Ohio, 1920

[themidnightson]

There are many differences to the lifestyle in Ohio.

Chiefly among them is the inflated necessity of keeping face.



They have to appear in the right circles and the right places casually and consistently.

They have to circulate and interact, both the new private care doctor and his first year med school brother.



Tonight that is the Sesame Club, where Jazz music, frivolity, dancing and food flow freely.

Comments

[ofthefamily]

Edward's effort is appreciated. Carlisle's effort is somewhat more taxing. Well -- in a different way. As soon as Edward stood to dance, Carlisle did not have a moment's peace.

Are you here all alone? some of the braver ones ask. Because the second jacket draped across the adjacent chair is not enough proof to the contrary. Or they ask about Edward, to which Carlisle very politely refrains from telling them to bugger off. It's a phrase Carlisle misses from the past two years in European English.

"You survived." He's smiling.

[themidnightson]

"Dancing can't kill me," Edward returns the smile, crookedly near smirking.

[ofthefamily]

"I think I'm going to go outside for a bit," Carlisle announces and stands, reaching fluidly for his discarded jacket. It's warm out. He shouldn't need more for the appearance of comfort.

[themidnightson]

"Should I-" the question hangs, even though he's laid a hand on his chair back. He has no purpose to stay but he doesn't insert himself in front of the crowd that way he would assumptive were they elsewhere and alone.

[ofthefamily]

"You can." I'm more restless than I thought this evening; my apologies.

[themidnightson]

Edward slipped into his chair, the reluctance at staying not straying into his expression. He picked up his drink with unconventional grace and swirled it absently before pretending to take a drink.

The full club was devoid in Carlisle's absence.




Yet still he found his gaze lingering on the people. Stray thoughts and movements stealing his attention from the Jazz music and following Carlisle's thoughts. The simplicity of their little, hopelessly fragile lives on display before him.

[ofthefamily]

uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque --

"Care to let a friend bum a smoke, upstandin' gentleman like yourself?"

Carlisle hands over the pack to the stranger. It buys him a vacancy on a public bench.

The only frustration drifting into his conscious thought is that there is no reason to be frustrated, here.
We don't have to be lovers // we don't have to be friends for no-one
He had his normal life back. Plus Edward, which was turning out far better than he could have dreamed.
Fingers felt like a fire // your skin shifting // your words were so clear
He should've kept one of those Chesterfields. They were at least distracting.

[themidnightson]

They are insignificant in comparison, but their lives are among the most important things in existence to Carlisle. Which means they should be important to him. Them and all their million processes which lead to lives being lived out.

Normal.

Never on display.

Never knowing too much.

Safe in their little cocoons.


Everything is liminal to them. The slow fascinations and revelations. The gentle glide of change and interaction. They could be like a dance, like the music floating around them. He wants to pretend that he could almost see them that way, for Carlisle.

[ofthefamily]

One flash'll get you everything you want








If you're bored yet...

[themidnightson]

Edward almost flashes from the place at the invitation, but he's only standing upright next to his chair when he stops himself. Pulls on his jacket slowly, gracefully, and walks out, stopping only three times to be told to give people's regards to his brother.

His hands go in his pockets and he walks down the street, knowing the precise place Carlisle is and stopping only once he reaches him.

It's been a long hour all told.

Maybe it was better for Carlisle.

[ofthefamily]

It was alright. Necessary.

"What do we do now?"

All dressed up and nowhere to go --

[themidnightson]

The expression is not sullen, but it's blanker than it has been most of the night. The feeling, on the hand, is at the first sentence. Because it's hardly the first sentence to him. The first spoken one never is.

"It's still early."

Whatever early meant to people who never slept.

[ofthefamily]

"And I picked that one."

Sesame wasn't bad. Just...a bit much.

[themidnightson]

Edward considered it, hands never leaving his pockets, thoughts reaching out to other places within the miles he could hear. His face blanked at the overwhelming surge of letting it all crawl through him pell-mell, seeking solace or silence in a maelstrom made the needle in a haystack look juvenile puzzle.

Maybe it's a second or maybe it's minutes.

He doesn't know, but then he blinks.

The planes of his face soften.



"Heights is quieter tonight."

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle nods. It sounds enough of a plan to him, so he stands from the bench and starts walking.

The long way.

The sidewalks are even quieter, with everyone inside at home or elsewhere.

[themidnightson]

Edward falls into step with him.

Even with his thoughts pulled closer to him, the tension hasn't left him though from the sudden surge of all the sound. It's filtering in with persistent whispers that shade everything around him and near him. A million tiny voices.

"Tell me something," he said very softly.

A plaintive note surfacing in it.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle doesn't reply. He'll answer.

[themidnightson]

"Anything."

It's quiet, at the same time as a hand arc upward. Two fingers briefly brushing his temple to explain without saying, why he's pleading asking.

Followed by; "Something new."

That would possibly distract his focus.

[ofthefamily]

He doesn't want to bring up the things that Edward doesn't know. The question brings them up unwittingly, before Carlisle can clamp them down.

Maybe I should learn another language. It's been awhile since I've tried a new one.

[themidnightson]

"Any one with specific interest?" Edward asked, momentarily distracted by the flicker of images that had entered Carlisle's (and his) mind before being closed again.

[ofthefamily]

...No, Carlisle admits.




I wasn't a very happy soul before I met you, Edward.

[themidnightson]

And diversion was slightly more accomplished with those words.

It was far more important than the rabble of whispers.

"You don't talk much about those times."


There's gentle, yet restrained, curiosity in that one.

[ofthefamily]

"There's not much to talk about."

If you want to know something specific, I will tell you.

Carlisle's not even sure they're still walking towards the Heights, at this point.

[themidnightson]

They are. Edward's still leading them in that direction, if not very quickly given Carlisle's responses.

"Nearly three centuries is a very long time not to have anything to say about," Edward said. There was no accusation in it. If anything it was a little confused and concerned.

There was the smallest pause, looking down. He was aware of how what he was about to say sounded before it even left his mouth. "I want to know everything." He always did. It was Carlisle.

[ofthefamily]

He's so young --

"There's not much I remember. I showed you what I could in London. After a while, I moved from France to Italy. After Italy, I moved to America."

There's no reason why Edward can't have the details, Carlisle berates himself. Some of them he has to know. Some of them he should know.

A tiny amount of them, Carlisle is surprised to learn, he actually wants to share.

France was...beyond difficult. No mentor, silence, can't interact with anyone for their safety and wanting to kill them consume them but No, I always knew I wouldn't do that.

And then, trying to jump off a cliff.

Sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Setting his clothing on fire.

Stabbing himself.

Everything. Just to die.

Carlisle's looking away, now. I gave up, eventually. The next day I attacked a 15-point buck. I can't believe I still remember that.