Saints - Take 3

It wasn't all that unusual for Abbadon to avoid of a few of Peyton's questions when he was in this same seemingly foggy state of mind. Sometimes it was if he couldn't hear what she was saying, other times she believed he simply chose not to listen. Brushing off the slight, yet frequent bout of confusion she felt among him, Peyton nodded and forced herself to put on a delighted smile and ignore the rejection to answer her question. She had always found him a bit peculiar and often times he would get lost in thought while he was with her. It was something she was beginning to grow accustomed to though, and each time it became a bit easier to smooth out any feathers that were ruffled in the process.

Peyton reached up to smooth the collar on his purple button down just before placing a light kiss underneath his jawline. "That colour looks good on you. Or is it you that makes the colour look good?" She teased, giving him a playful wink. She could still feel the slight bout of tension they had run into when he had made his way out of the bedroom and she posed a question about the woman in the photograph. Peyton then began making feeble attempts to uplift his spirits. She hoped his dreary attitude wouldn't last throughout the night. There was no fun in seeing the city with an absent minded Abbadon.

"It's a healthy mix of both, dear." Well I never claimed to be humbleAbbadon smirked at her as he opened the passenger door of the black sports car for her. He walked around the front of the car, running his hand over the smooth finish of the hood before slipping into the driver's side. It wasn't that he hasn't heard Peyton's question, it was more than sometimes an answer would lead to more questions. Questions he couldn't, or shouldn't answer. Questions that would to too much peaked curiosity. Questions that would uncover dark secrets. Questions that ultimately lead to an early, yet poetically grave demise for the girl. In a way Abbadon was protecting her.

The short drive to New Orleans was uneventful, it would be hard to guess that the large, quiet home sat little more than half an hour from a city that had developed a reputation for being a party town. He pulled into a public parking lot that was shaded by large live oak trees. "It's easier just to walk around down here, traffic moves slow and there are a lot of stop lights." He explained holding the door open for Peyton. "Would rather eat now, shop later? Or shop now, eat later?" He questioned taking a ticket from the pay booth and sticking it on the dashboard of the car.

Peyton bit her bottom lip as she was torn in two entirely different directions. On one hand, she was absolutely dying to see the city of New Orleans. On the other, she was reminded on the car ride into town of how hungry she had become since brunch on the plane. "I'm starving.. And if you take me shopping, I'll wind up buying half of what the store has in stock. So unless my tall, strong, sexy date wants to help me carry all of those bags, I suggest we go wine and dine first." She insisted, blindly running a finger along a cuff link on his shirt sleeve that poked out from beneath the jacket he wore.

"Let's go, lover boy." Peyton bumped him with her hip lightly, teasing. As they departed from the well waxed sports car, she found comfort in the slight tapping noise of her heels against the sidewalks. It was an entirely different scene in New Orleans. The bright lights and lively bars brought about a very playful, yet homey feel. The air was crisp and smelled of salt from the sea. There was festive artwork for sale on the corners being painted by artists who had remarkable talent. A few portrait artists were still hard at work, clearly knowing when the most popular hours were in this exuberant town.

Seeing a lonely artist cleaning his brushes, Peyton trailed to a halt. "Let's get our portraits done." She insisted, casting an excited smile up to her much taller lover. "I'll make it worth your while.." She cooed in his ear before making her way toward the man in front of a blank canvas. It was the first time she had ever felt the urge to have a piece of work done of herself, but it was an experience she wasn't willing to pass up on their trip into town.

Abbadon followed close behind the clicking of Peyton's heels against the sidewalk until he caught up with her. The streets were defiantly bustling, the town came alive and night, and seeing that it was a Saturday - no one here had plans of turning in anytime soon. Everywhere you looked in the street there was homage to the city's French origins. It wasn't hard to imagine ladies in hooped skirts, overflowing with layers of ruffles flirtatiously waving their fans at passing gentlemen on horseback, trying to lure them into one of the city's many brothels.

"Are you still working?" Abbadon pried for the artist's attention who quickly reassured them he was and ushered them onto the wrought iron bench in front of him. Abbadon couldn't help the smile pulling on his lips at Peyton's enthusiasm. He wrapped his arms around Peyton's waist as the artist began to dip his brushes into paint and began to work with the canvas.

Sitting still like this gave Abbadon far too much time to think though. He began to wonder why he brought Peyton here, he told himself it was to have his fun with her, but he knew he was at least partially lying to himself with that. If that was the case he wouldn't have her out on the town and showing her off, he wouldn't be so delighted to see her smile and bounce around at whatever captured her attention. He wouldn't be feeling the terrible guilt he was feeling. He wouldn't be wondering if Peyton would meet the same end Eveyln did.

Peyton leaned into Abbadon as he wrapped his arms around her. Though she wasn't exactly a romantic person, she felt the need to be held by him more frequently than with any other lover she had taken up. She supposed that the lack of romanticism they exhibited compared to that of what most couples displayed called for a little TLC every now and again. His arms were strong and secure as they encased her body while they sat for the artist to finish the portrait. He kept her warm as they ventured into the cool night and sat amongst an even colder bench.

Sighing in content, Peyton watched the artist work with much precision. He took his time painting in delicate little strokes across the canvas. His need for perfection was something she could admire and understand. Laboring meticulously over something was no foreign concept to her. She now understood the impatience other people had while waiting for their work of art to be completed. Though an artist herself, she was dying to see how the two of them would be portrayed by this man.

Upon the artist's request, Peyton rose from the bench and from Abbadon's possessing hold to appraise the work of art. "Your work is magnificent. It looks just like him." She murmured, a pleased smile gracing her lips. "How much will it be?" She questioned, reaching for the small, black purse that now hung at her side.

"No, no." Abbadon said pushing Peyton's hand away from her purse. "The man always pays." Call it old fashioned - because that's exactly what it was. Old habits died hard, and besides that it was the first time he had been on a real date in over a century. The idea was stuck in his mind that he was always going to be the one pampering Peyton and he didn't mind it one bit. Living for centuries had allowed for quite the bank account to build up quite a bit.

He pulled out his leather wallet from his coat pocket and let the artist ring up his card before returning it back to it's place. Abbadon wrapped his arms around Peyton's waist and pulled her against his chest, and placed a kiss on top of her head while he was waiting on the artist to roll the canvas up and packaging it up before the placing it in a bag. He thanked the artist and handed the bag to Peyton "Girls get to carry the bags." He teased as he grasped her hand and began to walk towards Antoine's.

The restaurant was in true New Orleans fashion, french styled with a balcony hanging over the first floor and plants and wrought iron adorning the exterior. He could remember when the restaurant was just opening up - it still had fan fare over the food way back then. Not much had changed in the place since. He held the door open for Peyton before following her in and slipping the host a tip and a name in exchange for his lack of reservations before he led them through the bustling restaurant that still managed to maintain an intimate feel and seated them.

Peyton removed the hand that was reaching into the little black purse, now killing the plan to pay for the piece of art herself. It was nice to have someone waiting upon her hand and foot for a change. Typically she paid for things, which she expected to do in this case as well. Her artwork signaled dollar signs in men and women's eyes which made dating and befriending someone of value virtually impossible. Having someone else who not only matched her, but happened to surpass her was a nice change of scenery. She didn't feel the tug and pull that other people had placed upon her and her wealth.

Peyton playfully snatched up the portrait of them upon his teasing it was a woman's job to carry bags. Rolling her eyes, she kept in step with him for most of the walk to Antoine's. There were many sights she had never encountered which caused her to linger and take mental pictures. Each time Abbadon would have to give her hand a light tug, snapping her back into reality. She was indeed a tourist and everything she laid her eyes upon was exciting. She hadn't travelled for the sake of sight seeing in several years. The only time she left Chicago was to present her artwork in a gallery.

After a few more minutes of the stop and go travelling Peyton subjected Abbadon to, they stumbled upon the famous Antoine's. The building was beautiful and had a similar historic feel to that of Abbadon's plantation. This was made of centuries old brick, wrought iron, and several layers of paint. There was a sassy flare to the French building where Abbadon's home had a certain elegance about it. "This place is extraordinary." She breathed.

"Isn't it?" Abbadon remarked as Peyton took a seat at the table in one of the second floor dining rooms. He slid her chair in, ruffling the white linen table cloth that draped over the small round table. "It's the oldest ,continually running, restaurant in New Orleans - one of the oldest in the country. He took a seat across from her as her spoke, but his attention was momentarily disputed from Peyton while he looked out the floor length window to the street below the balcony.

"It's starting to rain." Abbadon said as he gestured towards the few rain drops that had already collected onto the window. He wrinkled his nose a bit and turned his gaze back to Peyton. "Hopefully it will clear up before we leave, we either get short monsoons or long, steady downpours. I hope it's the former." The rain could shut down the town even on a weekend, tourists would clear out of the streets, vendors would pack up their goods and turn in for the night, and the carriages were taken back to the stable if it rained for more than half an hour usually - especially this late at night.

Just as Abbadon finished his rambling the waiter arrived, a young but stiff looking man dressed in black slacks and a matching vest, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows peeked out from underneath and the ensemble was pulled together with a crimson tie tucked under the front of the vest. He greeted them with the cookie cutter 'Welcome to Antione's' greeting, giving them his name, Mark, the very abridged history of the place, and run down on the featured wines and dishes, before handing them a menu and slipping out of the smaller dining room back into the large and more bustling one.

Abbadon couldn't help but roll his eyes as Mark pointed to several pieces of memorabilia and rambled on about the history of the place - though he could tell Peyton was entranced. It disinterested him for several reasons the two most prominent being that he had dinner here quite often and didn't need a run down, and secondly - he had lived the history of the building, he knew it better than anyone working here and he hated hearing someone get their details wrong.

Peyton leaned forward on her elbows against the table listening to the waiter as he gave her the spiel about the restaurant and town's history in brief. She noticed that during the speech, Abbadon had grown seemingly more annoyed. In turn, she ran her foot against his leg gently, flicking her eyes over in his direction and giving him a small smile in hopes of easing his irritation even a minuscule amount. She couldn't quite tell if it was the uproar of unruly weather that had begun just as they found their seats, or if the details of town which he knew so well were something he grew tiresome of hearing.

Her attention shifted to Abbadon as their waiter departed, allowing them some time to skim the menu. "You okay?" She questioned, shifting her eyes from the menu's list of wine in front of her to his somber expression. He had been especially withdrawn from her that day, going from the usual distancing she had grown accustomed to, to this new form of detachment. She didn't expect him to give her an in depth reason for his behaviour, or any answer with real substance at all, but having him acknowledge her in some manner would have sufficed.

After seeing the slightly uncomfortable shift in Abbadon's posture as she asked him if he were alright, Peyton bit her lip and decided to go back to the extensive menu. Flipping the page, she turned her attention to the list of pastas that were offered. She had always been a fan of spicy food, so being in Cajun country was sure to suit the need she possessed for something with a little kick. "What are you getting?" She questioned, taking a sip from the glass of water setting in front of her.

Abbadon tilted his head at her in curiosity. "I am excellent. I'm at a superb restaurant - sitting across from a beautiful girl." He offered her a smile as he reached across the table for her hand and began to toy with her fingers. "I've just been here a lot - I know the menu and history better than the waiters and it gets old hearing it repeated." A lot may have been an understatement. He gently lifted her hand across the table and to his lips. "I'm quite content though." With that - he pressed his lips to the knuckle on her ring finger placing a kiss on each finger until he reached her thumb and let her hand fall back to the table.

He hadn't meant to seem distant, he had a lot on his mind at the moment though and he had always been a little bit of the brooding type. Peyton's presence provoked a lot of memories - not always good ones, and a lot of worry both for her safety and his own secrets. It was a lot to take in over the past few days and he often found himself lost in his own thoughts.

The room was quite once more besides the muffled, but unrelenting din of the larger dining room just down the stairs. Abbadon pursed his lips as he flipped through the menu trying to decide between two dishes. "Order whatever wine you like - I won't be drinking more than a glass since I'm driving back." He wasn't sure what the evening would hold if the rain didn't let up and the last thing he wanted to do was put Peyton in any danger. "I think I'm going to get the Trout Pontchartrain. Want to share the Oysters Rockefeller as an appetizer?"

Peyton winked at Abbadon from across the table as the hand he had been kissing resumed to its occupation of flipping through the extensive menu before her. Scanning the extensive list, her eyes fixated on the Poulet aux champignons, a dish consisting of chicken, mushrooms, and garlic - all of which were her favourite things. Thankfully she knew a bit of French and wouldn't have too much difficulty pronouncing the meal. Silently she began to thank her high school French teacher as the class she once hated so much now provided her the skills to avoid looking like a fool in front of Abbadon.

She nodded in agreement as her dinner date proposed they try the Oysters Rockefeller as their appetizer. "I've actually never tried oysters, so I'll take you up on the opportunity. I don't dare venture into it in Chicago. Something tells me they would find a way to massacre any dish involving seafood." Peyton wrinkled her nose at the thought of the last seafood she had eaten. It was very fishy and lackluster. No flavour could be detected throughout the meal, and she left promptly in the middle of the meal, so dissatisfied she dared not pay.

"I'll have to go with the classic red Merlot. It never fails to disappoint." Peyton folded her menu back and glanced out the window. She noticed that the rain had let up, almost stopping entirely, and the streets were now light up from the neon signs through town as well as the reflections of them in the now soaked streets. There was only a light drizzle now, and she sincerely hoped the carriages hadn't decided to call it a night and head home. She was looking forward to her first carriage ride.

"Mmm, well I must say, even the worst seafood I've had in New Orleans is better than the 'best' that Chicago can offer." Abbadon chuckled at their shared opinion of seafood from the windy city. The last time he had given their 'fresh' seafood a chance he was quite certain had it not been for his eternally damned immortal soul that the soft shell crab would of done him in. Could it have been just a bad batch? Possibly, but he wasn't willing to give it another try. "That said - this place is one of the best. It's a good place to start if you haven't had much seafood." Antione's had created Oyster's Rockefeller way back when Rockefeller was the biggest tycoon the world had known, and the recipe took off and spread around the country.

When the waiter arrived,  he skipped the small talk, perhaps noticing Abbadon's earlier disdain for the rambling. Abbadon couldn't help the amused grin on his face as Peyton ordered with nearly perfect pronuciation of her order. "Mon madmoiselle parle Francais, c'est le driot?" Abbadon asked raising an eyebrow at her, while the waiter slipped away to retrieve the bottle Peyton had requested. France had been home to him for many years before he finally made the voyage to Louisiana. The waiter returned shortly commenting on the quality of the wine while uncorking the bottle and pouring each of them a glass that had already been set on the table. "Your oysters should be out shortly." He said as he gently placed the bottle near the window, to avoid any bumps sending the bottle to the floor, before scurrying down the stirs to the floor below.

"And now we wait." Abbadon commented as he raised the wine glass and gently swirled the wine around, watching it swish over the smooth glass before taking a sip. All good things took time - Antonie's seemed to know this and take the words quite seriously when it came to their food. Though, no one seemed to complain after the food arrived and they tasted the perfection Antoine's had created over nearly two centuries time.

As Peyton turned from the waiter, she cast a small, self-satisfied smile toward Abbadon. She had not considered her light French speaking abilities to be one of importance, but noting the amused grin he now wore, she now believed she had impressed the man who was phased by very little. It was a little boost of confidence she so seldom had within the unsociable man sitting opposite of her. "Un peu. Je suis pleine de surprises, sont-ce pas?" Peyton proposed, reaching for her own glass of wine and raising it slightly before bringing it up to her lips.

She watched the waiter scurry away rather quickly this time, most likely due to the less than impressed attitude Abbadon had portrayed during his pitch about the restaurant and city's rich history. Snorting, she set her glass down and smoothed the white cloth napkin across her lap. "Do you scare everyone on a regular basis? Or am I just entirely unphased by you?" Peyton questioned, offering him a smile. It seemed no matter where they went or who they happened to interact with, people seemed to be put off by Abbadon. Then again, he wasn't exactly exuding rainbows and butterflies either.

Her attention shifted toward the once again bustling town down underneath her, creating yet another smile but of a different nature this time. She was in awe of how the town had it's own, smooth rhythm of how things operated, almost as if it were a well coreographed dance. "I'd like to run to an art supply store at some point. I would love to come into the city and paint a little bit while we're still here." Peyton chimed, tearing her gaze from outside the window and instead her partner.

"Oiu, Oui. Ceci est vrai." Abbadon quickly agreed with her, a smile accompanying the words. Perhaps more surprises than she bargained for. It had been a little while since he had even a minor exchange of conversation in French. Some people in Louisiana spoke it, but time had really cut the number down and evolved the 'french' they spoke now into an odd mix of English, Cajun slang, and proper french - even he struggled to keep up with that mixture. The fact a girl so far from any french culture could speak it with such accuracy was impressive, more impressive was that it was a beautiful girl who had caught his interest could speak who grew up so far from french culture could speak it.

"I've been told I have a certain... air about me." Abbadon remarked to her comment about him scaring people. His actions weren't always intentional - he had just reached a certain level of not caring about the impression he gave about a century ago. "But also - I like you, so you also get special treatment." He winked at her, and rose his glass towards his lips again. "Or you could just be a stupid girl." He spoke quickly, and into the glass in a teasing tone before taking a sip. "Your pick." Abbadon flashed a smug smile at her.

"Well there's certainly no shortage of those in the area. We could stop by one tonight before we head back to the plantation." Oh whoops. He forgot - some people considered that an improper word to call the estate. It had operated as plantation under him - so he decided it was okay for him to call it that

Peyton blushed lightly, flattered by his words of affection. Abbadon wasn't the type to pay compliments often or be intimate with anyone, so on the rare occasion he happened to toss one her way it wasn't taken for granted. Thankfully there wasn't enough time between the compliment and his teasing to get in a light nudge at her embarrassment, something he had come to do quite often and seemingly enjoyed more than Peyton cared for. She took the teasing as a way out and kicked him lightly underneath the table before offering him a wry smile.

She couldn't help but light up at the idea of being able to dart into an art supply store on the way back to the estate. She hadn't had any idea that they would still be open at this time of night, and was more than delighted to know she could begin painting this evening if it so pleased her. Nodding in delight, Peyton sat up a bit straighter in her chair, thrilled that there would be an opportunity for her to relax and unwind with a paintbrush in her hand. "I'd love to stop by if you don't mind. I haven't had much time to paint since meeting you about a month ago. You've managed to keep me well occupied." Peyton admitted, grinning sheepishly. What with being taken out every evening and kept occupied until most mornings, there was no time to get any work in.

Just as she had finished her sentence, their waiter had returned with their oyster appetizer and refilled her glass of water. "Merci!" She called, removing the lemon from the side of her glass and instead submerging it into the water. "You first. Tell me the verdict." She insisted, pointing to the dish of oysters that had been placed in front of them.

"I already know the verdict." Abbadon stated matter-of-factly as he reached for one of the oysters that had been arranged in a circular fashion around the edge of the ornamental plate. "Usually, you would just kind of suck them out of the shell but... they tend not to appreciate that here..." He explained as he reached for a tiny fork, an oyster fork, and grabbed the meat out of the shell and popped it in his mouth. It was just as delicious as Abbadon had expected. "Here, try one." He pushed the plate towards Peyton and gestured for her to pick up the oysterfork sitting next to her.

"What do you think?" Abbadon prodded as he watched her while trying to decipher her facial expression. He couldn't make out if she liked it and was just a bit puzzled by the the texture of them, or if she was put off by the flavor entierly.

They weren't exactly an acquired taste, but they could be pretty salty. The oysters here though were far to rich for much of the brinyness to shine through though. He took a sip from the glass of wine as he waited on Peyton's verdict. Like he had mentioned before, if she didn't like this particualr preperation (which he couldn't imagine), New Orleans had no shortage of ways to prepare seafood and she would eventually find something that she liked.

Peyton listened as Abbadon had brought to her attention that it wasn't proper etiquette to slurp an oytster from its shell as it was in several other vacinities. Nodding, she brought an oyster onto the small plate provided by the staff and grabbed the fork designated for their oysters. She picked it up and plucked a small piece of meat from the shell before examining it carefully. If it hadn't been for the distasteful experience back in Chicago, she would have popped it into her mouth sooner and without skepticism.

Chewing thoughtfully, Peyton tried to decide what she thought of this particular dish. She was a bit unconvinced of the texture, but the salty essence it held was pleasing to her taste buds. Though she would likely have high cholesterol one day, she would eagerly add a heaping amount of salt to her food for the meantime. She nodded in approval before using the small fork to pull off another bite. "I don't know if I enjoy the texture persay, but the taste isn't displeasing like up in Chicago. I now have a high standard for seafood that will be carried with me wherever I go." She added.

Before much longer, their meals were placed in front of them, and Peyton couldn't help but gawk a little at the enormous amount of food. Between their appetizer which was now half eaten and the main course presented, there was no way Peyton would be able to finish her meal. After eating about half of the food brought to her, she pushed the plate away. "That was divine, but much too much to eat."

"Well, there are plenty of places here that make an oyster soup - you might like that a bit more." Abbadon suggested as picked off a few more of the oysters before the waiter brought them the main course. The food was nothing less than perfect - which was to be expected at a place that commanded the popularity that Antoine's did. Mostly though - Abbadon enjoyed the food because had remained unchanged for so long. It was food that he was comfortable with, the same way someone would get comfortable eating something that their family had made for generations.

"You sure? You don't want dessert?" Abbadon teased Peyton as he handed the waiter his card. She was obviously far to stuffed to even think about eating anything else. "Oh - and wrap this up for her?" Abbadon caught the waiter before he walked away and he took the dish back to the kitchen. "Don't forget your painting" He gestured towards the bag sitting at Peyton's feet as he rose up from the table. The waiter quickly returned and Abbadon scribbled his name and a tip on the receipt.

Abbadon glanced out the window before following Peyton down stairs, pleased to see the rain had stopped entirely and all varieties of street fair appeared to still be in operation. "What do you want to do first?" He questioned as he held the front door open for Peyton and they stepped out into the bustling street.

Peyton clambered up the staircase to the room she had decided on for their stay, arms full with bags of art supplies, a few articles of clothing, and her absolute favourite - the painting they had sat for at the beginning of their evening out on the town. She turned slightly to see Abbadon standing in the doorway gazing in at her. Something about those eyes never failed to send chills down her spine. Grinning, she set the last of her things down at her feet and sauntered over toward him.

"I had a nice time tonight." She said softly, slipping her hands into his back pockets and resting her head lightly against his chest. Unusual behaviour for the two of them, being intimate in a way that wasn't sarcastic, sexual, or rough, but she was worn out from the long night they had spent and merely wanted to be held. If it hadn't been for the way he kept his arms around her during the carriage ride they took, or the way he held her while they sat and she waited anxiously for their portrait to be finished, she wouldn't have had the courage to be so lovey with him.

All throughout the evening he had been unusually kind and affectionate. Instead of the typical possessive nature Abbadon tended to present, he was gentle. It seemed to dawn on him a few times during the evening, as he would inevitably recoil from being so warm and return to his typical nonchalant nature for a few moments. Inescapably, he would slip back into the curiously devoted nature which didn't fail to please Peyton.

It had begun to dawn on her as they took their carriage ride. As usual, Abbadon offered a sum of money the stout little man offering rides couldn't refuse, causing the short, fellow to rework his schedule and instead of heading home, offered he and Peyton the last ride of the night. Several times he would kiss the top of her head, her cheek, her hand, yet not make a single advance that pointed toward sexual favours. This was entirely unlike Abbadon, as much of their relationship had been based on sexual gratification.

Perhaps he was growing accustomed to her and had begun to develop a sense of friendship toward her. Peyton was entirely subdued by the new found attitude of the night, and began to relax and eliminate questions about the position she had secured in his life.

Abbadon wrapped his arms snugly around Peyton in return. One arm around the small of her back and the other supporting the rest of her weight up near her shoulder blades. "I did too." He kissed the top of her head as he spoke. It had been a long time since he had any romantic company in the area he called home for many centuries. He enjoyed Peyton's interest in the history of the town perhaps more than anything today, especially her interest in the dark, twisted history of the town. And who better to reminisce about voodoo priestesses, supposed monsters, and serial killers than someone who had drank with all of them.

It felt both good and bad to be so comfortable with Peyton. Good because, as much as he told himself otherwise - he did enjoy the company of a human - or at least Peyton. It felt good to have someone show affection to him, not sexual attraction - affection. He liked feeling Peyton wrap her arms around him, he enjoyed listening to her talk even if it was about mundane things, and it felt good just to have someone around who wasn't house help - he had lived a very lonely, quite life in the 150 years or so. Almost all of the good feelings though could be canceled out by the horrible guilt that knawed at his insides to a point where it would almost physically make him wince, when he realized he was enjoying himself and betraying the only person he had ever promised to love and care for - even if it was so long ago that she wasn't even a mutilated corpse anymore - just a pile of dusty, old, bones.

He had to of known from the start that something was special about Peyton - regardless of whether or not he would admit it to himself. He knew he would not of brought her here had she just been another sexual interest that he had no connection with. He would not of brought some whore to his home, to show his estate, to tour a city he knew so well. He held an interest in her that he kept buried away refusing to actively acknowledge and scolding himself the second that he did. That was the real reason for his mood swings - guilt. He would grow quiet and remissness about his last love who's life he failed to protect, but he wouldn't allow himself to dwell on it long enough to ruin Peyton's night - he would brush it off before then telling himself that his own mistakes didn't mean he needed to make Peyton's night miserable.

The room carried the same odd blanket of silence that the rest of the estate did. The only sound besides their own breathing was the ceiling fan moving on it's lowest setting. It was undeniable that the entire property carried the same odd feeling about it that a brooding Abbadon did. The silence though perhaps stuck out the most - it was seemingly so quiet that you would hear a pin drop in the foyer had you been on the second floor and on the far side of the house.

Abbadon tightly squeezed Peyton before he moved his arms away, but only long enough to scoop her up off her feet and lay her down on the white down comforter on the four-poster canopy bed before laying down next to her. He adjusted both of them until Peyton was laying with her head on his chest and an arm over his torso, and he gently played with the ends of her hair. Only moving away to turn off the lights in the room. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep if you want." Abbadon offered, tilting his neck so he could look at her in the little moon light that shone through the floor to ceiling windows. She had to be exhausted after the early flight here and a night out on the town - with little time to rest in between. A glance at the alarm clock - the only modern asset to the room revealed that it was well past two in the morning.

Peyton kicked her heels off as Abbadon carried her toward the dark, wooden bed that sat in the middle of the room, hoping that they wouldn't hit his feet or shins on the way down to the floor. As she wiggled her now freed toes, she was gently set on top of the comforter with Abbadon following in suit. She was silent as he gingerly pulled her into a comfortable position against his body, almost begging for her to be near him for a little while longer. Having him hold her consoled the minor rejections that had been ushered throughout the night when he realized he was becoming a little too close.

As he leaned away to flick the lights off, Peyton pulled the black dress over her head and unhooked her bra. She wouldn't be able to sleep comfortably throughout the night confined by the underwire bra and tight fitting dress. There was no interest in sex expressed by either of them even as she lied mostly naked, and any trace thoughts of it were immediately erased as Abbadon pulled the down-filled blanket over her. Knowing that there was another side of him, though it hadn't been expressed until now, comforted her. Even more, it pleased her that he was willing to be so exposed in her presence. This wasn't something she expected to be brought to her attention often, but merely the rare and fleeting glimpse into the true character of Abbadon Solace.

It placed a small smile upon her lips as she heard him whisper he wouldn't leave her until she had fallen asleep. She had been secretly longing he would stay the night and keep her company, but didn't have enough courage to muster up and ask him. "I'd like that." Peyton murmured, wrapping her arms around him a bit more snugly, only confirming that she didn't want him to leave her.

It wasn't in her nature to grow close to anyone, and it was unnatural that she became so attached to Abbadon in such a brief amount of time. She too was a difficult nut to crack, and oftentimes didn't allow herself to spend more than a few dates worth of time with one particular person. She easily grew tired or bored with most people, which would include why she seldom had boyfriends or many people she considered more than acquaintances. But he seemed to have a certain air about him, one that knew how to break down the defensive walls she tended to present on a regular basis.

Abbadon softly pulled at the ends of Peyton's curls, his predatory eyes watching as the strands would bounce back into ringlets. He bit his lower lip as his eyes drifted further down, settling on the gentle curve from her waist to her hips that the faint light gleaming into the room had illuminated so perfectly, watching as the flesh rose and fell with her breathing. The full moon shining through the window provided the light that allowed you to see everything almost perfectly, but left an absence of color - everything was black and white.

He felt a desire raise in him. It was sexual, but it wasn't the one he usually felt. It was much more sensual than that. A desire to make love, not fuck. He wanted to savor the way her supple skin gave to his rough hands, the way her neck flushed from the bites he gave, the soft moans and whimpers that would pass her lips when he finally slipped inside of her. His breathing suffered a small stutter as he looked down to see if Peyton was still awake. She wasn't. He supposed he would let her sleep, it had been a long day for both of them and especially draining to him. He knew what he was capable of and he knew it wouldn't be safe for Peyton if he allowed himself to relish in any raw emotions or urges before he had his fix.

He stayed for nearly another half hour, enjoying the presence of Peyton laying next to him. Her gentle breathing on the crook of his neck or the occasional fidget of her hand comforted him in knowing she was perfectly safe and sound next to him. He felt more at ease with her when she was asleep, she was a curious girl and he knew he couldn't let his guard down or his mind slip with her. Peyton was a bit more easily pacified in her sleep.

A glance over at the clock told him it was nearly four as he began to untangle himself from Peyton's arms. He needed sleep himself and knew that Peyton wouldn't be amused to find a monster laying next to her in the morning. Abbadon leaned over to kiss Peyton's head as he slipped his feet to the floor. "Sleep well." He whispered as he pulled the duvet over her torso before he tiptoed through the door. Years of living in the house had taught him how to open and close the heavy wooden doors almost silently as he slipped out of the room.

Abbadon remembered a mental note he had made earlier before he sulked away into his quarters. The painting of Evelyn in the hallway - the one Peyton had asked about earlier in the day. He placed a hand on the canvas of the oil painting, it rested at the edge of the period dress as Abbadon's eyes looked up to meet the ones in the painting framed by a heart shaped face and underline by pale, but voluminous lips. He had loved the girl an immeasurable amount, but he was still to selfish to shut her out from him - even when he knew that was the only way she'd be okay. He took a deep breath as his hands gripped the edge of the wooden frame and lifted it from it's place on the wall.

He stealthily moved it through the house, avoiding the creaking floor boards as he carried it into the office and tucked it away into a cubby that was used as storage. He pulled another painting from the storage room, similar in size but not quite a match. This one was simply showed a landscape painting of the estate in it's plantation days. He hung it in place of Eveyln's painting. The faded walls marking the size difference in the paintings but it would work for now. Abbadon tried not to think much of his actions as he stalked off to bed, but the more he tried to push them away, the more the thoughts ate at him. He eventually gave in to sleep but it was a restless, uneasy slumber.

Peyton woke the next morning, the sun's rays shining down upon her naked back and warming her bare skin. Light filtered through the lacy curtains hung along the large windows, filling the room with a warm glow and casting shadows over the shoulders of objects. Sighing in content, she reached one of her narrow arms across the space where Abbadon had been lying with her the night before. In the absence of his well-chiseled body, she was graced by the presence of cold, silky linens.

She forced her eyes open to scan the room and propped herself up on her elbow, hoping he had merely gotten up to keep from disturbing her. Much to her surprise, there was no signs of him sitting off in a corner, silently watching her with intent eyes or smirking to himself about whatever peculiar and very likely dirty thought that had popped into his head. For the first time since she had met him, she found herself entirely alone. Groaning, she allowed herself to fall back onto the bed and stare blankly at the ceiling.

Peyton lay there, wondering where he had run off to, and what last night had meant. In the two months she had known him, their relationship went as followed: sex, showering her with gifts, sex, and more sex. However, for the first time in their "relationship" she had seen a sincerity in him; he was affectionate. Perhaps he wanted more than a reliable late night booty call. Who would have imagined Abbadon Solace had a heart after all?

Her thoughts were soon interrupted with the angry growling of her stomach which prompted her to glance over at the alarm clock sitting quietly on the bedside table which read 12:32pm. She freed herself from the layers of bedding, before heading toward the silky robe whose collar was hooked on the bathroom door handle. Her feet pattered lightly on the floor, occasionally finding a creeky board, were the only sounds she could hear throughout the house.

She had begun to think she was alone in the house until the banging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen caught her attention. Peyton took the stairs two at a time, drawn in by the aroma of what smelled to be pancakes. "Babe, are you cooking breakfast for me?" She chimed, following the trail with such magnitude that she was certain could outdo a bloodhound.

Ms. Abbott chuckled to herself as she heard Peyton calling from the stairs. "I'm afraid not dear!" She called out as she set a heavy cast iron pan on the stove with a bang. She had read a note that Abbadon had left on the counter stating that he had company. He would of hated to have seen the meek older lady be startled when someone came bouncing through the house - she was used to a lurking, sulking figure in the background.

She peaked her head around the corner of the kitchen to see just who he had invited. curiouser and curiouser Ms. Abbott thought to herself as she noticed the house guest was a perky young girl. It wasn't unlike Abbadon to have his play things, but he had never brought one of them to the house, he enjoyed his solitude. "That man may be many things, but he is most certainly neither a morning person nor a cook!" She laughed as she dusted her hands of flour on her apron. "I'm Ms. Abbott - I'm hired help around here, I cook and pick up around the place." She paused for a moment to consider the best way to pry out what made the girl such a pick of the litter that she'd be staying the weekend.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Abbadon woke from a restless slumber when he heard conversation going on downstairs. He didn't feel much more rested than the night before. His sleep was plagued with guilt and nightmares. He sat up in bed, looking at the wrinkles in the black silk sheets before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked worse than what he usually did, even in his hell-spawned body. The lack of sleep showed on him and he knew he needed to feed and soon. The pain he could feel in his throat was enough to tell him, but the weakness and mental fog only added to his urgency. Tonight. He thought as he stepped into the shower in the bathroom that attached to the master suite. The water did nothing to soothe the soreness of his muscles.

He dried himself and slipped into a pair of gray lounge pants and white shirt, he had set at the edge of the bed. His eyes caught on the trunk that contained what had once been everything he had everything he had ever wanted, but now was just a box full of delicate dresses and cracking pearls. He shook the thought from his head with a sad smile as his hand traced over the straps that buckled the trunk shut.

Abbadon slowly sulked out of his room and down towards the kitchen, in an exhausted and brooding mood. He paused momentarily to consider if going into the kitchen with the two bubbling girls was even worth it to retrieve a cup of coffee but ultimately tried to weave his way in through the second entry way without being noticed.

Peyton was startled as the voice that rang from the kitchen wasn't the deep and raspy one she had expected, but instead very chipper and feminine one. Rounding the corner, her eyes settled upon a plump lady who had various bowls and ingredients strewn about the kitchen as she worked feverishly over the stove. She seemed to be in her late sixties. Her greying hair was pulled back neatly, and the red glasses she wore framed her face nicely, as well as giving a hint at the feisty personalty she bore.

Peyton offered the woman a kind smile before wrapping her arms lightly around herself, suddenly self-conscious about wearing a skimpy robe in front of the older woman, especially with this being their first meeting. "Hi, I'm sorry. I didn't realize anyone else was here. Abbadon didn't tell me anyone would be dropping by or working while we stayed." She muttered apologetically as she took a seat at the island across from the bustling older woman.

As Peyton learned that the woman was hired to do cooking and various things around the house, she raised an eyebrow. "Spoiled much?" She questioned with a grin, referring to having an older woman picking up after the grown man. "I've come to learn he isn't a morning person, nor have I ever seen him cook. That's why I was so surprised to hear someone making noise down here. I have to say I'm extra thankful it's someone who knows how to do something other than injure themselves or possibly burn the house down. If I was left to fend for myself, I would be doomed." She laughed.

Movement of a tall  figure in the corner of her eye captured Peyton's attention. She sincerely began to hope it wasn't someone else who worked for Abbadon and that she wouldn't have to face round two of embarrassment all in under five minutes. It proved to be none other than her, usually, handsome lover. He was usually well put together, impeccably dressed, and full of spunk. This morning he looked worn thin, exhausted, and detached, very unlike himself. "You okay?" She questioned, concerned.