◤ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊: ❛ the final
bigoras ❜ ◢

✧

"I MISS YOU," she said into her phone, swirling around her spoon in her coffee, staring out at all the little people going through their short, mundane lives with a sad look on her face as her tone grew soft as she uttered the words to the person on the other end.

          She wondered for a second, as she looked at all the people, hearing the little laughs they gave out, the blush of their cheeks from being complimented, seeing them touch each other lightly on their arms in a casual manner before breaking away, when she became so cynical. When she stopped seeing them as people who were living just like her before calling them small and short because their lifespan was nowhere near hers.

          There was a small chuckle on the other end. "I miss you too," the voice she knew all too well replied on the other end, repeating the same words she had, trying to be lighter but still with that soft tone she had because it really had been too long since they had properly seen each other in person. Two years at least.

          "Then you should come visit," she suggested to him, wishing that he would come and see her again.

          "Or maybe you should come and travel with him," he said instead, not answering to her suggestion.

          "Oh, come on, you know that my traveling days are behind me," she shrugged the offer off. She had five hundred years to travel the world, and while it was true it was always changing, going to the same old places and seeing the same old buildings, hearing the same old stories and legends was too exhausting. She always wondered why he still had the endless fascination to travel and never stay in one place for too long.

          Maybe it was her fault because in his youth she never stayed one place too long. Maybe that restlessness to leave without a trace plagued him now too many centuries later, so he couldn't settle down in a place and form a life there. He always wanted to go and leave, to see somewhere else, to hear the old stories melt together with the new ones, and see the renovations of the buildings he had belonged to decades ago.

          But she was much too old for that now. She had no reason to keep running, those she used to run from thought she was long since dead, so she could go around and stay in one town for years and have a short life with them before leaving them behind. It wasn't like she could ever truly stay in one place, not with her ageless face and body, but at least she could catch a glimpse of a normal, stationary life.

          Maybe that was why she was so cynical; she was jealous. Bitter that she couldn't have that because of one simple curse, but it was no use being so bitter anymore, because that was too long ago and she should just let go of it but she never seemed able to.

          "You could start them up again, Marisol," he told her, and she smiled at his little innocence even though all of that should have been beaten out of him after all these aching years of living. Or, well, not living since technically he was more undead than alive.

          Marisol shrugged. She supposed that she could, but she quite liked where she was, and traveling always got so tiring after a while. With no permanent place, not a lot of clothes, and tireless days full of nothing and everything, exploring what was there but exploring nothing at all since it wasn't new to her anymore, and the lack of being able to set up a home base.

          No, she was done traveling. At least for a couple years. Maybe at the end of the decade she would take it up again and they would go to around the world, but it was not the end of the decade now.

          "Or you could come and visit me. That would still be traveling," she said, quite correctly because he didn't live where she did, "Come on, Magnus, it'll be fun."

          Magnus snorted. "I think your idea of fun is different from mine. You know I don't like New Orleans – it gives me the heebie-jeebies."

          "The heebie-jeebies? Seriously? What are you, five?" she asked him sarcastically.

          "More like five hundred, but close enough, yeah?" he joked with her, "It's just, how it's run? Vampires in complete control and no rights to the wolves or witches? I don't like it and I don't understand how you're fine with it."

          "I'm not fine with it, but I like the city," she told him, because really she did not like people of her race and her former race being oppressed, but it wasn't like she could stop anything. And besides, she liked the leader of the vampire faction. Marcel didn't know she was a wolf, no one did since that little curse Ophelia placed on her covered up any scent of a wolf, so he was nice to her. He knew that she was very much aware of the supernatural, and he rolled with it. They were cool.

          "Oh, I remember the twenties here, do you? Every night was thriving with life and liquor, everyone just going wild – it was beautiful," she reminisced.

          "I thought you liked the twenties in New York more," Magnus said.

          "I do," she confirmed, "But New Orleans was positively show stopping. I loved every minute of it – New York was just a little better. And I had that vampire – what was his name? Liam, or something? – wrapped around my finger."

          "Ugh, don't remind me," she could imagine now that his nose was wrinkling up in disgust, so she laughed at him. Even though she hadn't seen him in person for two years, they had spent many more years than that together so she knew everything about him. She had memorized his every reaction, every little detail of his face, and every action he normally did at all times. It was hard not to notice when you had all those years together that they did. "You two were the worst together. No sense of privacy at all."

          "It was the twenties in New York. He thought I loved him and he was a great kisser," she defended herself.

          "Hmm, you always were a little heartbreaker. Still are, I assume," Magnus said. And it was true, she was always the more flirtatious one out of the two of them. Nothing was ever as serious with her, not after her two very big failed romances in her life, while Magnus always searched for the one.

          (She wouldn't tell him, but she thought that idea was complete bullshit – the one. She had fallen in love twice, and she was sure that Magnus had done it even more than that. There wasn't a one, there was a million. But that would break his heart and Marisol didn't want to break his, he mattered too much.)

          "Not right now," she disagreed with him, "I haven't dated anyone in at least a year."

          "Oh, wow, that's a new record," Magnus teased her and she rolled her eyes, even though he couldn't see it over the phone.

          "Oh, shush, I've gone over a good two decades without a lover and you know that. One year doesn't mean anything anymore," she said, trying not to let the sadness seep through.

          She didn't know why she was sad, after all these years. She had lived far too long to not process the fact that she was going to love forever, or close to it in any case. She was used to not growing old, to staying the same as she had been when Magnus originally died when he was only seventeen and ripe – a good life ahead of him, or what should have been a good life. It had been far too long since her sister had cursed her and died only years after that, or so she had to assume.

          She shouldn't be sad by the fact that she lived with an ageless curse placed upon her. The same old face, the same old skin, the same old hair, and same old turning every full moon because of one of her other mistakes. Everyone made mistakes, but it seemed that for her, there were grave consequences for every one of them. But she was too old to be stomping her foot and whining about how it wasn't fair. Nothing in her life had been fair.

          Nothing in Magnus' either.

          "But one year can turn into one decade, and then one century, and that's far too long," Magnus teased her more, and she was sure that most people didn't joke in this way with their aunt, but Magnus was more than her nephew at this point.

          They were each other's only family, and had been his entire life. They had five hundred years together, most people only had eighty, and he stopped calling her Aunt Marisol centuries ago. Now, she was Marisol, or Mars was her modern nickname. It was still weird for people to call her that, it was Marcel's favorite name for her, because for centuries no one ever used a nickname for her. It was strictly Marisol or whatever other name she gave them to cover her identity.

          Sometimes it was fun to be someone else, to give them a different name and to imagine a life with that name, instead of her own. But other times, especially early in her life, it was because there was a danger in using her real name. Magnus' death made that too clear of a lesson for her, but she learned it either way.

          "Please, I can't stay without a lover for that long," she smiled, lightened by the conversation, as she always was when she spoke with Magnus. She took a sip of her coffee, still peering at the people walking around outside, but not focusing on them as much anymore.

          "Then you might want to get a move on it before you blink and it's the next decade and you're still too dry," he urged her.

          Marisol huffed. "Is this you projecting onto me your own desperation? Or have you found a partner and you want me to have one too?"

          There was a beat of silence over the phone. "Are those my only two options?"

          "Magnus."

          "Alright, so maybe I am dating someone and it's been going on for a few months and I haven't told you because, really, what's a few months for us even if it's a lot for them?" Magnus rambled.

          "Wait – you're dating a human?" she cut him off, and there was another beat of silence.

          "Maybe?" he squeaked out and Marisol sighed.

          "You've gone back to humans again, even though you know that it's better to stick with someone who's in the know already? Great..." she muttered the last part, but it didn't matter because he still had that strong vampire hearing.

          "Well, I didn't mean to. I was just in Barcelona and I met a young girl who was traveling there too and we spent time together, slept together, and now we're sorta seeing each other," Magnus explained himself, "It's not like it's gonna last long."

          "That's what you always say, but we both know that it's never short," she reminded him, a bit of edge in her voice with a command of a parental figure, "Look, Magnus, I don't mean to be the Debby Downer here, but you know that you don't do short relationships."

          "Not usually, but I can," he disagreed with her.

          She shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "But you won't. I know you. Just...be careful, alright? You know why I worry."

          "Yeah," he sighed, "I know. It's easier to just be with a vampire, I know, or another supernatural creature, but I can't help who I think is hot."

          "I know you can't, but you can tread with caution," she told him again.

          "Yeah, yeah. How's New Orleans anyway?" he changed the subject, obviously not wanting a continuation of her lecture about the dangers of dating a human. They knew far too well how wrong it could go, and she didn't need another example to add to the case file.

          "It's good," she told him, "I mean, I told you everything that happened with the witches recently? With their Harvest?"

          "Yeah. Not the best one ever," he whistled, thinking about the events she described to him.

          "Not even close. But now they're in a panic and even more oppressed because one didn't get killed. And you know what happens when you don't kill the final witch," Marisol said, an edge in her tone to remind of what happened.

          She always thought the sacrificing type witches were more barbaric, more like the old times. Her coven got their magic through the earth, not from the ancestors and their dead bodies with the promise of killing witches to revive them. But, at least, she knew from witnessing the ceremony that they always came back. Shame that Marcel and the other vampires stopped it, keeping the final witch alive and holding all that power. It wasn't good for her or for the coven, though she doubted that the witch cared anything for a coven as barbaric as theirs.

          But whatever, she wasn't involved in that, so it wasn't her place to say anything. And it wasn't like anything she would say mattered. No one would listen to the seemingly normal human who just knew a lot about the supernatural without being one herself. That was the only good thing about that stupid curse: she could blend in so easily. No scent, no snarls. She could blend in with the world and the vampires, who were none the wiser. But she wouldn't thank Ophelia for anything else beside that...and Magnus, because he really was her world, even after all these years and the continents separating them.

          "Believe me, I remember watching that," Magnus shuddered a lot, and she had to agree with the sentiment. Even after seeing too many barbaric things, that ceremony was always one of the worst, "But it's still not resolved?"

          "No one knows where Marcel took the last witch," she shook her head again, even though it was still foolish because he couldn't see her, "So she's still holding all that power. Not long until the ancestors try to drag her into the grave she belongs in."

          "Morbid," Magnus said at her choice of words.

          "Well, the whole ceremony is more than morbid, so I think you can excuse my language," she shot back at him, and she was sure that he was smiling on the other end now, so she didn't feel bad for her snap at him.

          "Damn, all these years have not softened your bite," Magnus told her.

          "I'm taking that as a compliment. Wouldn't be a good predator if I didn't have sharp teeth, now would I?" she asked him teasingly.

          "Guess you're right," he conceded, "But I still think I have sharper fangs than you."

          "We'll just have to test that, don't we?" she asked him, though they both knew she wasn't serious because there was no way she was going to sink her teeth into him because that was fatal and he wasn't going to sink his teeth into her out of respect. He had done it once, after he turned because there was no one else, and she had let him, but that was the only time and she wasn't about to let it happen again now that he had other food suppliers.

          "If you're up for losing...then yeah," he joked back with her, and she laughed, causing him to let out his own.

          "You're on," she said back, accepting the challenge that they both knew would never actually happen, but it was the thought that counted in this instance. But joking with him made her sad as she was forced to remember how long it had been since she had last seen him.

          One would think that they would want to stay far away from each other because they had spent plenty of years together, multiple lifetimes in fact, but that was simply not the case. They were the final Bigoras standing, there was no one else in their family but them, and they had spent too many lifetimes together to separate now. They could go some years without seeing each other, but they always found their way back, and she was hoping that way back would be sooner than later right now.

authors note
this was supposed to stay on hold so i can focus on some of my other stories but like,,, fuck it i wanna write for marisol so here we are. also i love her and magnus so much, they are best buds and best bois.