la belle dame sans merci | carlisle cullen

42

TW: Simping

Carlisle had seen her long before she saw him. Leaning against the side wall, tranquil and still as a statue. Her face was sharper than he was used to seeing it, more severe. No less beautiful but he found it didn't suit her. She looked to be carved of stone, utterly still besides the occasional move to remove the cigarette from her lips.

Minerva was beautiful on her worst of days and though he didn't expect today to be particularly good, she had taken the breath out of him before he'd even approached.

It felt childish really to feel shy walking up to a woman he knew so well but damn it— she looked good. Maybe that was why the stupidest line he could think of slipped through his lips. Carlisle was usually in awe but he'd never seen her dressed up before. He wouldn't have guessed it but it was exactly what he'd expect her to pull out for something like this.

All the static of his thoughts died away with her presence as if his focus was forbidden to be divided. It all belonged to her. There was no thought for Edward's blunders, for the nomad vampires lurking in the night, nothing. It was just her.

"It'll be starting soon." Carlisle commented, glancing sideways at her. Her lips pulled down into a frown, like she'd forgotten why they were there for a moment.

"Brace yourself, Waylon's a Catholic." Minerva said with a sigh, extinguishing the remnants of her cigarette against the brick before flicking it away.

He chuckled softly, "I'm a catholic." He'd never seen her head whip toward him so fast, her eyes bewildered and her mouth struggling to form words.

"You never struck me as an idiot." She managed to get out before grinning at him, making him laugh.

"Guilty as charged."

As they passed through the doors she mumbled to him, "If you hear any rumblings of witch trials or satanic panic, for gods' sake let me know."

It coaxed another laugh out of him, "You'll be my first call." He responded softly.

The room they'd been in before was totally deserted, save for one of the funeral directors ushering stragglers like themselves into the next room. Carlisle could never get enough of looking at her, it was easier when she wasn't paying attention. She had little mannerisms that he wouldn't have noticed if he weren't so attuned to her every move. He found a new one today. Normally, they were totally alone when they spent time together. When she nodded to the funeral director as they passed through, her knees bent just a little, dropping her no more than a half inch in height but he'd noticed. A nineteenth century habit not quite lost was his conjecture.

Carlisle was used to the way the people of Forks treated him, he'd never been bothered by it. However, walking into a room filled with the locals, he found himself conscious of his company. Every eye locked on to him, some with interest and others with scorn. Inevitably, they fell to his company. Minerva led the way, following the people ahead of her toward the back. Their alignment wouldn't have been so evident if she hadn't glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was still there. It gave him the confidence to keep putting one foot in front of the other until they'd landed at their seats toward the back. Many necks cranes to follow them and Carlisle absentmindedly twisted his ring on his finger to avoid them.

"People in this town treat you like you like you've got the plague." Minerva muttered, an unmistakable note of distaste to her tone. He'd wondered if she'd tuned into the bewildered states.

"They treat you like you've got the cure." He hummed quietly in response.

Her lips lifted in a little smile, "Ironic. I'm poisoning the groundwater." He couldn't help but smile back rolling his eyes.