Easy on my Soul -open-

[Nimue Malory]

The dim light of backstage flickered every so often as Nimue walked down the long corridor of dressing tables and mirrors. Feather boas and other articles of clothing were strewn across the chairs and tables, mixing with the stage makeup. Nimue smirked at the mess as she walked by, heading toward her own chair and mirror. She was not one to talk about neatness, but Nimue was not used to such close and cramped conditions. She who had roamed the forests as a young girl and had raised warriors from infancy was now stuck as a dancer in a cabaret run by the devil himself, or close enough to the devil.

What had Nimue done to deserve this? She had decided it would be a lot more interesting working in a cabaret than sitting all peacefully in that police department singing and playing the lyre all day long. She was more likely to corrupt men than to save them. Though Nimue was not completely evil. She did not agree with her current lord and master as she sarcastically called Mr. Fletcher, but she was bored with the side of good and their monotonous ways. She had killed men out of jealousy. She doubted she'd be allowed up in this heaven for that. Her own sanctuary, Avalon, was lost in the mists and forgotten. And Nimue was not going to be forgotten. She just didn't know how to accomplish that. The old ways were forgotten and the new religion, which was now quite old, did not accommodate her and her powers. Alas, she would have to wait.

But, for now Nimue had to remove her makeup and change out of her costume. Her shift ended at 2 am in the morning and she was eager to get home to her apartment. Normally she would bring a boy toy with her, but it was slim pickings tonight.

[Nicholas Foster]

Nicholas Foster was doing his final rounds for night. First, he checked the doors, making sure all the locks were locked and all the protection spells were at full strength. Then he checked the closets and bathrooms, incase any unconscious drunks or amorous couples were outstaying their welcome. Finally, he indulged in a leisurely stroll through the cabaret. This was how he liked it best -- almost dark, almost quiet. Almost empty. These days, it was emptiness which gave him the most comfort.

As he passed by the dressing rooms, a slight sound caught Nicholas’s attention. It wasn’t uncommon for one of the performers to still be changing at this hour. Still, Nicholas was thorough. That was one of the things which made him so damn good at his job. Pausing by the door, he gave his signature knock -- two short raps, then a pause, then the third. Anyone who’d worked here for long enough would know who waited outside. And they’d know that in about a minute, he’d be coming in.

After giving the person inside time to get decent, Nicholas pushed open the door. It wouldn’t matter if they’d locked it. Very few doors in the cabaret didn’t respond to his whim. Nicholas had taken careful precautions to make sure that his own security could never be used against him.

Prepared for whatever lay within -- be it intruder or pissed off showgirl -- Nicholas stepped into the dressing room.

[Nimue Malory]

Nimue sat in her chair, her dark locks still pinned off as she wiped away the excessive, gaudy makeup of a show girl. Once upon a time she would have shied away from feminine behavior, but now that was all she had to survive from day to day. The thought of receding back to her lake to sleep for hundreds of more years was not a pleasant one and so she begrudgingly accepted her job at the cabaret.

Once her makeup was removed, she continued to change. Her tight silver corset was removed with deft fingers and soon she slipped on a midnight blue dress. Suddenly, Nimue sensed a presence outside her door. Guessing it was either security or another girl, she left her dress unbuttoned as she leaned her foot against the table, slowly rolling her stocking up her leg. Then the person entered the door.

Nimue looked up, semi startled at first, but when she saw it was only Nicholas, the head of security at the cabaret. Working there, Nimue had seen the young vampire around. He was quite handsome, though he never spoke a word. If Nimue remembered correctly, someone had told her that he was a mute. Whether he spoke or not did not matter at the moment. At least now she wasn't alone.

"Oh, it's you," Nimue said with a smile. "Do you mind buttoning me up?" she asked, turning around, showing off her pale, slender back. She knew she was beautiful and she loved to see men's reactions.

[Nicholas Foster]

When Nicholas saw Nimue, his gaze dropped to the floor. Not because she was indecent. And not because he didn’t enjoy looking at her. In truth, Nicholas often timed his rounds so that he could pass through the main room while she was performing. He liked watching her from the shadows. As the years went by, Nicholas found that fewer and fewer things really stirred his heart -- but grace and beauty still did. When Nimue danced, Nicholas remembered the feel of sunlight, and the taste of strawberries, and the touch of a lover’s hand. He remembered what it had been like to be human.

But it was one thing to watch her on the stage, and another thing entirely to be alone in a dressing room with her. The intimacy was nearly overwhelming. For a long moment, Nicholas could do little more than stare at his feet and be glad that fate had robbed him of his voice. Otherwise, he’d probably be stammering.

Then she spoke to him. Lifting his eyes, Nicholas saw Nimue turn her back toward him, displaying pale flesh framed between folds of midnight blue material. Nicholas could hear the slight rustle as her breathing caused the fabric to brush against her skin. Abruptly, all thoughts of finishing his round fled from Nicholas’s mind. Instead, like a man in a trance, he crossed over to Nimue and reverently touched the first button.

Nicholas had heard rumors about Nimue, although they tended to be vague and conflicting. He did know she was more than a tainted human. He could smell the difference. Actually, this close to Nimue, he could smell a lot of things -- the musk of her perfume, the slight saltiness of her sweat, the secret odor of her flesh. Even though Nicholas no longer needed to breathe, he still inhaled sharply.

Despite the heightened dexterity granted by being a vampire, Nicholas still found himself fumbling with the buttons on Nimue’s dress. He was too distracted by the graceful curve of her spine. He wanted to brush his fingers against it, to trace it down to the point where it vanished beneath fabric. But he knew that his touch would be cold. Many beings found that unpleasant, and he didn’t want to do anything which might repulse Nimue. So he confined himself to the buttons, finally managing to secure all of them. Then, he took a step back, hoping for a few words of approval.

[Nimue Malory]

Nimue was impressed by Nicholas' restraint. Most men would not be able to resist her, and for that she was glad she could trust him. She could feel the coolness of his being so close to her and it reminded her of the cool waters near Avalon. She used to bath there with the trees and animals surrounding her. It had been so private and yet so open. Only once did a man dare to watch her as she bathed. He was dead now, though he had been sent to an untimely grave.

Once Nicholas finished buttoning the buttons - it really would have been difficult for her, though she had gotten used to these strange clothing and not having a maid to help you dress - Nimue turned around and smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, her voice low and soft. "You are kind." She thought about putting her hand on his cheek while she thanked him, but knew that would be unkind by teasing him so. For some reason she felt compassionate toward him. He did not disgust her as other men did, like Merlin had.

She bent down and put on a pair of blue sued shoes that matched her dress. All she had left was to gather her purse, hat, gloves, and jacket, though she did not and instead faced the tall, dark, and handsome vampire. She guessed if she was to have a conversation with him that she would have to ask yes or no questions as speaking words were beyond his capabilities. "Are we the only ones left?" Nimue asked, keeping her cool gray eyes on his eyes.

[Nicholas Foster]

Nicholas would have blushed when Nimue thanked him, if blood still flowed through his body in that manner. As it was, he grinned at her, revealing a brief glimpse of twin fangs. Normally, Nicholas kept his lips clamped together when he smiled. Not to conceal the fact that he was a vampire -- most people at the cabaret already knew that. But Nicholas considered his fangs, like so much else about him, to be private. He only bared them when some troublemaker needed an additional reason to sit down and shut up.

Somehow, Nimue had thrown him off-balance, and slipped past some of the walls he’d built around himself.

As she bent over to put on her shoes, Nicholas drank in every movement. A lot of the women who worked at the cabaret could be graceful on stage -- that was what they’d been hired for, after all. But it didn’t go beyond that. The moment they came back here, they started chomping gum, or swearing, or scratching themselves in indelicate places. Not Nimue. She didn’t just dance, she was dance.

Her question about whether they were alone earned a nod. That was mostly true, although Nicholas could never be entirely sure about Mister Fletcher. Sometimes, when Nicholas felt absolutely sure everyone else had gone home, the man would suddenly appear beside him, speaking words Nicholas didn’t understand and then laughing uproariously, as is they were sharing a marvelous joke together. Frankly, Mister Fletcher man gave Nicholas the creeps. And when a vampire thinks you’re creepy...well, that’s saying something.

Nicholas knew he wasn’t the easiest person to have a conversation with. Usually, he preferred it that way. If people couldn’t talk to him, they couldn’t get to know him. And if they couldn’t get to know him, they couldn’t become his friend. And if they couldn’t become his friend, he didn’t have to care as they aged and died, while he remained forever frozen in time.

And yet, it was different with Nimue. She drove him to do something he almost never did. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Nicholas pulled out a notepad and a pencil. The tools still wouldn’t make him a normal conversationalist -- but at least it took things beyond the realm of nodding “yes” and “no”.

Scribbling impulsive words onto the notepad, Nicholas showed them to Nimue. Can I walk you home? He knew Nimue sometimes took home men from the cabaret, but he wasn’t trying to join their ranks. He just wanted to be with her a little longer.

Even if it meant venturing out into the city he’d grown to loathe.

[Nimue Malory]

High heels. Whoever invented those? Nimue missed the days that she could run barefoot. She even missed the soft slippers and boots the women of the court used to wear. Though she had to admit that high heels could show off the lower part of a woman’s figure quite nicely, she had taken her time getting used to them, not that she ever fell or tripped.

Nimue raised an eyebrow as he produced a notepad and a pencil. This would make things easier and she would remember it in the future. She always wondered why he was a mute. Had he been born that way? If he had, then who would want to turn him into a vampire? It seemed like a cruel fate to be forever young and immortal and yet unable to communicate. He was even closer to being an animal hunting humans. Without the constant contact with humans she wondered if the lack of communication would rob him of his humanity as well.

A smile appeared on her red lips. It was such a sweet gesture and one she did not get quite often. “Yes, if you would like that would be nice,” she responded. Nimue did not really have friends at the cabaret, no one close she could trust, but it had been awhile since Nimue could trust anyone and she now started to wonder if she missed that.

She picked up her coat and slipped it over her small frame. The mink trimmings rubbed softly against her cheeks and she nestled in like a satisfied cat. She then grabbed the rest of her belongings and stepped closer to the vampire. “Are you sure Mr. Fletcher could spare you?” she asked, sounding a little mischievous. She had nothing in mind at the moment other than getting back home to her cozy apartment, but she couldn’t help the twinkle in her eye as she appreciated the immortal beauty of a powerful creature.

[Nicholas Foster]

Nicholas smiled again when Nimue accepted his offer. Her soft voice reminded him of wind rustling through the leaves in a forest, or water lapping against the edge of a lake. How long had it been since he’d heard either of those sounds? Would he live and die in this cursed city without ever hearing them again? No, not die...just live and live, forever.

Forcibly, Nicholas halted that train of thought. He’d seen what happened to vampires who started hating their own immortality. Unable to face the eternity before them, but also unable to end their lives, they descended into madness. Nicholas had vowed he’d never let that happen to him. It was why he maintained his increasingly tenuous link with the human world. It was why part of him still struggled to find joy. After all, even this city was not without its pleasures. The sight of Nimue nuzzling her coat’s mink collar reminded him of that.

When Nimue mentioned Mister Fletcher, Nicholas couldn’t repress a roll of his eyes. Rapidly, he scribbled a few more words on his notepad: He’s probably busy with his bugs. Nicholas didn’t really understand Mister Fletcher’s determination to create an insect circus. Why would people want to watch beetles perform, when there were lovely and talented showgirls around? But any hobby which kept Mister Fletcher occupied -- preferably, occupied somewhere else -- was a hobby Nicholas didn’t plan on discouraging.

Giving Nimue a small bow, Nicholas offered her his arm. Then he started toward the nearest exit. The cabaret hallways were mostly dark, but the darkness presented no difficulty for him, and he guided Nimue carefully to make sure that she didn’t bump into anything or stumble. Occasionally during their shadowy journey, her body brushed against his, filling Nicholas’s mind with strange temptations. It was so dark. Would she notice if his hand stroked her cheek? If his lips pressed against her throat for the briefest of instants?

But in the end, Nicholas was honorable -- honorable for a vampire, at least. He made no move to act on his desires. When they finally reached an exit, Nicholas reluctantly released Nimue’s arm, and opened the door for her. From here, she would have to lead him.

[Nimue Malory]

Nimue rolled her eyes at the thought of an insect circus. “Mister Fletcher can be peculiar. I suppose he would prefer it if I were a butterfly nailed to his wall than a flesh and blood show girl who could demand a raise,” she said, more to herself than to Nicholas. Nimue rarely showed her feelings to others, unless the emotions were of happiness or pleasure. With age, Nimue was able to keep her jealousy and temper in check. There had been no lovers of worth to tempt her and she had learned the virtue of patience, even if she was impatiently patient.

Nicholas suddenly offered her his arm and Nimue flashed him a smile. Chivalry was dead; she knew that. Nimue had helped honor disappear in the fog when Lancelot and Guinevere betrayed Arthur. And poor Arthur dying by the hand of an abomination. Perhaps Nimue had made mistakes in the past, but she couldn’t help it, she was only human after all. She could laugh at that thought. Was she still truly human, or had she lost her humanity when Felix chopped off her head and left her for dead in the lake. She had been a slender, brown girl with the hair the color of mud. Her fine skin had tanned under the sun and her feet were always dirty.

Her second form had been somewhat more civilized. With a golden hue, she had emerged from the lake in white gold and glory. But as she gave in to her mortal feelings her golden glow began to fade. Her features became less pure and innocent and now she only retained a fake innocence about her, when in truth she had seen too much and felt too much.

And now, here she was, a small dark figure standing next to a vampire. As they walked she purposely allowed her body to press against his occasionally. She couldn’t help herself, he was handsome and quite powerful. And this time the figure that encompassed the power did not disgust her, not like decrepit old Merlin, or Mister Fletcher.

Once they reached the door, Nimue allowed herself to lean against the open doorway, her coat opening slightly to reveal a pale knee. “If you are too scared, I can always walk myself home,” she teased, smiling up at the night loving creature.

[Nicholas Foster]

Surprise flitted across Nicholas’s features when Nimue leaned against the open doorway, her body enticingly illuminated by the streetlamp outside. He’d thought that he was walking her home. But apparently she’d decided to change their game, and that suited him just fine. Nicholas still had needs. Granted, since he became a vampire, most of those needs sprang from emotional drives rather than physical ones -- but emotional drives, a little black magic, and the occasional burst of hunger were all that had kept his corpse moving for the last hundred years. So their power shouldn’t be underestimated.

“If you are too scared, I can always walk myself home.”

Nicholas grinned and held up his hands, making them tremble in an exaggerated manner. He hated the city, which had changed so much from the New York he’d known when he was human -- but he didn’t fear it. Fear implied having something left to lose. Since Kale’s death, all Nicholas cared about losing was his life, and very few things out there were capable of taking that from him.

Ending his theatrics, Nicholas scribbled two quick sentences on the notepad. Aren’t you the one who should be afraid? A defenseless girl all alone with a vampire? Of course, Nicholas doubted that Nimue was truly defenseless. Very few people at the Midnight Cabaret were. But it seemed like a valid point to make, and he hoped that the question might prompt some clue to her true nature.

Now, Nicholas closed the distance between them, standing so close to Nimue that every breath she took caused her body to press lightly against his own. For a long moment, he stared deep into her grey eyes. Searching for answers. Searching for desire, or mischief, or loneliness, or some other hint as to why she was doing this to him. In the end, it didn’t matter. She’d done it. She’d awakened a hunger in him that had nothing to do with blood. Bowing his head, Nicholas touched his mouth to the pale flesh which lay just above Nimue’s coat collar. Then he pulled back his lips, baring twin fangs. Lightly, careful not to scratch her perfect skin, he dragged them across the curve of her throat, teasing her with the truth of what he was.

[Nimue Malory]

Nimue laughed at Nicholas' little joke. Of course she knew he was not afraid of many things. It was very difficult to fear things when one was very powerful or immortal. Of course Nimue had her own fears, but she was not ready to say them out loud to anybody, even herself.

Nimue laughed at the sentence he scribbled. "I can handle myself," she responded confidently. True she did not have any silver or stakes at hand, but even if he did harm her, she wouldn't die. At least, she was not afraid to test her theory. Perhaps even Nimue did not know what she truly was, but it did not frighten her. Magic might not exist anymore, but if she had to explain anything, she would have to say she was more magic than human now.

Nimue's breath quickened as he stepped closer. She could feel her body slightly press against him and she was not repulsed. She did not know what she was doing with him. He was not like the other men. She did not need a man. Her loneliness was now habit more than ever. It had been centuries since she last had a constant lover. No though went through her head as he bent low and brushed his mouth and teeth against her neck. Chills shot through her spine and it took all her effort not to shiver. Her hands pressed against the door frame as she stood perfectly still, her eyes closed. Finally she spoke.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said. Nimue knew there was a possibility that he would bite her, but she did not think he would.

[Nicholas Foster]

Nicholas heard Nimue’s breath quicken when he moved closer to her. Was she scared? Angry? Arroused? As hard as he tried to understand her, she remained a mystery to him. All he knew was that her presence intoxicated him more than any glass of scotch he’d ever drunk. She washed away his inhibitions, uncovering emotions which Nicholas hadn’t experienced for years. She awakened the man who’d been sleepwalking inside this corpse.

I’m not afraid of you.

Should she be? Nimue could lift him toward humanity, but she could also cast him down into the most feral state -- either lay within the power she held over him. If she exercised her control wisely, then she had nothing to fear. But if she dragged him back and forth recklessly, perhaps without even meaning to, then the danger to her could be very real.

Which was it? Was she toying with him? Or was she simply as unsure about what she wanted as he was?

After all, what could they possibly have together? When he couldn’t even ask her what she’d like for breakfast? Nicholas had been Pepper’s lover, because Pepper had known him before a broken deal stole his voice. But how could he begin something from this place of silence? What could he use to build a relationship, when he couldn’t use words?

Then again, being a vampire had taught Nicholas one thing. Nothing lasts forever. Sooner or later, everything changes. Everything dies and turns to dust. Maybe he and Nimue didn’t have any future beyond this night, this moment in time. But was that any reason to throw away what did belong to them?

The pencil and writing pad fell to the floor as Nicholas released them. They could no longer express the emotions churning inside him. Instead, Nicholas cupped Nimue’s face in his cool hands, tilting it upward as he brushed his lips against hers. That was how he felt. She could slap him, or scream for help, or run away...or maybe even return his desire. At least he’d know.

Because the not knowing was tearing him apart.