled a lock of her starlit hair around her pinkie finger while looking around. She felt like she was so serious all the time, and wondered why she couldn't lighten up.

No, she knew why. She couldn't lighten up because if she did, she would become careless. A St. Andrei incident might occur again. While he spoke, Anya stole a few glances at Oliver's refined features. She was very interested to hear his story. She felt a sort of quiet thrill with each question asked and answered. Perhaps she needed more contact with others, she thought, then it wouldn't seem so enthralling. But she knew deep down this was different. Within moments of greeting each other, this vampire had gotten her to reveal her feelings about something very important to her. That was not something she had let happen before. Anastasiya realized with a tiny gasp that she was doing what they called letting her guard down.

Fiddling with the little satin rosebud on the neckline of her dress, Anya smiled and spoke again.
"Tell me about yourself. Nothing too personal if you don't feel comfortable," she added quickly, so as not to make Oliver uneasy. She hated to sound so childish, but she was enjoying this talk, and selfishly wished it to continue.

[oliver]

"Tell me about yourself. Nothing too personal if you don't feel comfortable,"

"My dear lady, when it comes to two old souls like ourselves, sometimes the fine line between what is personal and what isn't blurs a little," he says kindly, by way of reassurance, "For example, we already know that we are vampires and therefore already know each other's eating habits, sleeping hours and certain aversions to certain elements... More than what a couple of mortals would know during a first meeting."

That said, he clears his throat a little and proceeds to let her know a little more about himself.

"I am a tailor, by profession"
Humble duck of the chin even as his lips pulled into a slight grin.
"Not that most vampires actually need a profession but I do take pleasure in continuing the craft through the years... I indulge my clients as much as they indulge me. I currently have a shop in Pudding Lane and that is also where I reside."

It was a curious thing, the girlish way she curled a lock of flaxen gold with a finger and smiled so blithely despite her age. It was so easy to forget that she was just like him, the illusion created from her eternal grace that he was sure had fooled many an unsuspecting mortal. Full lips that must have broken thousands of hearts while they were unable to deny her anything...
And yet she was left behind too.

"There isn't much else t know about me except for the fact that I, like yourself, have been without a mentor for a good portion of my unlife. And I am not all that recently... created."
Dark eyes sought out her own and he gave a small gesture of an upturned palm.

"The floor is now yours Miss Anastasiya, what am I permitted to know about you?"

[jourdainka]

"My dear lady, when it comes to two old souls like ourselves, sometimes the fine line between what is personal and what isn't blurs a little," he says kindly, by way of reassurance, "For example, we already know that we are vampires and therefore already know each other's eating habits, sleeping hours and certain aversions to certain elements... More than what a couple of mortals would know during a first meeting."


Anya allowed herself a grin at that. With an opening statement like that, she felt completely comfortable at once. She had enjoyed hearing about Oliver, and found it incredibly refreshing that he kept a job. He became more animated when he talked about it, and she could see that it was clearly his passion.
When he in turn asked about her, she was feeling quite at ease and glad to oblige.

"Well, I have a profession as well, though not one that gives back to the community such as yours." she smiled. "No, I. . .this is really quite silly sounding now that I think of saying it to a vampire. . .I perform once a week at the ballet. This week was Giselle." she said, gazing off into the distance, as if transported to the stage for a moment.

Not looking him in the face, she continued.
"I'm rather old as well," she said, a hint of laughter in her voice, "sometimes I have an inability to grasp modern concepts. Like automobiles. They've been around for a century or more, and I still can't get used to them.
"And. . .I wonder all the time what I would have grown up to be. That sounds childish, doesn't it? I'm alright, though. I try to make this 'life' as simple for myself as I can. I keep a home here in London, and another in New Orleans. I recently left Hollywood for good. Not an easy place to go unnoticed."

Feeling she had said a mouthful, Anastasiya paused. It was so easy to talk to Oliver, nothing at all like her Master. He had been cold and abrupt, only speaking to her when she blocked his path or was bothering him, as though she was his pet rather than his fledgling. She had been terrified of her sire, never knowing what would set him off. And other vampires hadn't ever been much better. They wanted to fight, to show off, to kill humans for the sport of it. But this. . .this just felt comfortable, easy.

"So what's it like being a tailor? I remember when I was very young a dressmaker's shop was right beside my home. Sometimes I would peek inside to see the beautiful gowns being made. . .I was a rather fanciful child, I'm afraid," she smiled again.

[oliver]

"Ah, Giselle..."
He breathes the name softly into the breeze, almost fondly.
"So tragic a tale and yet it's all about love... Well, love can be tragic, so I'm told." he says with a half-hidden snicker, " And did you play the lovely maiden Giselle? Or perhaps the vengeful Queen of the Wilis, Myrtha?"

Oliver had a feeling he already knew the answer to that, but he also knew that Anastasiya could play equal parts the innocent girl who finds wonder in all that surrounds her or the powerful supernatural being ,jaded by man's careless nature. No one was a one dimensional character, always having another side , or more. It's what made humans so beautifully complex.

It was not surprising to discover that she was a dancer. One would think that she had been specifically designed for such a part, slender limbs and dainty feet that seemed to float on air when she moved. A perfect profession for a vampire since it required strength, grace and agility. Just like how his own work matched him very well when it called for a sharp eye for detail and strict precision.

Oliver allowed himself to lean back into the bench, his posture more relaxed as he gained a new insight to Anastasiya's world. Not very unlike his own in her struggle to cope with certain new additions to man's ever-growing collection of breakthroughs. Electricity for one had become both a blessing and a curse for in its discovery; while reducing the chance of getting turned to ash every time an undead being wanted to do a little late night reading, its unnatural light could become almost blinding and painful.

"There is nothing childish about that, it is only natural that you would question a future that was taken, no,stolen from you." he says with an air of melancholy, "Never really growing, just advancing from the path your sire placed you upon... Only to have them leave you there even before you've taken more than a few steps into unknown territories."

Years and years in the making, a sort of hidden pain that brewed beneath the surface as the days flew by. And while Oliver had learned over the decades to reign in these unwarranted feelings, there were just those moments when his hand could slip...

"So what's it like being a tailor? I remember when I was very young a dressmaker's shop was right beside my home. Sometimes I would peek inside to see the beautiful gowns being made. . .I was a rather fanciful child, I'm afraid,"

"Nothing very fascinating about being a tailor really,"
His voice is light again, taking the conversation into something less desolate.
"At least not to me. No it isn't so much about being a tailor that I love, but what I can do with the skills I have acquired. I'd always known I was destined to a life of the needle and thread, especially when my father in life was a tailor himself. One of those father to son things... But it was something I loved because it was like getting to know someone though their garment without actually having to make introductions. Almost like being psychic."

A small wink was added at the end of his words, just to keep things at an easy pace.