Destined

Day Twenty-Four

"What's wrong with hockey?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest defensively, narrowing my eyes on Godric. 

He shrugs innocently, and I kick him angrily, "I don't recall saying anything." 

"Doesn't matter Godric! You had that look," I point at him dramatically. 

Shaking his head, Godric fights a smile, "I do not have a look." 

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest, "I know goddamn it! It's so frustrating that you always look so gosh darn impassive all the time. But, I'm talking about your eyes; eyes are the window to the soul, you know." Godric smiles at me and rolls his eyes so I kick him again, "I know that hockey's a little violent, Ghandi, but that's why I enjoy it. A little bit of regulated aggression never hurt anyone." 

Godric shakes his head, "Tell that to the Gladiators." 

"They're the exception!" I say to him, shaking my head and crossing my legs to sit criss-cross applesauce and leaning back against the brick wall of the hotel while taking another bite of my cheesecake. Godric had insisted cheesecake is not for dinner, but I'd won the battle with surprising ease, though I'd forgone dinner for a quick dessert so that we could get to whatever activity Godric had planned that much faster, "Okay," I say when a swallow, fork hovering in front of my mouth, "music." 

Rolling his eyes at that oh-so-obvious answer, he continues flicking through my sketchbook, "Fighting." 

I blink, not entirely unsurprised, "What kind of fighting?" 

A shockingly savage and self-satisfied grin spreads across Godric's face, "Any kind of fighting. I have a fascination with warfare and have since early in my childhood; I spent centuries mastering fighting skills and tracking. My fascination with fighting is what drew me to Eric and caused me to turn him." 

"I've always wanted to learn how to fight; I really wanted to take Krav Maga. I hear it's like 'dirty streetfighting', or something like that," I smile widely at him, taking another bite of my cheesecake. 

Godric nods, "I will teach you, if you truly want to learn." 

Pausing, I look at him before swallowing hard, not quite sure how to say that would be great but you can't actually hit me harder than a poke because I have terminal leukemia and bruise ridiculously easily...oh, and I have a sharp stabbing pain radiating in my stomach that persists no matter how many painkillers I seem to take. Instead, I deflect, "Imagery." 

"Imagery?" Godric asks, confused, aware that I deflected but unwilling to press it. 

Biting my lip, I nod at him with a cheeky smile, "Photography, sketching, and graphic design." 

Nodding in understanding, Godric thinks for a moment before saying, "Languages." 

"How many do you actually know?" 

"Fluently? I'm not quite sure: Gaulish, Latin, Swedish, French, Spanish, German...a fair few." 

I stare him before grinning, "That's so fucking cool." 

"I do not know Haitian Creole." 

Grinning at him, I swallow the last bite of my cheesecake, "I'll teach you. Li pral amizan." Godric looks at me questioningly, and my grin grows more pronounced, "It'll be fun." 

"Pas facile," (Not easy) Godric comments in French with excitement and interest. 

Rolling my eyes at his shockingly childlike enthusiasm, I nod and reply in Creole, "Pa gen, no, it won't be. Croele is...well, I'm glad I learned it in childhood."