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Bryon kicks along the pavement down to the parking lot, where he finds his Toyota and opens the door for his sire. Elizabeth slips into the car gracefully, her skirt barely wrinkling as she sits in the passenger seat. Bryon walks around and gets into the driver's seat, starts the car, and pulls out of the parking lot, heading down the street, all without speaking. Elizabeth turns and regards him as he drives, her eyes tracing out his profile as he stares at the road, his jaw clenching when he turns a corner.
She breaks the silence with a soft question, "Why did you address me as you did, Bryon?" When she had asked him to get a refill of her drink at the club, he had somewhat sarcastically said, "Yes, mistress."
Bryon did not look at her as he answered, keeping his eyes on the street. "I am not completely satisfied with the situation we're in. Which you may have noticed."
"Were you trying to provoke me?"
"When I'm not satisfied I tend to be a little..." - he pulls on the wheel - "edgy." His voice sharpens as he speaks. "Does that answer your question? No, I was not trying to provoke you."
"In what way are you dissatisfied?"
"I think what I did was the best I could do in the situation I was in. Punishing me for not agreeing with your system is the most fascist thing I have ever heard, and I don't want Cynthia... to turn out like you." His voice goes hoarse and hollow.
"The punishment is not for disagreeing. It is for acting against it. The difference between belief and action should be clear to you." Elizabeth pauses, feeling the coldness in Bryon's voice. "You seem ungrateful for my efforts in saving your life and hers, Bryon."
"Well, pardon me." Bryon yanks at the car for a turn again, rounding the corner, his driving less careful than usual.
"Should I have let you die for your crimes?" Elizabeth asks in a low voice. She pauses, thinking, still watching Bryon's profile as she speaks. "Even if that was what you wanted, even if that was what was right, I do not think I could have, anyway. So it does not matter." She turns away from him, gazing out the window at the street.
Bryon says softly, "You sure know how to make everything seem like you want..."
Elizabeth is still looking out the window. "I did not do it to gain your gratitude. I did it for myself, for selfish reasons, because I could not bear to," her voice trails off into a whisper, "lose you."
Bryon snorts. "Come now. You have a new plaything."
"I have as many playthings as I want, as ever. But I have only one childe." A bit of hurt pride is almost audible in her voice.
"Spare me... you care so much for your precious blood?" Bryon continues driving, drawing near now to her house, driving more slowly than necessary now.
Elizabeth considers his question, hearing not the words, but the sentiment behind them. "I understand. You want to deny to yourself that I care for you at all."
"I'm saying caring has nothing to do with your system, and is irrelevant."
Elizabeth turns back and looks at Bryon again. "How can you be of my blood and say that caring is irrelevant? In the Toreador, emotions are what we have to cling to of our humanity, first and foremost... caring is vital, central to existence."
Bryon shakes his head. "You've milked it too long... I know you care for having someone you can use, be proud of."
"Is that why you are doing this." Elizabeth's voice goes flat. "To deny me what it is you think I want from you?"
"I'm not your tool," Bryon says. He pauses, and Elizabeth waits for him to continue. He sighs and shakes his head. "I knew you were playing with me all along."
"I was guiding you."
"Just using me, I mean, you said so..."
"I said what?" Elizabeth begins to have trouble keeping back her anger. She feels such mixed emotions for Bryon, affection, frustration, anger, sadness, hope, despair. They make it difficult to stay focused on what she is trying to achieve with him. Very difficult - but she nurtures the emotions. They keep her human.
"...that you wanted my skills. Nevermind."
"I know I said that I wanted your skills. I did... but there are many people with your skills, Bryon."
"We can talk all night about this, I don't think that will change anything."
"Things must change. They are intolerable as they are." Elizabeth speaks firmly, though the sentiment she expresses dismays her. It is, however, the truth.
Bryon stops the car. "So punish me and let me go. Let Cynthia go."
"Let's go inside" is Elizabeth's answer. When she is in her house she can speak more freely. More perhaps, but not freely. She never speaks freely... does she?
Bryon opens the car door. "Fine." Elizabeth gets out of the car, closes the passenger door behind her and heads to her front door. Bryon follows her quietly and waits for her to open it. "So is she in there?"
Elizabeth knows he means Cynthia. "Yes. Perhaps she will speak with you. We need to finish this first." She opens the door and waits for him to walk in first.
Bryon walks in slowly, measuring each step, walks down a hallway, toward the kitchen. He turns around and leans against the doorway. Elizabeth follows him inside and locks the door.
"So you wanted to finish this?" Bryon asks.
"Finish? We need to get things straight. You said, why don't I just punish you and let you go." Elizabeth paused, then continued. "First of all. I have already let you go - when I released you. What kind of letting go you mean, I don't know. Secondly. There is no point to punishing you until you realize you have done wrong. You do not yet seem to know that."
"Okay. So what do you want?"
"I want you to understand." Elizabeth pulls softly at his hand, then points to a sofa in her living room. "Come sit down." She precedes him in there, taking her own seat on a comfortable chair.
Bryon follows her. "I understand what you've been trying to say all along, I just don't agree. And fine. I will sit down. Doing otherwise would break the rules, I'm certain."
"What do you think I should have done, Bryon?" Elizabeth looks at him with barely restrained fury, choosing not to address his "edginess" again just yet.
"I'm sure you're doing the best you can." Bryon sighs.
Elizabeth realizes she can't continue holding back all her anger, and lets a bit of it out as she stands and shouts, "What do you _think_ I should have done? Answer me!"
Bryon looks away. Softly, he says, "You've chosen your life... nothing I can do about that."
"No, Bryon. What do you think I should have done about _your_ life."
Bryon slumps slightly, seeming to give up. "Nothing else. You saved me, I thank you." He pauses... not quite completely giving up yet... "but you have to know what it's like, you must have been here. Trying to find meaning, where there is none."
Elizabeth nods slightly.... thinking back for a moment.... "Yes." She continues, "I know you care for me, Bryon. I can feel it in your aura... the yearning... and I know how much it galls you... and how you fight it... and deny it... there is meaning, there always is meaning. Not in logic, but in emotion, where it matters." She is shaking slightly, and sits back down, composing herself before she continues. "Do you feel no regret for what you did to Cynthia? If not for traditions, for her herself? She did not want this existence, she is not happy. I chose you for it, at least, trying to find a person who could cope. You had no idea who she was, you saw her for the first time half-dead."
Bryon sighs. "I know I this whole fucking thing is wrong... but nothing matters once you get this far, not to me, not anymore."
"If nothing matters to you, why do you get so 'edgy' around me?"
"Because you try to make me feel guilty."
"Do you feel guilty?"
"Like I said, not anymore... just like you."
"I don't try to make you feel guilty, Bryon. I try to make you _feel_. Without feelings you will succumb to the Beast."
"So they say." Bryon pretends not to care, or maybe he really does not.
"If you don't feel guilty, why do my supposed attempts irk you?" She watches him, waiting for his answer.
Before replying, Bryon takes off his glasses and rubs his fingers over his eyes. "We're not getting anywhere... I don't know. I care about what happens to Cynthia. I care about you, somewhere."
Elizabeth smiles slightly. "I am glad you found caring again."
"But that doesn't give me a reason to live," Bryon finishes.
"You need to find a reason to live, then. Follow me." Elizabeth beckons him back to another room.
Bryon gets up wearily and follows her.
Elizabeth takes him to a room that looks like it used to be a storage closet... it is fixed up like a spare bedroom though very sparsely furnished, a single hard pallet bed, a chest and a chair.
Bryon looks a little concerned. "And this is?" Bryon looks around at the walls.
Elizabeth looks into the room, and flicks on the light. She glances at a stick leaning against the chest. "This is, not a punishment. Not yet. Think of it as a retreat... a chance to introspect and find who you are, what you have to live for." She looks at him with simultaneous affection and sadness. "Lie down on the bed."
Bryon looks a little perplexed. "You want me to stay in here?"
"You will, yes. For a month or so."
"Erm, listen... I don't think this is such a good..." Bryon looks at her eyes.
"It is part of the condition of saving your life." Elizabeth looks back into his eyes, still sad. "Please let me save you. Lie down? Please?
Bryon frowns a little, then lies down. His eyes turn a little bloodshot as he lies down, something deep in his mind telling him not to do this.
"Thank you." Elizabeth goes and picks up the stick, with its sharpened end. She leans it against the bed, then lightly sits on Bryon, straddling him, leaning down as if to kiss him, but not quite kissing him. "Shhhhh, be still." She exerts her will on him, their eyes locked together. "Relax."
Elizabeth focuses on Bryon's eyes, her force of will keeping him still for just long enough... Bryon shuts his eyes and mumbles a prayer. He seems not to be resisting. She burns blood, moving faster than humanly possible with celerity, and poises the stake over Bryon's heart, pushing it through with all her strength. Bryon half sighs half chokes as the wood sinks through his chest.
Elizabeth slips back off him, looking slightly spent. She kneels next to his frozen rictus face and kisses his cheek, whispering, "Bryon......" as she smooths his hair back gently. "Rest well, darling." She gets to her feet and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her.