Edward-Carlise Historical OOM's Two

[themidnightson]

Time is inconsequential to them.

Time bends and breaks and folds in their different world.

There is no falling asleep, no waking up, only the times when Carlisle works or the time when they cannot be outside in the sunshine or time to hunt again. The rest is the same endless, spinning free open time, that hasn't closed since Edward opened his eyes in that small dank apartment. The same endless, spinning free open time which will be afforded to him for all of eternity.

---

Time is inconsequential to them.

They are both at the beginning of something terrifyingly and wonderfully new.

Carlisle counts the months and keeps track while Edward delights in an endless exploits of an edgeless world. They hunt wild game across the border in Canada, and aside from Carlisle showing up one last time to the hospital to resign his position and make sure Edward Masen's death certificate is never filed, they abandon Chicago entirely. There is nothing left there but dying people, and while Carlisle is still drawn to easing the burden of those suffering people, his action that night has already chosen who he will help first.

It's an entirely new world. A century had come and gone since Carlisle had anything resembling a peer and never had he had a companion who brooked no complaint at his habits, nor whom had chosen to resolutely follow them alongside him. Edward, free of all but the faintest, blurry shadows of life behind him, found himself in a leisure he'd never known.

---

Time is inconsequential to them.

Especially in those moments right after they've glutted their fill for the evening. When everything is smooth and calm, surrounded by the unquiet nature that is aware of the monsters in its midst.

Sitting on a boulder, Edward fingered the rip in his bloodied shirt, unnoticed earlier in his enthusiasm for the fight and subjugation of the now still and empty carcass of a large elk. "I think we could leave now."

Comments

[themidnightson]

"Somewhere else, far enough away for free roving. South America or Europe-" He stood as fast as thinking about it, moving from the boulder to the ground. "Unless you think I need more work on withstanding interaction first."

For his powers or his thirst.

Each proved it's own complications.

But he felt he'd been improving well enough.

Or well enough given the temerity of a new childhood.

[ofthefamily]

Travel is hard, especially when it comes to crossing oceans. And the Europe option is nigh on inconceivable -- the war has just ended. The temptation alone --

Carlisle trusted Edward. That wasn't a question.

and you could see London again -- the thought gets locked down, hard. He's been practicing.

"I've traveled far more than you have, Edward," Carlisle offers. "Do you have a preference?"

[themidnightson]

Uncertain whether he's arguing or agreeing or ignoring the thoughts, he said calmly. "Europe." He looks up toward the leaves rustling in the breeze. "Sarajevo. East Prussia. Bulgaria. Versailles."

The dream is dead.

The one he can just barely hear in tattered memories which fade more with each passing millisecond. His memory of Carlisle's memory of him talking about his reasons is clearer than worn out whispers.

"Spain would be quieter, though. France."

He paused, and then looked over. "You started in London."

[ofthefamily]

"And I left there. I haven't been back since the seventeenth century, Edward."

[themidnightson]

Edward's face stayed passive.

"The city wouldn't even the same one you left now."

[ofthefamily]

That's what I'm worried about.

The Great Fire was only a little over twenty years after Carlisle had been bitten. He doesn't even know if his father's church is still standing.

"We have more of a potential for going out in the daytime if we go to Europe over South America."

London, though, still remains a question.

[themidnightson]

"We should secure passage then." There's a quirk to Edward's smile, lopsided as it is. Hands going to his shirt once more. "And more clothes."

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle snorts. "Just possibly, yes."

I can't believe I'm actually doing this --

Except for where he truly can.

First stop would be New York, I believe.

[themidnightson]

And it is, of course.

They don't rush because there is no deadline, no inevitable have to be's and must make's. There's time to see it all through hundreds of different eyes, voices and minds.

The occasion calls for indulgence -- of stores, shows, galleries, tall buildings in star light, symphonies in the park -- that Carlisle offers and presses like an education as well as a rare celebration.

Edward doesn't correct him that it's more the camaraderie of partaking in once shared things that had turned lost and possibly found. There are quiet acknowledgments that don't need words -- as there is no mind and life in the teeming millions of New York that interests him to know than Carlisle's.

But things come in which remind them.

There's appearances to be when traveling. Small sets of matched luggage and changes clothing of differing pertinent weathers arriving as per ordered. Then multiple levels of forged identification and finally the settling of their actual destination.

"If it helps," And Edward knows it doesn't in the best and worst category, after he's handed the tickets to London to Carlisle. "The one they spent the most time trying to convince me to purchase was a direct route to Italy."

[ofthefamily]

It's been glorious, the traveling. What was once a trail of dalliances to keep his mind occupied has become a new role for Carlisle: teacher. After Edward had chosen to stay with him (he could have always left; Carlisle wouldn't have stopped him, not really) Carlisle had the chance to share. He spoke of everything he thought would appeal to Edward.

An interest in music presented itself first. It was the easiest to fulfill; he felt extremely Leroux about it, but there were always box seats available for a performance if he chose to use them.

What he hasn't gotten used to, however, is Edward's power.

"It doesn't help," Carlisle snaps, ripping the tickets out of the young man's hand. Two steamer tickets, one to a Carlisle Cullen and another to an Edward Cullen -- they'd adopted the brother scenario early on.

I can't believe this is happening --

"I'd almost rather go back to Italy and have to stay inside every day."

[themidnightson]

Eyes still only recently turned from red to golden, with the passing of enough months and animal blood, studied Carlisle's reaction. Both of them, the seen and the unseen, still changing.

"They're nonrefundable." The shrug was casual, but not as good as it could have been. "There was less paperwork that way."

[ofthefamily]

I'm not ready for this --

"Fine." Still harsh; Carlisle starts making his way to the docks, nearly useless luggage in tow.

The trip eventually became grating, even for Carlisle. There were many clear days at sea. He inflicted verb conjugations on Edward appropriately in completely unsubtle retribution for their destination.

The first foreboding day they had, Carlisle sits straight up in his bunk, expression unreadable.

"We'll be making port by tonight."

[themidnightson]

Edward was laying perfectly still, with his hands folded on his chest and eyes staring upward vacantly, with no hint of even attempting to pretend human life.

As bothersome, and woefully tempting, as the people on the boat are, more so with each passing day, there is a greater annoyance. He can not avoid their trivial inconvenient voices in his mind , their beating away any semblence of the stillness erected by quiet, people empty months.

There is no escape from them on a boat. Nowhere to run. Nothing to do but bear it, the sound and the nearly unbearable thirst, and continue to remind himself this was his idea.


His golden eyes flicked over to Carlisle at his words then back to the ceiling, no other movement anywhere. (More people in a place of arrival.) "What should we see first?"

[ofthefamily]

"We will still have a way to travel to get to the city," Carlisle explains. "We'll be getting off the ship in Southampton."

It's both true and an easy way to avoid answering Edward's question. He doesn't continue with another topic. The quiet is easier.

The trip across had not been comfortable even for the humans involved. Traveling to a (former) war zone should never be draped in luxury. Carlisle and Edward are able to secure transportation from Southampton to London proper with the vouchers provided by the steamer tickets, and Carlisle never speaks to Edward aloud the entire time.

[themidnightson]

It's frequently convenient to their schemes and, honestly, easier on both of them for a wide array of different reasons.

It's also because Carlisle is predisposed the closer they get. Though Edward has begun wondering if Carlisle knows he is or is doing his best to force himself not to know how focused he is on it.

Eventually, quiet enough animals couldn't hear it, Edward said, "Only a mile or two now." It's almost like a reminder, but his tone is quiet. He can see it already, flickered misshapen pictures fitting together across the thoughts brushing his.

[ofthefamily]

I remember.

The pictures Carlisle has are wrong -- or at least, years out-of-date. They're outside of the city now, bags lightly in hand and Carlisle is completely disoriented; a sensation he hasn't felt in centuries. Beyond the detritus of the barely-ended war, Carlisle's mind was trying to slip his memories of the city over the frame of the current one like an ill-fitting pillowcase. Nothing was smooth.

"I'm not going to be a good tour guide," Carlisle mumbles.

He's fallen back into an accent Edward's never heard before.

[themidnightson]

The words are as concerning as they are comforting. They caused a wary protective surge matching one of curious doubt. This could have been a mistake?

Except that they were both here, which meant seeing some of part of it out (even if he'd stop at one word from any word that sounded final from Carlisle).

"Lodgings first," Edward said after a pause, as much pretending to look around as he was actually doing so. The images is human minds were so flawed in comparison. "To get rid of these and get clean again?"

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle nods simply, waslking away towards any one of the myriad hotels in operation on the outskirts of the city. They could afford to be generous; they paid for a room twice the size of the one they actually claimed for themselves.

Carlisle is sitting stiffly at the foot of one narrow bed.

We're here for you; what do you want to see?

One of the other developments with having a travel companion is the appreciation of a little white lie. Carlisle has a hard time seeing it as a lie when Edward can see behind it regardless of what he does.

[themidnightson]

Edward, towel wrapped loose around his neck and bronze hair now a glitter with water droplets, smirked at the question as a knock sounded at the door.

[ofthefamily]

You're not as clever as you think you are, Carlisle thinks daggers at Edward, opening the door warily and finding himself presented with a 'requested' packet of information about the city including a map and newspaper.

My question still stands. He hands the packet to Edward.

[themidnightson]

Edward hadn't exactly lost the amused air even though the smile had vacated his lips. He was flipping through pages at an inhuman speed which was still slow compared to their easiest movements.

"If I knew I wouldn't have requested this."

He paused, rescanning a specific one.

[ofthefamily]

Guildhall, Carlisle peers over. The illustration on the page shows the building at a fraction of the size Carlisle remembered.

"That wouldn't be a bad place to start." Still wary.

[themidnightson]

It's better than an outright rejection.

"Guildhall it is then," he said, tossing the packet of pages toward the bed. In the time it takes it to actually land, Edward's hair is dry, his clothes are changed, and his shoes are back on.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle scoffs at Edward's enthusiasm, getting dressed to go out at a much slower pace in comparison.

The walk to Guildhall is easier than Carlisle expected it to be. The city had been rebuilt after the Fire fairly close to the original layout, and Carlisle's mind is wandering because of it.

( -- Here shall the sick person be moved to make a special Confession of his sins, if he feel his conscience troubled with any weighty matter -- )

He warned Edward ahead of time that he would not be the best tour guide of the city.

Guildhall is the administrative building of the City itself. I don't know how much they use it for anymore.

[themidnightson]

The two worlds layer over each other, each seen in different ways. Edward doesn't mind the lack of best tour guide or, in it's own translating, company. If Carlisle hadn't wanted it in some part they'd be elsewhere.

It's much larger in person. Of course. And Edward stood looking at it once they were facing it, his thoughts lost entirely in his quiet marvel.