Not Forever

Harold Hazely Finnegan was a simple man. He enjoyed fishing on Sundays, picking up supplies from the market on Tuesdays and running the tavern that had been in his family for three generations on every other day. It was plain to see that the boisterous proprietor took great pride in Finnegan's. But, what he took the most pride in, even more so than his eateries' collection of fine spirits and their delectable, pork pie dish, was knowing every last customer by name.

Never-Forget-A-Face-Finnegan was what they called him. It was a moniker, well-earned. For the bearlike man could remember faces that he hadn't seen in years. Speaking of long lost faces, the door of the establishment swung open, causing a mild squeak of the old hinges.

"Got to get that oiled," Mr. Finnegan muttered, before putting down the glass he was polishing.

In the entry way stood three figures. His eyesight was getting worse over the years, but Harold would know that hat, anywhere. Mira was the first to notice the large man lumbering over to greet them.

"Harold!" she exclaimed as she tried giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder.

She had to settle for an arm due to their striking height difference.

"Ahh, Mira! Been forever, ole' gal! Have a good expedition?"

"Ha! Hell, yeah! It's always good! I'm always finding somethin' interesting to pack up and haul back! That's enough for me!"

"Right, right! Keeps life interestin', heh heh! Well, if you find any more exotic booze for my customers, you know right where to find me!"

"Oh, believe me, you'll be the first to know! You've always been my favorite customer!"

"Aw, you flatter this old man!"

Without skipping a beat, he whirled around on the poor tailor, whose eyes widened in panic.

"Simon!"

He had just barely managed to hang up his coat, before those burly arms closed around him in a powerful hug that lifted him off the floor.

"How've you been, kid?!"

"Har..old!" the leaner man choked, trying to catch his breath.

Alabaster glanced back and forth from the mustached fellow to his dear tailor, who was looking slightly blue from how tightly he was being squeezed.

"Mira, should I be concerned?"

"Nahhh! Simon's not in any real danger!" the elvish princess drawled as she plopped down at a table near the bar, "That's Harold Hazely Finnegan!"

"Alright," the vampire uttered slowly with a nod, "Let's pretend that I don't know what that means."

"Oh, that's right! You're not from around here. Keep forgettin'. Maybe it's 'cause you fit in so well, Ally!"

That last statement intrigued the noble. But, before he could inquire, Mira motioned for him to take seat.

"Harold and Simon go way back! That old coot had a big part in raising your 'dear tailor'. Well, him and Miss Adalene."

"Miss Adalene?"

Before she could spill the tea, a bedraggled Simon collapsed in a seat beside Alabaster. Mira couldn't stop laughing, as her poor friend undid his meticulous bow tie, if only to get some much needed air to his lungs.

"It's your own fault, ya know! If you stopped by to see Harold more often, he probably wouldn't squeeze the life outta you!"

"I have responsibilities, Mira."

"Yeah? Doesn't give you an excuse to be a shut in! Tell em, Alabaster!"

The vampire's lips curled into a gentle smile as he reached over to straighten a hopelessly ruffled vest.

"It really doesn't, my dearest."

Green eyes flashed, as he sourly shooed the other's helping hands away.

"I can't believe that you're taking Mira's side over mine! You've been quite the turn coat today. I have half a mind to walk right out that door and leave you two traitors to your business."

"Here ya are, kids!" Harold boomed as he plopped down three frothing mugs in front of them, "First drink on the house! Leviathan ale! Some of the finest in Lenore!"

"Thanks, Harold!" Mira said, before downing half of hers in one, long gulp.

A sigh of satisfaction burst from the she-elf, only for Simon to grimace at her antics; her mouth was covered in a foamy beard of white.

"Your mouth, Mira," he said, offering her a handkerchief, "Clean your mouth. You look like a rabid dog with all of that foam on your face! Hardly becoming of a lady."

"Oh, look who we have here! Mister Judgemental!"

She snatched the cloth, anyways, about to clean herself up, when the tailor's eyes widened. She yelped when he snatched it right back.

"Hey!"

"Not.. Not this one."

Alabaster caught sight of the handkerchief before his beloved hid it away in the vest pocket nearest to his heart with an adorable blush. Blood stains were awfully hard to hide, weren't they? A smile tugged at the vampire's lips, as he remembered that night. The broken bottle, the cut, the two of them embracing tenderly on the floor-

"Never seen you 'round these parts," Harold said as he eyed the new comer, appraisingly, "Not often that Simon and Mira take anyone drinkin'."

The older man seemed friendly enough. But, the tailor knew better. He was well aware of what was lurking just beneath the surface. Those brown eyes, so warm and calm and kind, darkened as they zeroed in on the vampire like a bull spotting red. Simon's body stiffened with a primal fear. The thought occurred to the tailor that Alabaster Stone was in terrible danger; he had, unwittingly, followed Simon into the belly of the beast.

"What's your name, stranger?"

Simon bit his bottom lip in dread as the elder narrowed his eyes. Flashbacks of when he was a boy came to mind. Harold Hazely Finnegan had always been notoriously protective over the people he cared about. Perhaps it said a mouthful for his self esteem, but Simon was always surprised to find his name on that list; surprised and grateful. It was doubtful he would have made it to adulthood without the tavernier looking after him.

But, that protection was a double-edged sword. The man was unusually perceptive. Harold always knew when Simon was trying to hide something, no matter how well thought out his deception! Not that he was purposefully trying to hide Alabaster. He-

'No,' he thought with an inkling of shame, 'That's exactly what I'm doing.'

Simon had only just admitted to loving the vampire. Yes, love. That small, elusive spark set alight in his heart. One that the tailor was certain he would never find. But, even if a miracle had taken place and allowed him to have a taste of such sweetness, he knew that he wasn't ready to let more people in on it. Not until their mutual feelings for each other was something he could believe in; something that he could trust.

But, then again, Mira knew, Vilo knew and gossip about the two of them was spreading like wildfire. What if Harold already KNEW?!

'Get a hold of yourself! You're being absurdly paranoid! Harold was never much one for idle gossip and it's not like he's a mind reader!'

Those chestnut eyes suddenly flicked to him! How his heart leapt up in his throat! The tailor broke out in a cold sweat, unable to tear his green gaze away from those discerning, brown orbs.

'We shouldn't have come here, we shouldn't have come here, we should NOT have come here!'

He was in a state of panic, but the tailor still maintained enough wits about him to know that he had to do something. The vampire's glamour may have been up, providing the perfect mask, but Alabaster was still no match for the wily, old barkeep. Not when the man was so good at sussing out the truth that he could wring secrets from a stone. Or in this case, an Alabaster Stone!

'You've faced down a vampire,' Simon reminded himself with a slow, steady breath in, 'This situation is not nearly as dire. Calm yourself and pull it together.'

"He's an acquaintance of mine," he covered quickly, taking a nonchalant sip of the frothy grog.

He grimaced, before passing it over the Mira, who snickered and gulped it down like it was the elixir of life. The first drink may have always been free at Finnegan's, but that didn't mean that the content of the wooden mug was preferable.

"Yes. An acquaintance," Alabaster said, taking the hint and building off of the foundation his lover had left for him," My name is Allister. Allister Star."

Simon resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. The other man had thought far enough ahead to change his name? Perhaps he had underestimated the nobleman.

"Ah, solid name," the older man said, looking into rose colored eyes, "You're elvish, right? You also a relative of Mira's, by chance?"

"What the Heck?! Why does everyone think that any elvish blokes that come around are immediately members of my family! We're not all related, you know!"

"That's true," Simon muttered, "He's not related to her. Or he would be that much more obnoxious."

"Hey!"

Everyone broke down in a hearty laugh, even Mira. It seemed that she was willing to take one for the team. Although, it wasn't like this wasn't a normal part of their typical banter. As long time friends, both were known for taking digs at each other. It was just their way. That familiar ritual helped ease the tension of the night. Though, what really sealed the deal was Alabaster's surprisingly smooth transition.

"But, yes. I met Simon earlier this month. He tailored a suit for me and we just hit it off from there. He's a great conversationalist."

"Ah, I see. Met him at work, did ya? A lot of folks meet Simon at his shop. They would have to, 'cause it's not like you can get him out of it!"

"Well, I did learn from the best," the tailor snorted in rare amusement, "Gods help the soul that would try to pry Harold Hazely Finnegan away from his work."

"Ha! Right you are, lad! Hard to argue with that! Speakin' of which, looks like you lot are running low on brew. What can I do you for?"

"Dwarvish grog for me and keep it comin', Harold!"

Simon shuddered at Mira's choice. How could she enjoy the taste of something that reminded him of lamp oil?

"I'll take your Mermaid Tear wine."

"Hmm, I'll have what Simon's having, if you please. If that's what he's ordering, it must be quite good."

"Ah, trust his tastes, do you? Good instinct. M'lads always been picky."

"Oh and can you bring some of those potato skins to the table? I love those!" Mira interjected, before Simon could rebuff the very notion that he was 'picky'.

"Alright, comin' right up!"

Once Harold left the table, Simon's body slumped like a rag doll, as all of the tension went out of him.

"Jeez, Simon! Relax! Whaddaya think he's going to do when he finds out that you and 'Allister' are into each other? You scared Harold's gonna eat em or somethin'?"

"I don't know WHAT he'll do and that's the whole point."

Alabaster and Mira glanced at each other. The expression on Simon's face looked stubborn. That countenance was to be expected on him. It was no secret how stuck in his own ways he got. However, it was accompanied by another emotion; the tailor looked almost frightened.

"Simon," she tried again.

Her beautiful, honeyed eyes were filled with empathy.

"Harold loves you. He wants you to be happy. Pretty damn sure he's not gonna judge you over this."

Suddenly, he felt a hand find his own under the table. Alabaster gave him a meaningful smile and an encouraging squeeze. It was funny how quickly it put Simon's mind at ease. More than words, no matter how well meaning, ever could. Alabaster dropped it, when Harold came back to the table with drinks and food in tow.

"Here ya go!"

Mira scooped up her mug of grog and held it high, as he proposed a toast.

"To us! And to new beginnings!"

"Here, here." Alabaster said with a smile, before clinking his glass with Simon's and Mira's.

"So, Allister, was it?" Harold said, as he placed the potato skins in the center of the table, "Did you just move to Lenore?"

"I'm afraid not. My family and I are here on business. I don't know for how long. That's more my father's department. But, I expect that we'll be here for a good, long while."

Simon paused with the wine an inch from his lips. The conversation of his companions faded into the background, as a realization struck him like a slap in the face. Alabaster had come to Lenore on a diplomatic mission. As the nobleman said, it was going to last for a good, long while. But, a good, long while didn't mean forever.