Orsino dries and dresses in a new set of clothes ― a second set of old-timey clothes! Procured by William and Elliot while he was gone and waiting for him on the bed of the guest room he'd stayed in previously. He could cry.
He stops by Marlene's room before he heads downstairs. She was put up in the spare study down the hall from his room and William had insisted on locking it. Orsino was a little shook at the aggressiveness on William's part since so far he seemed like a kindly older man. But he is very protective of Elliot, clearly.
Orsino knocks. "You alright in there?"
There's a rustle behind the door and footsteps. "Yes." Marlene's voice is muffled by the thick oak. She chuckles quietly. "Isn't this an interesting role-reversal?"
Orsino finds it a little harder to laugh than she does. "I guess, but I don't have a way to unlock the door like you did for me. Sorry you got locked up like this for helping me."
"I'll admit it's not what I hoped for. But I think it was the right choice. And besides, Alaina or her cronies will find it difficult to get revenge on me here."
"I hope so." It is easier to forget about all of that mess in the sturdy walls and warm lighting of Darling house. Though Orsino reminds himself this was once Alaina's house too. It's hard to imagine her walking these halls. "Holler if you need anything, I guess?"
Marlene laughs again, "Certainly. Goodnight."
Orsino descends the stairs and finds himself in the drawing room. In the threshold, he's struck by anxiety. It reminds him a lot of his last night here before he ran away. But things are different now ― he knows what's going on with Elliot and everything else ― he tells himself, and straightens his shoulders as he enters.
No one is inside, but the fireplace is warm and inviting so Orsino sits on the sofa in front of it. Gingerly, he cracks open his sketchbook, retrieved from his room. He's happy to have it back, though he wishes he still had the sketches he'd drawn on loose paper at St. George's. Without them, his sketchbook feels like a diary that's missing pages.
Behind him, there's a knock on the doorframe. "Good evening," says Elliot quietly, looking like he wants to become one with the wall.
Orsino tries to smile reassuringly. "Hi, you can come in."
Elliot still looks hesitant. Maybe this is reminding Elliot of that night too. "I'm afraid our cook is already asleep, I told William he was dismissed for the night as well, so there's not much to eat."
"It's alright, I can whip up something for myself." Orsino stands, setting his sketchbook down. "Lead the way."
Elliot shows him to the kitchen, and Orsino catches him stealing quick glances in his direction as they walk silently through the hallways.
Orsino looks around the kitchen and pantry at what's available and decides to make some apple oatmeal. Elliot stands in the doorway, fidgeting with a stray spoon while Orsino lights the stove, and gets to work.
"You can sit if you like? Pull up a stool," says Orsino with a smile.
Elliot stares at him wide-eyed and Orsino thinks he catches a hit of pink in his pale cheeks. "Oh, alright, I suppose," says Elliot eyes darting around until he finds a stool to pull next to the stove. He reaches his hands out and warms them on the residual heat.
Finally, Elliot seems to find more words and says, "You know how to cook?" as Orsino chops an apple and warms a bit of butter in a pot.
Orsino giggles, which makes Elliot smile. "I'm not sure I'd count this as cooking, but yeah, I guess I can cook."
"How... did you come to pick up this skill?"
"I learned from my parents? I guess you probably didn't need to do that, with servants and all. But I always liked helping in the kitchen." It also came in handy when the meal plan at his college was more than Orsino could afford, but he doesn't say that part aloud.
"I see. I sometimes wish I had learned such things from my parents. But as you say I had no need, and I never will, I suppose."
"You could always cook for other people? It's a good hobby especially if you don't have to do it to survive," Orsino laughs. "I bet your cook would be happy to teach you and your staff would probably love to get a home-cooked meal from you. Hell, I'd be happy to teach you, if you want."
Elliot smiles, "Perhaps it's worth pursuing, then. I admit, I like the idea of being able to feed my staff considering how often they feed me."
"There you go," Orsino says decisively as he stirs his oats in the pot, a warm buttery cinnamon smell rising into the air. "This cook that's asleep... is that the one you supposedly killed?"
Elliot winces and stands walking back toward the doorframe. Orsino misses his closeness and regrets asking.
"No. No, she's not. That would be Mrs. Goode, the old cook. She passed last year. We took her on after she was widowed. She was quite frail, but used to cook for other households on a part-time basis. Since the cook position here only serves the small staff, it doesn't take much. She could live and work here comfortably... we hoped."
"So, you were helping her out, essentially?"
Elliot grits his teeth and looks away. "Well yes, in a way. However, she discovered the other staff were being bit by me. William briefed her ― and explained everything. She deserved to know. And she took it very well, perhaps too well. She insisted she be included in the rotation of staff whom I fed on.
"She had weak bones and a similar joint condition to William. I don't know if anyone has told you but the bites contain a sort of anesthetic, to... sedate our prey, I suppose. So in exchange for feeding me, all the staff are temporarily relieved of pains they suffer from in some shape or form. I tell myself it is a fair trade, though I think I delude myself.
"In the end, William tells me there's no way to know for certain why she passed. I do blame myself, I should never have taken her blood, she was too old, and even if it helped her pain, I don't think it was a healthy choice. She died in her sleep one night after I had fed on her."
Orsino mulls on that while extinguishing the stove and pouring his oatmeal into a bowl. "I'm really sorry, Elliot. I didn't know her, but she sounds like a wonderful person."
Elliot just nods, not meeting his eyes.
"I think William is right. Even if it was your bite that was the- the final push, I don't think she would want you to feel this way, but I also get it. I don't know how I would feel if I were in your place."
Orsino thinks about his parents, and how he misses them and hates them in equal measure. About the birth parents he never met and all the reasons he could have been put up for adoption. About busy roommates he liked, and art classes he wanted to take, but didn't seem to want his art.
"I think being alive is so messy and being undead is probably messier. We're all hurting each other constantly, and the best we can do is help where we can."
Elliot's lips thin, and Orsino guesses he's unconvinced. Orsino takes a deep breath and approaches him. He takes Elliot by the upper arms and holds on even though Elliot flinches, resulting in a clatter of his cane shaking against the ground.
"Listen. I hurt you, right? When I ran and went with Alaina? I'm still scared that- that you won't forgive me for it, even if I apologize. And so I haven't apologized properly for being scared of you when you didn't deserve it."
"But I chased you-"
"Right, but I spied on you in your room, like a creep. You might never have chased me if I hadn't done that. You got me out of the rain when I was so alone and scared and had nowhere else to go. You fed me with no expectation that I would give you anything in return."
Elliot is chewing on the inside of his cheek.
"Elliot, please look at me." Elliot does. "Thank you, Elliot, for everything. And I'm so so sorry, for thinking you were a monster."
Elliot sniffs and Orsino realizes the man's eyes are watery. Orsino begins to tear up in sympathy and blinks to keep it at bay. "Can I- can I give you a hug?"
Elliot stares at him, slack-jawed. "A hug? If you like, that's alright, I suppose?"
"No, but do you want one?"
Elliot flushes a bit, again and sniffs. "I- yes, I'd like one."
Orsino pulls Elliot tight against him and holds him there. Breathing in the petrichor and wood smell clinging to his clothes mixing with the warm apple pie scent of the oatmeal. Elliot returns the embrace one-handed and tentatively rests his head on the crown of Orsino's hair. Orsino can hear him sniffling slightly above him.
"I forgive you, you know. I forgave you already the minute you left," Elliot says. "I hope you will accept my apology as well. You were a guest in my home. I should have told you the minute I invited you inside that there was a chance I might lose myself at the scent of blood."
Orsino pulls back slowly. "Of course, I forgive you. I probably would have thought you were joking if you told me that anyway."
Collecting his bowl of oats, he gestures back towards the stairs. "Come on, let's go up and I can eat while we talk some more."
Elliot gives him a watery smile. "That sounds like a wonderful idea."
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a/n: Long time no chapter. Thanks for bearing with me! The world feels like a dark, gruesome place, lately. It's easy to escape into fiction, but hard to be creative when it feels silly to write about vampire smooching with everything going on. Everyday I hope for a free Palestine and solidarity among all marginalized people. Let's do our best in this messy, messy, messy world. Love, knightfool.