aralli: (procrastinate)
Set as dawn rises on the morning of November 1st - so immediately after the events of Halloween. With apologies, because I think Casper is adorkable.

Though her body is starting to feel sluggish, Andrea still has to restrain herself from slamming her bedroom door.

He's an idiot. He's unfeeling, arrogant, he's got his head stuck so far up his own backside he's licking his own tonsils. He can't comprehend that he might have been less than perfect - he refuses to admit that, for all he's done right, he's been a pretty shit sire.

Be grateful she's not his slave. Be grateful she's not been thrown to the wolves. Be grateful he didn't just kill her outright.

Be grateful she was murdered, be grateful she's alone, be grateful that she can't make a single human connection with another because of him.

She throws her clothes into the corner as she changes into her pyjamas, too pissed off to bother aiming for the laundry basket.

Grateful? For the comfort of her home, for the training he's given her, for the protection against monsters who would kill her for petty reasons? Yes, she's grateful, and she's always made that clear. But he has to go beyond that. He has to be better. She doesn't care what the ghoulish, heartless traditions of kindred society say a sire owes their child - anyone with a shred of decency should know he has a duty to see that she is happy. Not just alive.

He didn't ask for this. He didn't want her. Everything he says makes it quite clear that if she weren't his childe, he wouldn't do a damn thing for her. But he accepted the responsibility when he had the choice to turn it down. He's the closest thing to family she has in this world, and he refuses to even try and be her friend.

She can find blood and obey the Traditions, and that's what she needs to stay alive in Camarilla society. But it's not worth doing that if she's all alone. Three and a half months, and no one she can call a friend - and it's not for lack of decent people. She's met them - Beau, Alistair, Calen - but everyone has been quite clear that any liking they have for her is vastly overshadowed by the political ramifications of befriending a Prince's unreleased childe.

Favours, debts, records and checks - is that all he knows? She's dared hope for better, and now he scolds her for that hope.

She's tried, God damn it, to get closer. To learn how she can be useful, how she can give as well as take. But he can't even see that without the filter of suspicious disdain, without imagining a threat.

Selfish, insufferable, paranoid git. He must have no idea what it's like to be this lost, this unwanted, this useless. He's a fucking golden boy, in death as much as life, but if he's ever had a friend she'll be shocked. That glimpse of a friendly, warmer man that she saw with Lucy must just be the blood bond; all Casper is out here is Lord and Prince.

Maybe those words about caring were lies to put her in place. Lord knows his actions haven't backed them up - she doesn't care about boons and Erich-style grovelling; if he actually gave a damn about the woman within the vampire, it would have shown itself in a hundred small ways. And it hadn't.

The yawns are coming thick and fast now. Andrea shoves herself into bed and switches off the light.

Casper van Diemen: a shallow, vain dickhead, more robot than human even when he was alive.

She's stuck with him. But trying to mould herself into something that pleases him is no longer her best option. He's got to start listening to her.

Andrea is still fuming as the sun rises.
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November 2014

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