Beneath the table draped in fresh white linen, Cepheus Gamp recrossed his ankles. He had been about to make reference to the menu clasped in his fingers. He had forgotten in that moment that the Wolf and Lamb menu he grasped was not the same as his dinner date’s. His words were swallowed, and he instead reached for his water, wetting his lips. He took the moment to glance across to the pale complexion of his colleague. Since the new moon, Tristan’s pallor had been more human, a result of feeding, Cepheus knew, but one could forget when one wasn’t concentrating, that he was a vampire.

The sun had set an hour before, the longer summer days shortening the nights as they approached the summer equinox. Cepheus’ stomach was rumbling beneath him due to the late hour for dinner. He was the sort to forget or not to bother with lunch on a weekend, especially if he did not have company. Claude only bothered him pointedly at breakfast and dinnertime for his own suppers. He hoped Tristan couldn’t hear it, though it was more likely the vampire was politely pretending not to, such was the regularity.

“Half a dozen people have asked me to review tonight,” Cepheus spoke eventually, dipping his menu enough to indicate he might change his mind, “what with reopening, and the new menu.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he observed Tristan, “I can’t think the last time I ate here. What do you think to the menu - your menu?”

The air was delicious. It had been some time since Tristan Vaillancourt could think such a thing - for while the fragrance of blood was insidiously prevalent wherever he went, it held a different and more palatable quality at Wolf & Lamb. A clean scent, enriched by spices and sweet astringent notes; everything that he was partial to as part of an older vampire set. He didn't look up from his menu when Cepheus spoke but his lips curled into a smile.

Oui, this establishment was likely to receive a good review from him.

"I think their research of our appetites has been thorough, in the extreme." Tristan finally glanced up with a bit of mischief in his dark eyes, "It is certainly a welcome change from the like of the Camden Hookers in terms of dining experience. Thank you for accepting my invitation. You are also a welcome change, from my usual company."

It was a great respite to enjoy the wizard's company here and not in a work setting. Tensions lessened, and there was something authentically pleasing about Cepheus that had made Tristan ignore professional barriers in favour of simply... enjoying themselves.

He laid down the menu and reached for the cocktail he had ordered earlier - a strong Peruvian Snakebite. Tristan had foregone the usual eyeball garnish because he wasn't seeking to make his date uncomfortable. "Et toi?" the vampire sipped. "Does their menu appeal to you?" a raised eyebrow, "And the company?"

Cepheus was encouraged by Tristan’s opinion of the well-researched menu.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation. You are also a welcome change, from my usual company.” There was no hiding the blush of colour to Gamp’s cheeks as he heard this.

“Oh, thank you, Tristan. I’m honoured to be asked.” He’d met Violet Islington previously for an encounter, but he was still relatively new at dining with vampires. He hoped he didn’t do something stupid like stare impolitely, or appear to be. He did like Tristan, he was a fascinating person to work with, albeit a little unconventional, and Cepheus was forever intrigued by the historical quips he could come out with. Such appealed very much to Gamp’s Ravenclaw tendencies.

“Certainly, the company” he replied with a wide smile, one foot waggling a little nervously beneath the table, unsure if that was ever so blatant flirting or just a friendly exchange. It had definitely not escaped Ceph’s attention that Tristan was easy on the eye, it had struck him the moment they’d met.

“And there’s more than a couple of things here I’d very readily eat,” he glanced down at the print, gesturing to it with one hand, ever the animated gesturer, “the sort where I’ll choose and then see the plates come out for other tables and wish I’d changed my mind.” He drummed his fingers on the page, gently gripping his bottom lip between his teeth in contemplation.

“I’m sure whatever I've decided on I’ll enjoy.” He declared, placing it down and enjoying a happy little sigh. “I normally cook for friends,” he admitted, leaning forwards a little to engage in conversation, “though I’ll need to learn a new recipe or two before I can invite you over.”

Though technically, one didn’t need to cook at all.

“No, it’s been very good to work with you,” Ceph began, as if someone had silently questioned the other party’s employment, “and what with everything going on, it sometimes feels like the last time I asked you a question unrelated to work was your interview. So, tell me, what’s going on in your world outside?”

He loved it when humans blushed. Nothing could cull the novelty, blood rushing to their cheeks and something almost giddy in their scent. Tristan couldn't help lean forward slightly - one arm on the table to prop him up while they spoke. The weather had been good today and, out here on the balcony, the lingering warmth of a summer afternoon gave their dinner a certain holiday charm that made him especially happy to live in this place, this era. The cosiness of it.

             "...though I’ll need to learn a new recipe or two before I can invite you over."

The vampire laughed, risking a glance at the wizard's elegant neck and then those gesticulating hands. "Oh, you don't have to go through all that trouble to invite me over. I don't need food to be tempted," he drank and let his gaze flicker to the side where the movement of a waiter entering the balcony had drawn attention.

"My world outside, ah, not as exciting as work. I have undertaken a new writing project however." Tristan waved down the server, who quietly made her way towards their table. "You may know my collaborator, the author Rascal Rosier?" he paused to smile at the witch who was ready to take their order.

Tristan was not oblivious to the sounds his colleague's stomach was making - as a being who has had to go hungry on more than one occasion, he sympathised. He was soft-spoken in choosing the coconut water broth as his starter, and the Tiramisu to end. "A half potion of... hm, whatever's convenient, pour mon entree," having just fed on the new moon he wasn't worried about a substantial main course.

He was not hungry in that sense, though far from well-sated.

“I don’t need food to be tempted.” Cepheus let the sly comment slide but the butterflies in his stomach heard and fluttered.

He looked up attentively as Tristan explained his projects, genuinely interested in what his practically immortal colleague did with his days, given how many years he’d been around. Fair enough one couldn’t do things in the daytime, but there was still a lot in the world to see and do when one had all the years.

“You may know my collaborator, the author Rascal Rosier?”
“Oh yes,” Ceph replied, but they were joined by one of the restaurant staff before he could reply much further. It would be strange to dine with someone who would have so little, Cepheus thought, but he decided not to let it bother him. He hoped Tristan didn’t mind given he had a front-row seat to Ceph’s dinner. “The spinach,” he asked gently, “and the duck, please.” The beef had also sounded terrific, but Cepheus had let his stomach decide in the heat of the moment, and chosen two dishes with leafy greens… full of iron.

He handed back his menu and with a little start, continued the conversation.
“Yes, yes I know Rascal. He’s a friend of sorts, well, I think most of Diagon Alley probably claims such.” Cepheus gave a little smile and clasped his hands on the tablecloth before him, glancing down to the glasses as he thought back. “He took me for a rather delightful picnic in February. We’d both entered into a blind date thing at Rover’s, see… sorry, I digress. I was asking you about your projects. How do you find to work with him?”

Mention of human food always brought memories to the surface of his mind - he had grown up in a cafe restaurant in Paris, he knew and loved their food even long after it had lost its appeal to his appetite. Spinach and dark meat. A rich meal, in the best sense of that word. The server left them to their privacy once more and Tristan listened politely to his date's recollection of the writer Rosier. He smiled at the idea of what must have no doubt been a most odd picnic with the other wizard.

            "… sorry, I digress. I was asking you about your projects. How do you find to work with him?"

"Don't apologise, I do love to hear about what you get up to when you aren't listening to Goblins and Elves, and hungry vampires." Tristan leaned back in his seat but stretched his arm forward to caress his cocktail thoughtfully, "He is an original mind. We are resolved to write a book pour les enfants. A friendly little vampire story.... humans do acquire prejudices at a young age."

And as little faith as he had in many of the wizards and witches who have greeted him with animosity, Tristan liked to believe that there was hope in youth. He took a sip of his drink, letting it linger on his tongue for a natural pause in the conversation.

"But it is when we are young that love triumphs over hate, more often than not. Non?" his lips twisted into a wry smile, as if skeptical of the words that left them. "Even if that would be a cruel generalisation to old ones like me." He eyed Cepheus in a playful and careful manner, gauging a reaction to bringing up his age.

“A little vampire story? How lovely.” Cepheus echoed, perking up a little at the mention. That did sound like a well meant little project, and if it was with Rascal it would certainly have a bit of a twist and intrigue. Cepheus didn’t have children of his own, but it sounded like the sort of book his friend Nate’s daughter might read, or maybe have read in her younger years.

“.. when we are young that love triumphs over hate, more often than not…” Cepheus replied with a smile that grew into a grin.

“That is the romantic belief, yes.” Cepheus agreed, “I like to believe it. It takes so much energy to maintain hatred in your life, better to love or put out of sight, out of mind if that’s not possible.” He added thoughtfully. “Everything has a happy ending when you are little, well, near enough. Bedtime stories to tuck you in for pleasant dreams, and the only unfinished stories were when you had to wait another night for the next chapter.” It was conjuring memories of his own childhood in Godric’s Hollow, when he and his brother were little, before their sister was born, and their mother would read to them in Ceph’s bed before Orion would slip out to his own to sleep, sometimes once Ceph’s pale eyelids had closed, his arms wrapped around a favourite feline stuffed toy.

“Never quite sets you up for the disappointment of adult life,” the Being Division Head remarked, his gaze having fallen to one side as he recalled his memories to his mind’s eye. He shrugged and lifted his wine to sip. “I trust it shall be factually correct yet entirely a yarn of unexpected twists. Do you have a publisher and such or is it early days?”

It was dangerously easy to feel relaxed around Gamp, whose thoughts on subjects of prejudice and nostalgia were authentic enough for Tristan not to want to question the motives behind them. The wizard spoke simply because he felt that way, and not to guide the conversation to a greater destination.

            "Never quite sets you up for the disappointment of adult life," Cepheus shrugged. Tristan lifted an eyebrow.
That was a touch more melancholy than expected.

"Early days, as you say." The vampire murmured dismissively, mostly to push the subject aside in favour of the other man's earlier meanderings. "Some bedtime stories were not quite happy endings, if I remember correctly. Les Frères Grimm, non? Or do they not read those to children anymore?" He was understandably outdated when it came to these things - his own childhood being so far behind in the recesses of time.

Their appetisers arrived but he continued to pay his attentions towards Cepheus; a bowl of aromatic broth was place before him, sharp turmeric and the scent of blood beneath it. "Although... even they embellish their tragedies with retribution. No villain without his punishment." Tristan's smile turned dry, aware of how often his kind would have been portrayed as villainous if not outright monstrous, "It is a good expectation to enforce."

“Brothers Grimm? Well, yes, but there’s plenty of twee happy endings - mostly from the Muggle world I think in more recent years…” Cepheus agreed.

“No villain without his punishment. It’s a good expectation to enforce.”
“Indeed, or hers. What our daily strife is often in aid of.” Cepheus nodded, his cutlery now in hand to attack the delivered spinach salad with cherry tomatoes, soy sauce and sesame oil vinaigrette. He only glanced politely at Tristan’s bowl, deciding for the sake of his own appetite he’d not ask directly what it was[1].

“Good will always conquer evil,” the Being Division Head generically quoted, “but stereotypically evil is often prevented from good,” he gestured a little towards Tristain with his silver cutlery. “Because common human fears the possibility that you could be anything but the popular culture definition. Or rather, common human adult does.” He shrugged. “While in turn they are free to paint themselves as do-gooders. Problematic.”

Cepheus frowned and chased a tomato across his plate. “I don’t understand how you can be quite so patient, Tristan. I’ve wanted to bump a few people’s heads together more than once these past weeks over it all. Gods knows how it’s been for you.” His fork pierced the elusive cherry tomato with a small splatter of watery red juice upon the spinach.

1.

Menu

Problematic was precisely the word for the situation in which vampires have found themselves of late.

Tristan lifted his spoon and began to stir the broth before him - although his gaze remained very much fixed on Cepheus, whose irritation with the ignorant masses of humans did not have to be hidden in present company. They truly were incapable of moving away from the subject; not that he minded. It was natural for anyone aware of how the work on level four was not separate from how society conducted itself in general.

"You become accustomed to it, after the first half century or so..." Tristan's lips lifted into a smile, voice dry. He sipped at the brothe and felt a tingling sensation warming his mouth, his chest. "But having that time has also shown me progress over the years. Attitudes, they do change. What worries me is the price we pay for how long it can take for a society to redeem its soul."

He meant, of course, the price of lives that would pay for the prejudices many took so lightly. Vampires and werewolves were no longer hunted in this day. They are allowed to survive... and yet, to survive is not to live. Nobody should be born into (or turned into) misery for something they cannot help.

"How is your salad?" the vampire glanced at Ceph's plate, licking his own lip at the sight of massacred cherry tomatoes and the other man's busy mouth.

“It’s good, thank you.” Cepheus replied to the query, giving Tristan a genuine smile. The salad was shortlived and he was dabbing his lips with a white napkin only a few mouthfuls later. He was glad it wasn’t large, since he was a little self conscious for eating in front of another who couldn’t. Especially one so striking as Tristan.

“It is perhaps because our lifespans mean we must continue to make the same mistakes to learn from.” Cepheus suggested, referring to his colleague’s earlier comment about the price. “We can’t just learn from those who came before us - well, we do, but not entirely. We cannot take it as read without finding out for sure.” He shook his head a little.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, with each passing year one perceives it as faster than the one before, as they become a shorter portion of our overall existence. Years must be mere seasons to you now?” There were so many questions he could ask but it never seemed appropriate or polite. Given his job he tried to fill in the gaps with his own reasoning, but sometimes he felt he wanted to throw it aside to understand Tristan better as a friend. To take interest in him, as a friend, like one might ask the life experiences of a colleague who grew up overseas.

He placed the napkin back across his lap neatly, fingers dancing to his words by nature as he conversed. “What year… what decade… in your time has been your favourite?”

            "...a shorter portion of our overall existence. Years must be mere seasons to you now?"

Tristan considered this question as he finished the broth, gaze resting on Cepheus but also lost on some other plane of thought. It was refreshing when someone posed such queries without worrying too much about offending him - his colleague's phrasing helped their interaction along of course. Perhaps another person asking the same would have only caused the vampire to bristle in disdain.

"Time is relative, yes." Tristan lowered his spoon and glanced out at London, the cool summer night bringing a breeze across the balcony. "You are not incorrect. The minutes glide by as seconds do, the week as a day. Yet at some point in my century of life the effect of perceiving time as faster ceased to take noticeable effect."

He shrugged, falling into momentary silence while their empty dishes were taken away. The waiter disappeared to fetch the main course. "There is maybe some biological imperative that allows this," he continued. "It is a subject of great debate in vampiric journals."

Cepheus' other question was a much more interesting one to answer, and Tristan could not help but lean forward against the table before making his response. It was a common question in old covens. He smiled thoughtfully to himself. "La Belle Époque!" the words rolled off his tongue playfully and he lowered his eyelids, dreamy. "An era of art. I dined with artists and on them, if you will allow me to speak of it..."


The rest of their dinner passed in much the same way. Tristan lowered his inhibitions to reminisce on his exciting youth - a time of less morals, yes, but also more opportunity for his kind. Cepheus was a great listener. At the end of the evening he would invite his charming date to his home at Moonstone Mews where, behind closed doors, they might enjoy the manner of drink that neither may confess to having before any other soul.

Their fare had lent Cepheus a most delicious aroma. It would have been a waste for them not to indulge in a little law-breaking.