#milo and rosalyn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wickedmilo · 4 years ago

Photo

NOT EXACTLY SUBTLE | MILO & ROSALYN

PLACE: A club TIMING: 1:49 AM SUMMARY: Milo needs a lighter, and Rosalyn is happy to supply one. It doesn’t take her long to start wondering what she might be able to take from him in return. WRITING PARTNER: @truecolorcollector CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcoholism, inebriation, very brief mention of homophobia

Milo had come to the begrudging conclusion that no matter how much alcohol he drank, no matter how many substances he forced into his system, going to clubs as a vampire was always going to be different. When he was human, the only cravings he fell victim to were so easily remedied. Most club goers were holding, and seeking out dealers was as simple as catching the eye of the right person. Now, he had a craving that was putting other people at risk, and it was something he still wasn’t used to. He had always been the only person to suffer the consequences of his reckless decisions. He figured Dani, and his parents might disagree with that observation, but there was a vast difference between not returning to his family home when he was supposed to, and tearing out somebody’s throat with his teeth. It was difficult to relax, difficult to melt back into the mindset of not caring, though he was doing his absolute best.

His level of intoxication was reaching a dangerous peak. He was stumbling when he walked, becoming far too preoccupied with the heady scent of human blood. It seemed to hang in the air like a mist when there were so many people so close together. Their faces were flushed, their bodies were hot, their blood was tantalisingly close to the surface. But he pressed on, determined to ignore his thirst. He just needed some air, he decided. An ironic conclusion to draw considering he no longer breathed it. But after pulling out his packet of cigarettes, he realised his lighter was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t the first lighter he had ever lost, and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last, so he didn’t allow himself to become frustrated by its absence. Instead he downed what was left of his drink, abandoning his empty glass so that he could approach the nearest person to him. “Hey,” he called, hoping to gain the woman’s attention. She didn’t look like a smoker but Orion was right, people often had a way of surprising you. “If you’ve got a lighter, I’ve got a cigarette.” He tried, flipping open the lid of the carton, offering it to her with a smile.

Crowds, like the one in front of her now, were always a mixed bag for Rosalyn. She liked talking to people, getting to know them when they seemed interesting enough to expend the energy on. But while there was plenty to choose from in a club like this it was easy to lose someone in it as well. Even for someone like Rosalyn. The double edge sword was that despite the amount to pick from, auras had a habit of easily losing meaning if there were too many crammed shoulder to shoulder, becoming a kaleidoscope mess of colors. It made it hard to single out one from the rest. But as Rosalyn walked into the club the swirl of different auras proved to be helpful. Sometimes the lack of something was more interesting than its presence.

She spotted the man a moment before he spotted her and approached. Young guy, a bit on edge. But what really stood out was the nothingness surrounding him as he got closer. Just a void of cold air, not a single streak of color surrounding him. Now that wasn’t something you saw every day. “You know smoking’s bad for you,” Rosalyn said as she pulled a lighter from her purse and took his offer of a cigarette with a smile. Smoking wasn’t a frequent pastime of hers, but it made it easy to get close to others in moments like this.

As she lit his cigarette and hers she looked him over. Definitely on edge, but she didn’t have much of a cheat sheet with no aura to see. Well, besides the fact that a lack of aura was telling by itself. “You from around here? I just got here myself and I’m still getting a feel for it. How would you recommend this place?” She asked, nodding back towards the throng of people dancing and drinking.

Milo laughed, unable to help himself. Even when his lungs were fully functional, cigarettes had been the very least of his worries. “Everything I do is bad for me.” He countered, grinning despite the truth behind his words. Leaning forward so that the woman would be able to light his cigarette for him, he was careful not to breathe in through his nose. It was a habit he had struggled to form, but one that was steadily becoming a part of his routine. There were small tricks, certain patterns he could utilise to avoid the scent of blood when it was at its strongest. Withdrawing again the moment he was able to, he exhaled a breath of smoke. “You know smoking’s bad for you too, right? You’re not exempt.” He pointed out, nodding at the cigarette in her own hand before leaning back against the wall behind him, turning his gaze back to the chaos of the club.

“Born and raised.” He admitted with a shrug, not for the first time wondering what might have become of him if he had made an effort to escape White Crest. He would still be alive, that much felt pretty obvious. “You are?” He asked, shooting her a curious look. “Most people are scrambling to get away from this place. White Crest has a way of digging its claws into you… just never letting you go.” Well, in his case ‘sinking its fangs into you’ would be more appropriate, but the sentiment remained the same. Another laugh escaping him, he shook his head, taking another long drag of smoke. “You’re definitely asking the wrong person, I’d recommend anywhere with a steady stream of alcohol.”

Rosalyn smiled at the man’s response. “We’re allowed a few bad things every once in a while. Or more than once in a while.” As he moved away she caught something a bit tense about his movement, and Rosalyn let her eyes linger on him as he turned back toward the club. There were only so many things a lack of aura could mean, and none of them were easy to glean with nothing else to go off of. But it was all something she could hopefully puzzle out, assuming the man was willing to keep chatting with her for a while. He seemed friendly enough. At least willing to answer her question rather than just take the light and leave. So that was a good start.

“That’s funny,” Rosalyn said with a chuckle. “I was talking to a friend the other day who was wondering the same thing. Why White Crest? Holds a bit more weight coming from a local though.” She took a drag, gathering her thoughts. “I guess I just needed a change of pace and White Crest seemed interesting. I don’t mind a place trying to get its claws into me, I’m pretty good at getting out of them. My livelihood doesn’t need me to be in any one place. So some weird small town is no different than the city to me. Other than I’m not sick of this place yet.”

Rosalyn shrugged and laughed. “But that’s me rambling. If you’re planning to ditch White Crest I’d suggest Portland. We can trade towns. I’m Rosalyn by the way.”

It was something Milo told himself often, even now despite knowing his bad decisions were a part of what had gotten him killed. Humming quietly in response, he couldn’t bring himself to agree with his usual enthusiasm. “I guess so.” He offered the woman a smile, not wanting her to think he was lost in thought. He was too easily distracted sometimes, it wasn’t always fair on the people he was talking to. Raising his eyebrows when she told him the fact that he was originally from White Crest was funny, he wasn’t surprised to hear other people felt the same way as he did. As far as he was concerned, you would have to be crazy to think otherwise. “It’s definitely interesting.” He agreed, a laugh escaping him. A hint of bitterness managed to creep into his tone but he hurried to brush it away.

“You say that now, come and find me in ten years when you’re still here.” He teased, absentmindedly tapping ash. It landed on the floor but the establishment was hardly five stars, he had no doubt it would go unnoticed. “What do you do then?” He asked, wondering whether she had been instructed to move into town by some boss, or had chosen to of her own volition. Sighing quietly as he took in the crowd, the people of White Crest, the strange heart of his childhood home, there was no denying the fact that he was stuck here. As stuck as anybody else. Even if he wanted to leave, he was too afraid of what he was. There were too many unknowns. At least here, he had a chance to find the person responsible for killing him. At least here he had the help of Harsh, Orion, Macleod, and James. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” He admitted, committing her name to his memory. “This town fucking swallowed me whole. I’m Milo… thanks for the light.”

“Well I like to plan ahead, but I can’t say I plan that far in advance. So I’ll see where ten years leads me,” Rosalyn said with a hum. Was this really such a dead end town? Middle of nowhere, yes, but that isolating? This guy certainly seemed like he had some sort of chip on his shoulder about it, whatever the situation was. And those were always worth poking at.

“I’m a small business owner,” She put on a slightly embarrassed laugh. “It sounds silly to some but I run an Etsy shop. I make knickknacks and the like. It makes more money than you might expect.” And you can help with that, whatever you are.

“No problem, Milo.” Rosalyn paused and took another drag of her cigarette, half forgotten as she thought through how to proceed. She cocked her head to the side slightly, real curiosity mixing with faked concern.

“I know I’m just the stranger that offered her your lighter so feel free to tell me to shut up if I’m prying, but what’s so bad about this town? Is it lack of opportunities or crime or something. I’m not asking because I don’t believe you, just wondering if I should rethink my plans. You make this place sound almost monstrous.”

Milo laughed quietly. It was fair enough, he couldn’t remember ever being the type of person to plan ahead. The idea of contemplating where he might be in ten years was too overwhelming to dwell on. He had a feeling the people who genuinely planned that far in advance, weren’t the people he wanted to know. “That doesn’t sound silly to me,” he insisted. “I work in a comic book store- or worked?” He really needed to see about getting his job back. “I don’t know, it’s been a while since I showed up for a shift. They might never want to see me again at this point. I couldn’t exactly blame them, you know?” He brushed off his comment, trying not to think about whether that might actually be true.

Watching as the woman seemed to change her tone, taking another long drag on his cigarette, the concern in her expression was more than obvious. He should probably stop with the whole bitterness thing, it invited too many questions. The only issue being he just didn’t know how. He was good at pretending to be sober, more than skilled when it came to denying his substance abuse, but hiding his emotion was different. He never could seem to hold himself back. Monstrous. He exhaled a huff of breath, smoke curling in the air around him. The wording was almost laughable. “Oh, it is.” He admitted, ignoring her comment on telling her to stop. He didn’t feel as though she was prying, and he had always been decidedly open. “Some people see it, and some don’t. I dunno know about crime, stuff is just… things can get really fucking weird.” He faltered for a moment, thrown back into the memory of waking up in an abandoned building, scared, and alone. “I’m not here to tell you what to do,” he added, offering a casual shrug. “Just being honest. It is what it is…”

“You’d be surprised what people judge others for, even when it doesn’t affect them in the slightest.” Rosalyn took another drag before snuffing out the mostly done cigarette underfoot. “And you never know, they might be eager to have you back. I always think it's worth taking a shot rather than just wondering.” How helpful that suggestion was for some job at a comic shop she couldn’t say, but the advice was genuine. She wouldn’t be anywhere with her job without going out on a limb, knowing full well people could easily say no. She’d probably still be in the dark about her powers if she never took the risk of getting close to others.

Rosalyn watched the smoke curl around Milo’s face, almost like its own aura. “I never would have guessed, from all the talk about ‘sinking claws’ and being ‘swallowed whole.” Her tone turned teasing, but she tried to keep the concern on her face. “But I’m pretty used to weird, believe it or not. Cites have their own weirdness but ...well, I imagine White Crest might be a bit different.” She studied his face. Was it worth it to keep pushing? She had no clue if him seeming on edge meant he was skittish or not. And calling out someone, something, point blank could get dangerous, even if they were in a crowd. Rosalyn had plenty of close calls with those she got close to for their auras. But Milo, for as little as that was worth, didn’t seem dangerous on the surface. Or no more dangerous than any other unknown supernatural.

“No need to worry, I didn’t think you were trying to scare me off. Getting an honest opinion from someone from here is worth more than tourist websites or whatever someone from out of town might think.” She looked past the crowd, toward the nearly packed bar. “I’m not going to start drowning my sorrows over my move just because someone has a bad view of the town. Though I could use a drink. How about one on me for the helpful advice?”

“Hm, I’m gay. I get it.” Milo countered, a grim smile tugging at his lips. He was lucky enough to be generally accepted by the people he met, no doubt because he didn’t shout about it he managed to fly under the radar of anyone who may be bothered by the fact. But he understood the world, he saw how many people actively searched for reasons to be malicious. “So you get judged for your Etsy store, huh?” He wasn’t exactly surprised. Owning a successful Etsy store implied a certain degree of skill and creativity, two things that often made others jealous. It still felt incredibly petty to him, though. Burning his cigarette down to the filter, he followed Rosalyn’s lead and dropped it to the floor, making sure the cherry was dead as he nodded in response to her suggestion. “My boss is used to me being unreliable, I’m sure he’ll take me back.” He admitted. This was the longest amount of time he had ever been absent for, but he was hopeful. He couldn’t see any reason why he might be turned away.

Laughing easily at the sarcasm, his smile became far more genuine as he looked back up at his company. “Not exactly subtle, huh?” Maybe the alcohol was making him a little too open. He had never been careful before, but it was a habit he was being forced to form. Falling silent for a brief moment, he wondered whether White Crest really was different, or if the entire world was the same way. Maybe there were vampires around every corner, ghosts haunting people and places no matter how far you travelled. Realising, in his distraction, he had forgotten to focus on his breathing, he took a deep, and purposeful breath. Harsh’s voice seemed to echo inside his head, scolding him for being so careless. Raising his eyebrows, his eyes shining, he couldn’t hide how amused he was by her comment. He forcibly suppressed any concerns he might have, determined to enjoy the evening. “I will definitely take a drink, and also the fact that you thought I was helpful in writing.” He teased. “Otherwise nobody will believe me.”

Rosalyn let out a sudden laugh at Milo’s response. “Touche. So am I, but clearly assumptions people make about my Etsy shop is the real injustice in the world.” She rolled her eyes at her own statement and grinned. “I just meant people hear Etsy shop and look at me and think I’m just some bored suburban housewife who decided to pick up knitting and sell it online. Doesn’t bother me too much, but I’ve had a few people not take me seriously because of it. Certainly my dad would’ve wanted something a bit more stable for me I imagine.”

As she spoke he felt herself easing into the conversation more. There was a rhythm to talking to new people, a flow to finding out what to fake and what to be genuine about. But what stayed consistent was the need to be observant.

“I’m good at picking up on things, but yes, not very subtle.” As Milo’s laugher faded and his eyes seemed to go somewhere else for a moment he seemed tense again. For a moment Rosalyn worried she’d made a misstep. But no, it wasn’t tension she was picking up on... A beat passed, then another. It wasn’t that he was holding his breath, he just wasn’t breathing. As soon as Rosalyn caught on he took a gasp, but it was easy to pick out after that. The rhythm of the ins and outs were controlled, like those moments where you focus too much on your breathing and the reflex of it fades, leaving you to take over. At least for humans. So you are undead...

“I’ll make sure to write it on the receipt as a souvenir.” Making her way through the crowd towards the bar gave Rosalyn a moment to think. Undead narrowed it down a bit. She only knew of two types of intelligent undead, zombies and vampires, and she’d dealt with neither of them one on one like this. A sense of excitement bubbled up in her. There might not be an aura to pick apart, but there was a lot more to learn from this encounter. A lot more to possibly gain as well.

“What do you want? Just don’t buy the most expensive thing, I’m not that successful.” As she ordered her own drink she looked into her glass and the murky reflection of it. A smile crossed her face as she remembered something a hunter had once mentioned in passing. Now there's an idea. “So, anything I should keep an eye out for in town in particular, White Crest guide? Besides this town in theory trapping me for ten plus years?” As she spoke she reached into her purse for a compact mirror. Half hiding it under the bar she checked her face and then, tilting it, checked Milo’s. Or tried to at least. All she saw was the reflection of neon and strangers dancing.

Well then...

“True discrimination, right there.” Milo agreed, feigning sincerity before laughing at the joke. “And you’re not?” He asked. “Some bored suburban housewife, I mean?” He couldn’t stop himself from teasing his company. She seemed friendly enough, and it was quickly becoming clear she was more than able to take a joke. Besides, any semblance of the filter he usually struggled to keep in place had been steadily dissolved by the alcohol. That much was obvious to him, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “So, what do you make, if you don’t knit?” He couldn’t imagine ever judging anybody based on their business, it seemed so unnecessary, especially if it was successful. But they had already come to the same conclusion, the world could be a really shitty place. “Maybe they just don’t like the fact that you’re making money from it.” He pointed out. “Kind of proves everyone who ever told you to ‘get a real job’ wrong. And people really don’t like being wrong.” Grinning easily when she agreed he wasn’t being subtle, he shrugged, leaning heavily against the bar as they reached it. “English Lit major,” he explained, having the decency to look a little sheepish. “Wordplay is my kink.”

Laughing again when Rosalyn agreed to write a note on her receipt, he almost hoped she would. It would be an amusing memory to look back on, if nothing else. He didn’t have very much to his name anymore, most of his belongings had been left, abandoned in his childhood home. He was officially starting over, he only wished that could have been through choice. “Hm,” he hummed, eyeing the menu board despite knowing what he was going to order. “G&T?” He asked, wanting to give her the option to say no although he was fairly certain she wouldn’t. “Oh, no. Trust me, you do not want me as a tour guide.” He shook his head, his amusement obvious. “I’d only be taking you to every gutter I’ve woken up in. Of which there are many. It would hardly be educational.”

“Well maybe I’ll just take that offer of a drink back,” Rosalyn retorted with a smile, clearly not meaning it. “I make a mishmash of things. Knickknacks and accessories I guess you could call them. I collect what I find interesting and turn it into something new, or something useful, or both.” She chuckled, eager to turn the teasing back at Milo. “English major! Now there is someone who can feel my pain. I promise not to tell you my idea for a novel.”

When he gave her the order she quickly called over the bartender to place it, tucking the compact mirror back into her bag. Vampire. At least she couldn’t recall anything else off the top of her head that lacked both an aura and reflection. She didn’t need some lecture from a slayer to know this was dangerous, that for all the banter and consideration of words on her side, Milo could easily be calculating this as well, leading her into a trap. If he was, he was doing a very good job at it. She would have to stay on her guard.

“Not a single interesting thing? Not even an anecdote about your favorite gutter?” Even as she spoke she felt her mind wandering to every bit of info she could recall about vampires, and the inevitable call to her old spellcaster contacts she would have to make. Assuming this continued to go well, the newest items in her store might be undead.

“It’s too late,” Milo insisted. “You already offered, no take backs.” Smiling as Rosalyn began to elaborate on her Etsy store, it was nice seeing somebody so genuinely passionate about their creations. That didn’t stop him from jumping on her though, how could he not when the conversation seemed to be flowing so easily? “Careful, or you’ll start sounding pretentious.” He grinned, his eyes shining. “How long until you start telling me you’re turning trash into something beautiful, and your work is making the world a brighter place?” Laughing when she mentioned pitching him an idea for a novel, it wasn’t the first time he had heard that, although so far nobody seemed to think him capable of actually writing one. If he was being entirely honest, he barely believed in his own ability. Surely writing a book required an actual attention span? And a tad more sobriety than he had just now. “Is it about a likable, small-time business owner, moving to a deadbeat town in the middle of nowhere?”

Picking up the Gin and Tonic the moment the bartender placed it down in front of him, he didn’t hesitate before taking a long drink from the glass. It was frustrating, the amount of alcohol he needed to reach the same level of drunk he had been able to achieve as a human. He had yet to measure the difference in units, he wasn’t entirely sure he cared enough to pay that much attention to his plight. But if he could charm strangers into covering the cost of his drinks, he wasn’t about to complain. Did it really matter if, eventually, the end result was the same? “I have plenty of gutter anecdotes.” He played along. “I can even take you to my favourite gutter. It’s a humble spot, unassuming, nice view…”

“Pretentious is a bit much. ‘Full of myself’ feels more accurate.” Rosalyn took a sip of her drink and tried to focus on the moment in front of her, rather than too many steps ahead. “And yes, that is exactly what my book is about, how did you know? I’d tell you more but I shouldn’t. I don’t want you to go stealing my best seller idea. Unless you wanted to ghostwrite. For the experience of course. I wouldn’t pay you.”

She went to take another drink but decided against it. Did she really want to dull her senses when spending time with a vampire? Anyways, Milo seemed like he was too focused on his own drink to realize Rosalyn was avoiding hers.

I’d rather not end up dead in one, thank you. Instead of voicing that thought Rosalyn just chuckled at Milo’s gutter comment. “As nice as they seem, I’m not sure gutters are really my scene. Honestly, clubs aren’t really my scene either,” she admitted with a shrug. “But when you move to a new town it is easy to get antsy to meet new people. Or maybe that’s just me, I only have this one experience to go off of. But hey, this spur-of-the-moment trip went well. I could have easily run into any number of creeps or boring people. Instead, I run into some smartass, but at least he’s friendly.”

“You know, I’m not exactly sure, it being an incredibly original idea, and all that.” Milo grinned as he continued to sip on his drink. “Honestly, it sounds like such a life changing project, I might just have to take you up on that offer. Fuck, money isn’t important when you can help write a story that’s actually going to change the world.” He laughed, realising just how much he was genuinely enjoying Rosalyn’s company. It meant a lot, somehow, to know he could still do some of the things he used to do. He could go to bars, he could meet new people, he only needed to proceed with a little more caution. He was definitely in the process of learning how, but he had hope. One day this would feel normal, one day he would feel normal.

“Hm, see, then I can’t help you I’m afraid. That really is the extent of my knowledge.” Raising his eyebrows when his company insisted she didn’t enjoy going to clubs, it was entirely beyond his realm of understanding. He was so caught up in his own world, his own desperate need for inebriation, the idea of anybody being able to exist without that was alien, and unbelievable. “Ah, so you do enjoy clubs, this is just the first time you’ve recognised that fact!” He pointed out, offering her a smug smile although they both knew he was only teasing. “Clearly it’s because you’ve never been to a club with me.” His expression faltering briefly, he heard Dani’s voice echoing inside his head. Every time she had ever called him a smartass, or told him to shut up when he was being too sharp. God, he missed it. He missed it so much more than he was willing to admit. “Yeah,” he hastily brushed off the memories, finishing what was left of his drink. “S’not the first time someone’s called me a smartass, I guess I can’t deny it at this point.” He admitted, tapping his fingers against his glass. “Oh, am I being friendly?” He allowed himself to slip back into their playful banter. “I’d hate to ruin my reputation, maybe don’t tell anyone about this.”

“I suppose that will have to be added to the memoir- I mean completely fictional novel about fictional people. It will be life-changing for people to know that, yes, the stuck up, small-time business owner was willing to go out on a limb and have a good time at a club.” Rosalyn watched something dark cross Milo’s expression, something she couldn’t quite read. She would have cursed not having an aura to give her clues, but honestly, the lack of it made the whole thing more interesting. Even more of a puzzle to be solved, a little like doing a Rubik’s cube blind. She knew he was a vampire now, but there was still so much that could be picked apart in time if she played this right.

“I’ll take it to the grave, but there will be a paper trail.” As she said that Rosalyn took a pen from her purse and scribbled down on the receipt for their drinks: Let it be known that Milo is both helpful and friendly. After a moment, she also wrote down her number. “I should get going before I spend too much money on drinks and regret it in the morning. But in case you are ever in need of a lighter again, or just want to hang out.” Rosalyn grinned as she passed him the piece of paper.

“Revolutionary.” Milo grinned, laughing at Rosalyn’s description of her novel. “Don’t forget the very handsome GBF she met on her first night out. Again, totally fictional. You know, I’m all for the cliche.” He felt sure if he had been more sober, he could have found a play on words in response to her mention of taking a secret to the grave. But his mind was swimming, the alcohol in his system finally pushing him over the edge. He had already taken the monster analogies too far. What did it matter if he let this opportunity slide? Briefly distracted by the mention of a paper trail, it didn’t take long for him to realise what his new friend was doing. He watched her as she took a pen and began to scrawl a note at the very bottom of her receipt. The moment he saw the message, he laughed, unable to help himself. “You forgot handsome.” He pouted, eyes shining as he caught her gaze. It wasn’t lost on him that she had added her phone number, that maybe she was hoping to stay in contact. It warmed his heart to think she would even want to.

“I mean, if you don’t get going I’ll only convince you to pay for another round.” He teased, his way of thanking her for the round she had already paid for. “I’ll get the next one. Or maybe a coffee if you’re looking for a change of pace.” He couldn’t imagine how jarring it was to move to a new town without knowing anybody. The very least he could do was offer to meet her somewhere she felt comfortable, more at home. Taking the slip of paper from her, holding it up to read it again, he made a mental note to add her to his contacts. If he didn’t remember to text her the following night, hopefully the note would serve as a reminder. “I guess I’ll see you around.” He chose his words carefully as he slipped the receipt into his pocket, needing her to know he had every intention of doing so. Picking up his glass, downing what was left of the melted ice and dregs of alcohol, he shot her one last smile, before melting back into the crowd. She may not like clubs, but this was where he belonged. This was his version of home.

#addiction tw #alcoholism tw #milo and rosalyn #c:rosalyn

7 notes · View notes