One Shot Wednesdays -Laila & Ian, reflective (Patreon)

Hey all! I apologize for the belated nature of this one-shot. 

Like many of you I'm sure, I'm trying to find a way to navigate these waters of life these days which is easier some days than others. In this, the last couple of days got away from me and when I sat down to write: blank. The slate remained blank for quite some time, actually. Until it was approaching 8 PM on a Thursday and finally with door to room closed, and eyes closed, I found something and just started to write not knowing where it would go.

The result below involves 2 of my OCs. I don't want to provide you all a lot of context for their story and individual stories but I tried to provide what I felt comfortable to within this one-shot itself :) I hope you enjoy and in some ways Laila represents me right now with my pensive, reflective mind looking back on some things I miss while Ian inadvertently represents an unrelated  (and yet sort of related I guess) aspect of myself that desires more of what I love.

Enjoy! <3

Laila rubbed the dried flower between her fingers. “What do you want, Ian?” she asked in monotone.

“How’d you—?”

“Ian what are you doing here?”

He sighed. “Came to check on you. See if you were—”

“Alright? Ian I’m always alright. I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” he countered, sitting down in an empty chair nearby to her vanity table where she was currently seated. 

Her long, black hair hung in a fluid wave down the back of her own chair and she didn’t turn her head to look at him when she spoke, “Stop being stubborn in return,” she responded. She watched small pieces of flower drift down from her fingers. She seemed to be thinking of something else other than this conversation.

Ian of course decided to ask, “What’re you thinking of? Where are you right now?”

“Why?” she sighed, “You want to come with?”

“And what if I do?”

She remained silent and took in the soft scent of the flower drifting through the air and hitting her nostrils in tiny waves.

“Laila?”

“I wish I could bring you along,” she spoke suddenly, “Perhaps then you’d leave me alone for once.”

“You know me I’d have more questions than I do now,” he chuckled, eyes seeming to sparkle.

“When’re you going to cut that hair?”

That was abrupt. “Why is it looking terrible?” He ran a hand over his thick chestnut mop.

“I doubt you’d look good with the Elizabethan length and style,” she offered almost bored sounding.

“So cut it, then,” he muttered.

“Your hair. Not my choice,” the vampire replied.

“Maybe one day I will just come dressed up in an outfit and see what you think—”

Laila’s head and body moved so fast at this that he almost had no time to be surprised when she was bent at his level, eyes boring into his, face close, voice hissing, “You’ll do no such thing.” She could hear his heart rate begin to pick up.

“Relax. It was just...a suggestion,” he mumbled.

“Forget the suggestion entirely.” Her voice was firm.

Ian had no choice but to nod slowly in agreement. She was so touchy sometimes about the past; her past and it was sometimes difficult to navigate himself in the waters of the topic. He should have known when she seemed pensive like this that he shouldn’t push it whatsoever. The mention of ‘Elizabethan’ should have clued him in too to where her mind had wandered off to. That was the most sensitive part of her past; for good reason.

It was also the part of her past that had brought the two together when Ian had read between the lines of research and documentation and literary works to uncover a hidden truth and by accident: Laila’s identity. The Dark Lady...

Dark indeed. Cold, closed off... And yet, she still remained acquainted with him. Whatever it was that kept them together he didn’t question it. He did however question her more often than was necessary (to her mind) and as a result sometimes she snapped on him.

Such was their ‘routine’ by now...

“I’ll go,” he announced calmly.

“Stay if you wish. I was going to get ready for ‘Coriolanus’,” Laila admitted. “Were you going?”

“Yes,” he lied. He was now. Any opportunity to go with her to Shakespeare plays could not be passed over. She might say something, might react a certain way... Ian’s curiosity would not allow him to miss such an opportunity.

She returned to her vanity seat and gazed with an upright head down onto the tools on the table. Her eyes slowly pulled upwards though she did not appear to be looking at herself in the mirror. She was gone again someplace else.

Ian watched her silently until some third of an hour later she rose from her seat, “Let’s go.” She was ready. He followed.