D'amour Immortal
The Meeting
He noticed her fingers first. They were smudged with charcoal. The graphite pencil in her long slender fingers gave him images of fingers put to better use. Her other hand propped up the book she was drawing in. There she sat, in an outdoor bistro on Market Street sketching people. He wanted to see what she was working on with such a concentration, who was the lucky person to capture her interest? He felt invigored just being here.
New Orleans, it was a cliche to hunt here, but all the girls who lusted what he was eventually came here. He smiled to himself. He was out hunting for a new little goth kitten to be his plaything. His last had been more than twenty years before, the last time he woke up. He was startled to find the fashion hadn't changed much, he just smelled a little musty. An old familiar pang struck him when he thought of his isolation these last two decades.
His suicidal Rose. She hated living, and hated death more. The sun cured her of her dreary life. He still kept her ashes in a jar. He was a selfish bastard sometimes he thought to himself. She had hurt him, so he was being petty and not letting her ashes scatter, thus freeing her soul. "Not tonight Rose." He muttered to himself. Tonight was about curing an immortal libido left dormant too long.
She wore black stockings and high heeled shoes. Her sleek silver hair hung in razored slices, uneven framing her face. Her eyes were concealed behind thin wire rims, he wasn't close enough to see them, but he would bet they were the same uncolor as her hair, she exuded dispassion, an icy front. His lips curled back from his fanged insisors in a preditory smile. He wanted to crack the icy veneer on her. The short red dress reminded him that blood was the main pursuit, oh yeah, he was thirsty, for her. He was hooked, no other would do now. That was always his downfall, he seen a pretty lass and he wanted with abandon.
Heat rushed to his loins when he noticed the metal circlet on her lower lip. That hoop excited him, and hardened him when she started to chew on it in her concentration. It was then that he noticed her hands activity, moving quickly over the page, back and forth, broad and furious strokes. He didn't know what he wanted more right now, to see what she was drawing, or her warm body on top of his, filling one need and the next. He couldn't contain his interest anymore, he ambled over to her, before he could speak, she began.
"I wondered when you would come over Monsieur." Her voice touched on all his sexual endings, soft, clear, no disserable accent, but purely woman. "I've been watching you, watching me. Pray, tell me, is it a good likeness?" She turned her book from her to face him, at first he was secretly thrilled she noticed him, then he took notice of the page, and he was staring back at himself.
"Startlingly so my dear. Do tell, do I truely look like some evil bird of prey?" He used his most polite voice. She just smiled, and he was distracted again, by that circlet moving up and down upon her lip. "You sat so still, for more than an hour, watching women go by. Just watching, just waiting. Like a wolf, I was intrigued, I couldn't resist." She smiled once more, and he noticed her straight white teeth. Looking closer, he noted her pale complexion, like she was already a daughter of the night. He listened for her heart, and found it shallow, and all too mortal.
"I like it." She told him, as she turned the book back to face her. Again she picked up her graphite stick and turned a page. "Please sit. I think you are the most interesting subject I have found today." He wanted to watch her, he wanted her hear her speak, so he sat. "You do it well." She said as she glanced at his hands. "The skin, the nails. I'm usually never intrigued so by the 'vampires' that come to play with the Ricean groupies." He must have gotten some strange look on his face to show his confusion, because she laughed. "I'm not waiting for Lestat, Monsieur. I'm just here to paint. Tomorrow I will be in my little space, close to the arena, closeted away painting you. Has anyone ever told you that you are exceptionally beautiful?"
Her hand kept on moving, her eyes would come up and look long at him, then return to her page. He was used to women looking at him with lust and wanting, never had he felt so probed, so truely looked at. He was curious about this "vampire" thing she mentioned, but of course, New Orleans. He almost rolled his eyes at his own absent mindedness. "I would say Louis if it weren't for your eyes. Yours are the most amazing blue I have ever seen. Louis has green. I'm going to say Santino. Marius hates him, I think you would get off on being the 'bad boy.' Of course, you're not Roman, upper European I think. I'm not familiar with your accent, but I know it isn't Russian."
He understood now. She had him pegged as a vampiric impersonater. He almost smiled in his amusement. "My name is Jyrki. I'm from Scandinavia." She looked up, startled. "I'm not expecting a life story. I just want to draw you." She smiled once more, a tight lipped "trying to be polite" smile. "Usually, when someone introduces themselves, it is polite to return information. Unless you would like me to refer to you as 'The Pencil Girl'?" She actually laughed now. "Pencil my nickname in High School, when I attended, I hated it. I'm Ami, from Grand Forks, North Dakota. My friends however, call me 'Helsinki' since I spend as much time there as I can. Though I doubt I'll ever see it again." He hadn't expected her to look so forlorn when she spoke of herself.
"I lived in Helsinki for a time, back when I was a very young man." Her pencil stopped again, and she looked at him, a mirthful expression on her pixie face. "That was when? Two years ago?" She beamed her smile upon him now. Try two hundred he thought to himself, rather grumpy. "Don't get all sour, it doesn't improve your features, if I wanted to paint a brooding man, I would attend the life study course that I am skipped to come and draw here. Do you want something? I think I want a nice salad or something, and a drink. I'll buy if you let me draw you a litte longer." It took him a moment to catch up with all that she just said. "I am fine for now, Cherie." I just want you in bed, your body, your blood. She stopped and turned back to him, "If you were blonde, I could believe you were Lestat. Lucky me." Sarcasm tipped her words and frosted her smile as she went to retreive food from the bar.
Ami walked to the bar to order a drink and her food. What a strange man, this Jyrki, but absolutely the most beautiful man she had ever seen. How many women were throwing envious glances at her when he singled her out. She couldn't believe that the dark Adonis she was admiring came to her! Of all the times in her craptastic life, now she would find a gorgeous hunk. "Can I have a King Salad and a glass of water please? To the table on the deck, just look for me and my sketch pad." She told the waiter who nodded and wrote her order down. She slipped into the bathroom and checked her complexion, then she checked her blood sugar, she was starting to ache all over, so she reached into her coat and pulled the little vial that she kept her vicoden in.
He was still there when she walked back out to her spot. Her food had arrived, and he hadn't touched it. How odd. "Sorry, I didn't mean to leave you here for so long. It's not usually so crowded here in Tuesday nights." Ami sat and reached for her pencil, in doing so, exposed her wrist watch. "Oh my gosh! It's almost midnight! I'm sorry to have kept you so long! I need to go home! It was nice to meet you Jyrki, I usually don't bother with vampires." She collected her belongings, gave a longing look to the food, and turned to leave. "It was a pleasure, Ami." He smiled when he said her name. The effect was so hypnotic. She felt as if he could control her, she felt as though she wanted him to. If he said "sex" she would have stripped right then and there on the terrace.
Jyrki watched her leave. He hadn't expected her to be vulnerable to the hypnotic stare. Not all women were-unless she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He wanted to follow her, but knew it was essential in snaring her to him, to be elusive, mysterious. He smiled to himself. He wanted Ami as his mate. But for tonight, one of the fang hags would work, to take the edge off his thirst and his lust.
The Day After
Ami sat quietly attached to the machine that purified her blood everyday. All the while she was enduring her chemo, she painted him. She almost felt as though he was watching her, her painting. She wondered if she could match his beauty. It wasn't fair for him to be so damn desireable. The machine sucking and purifying her blood made her tired. She carefully placed her painting upon the counter and closed her eyes. She would be sick later, not able to go out to sketch people. That was the one thing Ami hated the most about cancer, it weakened you. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't live a normal life.
She was dreaming, she knew this, it was too glorious, she felt wonderful, alive and healthy, not at all haggard and weak. And she was with him. With him in a dark room, she was laying on a velvet fainting chair, and he was above her. Whispering things in Finnish, things she didn't even know the meaning of. He was carressing her flesh, kissing her breasts, licking all around the healthy mound of her, nipping gently, and then, not so gently. She pushed her fingers into his hair, and brought his face closer to hers for a kiss. Her hands explored his toned body...He pushed into her, panting, whispering erotically against her throat "Komm med meg, la meg tar deg til stjernene min pike..." it felt so good, so real
A knocking brough her from her reverie. "Ami, are you alright? You were moaning." A nurse popped her head in the room. She felt her face flush and made an excuse. "I think it's going to be a bad night, my stomach already feels like it wants to crawl out my throat." The older woman looked sympathetic and told her to try and sleep. "Only two more treatments this month Ami, you're on the road to recovery!" She said with a chipper smile. Ami wasn't sure about that, Leukemia wasn't something that was just wished away, no matter how much the Doctors and Nurses wanted her to recover. She was being a sport and lying to them, telling them she felt better everyday, she really didn't.
That Night
Jyrki went back to the bar on Market Street and waited for her. She had somehow wormed into his thoughts last night when he conquested the fang hag formerly called Martha. He sat and waited for a long time. She didn't show up. He felt almost let down, he hadn't been that excited to see anyone in centuries. Another one of the silly goth children approached him, they lacked so much. Especially originality. They bored him.
"Hi Cutie, my name is Amber, wanna dance?"
He smiled his predator smile. At least he wouldn't be hungry later. "My name is Jyrki." And the little goth girl led him into the smokey interior where there was some hideous techno playing, bodies gyrating and lights flashing. All in all, vampire agony. The things a man had to endure to get a little blood.
Ami lay in a small fetal ball on the floor of her bathroom, in front of the toilet, waiting for the agony in her to pass. She was feeling lightheaded and closed her eyes. She had the wierdest sensation that she was in a club, with loud music, flashing lights and him. They were dancing, he was looking at her like she was something he conjured in his mind. He reached a hand to her face, to stroke a stray hair back behind her ear. "Ami..." he whispered.
"No, it's Amber, remember?" The little brunette glared at him. His mind had wandered again.
"Humblest Apologies, from the moment you came to me, I have been captivated by your face, and your name escaped me. I grasped for it..." Jyrki spoke to her in a hypnotic tone, and swung her about as the music dictated..."And I grasped incorrectly, my sweet. For that, I am eternally sorrowful." No he wasn't, but it sounded good.
Ami was admiring the fact that she was as sick as she was and still managed to have erotic fantasies about men she hardly met. The nausea had passed and she wandered into the foyer of the grand house she inherited from some distant relative. She went looking for "D'amour" the painting she did at the pub. "I want to reassure myself that he wasn't as beautiful as my memory makes him!" She declared to the room. And there he was sitting in her chaise. She stopped, shocked by the sight of him sitting in her house. She was also frightened. She blinked, and he was gone, only the painting remained.
Jyrki shook himself, it was the strangest sensation, he was in a club, then he was standing in a stately old townhouse-there was a floral gingham decor that he found girlish and charming, and unexpected from a goth painter. He wasn't sure that he wasn't mentally teleporting to her, since she occupied his thoughts.
Several Weeks Later
Ami was walking down the street, she wanted to get home before darkness fell, her last chemo treatment left her weak and weary. She hoped this wouldn't last much longer. She knew her fight was going out. A deep sigh escaped her lips, and she wished it wasn't like this. She didn't want to die, not without doing all those things that she wished she could have. A man who loved her, maybe a baby. Fate wasn't kind to small town dreamers apparently.
The sun was streaking pink and orange on the bayou as it sat lower and lower. Ami paused to enjoy the sight, she almost felt like she was saying goodbye. She had lost some weight, but not enough to notice. Her hair, still the silver uncolor remained unaffected by the chemo. A few other chemo patients were jealous of her hair. A cool wind came off Lake Ponchatraine, and Ami hurried to her house, hoping that tonight, she could paint a little. She was starting a new project, for her mother.
Yesterday, the Doctors had said it. "Ami, you aren't responding as we'd hoped to the chemo and radiation. We think it's time to consider a bone marrow transplant." She'd given in and gave up her mothers contact details, hoping that neither her mother or her brother would match. They also put her in the bone marrow bank, hoping for a match. They were giving up, her leukemia was too far advanced.
He had just risen from his daytime sleeping place and seen her walking down the street. He had wished for her so often these last three weeks, Jyrki was beginning to think she was avoiding him, but then he remembered, New Orleans wasn't a small coastal stopping place anymore, but a thriving metropolis. His Rose had often teased him about how he still seen New Orleans as a rat infested stop off for slave ships.
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