zombie_dog
in
aoc_lj
Reluctant Bonds, part 1
(Please be advised: while the following story is not erotica, it has definite BDSM themes which will be more prominent as the story continues.)
Even though I had been expecting it, the soft knock on the door made my heart jump, my senses focus into sharp detail. My muscles tensed, and my hand flew to the sidearm that I was not wearing. After a moment of intense alertness, I realized what I had done and sighed, trying to force my muscles to relax. Nine years of retirement had not, to my chagrin, managed to beat the bodyguarding instincts out of my brain. I was beginning to suspect that the tenth would not do so either, and that perhaps I should paint the doorbell to my apartment a more prominent color.
The gentle knock came again. I let my muscles relax further, then stood. I strode into the hallway and to my front door, beside which leaned a weathered but well cared-for shotgun. I had not fired it in years, but its reliable presence by the door filled a small measure of the safety that had fled from my life when my Robert died.
I stopped in front of the door, chuckling at the thought of Robert protecting me. Robert, whose best certification was as a chef. Still...
I was jolted violently from my reverie as my guest knocked once more, possibly now uncertain that I was home. I placed a hand on my shotgun, leaned forward and placed my eye up to the peephole. Through it, I saw a bark-brown face, normally eerily beautiful but now eerily distorted through the fisheye projection of the lens. I stepped back a pace and opened the door.
My new next door neighbor was a beautiful woman, probably in her mid-thirties. She had dark features and a face whose structure suggested that she had managed to avoid some of New Washington's signature melting-pot homogenization. Her body was a sloping pear-shape, which she accented with a mottled earth-tone dress. She wore a handful of necklaces and pendants, every one of which twinged my admittedly poorly-developed sixth sense. She was every inch a mage. I found myself feeling simultaneously very plain (thinking of my mousy brown hair and wiry, androgynous figure) and also very nervous. On the field, seeing a woman like her would have inspired me to carpet the area with explosives and run for my life.
Today, I invited her in for tea.
“Please,” I said, moving to the side of the door hiding the shotgun. “Come in. I'm Alison Peyton; Alison's fine.” I extended a battle-weathered hand.
She took mine and smiled, her eyes warm. Her handshake was one of graceful strength. “Ursula Tenar,” she said. “Thank you so much for inviting me by.”
“Oh, it's nothing,” I said, moving further into the apartment. Ursula followed. “It's important to know your neighbors, I say. Would you like some coffee? Or tea?”
“Do you have any rose tea?” Ursula asked as we entered the living room.
“I think I have a chamomile blend with rose hips,” I said a little uncertainly. “I'm kind of a coffee person. You can make yourself at home and I'll go see.”
“That sounds lovely,” she said, standing in front of one of the couches. I nodded and excused myself.
When I returned several minutes later, I had a mug of steeping chamomile-rose tea in one hand and a small beaker press of coffee in the other, along with a mug for the coffee. Ursula was standing with her back to me, perusing a line of plaques mounted on my living room wall.
“My late husband,” I said in explanation, a small, wistful smile sneaking its way onto my face. “He was an awesome chef.”
“So I see,” Ursula said, turning back to me. “Head chef of the Aquarium, even. I once went to the Aquarium restaurant. It was an unparalleled experience. I'm sorry that you no longer him in your life.”
I set the tea and coffee on the table between the couch and my easy chair. “So am I,” I said, “But that's New Washington for you.”
Possibly sensing that I preferred not to continue the line of conversation, Ursula nodded and walked to the couch. “What is it that you do, Alison?”
I sat in the easy chair, resisting the ingrained urge to slouch. “I'm retired, but I used to be a freelance bodyguard mercenary.”
Ursula raised her eyebrows. “Retired!” she said. “So young?”
I gave her a lopsided smile. “I'm nearly fifty, Ursula,” I told her. “Mercs my age are a little rare.”
She seemed genuinely surprised. “You don't look a day over thirty-five.”
I shrugged. Other than the lines on my face and rough skin, she was right. A physical life had given me a youthful physique that had lasted, and I had not given up my exercise habits when I gave up contract work. “Thank you.”
I reached down to the table, fished the teabag out of her tea and set it in a nearby ramekin. I pressed the plunger down on my own coffee and poured it into my mug. “And you?” I asked. “I can tell that you're a mage.”
She smiled, reaching forward to lift her cup of tea. “Yes,” she said. “I am a strict Enclave traditionalist, and have been so for fifteen years.”
I knit my brow a bit, racking my brain for information on Enclave mages. The attempt to form a magic enclave had failed in the 21st century, well before the founding of New Washington proper. There were still mages who adhered to the strict codes of behavior set forth by the proposed enclave, even though the living archmages who had tried to found the Enclave didn't follow those codes themselves.
I shook my head. “Forgive me,” I said. “Secondary was a long time ago, so I don't remember much about your traditions.”
She inclined her head. “That's quite all right,” she said. “You shouldn't be seeing much of them. I keep work at work, for the most part.”
“Oh,” I said, as something had occurred to me. “Your friend didn't make it here, did he?”
“Hm?” she said.
“That young man, who carried most of your things in when you moved,” I said. “He seems to be living with you? A roommate, or …?” I trailed off.
Ursula looked into my eyes for a moment, clearly gauging my reaction. “I have an unusual relationship with that young man.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
“There are certain Enclave traditions that are not well-received by many New Washingtonians.”
I knit my brow and nodded. When she didn't continue, I gestured for her to do so.
“I would be reluctant to share this with most, but it will eventually come up with us living in proximity to one another,” Ursula said with a sigh. “Kiin is my Duel Thrall.”
I felt a prickly feeling sweep over my skin. “Duel Thrall?”
“He once was an Enclave magician, like me,” Ursula said. “He disliked my social position and considered himself my superior. He challenged me to a duel with very high stakes and lost. He had full knowledge of what would happen. I imagine he rather enjoyed the idea of seeing me in the position he now occupies.”
“And what's that?”
“When he lost the duel, his power and freedom became mine,” she said. “He no longer has any magical puissance that I have not granted him. Moreover, he is oathbound to obey me for life.”
I was silent for a moment, then put my coffee, untouched, down on the table.
“I would be loath to enter into such a duel myself,” she said, “but I was in a position where it was difficult to refuse. I was the man's better. Now he belongs to me.”
“So he's your slave,” I said, my throat dry.
She nodded. “By body, mind and law. He has no desire but to serve me.”
“He's brainwashed?” I asked, a bit too loud.
“Magical power and will are tied inextricably,” she said. “When his power was transferred to me, so was control of his will. Kiin is a different person than the man who challenged me.”
I ground my teeth for a moment and looked up at her. “You should probably go, Miss Tenar.”
She looked sad. “It was not my intent to offend you, Alison.”
“Look,” I said. “I don't know how much you know about merc culture, but if there's anything we put more value on than anything else, it's free will, ok?”
“We come from different traditions,” Ursula admitted.
“Sometimes things get rough on a contract and you've got to put the other guy at the end of your barrels,” I said, finding the words difficult to stop, “but at the end of the day, if you can walk at all you're going to walk away. That's how a contract works. I get that you're working under old rules, but there are old rules that say that anybody with skin like ours has to work for a European immigrant for no pay.”
Ursula's expression darkened. “I'm sad that you feel the need to compare my traditions with the antiquated sin of American slavery.”
“I'm sad that you feel the need to have a brainwashed slave.”
Ursula stood up. I could feel a brief surge in her innate magic reserves, which even my dull senses could tell were immense. My hand twitched once again for a gun I was not wearing. “The man who challenged me did so under his own free will,” she told me, directing an icy glare downward. “He knew that his will itself was at stake in the game. But I see that we are not getting anywhere with this conversation.”
She strode to the hallway with long steps, then stopped and whirled to face me. “Alison.” She said flatly. “I will bear firmly in mind that it is our traditions pulling us apart, not ourselves. This is a hostile world, and strong women should support one another.”
She turned to go, then turned back one last time. “Also. I love Kiin as only a Master can, and I hope that someday you come to see that love. Good day to you.”
Her final point made, she walked to the door, opened it, exited, and shut it firmly.
I let out a breath of air that I hadn't realized I had been holding.
“Well,” I said. “That could have gone better.”
Even though I had been expecting it, the soft knock on the door made my heart jump, my senses focus into sharp detail. My muscles tensed, and my hand flew to the sidearm that I was not wearing. After a moment of intense alertness, I realized what I had done and sighed, trying to force my muscles to relax. Nine years of retirement had not, to my chagrin, managed to beat the bodyguarding instincts out of my brain. I was beginning to suspect that the tenth would not do so either, and that perhaps I should paint the doorbell to my apartment a more prominent color.
The gentle knock came again. I let my muscles relax further, then stood. I strode into the hallway and to my front door, beside which leaned a weathered but well cared-for shotgun. I had not fired it in years, but its reliable presence by the door filled a small measure of the safety that had fled from my life when my Robert died.
I stopped in front of the door, chuckling at the thought of Robert protecting me. Robert, whose best certification was as a chef. Still...
I was jolted violently from my reverie as my guest knocked once more, possibly now uncertain that I was home. I placed a hand on my shotgun, leaned forward and placed my eye up to the peephole. Through it, I saw a bark-brown face, normally eerily beautiful but now eerily distorted through the fisheye projection of the lens. I stepped back a pace and opened the door.
My new next door neighbor was a beautiful woman, probably in her mid-thirties. She had dark features and a face whose structure suggested that she had managed to avoid some of New Washington's signature melting-pot homogenization. Her body was a sloping pear-shape, which she accented with a mottled earth-tone dress. She wore a handful of necklaces and pendants, every one of which twinged my admittedly poorly-developed sixth sense. She was every inch a mage. I found myself feeling simultaneously very plain (thinking of my mousy brown hair and wiry, androgynous figure) and also very nervous. On the field, seeing a woman like her would have inspired me to carpet the area with explosives and run for my life.
Today, I invited her in for tea.
“Please,” I said, moving to the side of the door hiding the shotgun. “Come in. I'm Alison Peyton; Alison's fine.” I extended a battle-weathered hand.
She took mine and smiled, her eyes warm. Her handshake was one of graceful strength. “Ursula Tenar,” she said. “Thank you so much for inviting me by.”
“Oh, it's nothing,” I said, moving further into the apartment. Ursula followed. “It's important to know your neighbors, I say. Would you like some coffee? Or tea?”
“Do you have any rose tea?” Ursula asked as we entered the living room.
“I think I have a chamomile blend with rose hips,” I said a little uncertainly. “I'm kind of a coffee person. You can make yourself at home and I'll go see.”
“That sounds lovely,” she said, standing in front of one of the couches. I nodded and excused myself.
When I returned several minutes later, I had a mug of steeping chamomile-rose tea in one hand and a small beaker press of coffee in the other, along with a mug for the coffee. Ursula was standing with her back to me, perusing a line of plaques mounted on my living room wall.
“My late husband,” I said in explanation, a small, wistful smile sneaking its way onto my face. “He was an awesome chef.”
“So I see,” Ursula said, turning back to me. “Head chef of the Aquarium, even. I once went to the Aquarium restaurant. It was an unparalleled experience. I'm sorry that you no longer him in your life.”
I set the tea and coffee on the table between the couch and my easy chair. “So am I,” I said, “But that's New Washington for you.”
Possibly sensing that I preferred not to continue the line of conversation, Ursula nodded and walked to the couch. “What is it that you do, Alison?”
I sat in the easy chair, resisting the ingrained urge to slouch. “I'm retired, but I used to be a freelance bodyguard mercenary.”
Ursula raised her eyebrows. “Retired!” she said. “So young?”
I gave her a lopsided smile. “I'm nearly fifty, Ursula,” I told her. “Mercs my age are a little rare.”
She seemed genuinely surprised. “You don't look a day over thirty-five.”
I shrugged. Other than the lines on my face and rough skin, she was right. A physical life had given me a youthful physique that had lasted, and I had not given up my exercise habits when I gave up contract work. “Thank you.”
I reached down to the table, fished the teabag out of her tea and set it in a nearby ramekin. I pressed the plunger down on my own coffee and poured it into my mug. “And you?” I asked. “I can tell that you're a mage.”
She smiled, reaching forward to lift her cup of tea. “Yes,” she said. “I am a strict Enclave traditionalist, and have been so for fifteen years.”
I knit my brow a bit, racking my brain for information on Enclave mages. The attempt to form a magic enclave had failed in the 21st century, well before the founding of New Washington proper. There were still mages who adhered to the strict codes of behavior set forth by the proposed enclave, even though the living archmages who had tried to found the Enclave didn't follow those codes themselves.
I shook my head. “Forgive me,” I said. “Secondary was a long time ago, so I don't remember much about your traditions.”
She inclined her head. “That's quite all right,” she said. “You shouldn't be seeing much of them. I keep work at work, for the most part.”
“Oh,” I said, as something had occurred to me. “Your friend didn't make it here, did he?”
“Hm?” she said.
“That young man, who carried most of your things in when you moved,” I said. “He seems to be living with you? A roommate, or …?” I trailed off.
Ursula looked into my eyes for a moment, clearly gauging my reaction. “I have an unusual relationship with that young man.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
“There are certain Enclave traditions that are not well-received by many New Washingtonians.”
I knit my brow and nodded. When she didn't continue, I gestured for her to do so.
“I would be reluctant to share this with most, but it will eventually come up with us living in proximity to one another,” Ursula said with a sigh. “Kiin is my Duel Thrall.”
I felt a prickly feeling sweep over my skin. “Duel Thrall?”
“He once was an Enclave magician, like me,” Ursula said. “He disliked my social position and considered himself my superior. He challenged me to a duel with very high stakes and lost. He had full knowledge of what would happen. I imagine he rather enjoyed the idea of seeing me in the position he now occupies.”
“And what's that?”
“When he lost the duel, his power and freedom became mine,” she said. “He no longer has any magical puissance that I have not granted him. Moreover, he is oathbound to obey me for life.”
I was silent for a moment, then put my coffee, untouched, down on the table.
“I would be loath to enter into such a duel myself,” she said, “but I was in a position where it was difficult to refuse. I was the man's better. Now he belongs to me.”
“So he's your slave,” I said, my throat dry.
She nodded. “By body, mind and law. He has no desire but to serve me.”
“He's brainwashed?” I asked, a bit too loud.
“Magical power and will are tied inextricably,” she said. “When his power was transferred to me, so was control of his will. Kiin is a different person than the man who challenged me.”
I ground my teeth for a moment and looked up at her. “You should probably go, Miss Tenar.”
She looked sad. “It was not my intent to offend you, Alison.”
“Look,” I said. “I don't know how much you know about merc culture, but if there's anything we put more value on than anything else, it's free will, ok?”
“We come from different traditions,” Ursula admitted.
“Sometimes things get rough on a contract and you've got to put the other guy at the end of your barrels,” I said, finding the words difficult to stop, “but at the end of the day, if you can walk at all you're going to walk away. That's how a contract works. I get that you're working under old rules, but there are old rules that say that anybody with skin like ours has to work for a European immigrant for no pay.”
Ursula's expression darkened. “I'm sad that you feel the need to compare my traditions with the antiquated sin of American slavery.”
“I'm sad that you feel the need to have a brainwashed slave.”
Ursula stood up. I could feel a brief surge in her innate magic reserves, which even my dull senses could tell were immense. My hand twitched once again for a gun I was not wearing. “The man who challenged me did so under his own free will,” she told me, directing an icy glare downward. “He knew that his will itself was at stake in the game. But I see that we are not getting anywhere with this conversation.”
She strode to the hallway with long steps, then stopped and whirled to face me. “Alison.” She said flatly. “I will bear firmly in mind that it is our traditions pulling us apart, not ourselves. This is a hostile world, and strong women should support one another.”
She turned to go, then turned back one last time. “Also. I love Kiin as only a Master can, and I hope that someday you come to see that love. Good day to you.”
Her final point made, she walked to the door, opened it, exited, and shut it firmly.
I let out a breath of air that I hadn't realized I had been holding.
“Well,” I said. “That could have gone better.”