Brave New World

December. It was the fourth and a Sunday. Warren had agreed to take every Sunday off work. Not for any religious reasons, but just because Karou had requested that he spend at least one day a week with her. Sunday made the most sense. There was no reason not to agree, he didn't need to work twenty-four/seven, and now that she was more present in his mind than ever, bonding seemed inevitable even if he wasn't especially good at it. Karou was very persuasive and patient enough to get him to open up, however briefly.

It wasn't unforeseen that Warren would get up earlier than Karou. Regardless of all the things that had changed due to her recent Siring, she still liked to sleep in. Breakfast would be different today since Warren had prepared something a little more adventurous than toast. The menu was continental with a splash of Americana in the form of eggs benedict. Figuring her allergies should've been non-existent now, he thought she'd appreciate him introducing her to all the foods she could eat. Pastries, muesli, cow's milk, fresh orange juice, sliced apples and pears, coffee and eggs benedict on toast was all set out buffet style on the kitchen island for when she woke up.

Sat at the counter in loungewear, Warren read over the 'In Guardianus' news column while he sipped at his black, well-sugared coffee and munched on a small bowl of muesli - he was saving his appetite for the pastries and eggs...

Karou had woken up to the smell of cooking, something she rarely experienced back in Concord. Her parent's culinary prowess stopped at the microwave. Warren, however, seemed pretty good in the kitchen, after-all he'd had so many years to practise, but she genuinely appreciated it.

Since her birthday, she'd unpacked all the boxes in her room. Her clothes had been put away again, and her books reorganised. When she was allowed out of the unit, she planned to return some of the ones she'd borrowed from the Compounds main library and exchange them. Seeing that her studies regarding vampirism were now more practical than theoretical, she'd been craving something fictional to read instead.

Her recent sketches had taken a new dimension, and Karou was improving now that her eyes allowed her to look at the world differently - she could see so much more.

Speaking of seeing more, she stood in front of the hallway mirror, looking at herself. She wasn't vain; she just liked how the bathroom light reflected off the face of the mirror and shone out into the hallway and subsequently onto her. The light caught the shiny surface of the bite scars on her neck, causing them to twinkle a golden colour. She didn't know why; she figured it was a trick of the light, like how her blood appeared coppery rather than crimson. Rubbing her fingertips over the raised skin, she smiled faintly.

Done with looking at her neck, Karou adjusted the oversized sweater she wore over her leggings and started towards the kitchen. Today she'd chosen to wear it sagging down over one shoulder because she knew that, secretly, Warren liked it when he could see as much of her neck as possible. Although Karou knew it was a little seedy to display herself for him, it was a small way she could thank him for Siring her, for saving her. That and well, she liked looking at him, so why not allow him to return the gesture sometimes? Even if on his part it's a 'vampire thing' and not a 'man admiring a woman thing'... Was what she reasoned, naively.

Warren was placing down his coffee cup when Karou entered the kitchen. Her eyes lit up upon seeing the breakfast he'd put on for her. By now, she'd fed on enough blood for her eyes to find their natural gun-metal blue shade, at least for a few hours of the day. It was usually morning, just after she'd fed, and each morning Warren made sure the first thing she consumed when she woke up was three or four warm packets of blood. Since she was well fed in that department, he thought he would indulge her and let her experience the joys of regular food that she'd missed out on.

"Oh, wow..." Pulling herself up to sit on one of the high bar-style stools at the kitchen island, across from Warren, Karou admired the spread. "This looks amazing."

"Tuck in. I've started without you, I'm afraid." Warren gave one of his almost smiles, the charming lop-sided kind, and spooned some muesli past his lips. When he swallowed that mouthful, he continued, "Did you sleep well?"

"You noticed my lamp on late, again?" Karou asked as she helped herself to some of the flakey French pastries. Even though she knew the jug of milk was for the cereal, she poured herself a glass of it to drink none-the-less. "I slept well, but I did stay up reading."

"I noticed the lamp, yes. What are you reading now, another teenage romance?" Warren peered over the rim of his eyeglasses as he flicked through his newspaper to the crossword. As he read through the clues, he glanced at Karou every so often.

"What do you have against teen romance novels? I bet you've never read one... Well, you haven't been that young in such a long time." Karou sipped at her the milk; she savoured the flavour that was relatively new to her.

"Are you making a joke about my age?" He lowered his paper for a moment and raised one of his thick brown brows at her. Cheeky. "They're just unrealistic, like some of the movies you watch. The male antagonists are either floppy-haired, socially awkward nerdy types with glasses and freckles, hopeless at wooing the women they want or are successful, haughty socialites who drive fancy cars and demand female attention; with their cliché, narcissistic charms."

Karou listened to his dissection of the romance genre with wide eyes and a grin. He was somewhat right, she thought, but like all summaries, he was vague. Chewing the mouthful of pastry, she swallowed and said, "I was making a joke about your age but only because it makes you squirm. Which sort of male antagonist are you then?"

"That's the problem, isn't it? I fit in neither box, so the genre doesn't take into account the full spectrum of personality types."

"Oh, I don't know... You're a successful businessman. You're a bit of a narcissist, I mean confident at least, so I figure you think you're better than other people sometimes, and even though you're not fond of being social, you're well known within elite vampiric circles. I bet you drive a fancy car... I've seen your watch collection, so it stands to reason. And I also know that women look at you when you do that hair thing, so you're also charming in a cliché and floppy-haired sort of way too. Ha, you're even socially awkward, and you do wear reading glasses. You must be nerdy to some degree to know so much about a genre of literature and film that's male-centric and directed at women readers. So, Mr Howard, you fit largely into both of the categories you've described." Karou had checkmated him and grinned, feeling rather pleased with herself.

"You're a smart alec," Warren mumbled. He couldn't deny anything she'd said, so he went back to his crossword and withdrew from her eyes. Warren didn't like being dissected, least of all because he often struggled to understand himself. Could Karou know him better than he did? She was in his head now, after all... "How's your breakfast?"

"Delicious. Thank you very much for making it for me." Karou nodded, finished her milk and the last bite of her pastry. She planned to try the eggs next. As she served herself, she could tell that Warren was sulking. "Y'know, lots of women love reading romance novels. All those qualities are sought after, seeing as that's what sells them. Everyone likes to read fiction because it's often a way of experiencing an unrealistic perfection that's craved."

"Thank you for insinuating that there is still hope for me; I was starting to wonder..." Warren declared dryly.

"I just meant that I bet women like you... even if you don't seem to sometimes." Karou shrank down in her chair a little. Upsetting him unsettled the atmosphere in a way that was intensely uncomfortable.

"I know women like me, Karou. I'm 'aesthetically pleasing', and please don't mistake that as vanity. It's just that it baffles me that even though people have realised that beauty is only skin deep, it's still viewed as important merely because our basal urges compel us to search for fine physical specimens. But my point is, I am still a terminal bachelor, by choice or not, due to my character being flawed, and I can't -..." Warren had put down the distracting newspaper and looked right at her as he spoke. He was getting wound up, so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Karou's scent on the air drew his eyes back to her and specifically to where she had her sweater positioned away, down her shoulder. "Are you going to push my buttons all day?"

"I was just trying to have a conversation with you about the books I like..." Karou burst the yolk of her egg, and it spilt over her plate, symbolically to how she felt her bubble had burst too.

Warren set his elbows onto the countertop, and as he often did in times of self-loathing, he clasped his hands together and held them over his forehead while he hung his head in thought. When he came too, he lowered his hands and looked back at Karou in earnest. "You're right. I don't always like myself. I'm quick to temper, but I shouldn’t direct it at you." Now he'd almost apologised; he also served himself a portion of eggs and started to eat. "I prefer biographies to fiction. Uh, influential people throughout history, people, considered of to be of great valour, intellectuals, progressives, survivors of some description - those sorts of people interest me."

"I don't dislike history, but aren't biographies biased? Don't then always paint the people you're reading about in the best light?" Taking him at his word Karou smiled weakly and continued to eat her breakfast.

"Autobiographies can sometimes be like that, but most people who want to write about themselves endeavour to be honest in delivering a memoir; warts and all. Biographies can be just as bias; an enthusiast can write about someone they admire perhaps more favourably than they would write about themselves. I think the trick is to take it all with a grain of salt. Not all history books are accurately factual considering they're usually written by the victors."

Between breakfast and their evening meal, Karou and Warren had taken an amble to the tavern together. It was a change of scenery if nothing else. After lunch and before the evening rush, the tavern's regular crowds lulled, which left the place quiet; that was preferable in as much that Warren only ever agreed to join her at that time.

Sat at a table by one of the windows, Karou watched how the patchwork of multi-coloured stained-glass squares made a pretty rainbow grid on the surface of the table. The tavern had quirky features like that - stained glass, thick oak beams, and ornamental ironwork. The public house was church-like in the way it was arranged. The bar standing in place of an altar adorned with draught pump handles instead of ornate candlesticks. Behind the barmaid stretched a cabinet stocked with bottles of all shapes and sizes, brown, blue, green, and clear glass - a homage or mere secular replacement for a rose window, Karou thought. Encapsulating vice, not piety. Two rows of sturdy wooden tables and benches created a central aisle like pews, and the far wall was adorned with several cosier booths that attracted the shadier Compound residents and couples that craved privacy, where secrets could be divulged. An interesting alternative to confession boxes, Karou mused.

When Warren arrived at their shared table, Karou was already lost in thought and distracted from her sketchbook. She'd opened it out in front of her but hadn't touched a single pencil yet. With her favourite creamy coffee placed before her, Warren decided not to disturb her reverie and flipped to the back of the newspaper he had brought with him.

By the time Karou had come to from evaluating the tavern's aesthetic, she had looked over to find Warren engrossed in a crossword. Luckily, her coffee hadn't gone cold yet, and so she thanked him before taking the mug into her hands and taking her first sip. Warren glanced up at her when he replied with a 'your welcome' and smirked at Karou's cream moustache. He tapped his top lip to let her know, and the both of them shared a chuckle as she wiped it away.

From over the rim of her mug, she started pondering over Warren as she watched him read the puzzle clues - she enjoyed looking at him, perhaps more than was considered polite or appropriate. Still, since their relationship was now complicated by new vampiric ties there was an undeniable connection between them. Karou was beginning to experience its strong effects even if it was only subliminally.

Under the spell of his quiet company, Karou subconsciously sat appraising her Sire. She pondered over how Warren handled himself with such confidence it sometimes convinced her that he was infallible in his logic. Generally speaking, he was gentlemanly and polite, and how he talked was so austere. Always to the point, Warren was not one for small talk, but his business-like approach to conversation – trading one statement for another – made him seem honest and sincere... however, how cold he was, caused him to come across as unfriendly. Warren might've held himself with such self-assuredness and appeared at home in his own skin, but he wasn't always comfortable in his own head. He had once said something that stuck with her. She recalled him saying to her, 'My head speaks a language I don't understand.' In saying that, he had been trying to make her understand that he didn't always get himself, his thoughts, feelings, motivations and that secretly it scared him. I like you so much. I don't want you to hate yourself. I wish you could see what I see when you let your guard down. The thought fluttered right through her head, like a reflex that she had no control over - instantly, she prayed he hadn't heard it because she wasn't sure she was ready for him to know.

A scary notion that had loitered at the back of her mind and manipulated how she saw Warren without her really knowing sprung forth from her panic. Yes, despite his obvious shortcomings, for a while now, Karou had put Warren on a pedestal. His imperfections made him more appealing to her somehow. Had she begun to worship him? Faith could be blind, and God's didn't have to be flawless to be idolised.

Later that evening, they found themselves curled up in front of the TV as usual. Karou had put on a horror movie, one she had never seen before and was starting to regret her choice. It was creeping her out. She was trying to look brave even as she bundled herself up in a blanket; she was aware that Warren would look up from his book every so often to watch her. Their conversation about books at breakfast had inspired him to re-read one of his favourite biographies, but that was only a half distraction from his fledgeling, who was looking increasingly petrified.

"Karou, it isn't too late to turn this off and watch something else, something more... light-hearted, perhaps?

"No, I- I have to see this to the end. I have to know which one of them is the ghost that keeps possessing them and making them kill the others... I can't just give up now."

"You're convinced that's the plot?" Warren glanced at the TV screen with a brow arched in disbelief. She'd given the screenwriter too much credit, he thought. He knew the ending was much duller; he'd seen the movie before.

"I'm guessing. Isn't that the fun part, guessing the ending?"

"Oh, for sure." Warren agreed, nodding as he turned a page.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" Karou yelled as she almost jumped out of her skin. Across the couch, Warren couldn't hide how he sniggered. "Hey, don't laugh at me - that was genuinely, really fucking scary!" She chided but quickly fell silent, embarrassed. A long moment passed before she asked, mousily, "Can... Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

"Karou, ghosts aren't real," Warren said to comfort her but kept his eyes trained on the book as he continued to answer her question. "But yes, you can, if you want to."

"I'd like to think they aren't, but I don't know for certain. I mean, are you really sure?" Karou unravelled herself from her blanket and turned to face him from her corner of the couch. He'd been facing her all along, with one of his legs up on the sofa, and stretched down the section between them.

"I'm no more certain about their existence than I am about the existence of God. It's just a question of spirituality. But do I think that this unit is haunted? And that tonight, a ghoul is going to climb into your bed and possess you to go on a killing spree? No. I don't."

"Fine..." Karou accepted his answer reluctantly. Uck, there he goes again, with his logical answers for everything. Another long moment of silence passed, Karou was mulling over what he'd said about her sleeping in his bed - he hadn't refused her, but maybe now she'd calmed down, he assumed she would go to bed as normal. If she were honest, she still didn't really want to sleep alone. "Warren, I can still sleep in your bed, right?"

"Like I said - if you really must. If you think I could protect you?" Warren peered over the top of his book and found her crawling down the couch towards him.

"Can I do this too?" Karou asked as she lifted his arm, the one with which's hand he held his book and boldly nestled her head to rest in the space between his chest and naval.

Seeing as you already are… Warren was stunned into silence by her boldness and obediently allowed her to position herself. Nervous to move, he kept his arms aloft even after she'd laid down. He didn't know what to do now - should he hold her or not? Unsure, he just stared at the top of her head and willed himself to remain calm. "I have to ask what you're hoping to get out of this?"

"Nothing more than the comfort it might bring. It's comfy here."

"Hmm, speak for yourself..." Warren grumbled and put aside his book for a moment. Grabbing hold of a nearby scatter cushion, he stuffed it behind his back and slumped a little further down the couch so that her head came to be laid further up his chest. When faced with a tricky situation, sometimes it was best to cut loose and throw oneself into it headlong - he could be bold, too, if the mood struck him. Comfortably readjusted with one hand rested over Karou's mid-back, he opened up his book again and proceeded to read. "That's better."

"Y'know, I've never done this before," Karou whispered into the fabric of his t-shirt. Shamelessly she inhaled a deep breath of his scent.

"And what's your evaluation on your little experiment?" He asked, trying to keep a clean mind, even if he was secretly relishing in her current position.

"I think it all depends on the person you're doing it with," Karou admitted in a whispery voice. She'd gotten a kick out of taking in his scent, but she could tell it'd made her thirstier. Giving into her impulses, she rubbed a hand over his chest and reached out to grasp her other around his bicep; she gave it a light squeeze admiring how his muscle beneath didn't give way to her too easily. "Are you even reading that book?"

Warren had rolled his eyes at her question and set the biography down again. "I'm trying to, but how am I supposed to concentrate when you're distracting me?"

"Just ignore me?"

"You're groping my arm and nuzzling your face into my chest, Karou; it's pretty hard to ignore. Please be clear about your intentions; I don't want to unintentionally hurt your feelings."

"Does it gross you out that you've kissed me before, now that you've sired me? Like, do you see me differently from how you did? I don't have a clue how you felt before, but anyway, is it different now?" Setting her chin onto his sternum, she lay there chewing at her lower lip like she was nervous about what his answer might be. She'd given him the opportunity to hurt her.

"I'm not sure how I feel about having kissed you. I did it because it seemed like the least risky option on your part. Ebon seemed the type to drop you once he'd gotten what he wanted. Hm, then again, I could never have delivered more than him, but I figure I have broad enough shoulder's to cope with being the bad guy in your eyes. You already think I'm an ass-hole. But all that said, of course, I see you differently."

"So, you didn't want to do it just a tiny bit?"

"I'm not that selfless. I don't do things I don't want to."

"What about now? Would you kiss me now if I asked you to?" Karou paused, but when Warren didn't answer, she continued. "I don't know how to act around you since, y'know... you made me like you... I don't know what you think of me or if you think of me at all. Sometimes I think you like me, and then other times that you wished I'd never showed up here. I don't know what kind of relationship we have because I wasn't sure if we were even friends before."

"I'm sure everything will reveal itself organically, in time, but who knows how long it could take. There's no rush is there?" Warren shrugged one shoulder. He would've liked to have been able to answer her, but he'd been vague out of honesty. Warren had no idea how he felt about her, every time he thought he'd grasped onto a feeling, she would do something unexpected, and it would alter his perception - it was as frustrating and useless as trying to catch smoke.

Karou was disgruntled by his answer, no doubt, but at least he hadn't said he didn't care about her. Still, she could see that Warren wasn't going to instigate anything, and though she would never have admitted to it: all day, she had felt a void growing inside her, one that she ached to have filled by being close to someone. The longer she spent in Warren's company, the more her feelings affirmed that it was Warren that she wanted to be close to. Filled with courage, Karou sat up from his chest and removed her sweater to reveal that she wore a strappy tank top beneath that clung shamelessly to her body. Warren had asked at breakfast if she intended to keep pushing buttons, and although anger wasn't the sort of passion she wanted to entice out of him, she certainly planned on experimentally pushing his boundaries. Once and for all, Karou needed to know where she stood.

Warren allowed her the first move. Perhaps if he hadn't been so relaxed, he wouldn't have given into his impulses so easily and done what he did next. No sooner had Karou pulled her sweater over her head and discarded it, than Warren sent his fingers to the hem of her top and pulled that up and over her head too. Karou was left sitting in a black lace bralette. It left her more naked than she'd ever been while he looked directly at her. Though she anxiously toyed with her fingers, she wondered, hadn't she crawled over there with similar intentions? She'd already decided she wanted to see more of him.

It was so hard to concentrate on anything under his eyes' intense gaze, and they were roaming. How was she supposed to be able to decipher anything from his stoic expression? Left speechless by what he'd said and done, Karou had no choice but to abandon reason and follow her impulses. Pushing the bottom of his t-shirt up over his abdomen, she hinted at what she wanted while stretching her hands out over his stomach. Of course, from her prior peeping at him, she knew what his naked torso looked like, but she'd only ever laid her hand on his chest before.

Catching her drift, Warren grabbed the back of his collar and pulled his shirt from over his head. Shirt discarded, he relaxed back against the cushions and watched Karou explore him.

Now she took the time to run her hands all the way up from his waist and onto his shoulders. His skin was smooth and not as cold as she experienced before her siring. While following her instincts blindly, Karou was discovering her sexuality and taste and supposed that to her, Warren was perfectly made. What she liked best, what lured her most, was that his abdomen wasn't a bumpy landscape of inflamed muscle mass. Though many women seemed to fancy that type, Karou wasn't amongst them. Warren was athletically built for sure but naturally quite slender. His body was firm and strong beneath her hands, but she couldn't escape noticing how he shuddered slightly when she stroked over his skin. She hoped he liked how her fingers rose and dipped over the ripples his muscles made under his taut skin as much as she did. When her palms pressed down into his pectorals, she took the time to notice the texture of the light dusting of chest hair beneath her fingertips.

With Karou's hands navigating his torso, it would've been so easy to lie there and let her have her way with him. His mind overflowed with sinful thoughts. Especially about how much he liked the view, but he didn't say anything and was careful about not losing control of the telepathic block he'd put between them - she probably wouldn't have believed him anyway.

When she'd arrived at the Compound, it was apparent that Karou was a petit girl, short, around five-foot-two, but at that point, she had looked particularly malnourished. Now that she'd had a year eating well, she'd filled out her proportions perfectly, and he was enjoying admiring her. Karou's porcelain skin fit over her supple flesh, and her stomach sat below ribs which now laid under a healthy layer of fat. Still, she was petite, and her curves were delicate but beautifully feminine.

His fingers twitched. His hand ached to cling to her waist like he had when she slept next to him. To hold either side of her most slender part and rub his thumbs over her lowest rib. While he held her fast over his hips, he dared to imagine rutting up against her to tease himself. If she returned the gesture and ground herself back against him, he might dare reach upward from her waist. The cut of the black lace that adorned her ample breasts flattered her, and there was certainly enough breast to knead his fingers into, he thought. His tongue brisked the roof of his mouth, imagining what the texture of her nipples might be like. His lips craved to bless the only blemishes her skin had; cute freckles dotted here and there, with kisses. He wanted to memorise each one's place - to have a map of her body in his mind that he could know like the back of his hand. He considered every inch of Karou despite feeling dirty for thinking about her so seedily, but Karou had inspired the mood with her actions. Wasn't he blameless? She sat there on him, forbidden fruit at its perfect ripeness, and now she would be like this forever. If she ever realised the power she could possess over those attracted to the female sex, she would be deadly, he concluded.

For a minute or two, he let her hands explore over his hips, stomach, chest, shoulders, neck, and upper arms, but when she reached around his ribs, he'd given a little look to remind her of his ticklish spot and cleared his throat. Karou bit her lip and flashed him an amused close-lipped smile; that was adorably impish. At his side, his fingers were still twitching to touch her, but he wasn't sure it was safe to do so; after all, his mind had already run wild. How am I supposed to resist you? I've just sired you. Surely, I shouldn't have to protect you from myself? Maybe she'll let me just look at her some more. It proved too much, and so he found himself reaching towards her hips where he insinuated; he wanted her to take off her leggings too.

Shyly, in silence, Karou agreed and peeled her way out of them and thanked whatever God there was that her underwear matched that day. Now sitting in front of him in just her under-things, she was sure she wanted this to go somewhere but couldn't deny she was anxious about it. Haven't I imagined something like this happening before, maybe in a dream? Tentatively she reached towards the waistband of the linen lounge pants he was wearing; when Warren shook his head, she tipped her head to the side, questioning him silently.

"I'm not wearing any underwear," Warren admitted.

There, he'd set at least one boundary, but with that statement, he watched as Karou withdrew her hand back into her lap bashfully. So as not to discourage her entirely and end whatever this was, Warren helped her along by winding his arm about her waist. Now that he'd dared to touch her, he scooped her up into his lap.

His quickly wandered again. Her thighs looked soft; he could only imagine how her rear might feel under the pressure of his clutching hands, but for now, he behaved himself and cradled her without letting his hands wander too. At least, they were chest to chest, skin to skin.

Karou sat in the nest Warren's crossed legs made beneath her and had no choice but to wrap her legs around his hips just as he'd fantasised about.

She quickly decided that she liked this amount of closeness. It was just another first.

Comfortable and feeling safe, Karou rested her head on Warren's shoulder and instinctually embraced him, enveloping her arms around his shoulders. A pleasant surprise came when Warren did the same; his head found her shoulder, and his arms coiled her securely. As they sat there holding each other silently she thought she could've settled there all night.

Feeling his breath on her neck brought something to mind, though - the proximity of his neck. Involuntarily she felt her fangs lower into her bottom lip; it startled a small yelp from her as the quiet clicking of her fangs bearing stirred her from his shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry," Karou muttered the apology the moment their eyes met - she was embarrassed.

"What for?" Warren wasn't angry or uncomfortable. He opened his mouth and bared his fangs, too, to show her there was nothing to fear. "Perhaps, I should let you feed from me, and not just blood bags."