1922, Pittsburgh.

[ofthefamily]

The trail of bodies is indistinct and only a trail at all if you knew what you were looking for. No human did.

When dead-on-arrivals start coming in from the Southside Slopes on a daily basis instead of sporadically, with wounds no one can explain --

Edward, Carlisle thinks carefully to the bronze-haired boy sitting in a second-year anatomy class two floors up from Carlisle's rounds as the newest doctor on call, I have to go pay a housecall.

With clouds descending over Pittsburgh, Carlisle takes a walk.

Comments

[sparklepires.livejournal.com]

He is a good soldier. It was why he was sent; he can control himself. Kill when necessary, and realize that sometimes it is beneficial to remain as discreet as possible when attempting to approach such as Carlisle Cullen.

He also has the best spoken English out of any of the soldiers, though he hates it on the whole.

Hai fame, Carlisle? he thinks as he hears Cullen walking up the steep staircases edging the woods of the Slopes.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle isn't hearing thoughts. Not actively. Someone is shoving their thoughts at him; holding up placards behind his eyelids.

He freezes, takes a gamble.

Edward you stay away and don't come near me whatever you do or hear you go home you go to Esme and you stay away

Carlisle yawns politely, staring at least nominally at his watch while trying to discern a figure moving in the shadow of the woods.

[themidnightson]

It only takes the beat of half a second and anatomy is forgotten entirely for what is happening almost far enough away from him that he can't hear the thoughts that search him out. He can't respond. Oh, he could, but unless he broke something truly large and explosive Carlisle wouldn't hear him.

His fingers gripped the edge of his arm wrest, straining.

[sparklepires.livejournal.com]

A minute thud -- there, down from a tree. A voiceless man in a dusty overcoat and boots.

Carlisle Cullen. The Volturi pay their respects. I come with a message.

He hasn't come out of the woods onto the street yet.

Would you walk?

[ofthefamily]

Whispered: "On the street."

When the nameless vampire -- relatively new, Carlisle did not recognize him -- approached: "You could have sent a note."

[sparklepires.livejournal.com]

Didn't I? You found me.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle growls low in his throat, barely audible. "If you went through so much trouble to be...covert, do me the courtesy of speaking aloud."

Edward you stay away and don't come near me whatever you do or hear you go home you go to Esme and you stay away

"You're new," Carlisle notes, ascending the nearest staircase, keeping as close to the edge of the wooded areas as possible. The woods obfuscate the difference in their pace. Carlisle is resisting placing a palm on the messenger's arm to get him to slow himself.

[sparklepires.livejournal.com]

"You're not. And you've drawn attention to yourself, after all these years."

The messenger stops, turns to face Carlisle. He wants to go home, and strolling with someone like this is not his idea of a pleasant evening.

You've turned someone. Era il suo cantate?

[themidnightson]

Anatomy ends and he misses it, ten seconds twenty seconds thirty, until a hurrying briefcase hits his shoulder and he's ignoring, with a half frown half sneer, the apologies of a peer who doesn't matter at all.

Everything seems to gather in his hands without trying, without noticing. He's trying to hear but they are so far away and he doesn't know who the other person is -- the other person who's speech is in Carlisle's head; talking about what? Why would that cause Carlisle stress?

He can't get closer. Carlisle's words keep him shackled to this being as close as he could should if he's listening. He walked toward the front of his building, looking toward the overcast sky, trying to read the Carlisle's reasoning and the person Carlisle was interacting with, trying not to obliterate the days props in his hands.

[ofthefamily]

"I've drawn no attention to myself that others haven't done ten times over in their much shorter lives." Sharp and twisting, aggravated that Marcus -- it has to have been Marcus that sent this child to check up on Carlisle, his way of prodding him after over a century -- was too much of a recluse to come and ask him his questions directly.

"I've turned two." There's no point in hiding things. They would see soon enough about Esme. As far as whether Edward was his singer -- if he had been drawn to his blood, called by it --

"He is my chosen family. I protect them, and we live as we please.

And you'll never understand that in Volterra will you?

"We've done no harm to Volterra."

[sparklepires.livejournal.com]

The messenger laughs. A low, smooth thing; heavy velvet. It could have been comforting if it weren't for the nearly-nonexistant light of the street that still managed to reveal perfect red irises.

"And you never will."

The message is this: never return to Volterra, Carlisle Cullen. You left of your own accord after you started to become noticed. You made yourself disappear. You would do well to remember why that had been necessary.

They would like to be saved from the circumstance of killing you. Though if you continue to find such talents...

Before Carlisle can react: Yes, we've seen your boy's gift. Now that there is a second, who knows what they might bring?

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle's hand locks around the messenger's forearm. He could do damage -- almost wants to --

Edward is watching, so Carlisle smiles.

"They bring nothing for you." Gold eyes meet red and Carlisle's grip tightens. "You will never touch them. Ever."

The grip is released. "I wish you a pleasant trip back to your holes and caves. Leave my family in peace."

[sparklepires.livejournal.com]

English is insufficient.

Grande Carlisle Cullen, il primo degli stregoni benefici, gioco del medico con gli uomini, con una famiglia.

The messenger smiles back.

How disappointing, he projects into Carlisle's mind before disappearing.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle waits until the messenger disappears from his sight, then his hearing, then the echoes of his thoughts.

He's nearly back to the hospital, walking in silence.



I thought I told you to go home, Edward.

[themidnightson]

"You did."

It's nearly silent and tight.







"Your guest?"

[ofthefamily]

"He went home. As you should have."

Carlisle is approaching the hospital where Edward's been loitering since class dismissed.

I had a hypothesis, Carlisle explains. I was proven correct. Next time, you do as I say.

Hard, but still unsettled.

[themidnightson]

Edward didn't say anything to that. Perhaps because it's the best answer to an order he can't say he'll listen to and doesn't feel apologetic about not following this time.



He's casually leaning against the front of the small general store next to the hospital. At least he looks it to a normal person. To at least one specific person, the casual posture is far too still and his hands are too tight on the things he's holding, and his golden gaze is hard, concerned-confused-volatile, even though it lacks the ability to be darker than a stunning gold-amber today.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle exhales roughly. "If you're waiting to ambush me with questions, you can at least lead on somewhere private."

Not the house. I will have to explain this to Esme separately.

[themidnightson]

He raised his eyebrows at the last part, a flare of annoyance touching his confusion. "Because?" But he's pushing off the wall and nodding toward the sidewalk where he headed toward from his own spot.

[ofthefamily]

"Because -- "

They're aware. Paying attention now.

" -- I am asking nicely?"

[themidnightson]

"You weren't."

Past tense specific.

It doesn't matter where they head.

They just start walking in that direction.

Edward irritably watching the people watching them.



"They couldn't have written you a dramatically worded letter instead?"

[ofthefamily]

Too human.

[themidnightson]

There are too many questions.

"What happens now?"






(And when can he stop asking this one.)

[ofthefamily]

"Nothing." There is at least a solid answer to this one, Carlisle's hands sliding into his pockets as they walk. "Their message is delivered. To involve themselves more would be unnecessary."

Though I find myself interested in the idea that they saw an exile edict as fitting. I haven't been there for over 150 years.

Maybe they missed me? Carlisle perks up with a dry humor that doesn't fit him well.

[themidnightson]

"Hardly," Edward said, meeting the eyes of a man watching them walk by, with a scowl. The lackey's regard for Carlisle and the regards of the one's who had sent him had made it harder for Edward to stay where he'd been so long.