”You wish I was,” Tholo quipped with a laugh, ”Go ahead, bathroom is across the hall.” he answered. Trixy nodded and ducked her way out of the room, leaving Bartholomew to his thoughts. The bathroom was easy enough to find. Trixy peeked her head in before walking in fully and closing the door behind her. The style was rather modern, much like the rest of the house, and the shower was one of those walk-in varieties, without a tub. Trixy could appreciate the look and ease of it but, being the old french vampire she was, she loved a good bath now and then, so a claw foot tub was a must in her own places.
Béatrix slipped the leather jacket off and managed to shimmy out of the tight skinny jeans. Thankfully, only her tanktop was hopelessly covered in blood. Trixy peeled the wet thin fabric from her skin and attempted to rinse the shirt out in the sink. The water ran from red, to pink, and then finally clear, but the shirt itself was still stained beyond repair. ”Merde!” she said under her breath before flinging the garment into the litte waste basket by the sink.
The water turned on with a sharp hiss and steam prompty billowed through the opening of the shower door as Trixy stepped in. The wound in her chest had closed up and the blood rinsed away easy enough. The water pressure was nice, but the product situation was kind of sparse. Being a man, Tholo had some combination shampoo-conditioner-bodywash, and that was it. Trixy eye the bottle suspiciously before venturing to open the cap and sniff it. The scent was sharp and musky – masculine, but suprisingly pleasant. Béatrix scrubbed down quickly.
Trixy turned off the water and gingerly stepped out of the shower. The nude reflection that stared back at her from the mirror above the sink was more familiar. Clean, free of make-up, and naturally beautiful. Trixy hopped her way back into the jeans and clipped her lacey blue bra back on. Her shirt might be ruined, but she still had her leather jacket, which had two buttons on the lower half, but a plunging neckline. It would be revealing, but she’d paraded her body around in worse things, and anything goes on the streets of NYC these days. Beatrix was debating whether or not to actually button it, and then she remembered that Tholo was probably still waltzing around shirtless and thought: Well, two can certainly play that game, what’s the worse that could—”
And then it hit her, that name. Trixy’s ability, being the curse and blessing that it was, had cropped up. Sometimes, when a person was thinking about something, or someone, and if Trixy was nearby and in tune enough to catch it, she could read their mind, so to speak. Mostly it was just a word or two, or simple images that crept into her own mental awareness. In that moment, she wasn’t sure if she heard it in her head, or with her own ears. But she definitely heard it.
”Francis.”
It was Tholo’s voice, no denying it. Béatrix gripped the edge of the porcelain sink and glared into the mirror before she angrily stormed out of the bathroom. Trixy followed his scent down the stairs and towards the kitchen. She strode forward, murder written in the shine of her eyes. He apparently had put on a shirt, which Trixy took two fistfuls of as she shoved Tholo violently against the refridgerator.
”You tell me why that name is on your lips, now.” Béatrix growled frong behind her fangs. Her mind was racing. How old was he? She hadn’t asked, but she knew he was old enough... It could have been him. What if it was? Behind the mask of rage and ferocity, tears welled up in her eyes. No, the fates were cruel to her, but they couldn’t be this cruel. She couldn’t be paired with the wolf who murdered the love of her life. ”You tell me!” she slammed her balled up fists against him, the exclamation was choked up with emotion, but intimidating still.
