themidnightson: (Default)

"It would be very wasteful to act rashly now."

themidnightson: ([New Moon] Time Passes)

Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of a second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches, and dragging lulls, but pass it does.
themidnightson: (Tuxedo Timez)

"I, um... I don't believe we've been introduced."

themidnightson: (Default)

From: 360-339-2730 (Edward)
I know what I have to do now.
5.11 pm Wed, Nov 23

themidnightson: (Removed in the process)
Edward doesn't have to be told by either of them the myriad reasons why they need to turn themselves out a few weeks after they arrive in Rochester. They're always going to attract attention, but they need to at least appear normal and comfort the sensibilities of those who shouldn't be left wondering.

The rhymes and reasons are always the same, only the trivial details change. That Senior King decides to throw a late Winter ball, to honor his nieces’ engagement, and makes the charitable donation of tickets for all the doctors and their families is simply convenient more than celebrated.


The rich and affluent, and the hanger's on to the rich and affluent, of Rochester waltzed each other around the floor. They talk at tables pressed to the edge of the floor, starting with the weather and the season moving into the topics in vogue and on to the city events to come, circling always the edge of polite business.

Anything but the world outside their doors. All the while back stabbing and conniving at each other with each thought matching their syrupy words.


Just because he understands it all (and hears it all) does not mean he has to embrace it.

Edward does what's required of him (introductions to the Senior, to so many others he smiles at without caring; middling chit chat about the weather and seasons, his sister and brother-in-law, Eastman's seasonal concert, about King's boycotting heir apparent) until it isn't, and he can slip the crowds.
themidnightson: (Of course I'm listening)
Edward's been absent the last few weeks.

No one on either side of the door should be that surprised -- as the bestest, sweetest, temptingest, not to mention most stubborn and obliviously noble, snack cake in the whole wide world was chained to a hospital bed in Forks Hospital which made the stalking and counting of breaths, er, we mean the care and and watching over of Isabella Swan as she recuperated from the events in Phoenix his high priority.

Today she was released to her father's keeping. For first time in weeks, Edward hadn't ignored the door with immortal (im)patience, which brought him to the supposed End of Time and Space. Where he's currently looking over a stack of notes and books the Bar delivered with his bottle of mineral water.

The top ones look like floor plans and some others like blank music paper, some not.

And the ones falling through the air to the floor are long lists.
themidnightson: ([Person] Bella - Sleeping)
"In the last hundred years or so," his voice was teasing, "I never imagined anything like this.
I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be another way than my
brothers and sisters. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good
at it… at being with you…"


Lessons exquisitely crafted, Painstakingly drafted

He watches her sleep, paying attention to keeping her warm enough, to the tangle of her hair on her pillow, and the way her eye lashes flutter. The hours bring all his words back to him. They replay like lines in a play he's read a hundred times. The words that he knows, and the ones that are so well known by time they've lost sound and shape entirely.

There are admissions he wishes he could make, things that have never fallen from his lips in decades. Words she has no warning or preparation for, no frame of reference. That don't invalidate his statements, so much as sit by them. He knows what love is, and he can claim to having been loved and being loved, to having loved and to loving, but not in the way she would assume he meant if he said it.

His traces the apple of her cheek with a finger tip, slipping across her cheek bone, the shell of her ear, and then down along her jaw, stopping only when she frets and mumbles something about cold. Holding still even when she chooses to rub her face against his chest rather than her blanket. And in that act of unconscious faith and comfort, she can silence his fears, his past.

That he has been offered this precious impossible gift, when all he has known of love was that which left him, when all six of them retreated to their special, singular worlds, alone and adrift. Elusively, swiftly, pulled into and pushed away, aware with beyond all intimate borders of what he was offered, what he had, and what was forbidden to him -- until now.
themidnightson: (Piano (Hands))

Beauty does not come with a perquisite on what it causes
and makes no promises and no apologies for the wake it leaves

themidnightson: (Piano Man)
The house was full of the Lullaby encore requested by Esme when the sound of Carlisle's Mercedes could be heard coming down the road outside the house. Even with his mind impeded comfortably by the last 'voice' missing from the house, Edward's fingers continued to move through the upper scale of the piece without tremor or hesitation.

He was brooding on Peter and Charlotte's arrival. But mostly he was trying not to focus on the melancholy ache at the ending of the piece coming too soon, and it's all too obvious parallels.
themidnightson: (Wary)
[ OOM: It's been an eventful two days in Forks:

But I'm not the only guy, I know that,
I'm not the only guy I know that
You never notice

And that's not the only lie I told you
That's not the only lie I told you
You never noticed

And I know I don't want this,
oh, I swear I don't want this.
There's a reason not to want this

but I forgot]

Tiny sparkle!party: Alice Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, Esme Cullen, Jasper Cullen, Rosalie Cullen
themidnightson: (Letting it off the chain)
"Never mind. I can see that it's impossible. Thank you for your help."

He was choking on his words, on the amount of air it took to force his vocal cords to work to make them sound right. The smell of her blood was in every particle of the air in that all too small office hallway. He spun and dodged out, escape was the only option even as he could not keep his eyes from finding her face. No. God. Carlisle. No. He had to get out of there. He had to leave. Not smiling, not offering to help her, perhaps walk her to her locker, asking about where she lived and why she'd moved and if she'd like a ride with the roads as slick as they were....

He shoved the thoughts away as the breeze outside didn't help to alleviate the roaring inside of him. For all that he had to keep reminding himself not to be marble still or move as fast as his racing thoughts, Edward would have been shaking had he been human. He kept moving -- away from the office (away from her), away from the steps (away from her), away from the buildings (away from her), away from the boy who thought he'd appeared out of nowhere (away from her), glancing without seeing to find his siblings already in his car -- and slammed the door too hard when he slipped in.

Edward tried to control his mouth, but he was certain that sound -- the strangled, gasping, one not being able to pull enough clean air in -- was coming from him.
themidnightson: (Cold days in Hell)
Edward has a penchant for being irritably snappish and ruefully quieter given the month.

Which means, when he isn't attempting to hold face he's usually alone in his room or Carlisle's study.

On the rare occasions when he needs quieter companionship, for better or worse come the discussion time (or the sharing of "opinions"), he finds himself in the Freaks Only closet with Alice. Today is one of those days. School that day was maddening and his near constant struggle over Bella had him fed up with thinking before he'd finished the days classes, leading him to snap at his siblings before even getting home.

Edward shifted his hands under his head, fingers plaited in his hair, and continued to study the ceiling beam as though his gaze might burn it. The only sound for the better part of the evening was of Alice's sketching, but Edward hadn't looked at it (except through her eyes). It usually didn't bother him -- today it did. Today everything did.

He had considering a number of semi-reckless things. Watching certain ones dance into and out of her thoughts. While she hadn't commented, it didn't stop her from making faces or glancing at him. He stopped the more outlandish ones after she gave a forced sigh and poked him hard in the shoulder with her pencil.

Now he was thinking about Milliways and whether he should simply escape to there for a few hours. He had been meaning to go explore certain areas there. Perhaps, Emmett would like that.

Edward glanced, peripherally. Or maybe...
themidnightson: ([Person] Alice)
[OOM: "Lets go," she said.]

Alice stepped through the door first, dainty and pixie like, an expression of both wonder and vacancy as her eyes opened. Futures were spinning out in her mind like sparkling water droplets everywhere, twisting and settling.

Behind her, tall and unconsciously graceful, was Edward. His posture was more relaxed than ever before here. A crooked smile twitched his lips as he watched his sister take in the bar and all it meant.

"Welcome to Milliways, Alice."

[Sparkle Party in the tiny tags: Alice Cullen
Slow warning for Alice mun belongs to those afflicted with day hours spent working, but we are here!
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