Photographs and History (Nyra)

Not unpleased by the quick drive home, Nyra waivered between excited to see Connie's work and trying to ease her lover's nerves. She doubted that either hit the mark entirely but she was torn. At the further procrastination she shook her head no and watched Connie go fetch a box. Her hand was on the couch to make an offering pat on the surface when her lover escaped to let her view in private. Perhaps that was for the best. Often she felt better not watching the reaction of people viewing her work, especially the vitally important work close to her heart.

Once Connie left the room Nyra gently lifted the lid off the box and peeked inside. There were thick albums to be pulled out and once the first one was on her lap the artist took a deep breath and opened the cover. She knew that Connie had travelled all over and she was not disappointed by the first page. A field of golden grain basked under an astonishing clear sky, a herd of bison type creatures moved through another picture, the third on the page was of a covered wagon. It was facinating.

Engrossed Nyra continued to flip the pages. Taking in the shots reminicent of the old west. Several became her favorites and she left the book open on it, a stunning shot of a young child reaching up to touch the nose of a horse. In photo the sweet innocence and joy of nature shown through quite clearly.

The next book was quite different, it showed ocean, old fashioned ships and coastlines. By the time she was finished she could no longer pick out what she liked best, they all seemed amazing to her. Connie must have travelled with reenactors to get such great shots. With a smile on her face she stood and wandered the studio for Connie. Calling out she tried to reassure her in case the nerves were still fluttering.

"These are great. I love all the old fashioned costumes. You have an amazing talent Connie."

Connie had stopped briefly at the refrigerator to pour herself a glass of iced tea, then retreated to the bathroom. Knees drawn together, she sat at an angle, her bottom resting on her heels as she leaned against the door jamb into the shower. Glad that she'd actually cleaned the bathroom, she cast her mind over the memories of some of the photos Nyra was likely looking at.

A covered wagon with its rear axle resting on a rock, a spare wheel leaning against the side.
Lightning on the plains.
A dug-out home being built, with its thatched roof partially complete and a farmer laying sod on the branches.
Workers hauling carts on the trans-continental railroad. Tents being set up.

Briefly she realized some of those were in different albums, and Nyra would eventually come to them.

She made herself giggle, remembering some of the "bass-ackwards" methods she'd used to take some of those shots. Since, as a vampire, she'd discovered her... allergy to sunlight rather early, she'd needed to become ... inventive.

Long sticks that pushed a lit candle into a pile of flash powder. String wound around branches. A few missteps from using her telekinesis to control the camera from under cover, yards away. She shook her head at her own stupidity, remembering the day she cracked a lens after pushing the camera a little too hard.

The whisp of turning pages was reassuring in Connie's ears. Knowing Nyra was devouring her work was reassuring... But she still worried over the resultant conversation she hoped the photos would engender.

When Nyra called out her compliments, a brief smile of glee touched the vampire's lips, only to be dashed by the realization that her lover thought all of her photographs were actors, costumery, and sets. Re-enactments. Wracking her brain for photos that she'd thought she might be present in, her mind recalled the list for the 1860s.

Coming to her feet, she stepped from the bathroom. With a smile and a "thank you," she set her glass on the island, then hurried into the corner and brought out the second box. Returning with it to the sofa, she dropped the lid atop the first box and flopped onto the cushion. Pulling out the album marked "Number Nineteen" she waved Nyra over and patted the empty cushion with her free hand.

After the artist sat down, Connie set the closed album on the other woman's lap and turned on the cushion to face her. Opening the cover, Connie turned the album to a page somewhere towards the beginning.

Mounted on the page, the photograph was older, with a visible reduction in quality compared to most of those Nyra had just viewed. In the immediate background was a train platform. A sign near the top of the frame read "Omaha." A one-sheet bulletin hung below it. Dated May 10, 1869, it read "Omaha, Through to San Francisco." The woman standing beside the bulletin was in a light floral-print dress of the period, with a sun bonnet and straw hat, a wide bell of a dress, gloves, flowing light hair, and an eerily familiar smile.

"More? Wow. I dont know how you came up with these, they are so great."

The rest of her compliments and questions came to a halt as Connie patted the seat and readied another book. Sitting down she looked on as the book was opened. It was great how the props fit perfectly and the quality reproduced the same effect of photographs of that era.

"These are wonderful. How did you find all these props? Did you travel with reenactors? This is great."

Unable to help herself get caught up in Nyra's enthusiastic appraisal of her work, Connie found herself smiling. After a moment though, a despondent sigh quietly escaped her no longer smiling lips. Furrowing her brow for a moment, Connie reached out and gently closed the album and set it on the coffee table. Taking a deep breath to settle her mind in the right track, she turned back to Nyra.

Reaching out, she carefully placed Nyra's hands in the artist's own lap. Sitting straight, facing the artist, Connie held her own hands folded in her lap so they wouldn't move nervously as she began to explain.

"What I'm about to tell you may sound fantastic or strange, but believe me when I tell you, it's the total truth. The entirety of which, Nyra, I haven't told you for a number of reasons." Realizing that sounded a bit selfish, Connie looked somewhat sheepish and amended, "I hope you'll listen to me, and reserve any questions or comments til after I say what I need to." Immediately, Connie admonished herself mumbling, "Geez I sound like an infomercial."

Clearing her throat, Connie began softly, hiding her accent, "Nyra, I took all the photographs that you've been looking at except for the ones in album nineteen. Over eighty percent of the photographs are originals; some are duplicates or reproductions due to extreme age or poor condition of the originals." After a moment, she continued. "What you've seen are not reproductions, reenactments, sets, actors, or fictitious creations. The photos you've seen were all taken at the time they seem to portray." Connie imagined confusion running through the younger woman's mind and decided to start at the beginning.

Raising her eyes back to Nyra's, she hoped the other woman could detect the sincerity in them, in her words and voice, as she poured out a story that had never been told to anyone. "I was born Emma Constance Mathilda Stone to a plantation worker and his wife in Havana, Cuba. Today is my birthday. I was born, from what I'd been told, at some point in the early morning on Friday, July 12th." She paused, first because she'd never actually stated her full and complete birthday so her mind needed to form the words, and second to remind herself exactly how old she really was. "Friday July 12th, seventeen fifty-four."

Realizing her tale was, in all honesty, a fantastic one, Connie chose a few 'mundane' points of interest. "I was the fifth of seven children... Given the name Emma because I was the fifth child. 'E' being the fifth letter of the alphabet and all. We did the daily chores like getting water, feeding animals, plucking weeds, stomping grapes for wine. I was taken to church; I had lessons once in a while from a British tutor. I was an active child, getting into trouble more often than not, going strange places, climbing to untenable heights. My younger years were pretty much... unremarkable."

She paused again, recollecting her thoughts, trying to read Nyra's expression. She continued relating her origins with candor. "When I was eighteen, I was promised to marry one of the plantation owner's sons. Six months later, the wedding took place... And I was kidnapped by pirates. I learned almost two years later that it was my two eldest sisters who conspired to prevent my wedding. But in the meanwhile, I - as well as one of the noble's daughters - was kept captive by the pirate captain. He was a handsome man, though he had his quirks. He rarely came out in daylight. He hated fire. He hated actually swimming, even though he sailed the seas without rest. I learned from him many assorted things. But it wasn't until after my co-captive died and he began to treat me as a member of the crew that the truth of my situation revealed itself to me."

Connie's posterior tingling due to the position she sat in, she moved somewhat and focused again on Nyra's face. "He started to display special abilities. Or maybe I noticed it more, because I was a true member of the crew at that point. He could move things with his mind and he could make strange things appear with but a thought. He described to me that he'd had them for quite a long time, but I never asked how or why." Taking another breath, Connie plunged on. "It wasn't until after I tried to escape, having been his captive for over two years, that I found out why."

Wishing she'd kept her glass of cider, Connie explained. "I tried to escape. I'd been his captive for over two years, and things were happening aboard ship that frightened me. Sailors seemed to be dying randomly, their bodies pale and broken. Food was scarce, and we hadn't taken any plunder in some months. I was able to bribe a dock official to include an extra, empty crate in some supplies we'd planned to steal, so I could hide in it and watch and wave as the ship sailed away. But the pirate found out. I was..." Connie wriggled somewhat uncomfortably. She hadn't realized how hard it would be to actually describe it.

"I was keel-hauled. They tied me up, trussed me like an animal, and dropped me overboard. I was then dragged under the boat as it sailed, and dropped back in and dragged under again. I don't know how many times it happened... I just know that I nearly died."

Licking her lips, Connie continued on. "It was then, after I woke up, that the truth behind the pirate was revealed. He saved me, he told me, but at a cost... he made me like him. It was then that I found out that his 'special abilities' as well as the curious fates of the crew - and my own escape's discovery - were due to the fact that he... was a vampire. He went on to explain that, in order to save me from the horrible beating and drowning I'd been given... he had turned me into one as well."

Nyra realized that Connie was very serious about this all of a sudden. While she was quite unsure why, she tried to conform to the mood and listened attentively. Her attention never waivered during the entire retelling. In fact she did not even lose the attentive look upon her face. By the end of the entire recount she had several questions but mainly she wondered how this was all possible or if her love had developed a serious mental issue.

Hands neatly in her laps she looked at the open album still on her lap, trying to discern if the picture was actually real or just a good replica. Finally she realized she was no expert and was not going to be able to tell the difference. Instead she looked into Connie's eyes and began her questions in a calm quiet voice.

"Connie, how is that possible? Monsters are not real, and you are most definately not a monster. Where would you get the idea that you are?"

The idea that mythical creatures like vampires were real was silly. Would that make faeries or bigfoot real? Her next comment had a tinge of amusement in her voice.

"I suppose you will tell me that the abominable snowman or werewolves are real."

Somewhat heartened by the 'run screaming into the night' that Nyra wasn't doing, Connie was nevertheless prepared to answer all sorts of questions about herself... but not one stated as "Where would you get the idea that you are?" She held her answer for a moment, trying to formulate it in a way that made sense, when Nyra made her amused supposition. "I didn't say I was a monster, Nyra, I said I am a vampire. I was beaten so severely that the only way for me to, well, survive, was to be turned. I don't remember anything really about the process, though I did learn later how it took place. But after that, I couldn't bear to be in the presence of sunlight. I had an insatiatable thirst for blood. I stopped aging; my hair and nails stopped growing. It was like the state of my body was locked. If I cut my hair or dye it, my body tries to return itself back to the state it had been in."

Connie stepped back mentally and kept Nyra's gaze. "Over the years I discovered that I too had abilities, not unlike my captors, but it took some time for me to fine-tune them. I learned how not to severely injure or kill someone when feeding... And now, after two hundred thirty years, I only need to eat once every week and a half or so."

A sudden thought, no a series of thoughts, occurred to Connie. "I don't suppose you remember the first day we met? I had what looked like sunburn? And don't you remember all your comments about covering up the skylights and my windows? What about the black lights we almost ordered for the Halloween party? And how we always park in the lower level of the underground garage at the Mall? Not to mention always go out at the very end of the day?"

Connie wasn't quite sure what else she needed to do to help convince Nyra. "I don't know about werewolves, but I'm pretty sure the abominable snowman isn't real. I'd have met him during those bad winters in album eight."

Leaning on the couch, Connie was mostly unaware of how much the nervousness and the strain of planning her 'disclosure' to Nyra had cost her normally indefatiguable self. "He didn't ask me if I wanted it, to become what I am now, and until recently I don't think I would have voluntarily chosen it."

Disbelief was still foremost in her mind though a tiny part was nodding sagely in the corner going 'This does explain things'. Nyra did not pay attention to that voice. Instead she continued her questions.

"At that time you had very good reasons and explainations for everything that are quite logical and applicable now. Everyone can get a brief sunburn. You work nights so covering windows is logical. I don't know what blacklights have to do with anything. There are always more spots down in that garage and I normally work through most of the day making it impossible to go out earlier."

At the winter comment the artist began to believe that this was all an elaborate joke or hoax. Why else would Connie say these things. Shaking her head she wondered if she should just play along with it to humor her partner. Deciding that the later was probably a good course of action she patted Connie's knee gently as she claimed she had no choice in the matter.

"Thats ok. I am sure it is quite difficult to be a, um, vampire. All alone in a big city, trying to find a way to survive over many years."

She tried to be sympathetic to the plight, unbelievable though it may be. Surely no one could live over two hundred years, unchanged and feeding on blood. Ew! Why would anyone want to even consider it. All their loved ones would grow old and die. Not to mention the huge changes that could happen within the world; wars, rise and fall of countries, natural disasters. Making the most out of the time you have is great, extending that time beyond that seemed very silly to her.

Connie felt despair brewing inside her when Nyra shook her head after the artist gave her point of view to the different things that she'd tried to use as examples.

Incredulity topped that despair when Nyra lay her hand on her leg, patting it gently. "She thinks I'm making fun of her, or playing some kind of hoax on her. Connie didn't know how to let herself feel. Should she feel angry? No, Nyra didn't deserve that. Should she let herself sink into despair and drop the whole thing? No, because Nyra might offhandedly say something at some point - though, Connie admitted to herself, she'd never done so, it could come up as a Halloween joke of some sort - and that could get her hurt. She wondered for a moment whether she had ever truly lied to Nyra and, wracking her brain, couldn't discern any moments in the past ten months that had been an out-and-out lie. She had told Nyra things, as her lover reminded her, that fell just shy of the full truth.

Connie felt guilty that she had not been honest sooner. A thought occurred to her, perhaps sparked by the artist's last comment about surviving in the big city. "Well tell me, Nyra, how you explain these?"

Connie opened her mouth wide, her fangs fully extended. Turning her hand, she pointed, trying to speak with her mouth wide open. "Ha dah! Hee? Hangk!" She felt something wet drip onto her hand and realized she had drooled a little. Blushing, she swallowed to dry her mouth and opened wide again.

Nyra felt saddened at Connie's apparent disappointment. The slight slump of her shoulders while her eyes closed for just a brief moment longer than a blink. The artist frowned and wondered what to do. Connie wanted her to believe and she thought she had responded correctly but some how her partner did not accept it.

As soon as Connie opened her eyes she seemed more determined somehow. The fangs were a bit of a shock and made Nyra frown briefly before she remembered her own experience with fake fangs. Once Connie's mouth was open again, she reached out and tugged on one of the dental digits. It was quite firmly in place and she was suitably impressed.

"These have come a long way since I was 8, the pair I wore for halloween kept slipping. Did you glue them on while you were in the bathroom as I looked through the albums?"

((All expressions, impressions and tugging done with permission and collaboration.))

If Connie's mouth hadn't already been wide open, she might have gaped at Nyra's sudden actions. Her shock as Nyra dropped her hand back into her lap, onto the photo album, caused the vampire's fangs to retract. Her mouth closed with a muted snap.

Connie knew Nyra was not a dull woman. She also knew she wasn't unimaginative... But maybe her imagination didn't extend that far into the fantastic. Sure, she'd put down the rough outline of the unicorn and castle scene planned for Rachyl and Meegan's baby's room... but maybe the deeper, darker side was beyond her?

Her gaze dropped down to her lap, then made its way to Nyra's. The photo album, still opened to that mocking page of Connie standing next to the sign for the Trans-Continental Railroad, needed to go away.

Something clicked in her head. Putting her hands folded in her lap, Connie caught Nyra's gaze and watched her eyes.. Reaching out with her mind, she lightly lifted the album to just below their eye level. Closing it, she rotated it in mid-air. Moving it slowly across the gap from the couch to the coffee table, she settled it down on the pile of other albums. When they threatened to slide apart, she stopped them and nudged them just enough to rest lying against each other, with one edge on the table.

Connie hoped her expression was one of hope, and not smugness, as she awaited Nyra's reaction.

Her actions seemed to have shocked Connie. Of course they had, she reproved herself, she had just contradicted her earlier professed belief in the tale with that little tug and comment. Awash with remorse at her thoughtless act she looked at the lovely woman across from her. Wishing she could make everything all right but unsure how she simply sat still hoping they could see eye to eye somehow.

When the album moved she looked down, thinking Connie had reached out for it. Instead she noticed that her hands where folded neatly in her own lap. Still the book closed and made its way to the table to rest with the others. The artist watched it move completely on its own. An item she herself had held and touched. Her eyes never left it while it made its journey to the two others on the table. They wobbled briefly as the larger sides combined to make it a ramp, perfect for the new floating one to slide off and onto the floor. Without any further fanfaire the books jostled together beifly and wedged together slightly to stop the slipping.

Blinking several times she looked hard at the pile of books then back to Connie. It took a moment for her voice to work. "You did that?"

Nyra's apparent shock was not lost on Connie as her hazel eyes stared at the pile of albums. She nodded slowly, earnestly, eyes wide. "That's probably the easiest of my abilities to show you. Also one of the more useful. I saved your drink with it, at dinner. When you reached across the table to treat me to your dessert, you knocked the glass enough to spill it but I was able to catch it and nudge it out of the way. I... hope I didn't startle you too much." She was truly sheepish.

The earnest, almost eager expression on Connie's youthfull face made it very hard for Nyra. The urge to scream was quite strong. In fact she wanted to leap up and run screaming. But this was Connie. And Nyra knew that the woman she had just lived with for almost a year was the love of her life. So instead of running away she tried to absorb the fact that her partner could move things with her mind. That of course could be telekin..something, not being a vampire. How the two went together she was very confused about. For now, Nyra was not going to assume anything else.

"So you can use this all the time, casually just moving things, nudging them out of the way?"

The need to understand was present but the rest of her mind was split. The smug know it all side was nodding and saying 'Told you so.' while the overly emotional side was screaming in panic. Sitting very still she was unsure how to proceed. Now that she felt it was no longer an elaborate game she did not know what to do.

Nyra's blatant stillness and otherwise lack of reaction other than her hands being clenched tightly in her lap made Connie think that perhaps her lover wasn't taking it all so well.

But it was too late. Her decision had been made, the subject breeched, and now...

Nyra stared at her.

She felt vaguely like she was at work, with one of her coworkers or one of the few clients they actually interacted with, staring at her because they didn't understand "You are out of money." Nyra's question brought back a minute wellspring of hope, though. "I can use it all the time, but usually I don't need to. Sometimes I use it to bring myself a fresh bar of soap into the shower if I forgot it, or to fix the bed as I'm getting dressed for work. To grab the phone if I'm across the room, or to pour myself something to drink. I even used it to move the furniture when we were getting ready for the Halloween party. I can move the bed, open and close our door, or I can gently brush my mental hand on your cheek." Connie paused for a moment to collect her thoughts and nibbled on her lip momentarily.

"It's a pretty versatile skill."

Only the slight nibbling on her lip that Connie did soothed Nyra's nerves slightly. At least neither of them were enjoying this conversation. Her stomach was starting to knot up around the lovely dinner they had eaten earlier. Taking several deep breaths she thought about what her partner had said and just perhaps why she was telling her these things now. Though her insides felt shakey, her voice was clear as she asked her questions.

"How long have you been able to do these things? How does this make you a vampire?"

The artists natural compassion made her want to hug the taller woman to her and tell her everything would be ok. Somehow she just could not get her body to move so she sat very still on the couch. Unable to do more than ask questions as if this was some warped television interview.

Taking note of Nyra's body language - or lack thereof - Connie realized she needed to try a different tack. One that, hopefully, would answer Nyra's questions.

"I nearly died, Nyra, in 1775. Almost killed while attempting to escape from the clutches of a pirate who had kept me warm and safe for almost two years. He made me like him, Nyra, because there was something in me that he liked enough to not lose. He never told me what it was, though I wouldn't doubt for a minute that he included that which is between my ears as what is between my legs that endeared me to him. He was a mean bastard, that much was certain, and I don't miss him as much as I thought I might. There were a lot of things he should have told me, after thrusting this... situation upon me... that he did not. So I had to suss out a lot of it on my own."

Connie raised her left leg a bit to pull her right ankle from beneath it. Hugging her right knee to her chest, she gazed at Nyra as she set her chin on her knee. "I didn't realize I could move things with my mind until the early-nineteenth century. I had taken a position as a maid in the service of a noblewoman in Richmond. She and I travelled a lot; to Florida, to places in the south, to the Northeast. We were attacked by bandits one night as I drove the carriage. As I stood next to the wheels in the muddy rain I glanced around at the attackers, and wished I had a sword to defend myself... I'd gotten quite good at it while on the pirate ship, you see. And suddenly one of the mens' swords flew out of its scabbard and into my hand. While fighting, I saw another man come out of hiding to try to drag the noblewoman from her seat, but when I imagined the door slamming shut on him, it did. I pictured him tripping, and he did. When he stood up and started hacking at the door with an axe... I stopped him again. It wasn't until the late eighteen hundreds that I learned of a name for my ability - telekinesis - but I'd been using it for almost a hundred years."

The tingling in her leg wasn't going away, and was starting to spread to her arms. Recognizing the feeling of her limbs falling asleep, Connie stood and started to pace slowly, just beyond the coffee table. "One of my other abilities manifested itself rather early. When I returned to Cuba to visit my traitorous sisters, I thought of them, and hoped they'd remember me, hoped they'd imagined me coming back. When I finally saw them again, they told me they'd dreamed of me, something they hadn't done since just after I'd been kidnapped. So I can project myself into people's dreams... but I don't do it very much," she said, turning to Nyra.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she stretched, pulling her hands up and out. A couple popping sounds were heard as she slowly moved back and forth. "I'm also pretty agile. I mean, if I wanted, I could stand on the top of our bedpost on my big toe. I can walk on the top of a fence or on the railing up to the office without needing to worry about my balance. It's just something I can do... unlike dancing. I was truthful with you when I said I can't dance, because really, I can't. I went to a ball after the Civil War ended. I stepped on the foot of a woman dancing behind me, who then tripped into her partner, pushing him into one of those column dealies that was holding a bust of Lincoln. The bust then toppled onto a table full of food, knocking it over and into my own dance partner's leg, breaking it. Since then, I haven't danced. If I do more than..."

Connie was briefly tempted to give Nyra a demonstration about how poorly she danced. But, she realized, if she were to, say, fall into the coffee table, or wallop her head on its edge, her lover might react... Poorly. "If I do more than rock back and forth - that is, if I even so much as take a step as if I'm dancing - I get all left-footed. You might think having near-perfect balance is wonderful, but well... I can't dance worth shit."

Frowning ruefully, she continued her pacing. "The abilities themselves are a symptom of me being a vampire, not a cause. The process of turning - that is, becoming a vampire - is, from what I understand, an extensive one that causes untold changes to the body. First and foremost, regular food no longer gives sustenance to the body." She looked sheepish as she glanced at Nyra. "Vampires only eat for pleasure. I do so enjoy your bacon spaghetti, Nyra. I don't -need- to eat... I enjoy it too much not to." Ticking fingers off on her hand, she continued, "The only thing that gives a vampire's body the fuel it needs to survive is blood. I know that you, as a vegan, find that a bit disgusting, and I do apologize. But, well, I need to ingest every eight to ten days or so to survive."

Knowing she sounded a little callous, she continued her quick physiology lesson. "My body is also extremely susceptible to harm from sunlight or ultraviolet light. That's why I had the sunburn - which I got after only two or three minutes exposure - and it's also why I removed the blacklights from the party supplies. I didn't think you'd want to see me cooked alive."

"The body of a vampire also continually tries to return itself back to its original state." Running her hands through her hair, she tugged on a hank of hair gently. "My hair is naturally blonde. And I know you have helped me re-dye it on a few occasions so far. But have you ever noticed me needing to get it trimmed? No. Unfortunately, because of that quality, as a vampire, that my body tries to keep itself in the image it held when I was turned, it will never grow longer than this. This holds true for... other bodily hair." Connie hoped Nyra would understand that; even though she still needed to shave her legs and underarms, she didn't need to maintain her pubic area at all. Percival had been somewhat of a pioneer, she guessed, in enjoying ... a shaved woman. "Further, if I get cut or injured, it heals pretty quickly. And... I never age."

Nyra felt like she herself was drowning. It wasnt that she could not breathe it was just that she could not wade through so much in such a short span of time. Watching Connie pace had her needing to do the same. Or run. How easy would it be to run down the stairs and to the street, away from all this. While she would not do that, she knew that time was needed, on her end to wrap her mind around this. It was minutes after her partner had declaired that she never aged before Nyra could do anything.

As it was what she did was unclench her fingers and smooth them over her dress. Realizing that her damp shakey hands were not doing the skirt any good she clenched them together once more. Finding her courage she stood and spoke quietly.

"Thank you for telling and showing me. I need some time to come to terms with this. I am sorry. Can we talk more tomorrow?"

Basic human instinct had her needing to flee to the door but her nature held her still in the loft she and Connie shared. She knew that her evening would be spent next door trying to make sense of the world.

The silence was starting to weigh on Connie's shoulders, almost like the hoop of rope that had been looped about her neck just before she was pushed from the plank. She wondered if Nyra was feeling the same way, from the seeming hour-long silence the two lovers were enduring. Then her eyes caught the artist's fingers worrying in her lap, and the vampire knew she'd gone too far.

But it needed to have been said. Quietly, Connie replied to her lover's own low request, "We can."

Connie took a step closer to Nyra and knelt at the side of the couch. Her hand reached out, almost touching that lovely dress she'd chosen for her birthday - for Connie's birthday - but she forced herself not to complete the connection. Raising her turbulent gray eyes to Nyra's hazel orbs, she whispered earnestly, "Thank you for listening, Nyra."

Connie stood slowly and took a few steps back. "I'm going to go out for a walk... If you need anything..." She left the offer open as she reached the island and picked up her purse.

Part of her wished Nyra would run and stop her, but most of her knew that the Oregonian needed to be alone for a while. She wondered if the artist would come out, or the over-worrier... Or even if she'd call Rachyl or just go to sleep.

She slid the door open manually and turned to look at Nyra once more. "Thank you for my wonderful birthday, Nyra. It went better than I'd hoped." She offered a small smile as she stepped through and closed the door.

Nyra was just unsure what to do. She wanted to reach out and touch Connie as she got close, but she also wanted to shy away. It was like learning everything she knew was based on false information. The boat of reality rocked underneith her, pitching wildly as she struggled to comprehend. Connie was out the door before she could do anything but sit still as a statue. Pigeons would be too good for her. How could she have just sat there while her lover left, hurting. But how could she have done anything while her world shifted around her?

Standing up she wandered around the loft, pacing without really seeing anything. After several long minutes she realized this was not helping so she swiftly raced over to her studio. There she changed into a pair of nurses type scrubs she had picked up, these had fanciful stars strewn about a bright blue background. Fitting really.

Reaching into her barely used fridge she pulled out a five pound bag of clay. Moving it and her tools to the island she began pounding and kneeding the large lump of earth. Hours later she had a very detailed ship, like the one in Connie's photo, and aching arms. Moving the work into the fridge on its wooden board was difficult, the piece was heavy and she did not want to drop it. Finally she made her way to the bath to clean up. Once the clay was off of her body and out from under her nails, she pulled the spread off the couch and lay down.

As she watched the dawn break gently through her windows she wondered if Connie had made it home safe and sound.

She slept fitfully, dreaming of faceless fanged monsters in the dark that jumped out at her only to have Connie rush in and save her each time. Over and over she ran away from both the darkness and her lover. Waking with the sun on her face and the smell of clay and paint strong in the air she stumbled stiffly from the couch. Showering helped wake her up somewhat but made her realize that she had no answers to the questions raised last night.

Obviously Connie would have had to tell her sooner or later, there would have been many questions raised after a decade or three. Did Nyra still deserve her partner with the way she had reacted last night? Had Connie even made it home last night before morning set in? The artist fretted through breakfast of an apple and package of crackers with peanutbutter. Simple snacks she kept on hand to help her continue working through lunch. Finally she decided that if the vampire was as old as she claimed she knew how to find shelter or whatever they did durring sunlight hours.

Since her arms were tired from the clay last night she got a new canvas and set it up in the sunshine. Her brush strokes were sharp and fierce, full of bold color and emotion. The painting sucked in all her doubts, worry and fears just as she knew it would. She stood painting until the light faded from the windows.