ext_20269: (nonsense - what would galinda do?)
[identity profile] annwfyn.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] zg_shadows
Jimmy, Firinne mused in a mildly pained way, had always been tidy.

It was odd, really, that such a small thing should be quite so terribly irritating. It wasn't what she'd expected at all. I mean, when you're the Camerilla poster girl, the unyielding paladin of the Ivory Tower, the Toreador ice princess and you chose to run away with the Sabbat's hero boy, the serial diablerist, ruthless killer and the only man to ever lay claws on the primal force of destruction itself and walk away, you expect there to be problems.

You just expect them to be...well...bigger.

Yet the big problems had never even arisen.

The diablerie issue had been side stepped by virtue of Pints being one of the most potent vampires still living on the planet, with the possible exception of Jackras who Pints was unsure he'd want to touch with his mouth and Firinne was mostly OK with being destroyed totally and utterly.

The Sabbat/Camarilla divide was resolved by virtue of their mutual sects falling apart in the aftermath of Gehenna.

Both of them came to an agreement on killing, along the lines of 'some people just need killin'' and after that the only argument they ever had was exactly who needed killin'. Pints felt that nubile young human women, full of tasty tasty blood, often had it coming. Firinne's sense of morality, combined with her equally strong tendancy towards possessiveness disagreed. Finally Pints agreed to limit himself to nubile wyrm cultists and Firinne agreed to turn a blind eye to the level of enthusiasm with which he carried out this particular moral duty as long as the infernal harlots were extremely dead afterwards.

And that rather just left the one thing.

Pints was messy.

Oh, he had excuses for it. Apparently 'Carla', whoever that was, had always dealt with the laundry. Before Carla, it had been Nicky (which Pints now saw should have tipped that off that Nicky was secretly a woman) and Fink had apparently been quite prone to bouts of hoovering.

Pints declined to comment on whether that meant that Fink was also secretly female.

Firinne didn't want to hear the excuses. First of all, she was not Fink, Nicky, the Pearly Lady or this mythical Carla. Secondly, she didn't actually believe that any of the above had really been quite as eagar to look after Pints as he claimed. For heaven's sake, whilst she had never met this 'Carla', she had seen the mysterious arcane sigils that marked her alarmingly effective warding, she had seen the collection of occult tomes she had left behind and she'd seen Jade weep on one occasion upon encountering the 'Charm of the Helpful Revenant' which enabled the wearer to move five times as fast as a normal human being. She refused to believe that anyone with that much terrifying mystical power at their disposal would really have the time or inclination to also do the laundry.

She also refused to believe that Carla had alphabetised Pints' sock drawer, and did her best to forget about the small typed out catalogue index to his clothing, ordering it by size, colour and shading, which she had once found pinned to the lid of his suitcase.

Firinne shook her head. It wasn't the point anyway. Whether or not Pints had been cared for by a sainted revenant, she was not a sainted revenant. She had been a Vampire Prince, an Imperial Harpy and the Vampiric Voice of most of western Europe. She had been responsible for bringing down the Masquerade, and two Anathema. She was Firinne Devon and she was not a housewife.

She had said this. She had said this multiple times.

Pints response had been 'well, OK then. Don't pick anything up'. And had left his goddamn socks all over the bedroom floor.

Jimmy, Firinne thought, remembering the last serial diablerist she'd slept with, had at least been tidy.
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