[Fic] "Weregild," part 15 -- Inception/Anita Blake
Here we are at the start of chapter 3, which will mostly deal with the meeting where Arthur and Dom explain some of the plot to Jean-Claude, Ariadne studies them to find an advantage, and Ariadne and Arthur flirt something awful. (1,725 words)
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Weregild, part 15
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Ariadne had not been a master vampire nearly long enough to rise before sunset, let alone delay the dawn death. She snapped into awareness almost precisely as the last sliver of the sun vanished beneath the horizon, at a quarter to seven. Twilight still lingered outside, but the weight of the sun no longer suppressed her.
She had an hour to dress, find Arthur and Cobb, and get them to the Circus of the Damned. Friday night traffic being what it was, she needed to get moving.
She'd showered before dawn, so she simply needed to dress and deal with her hair. She'd chosen her outfit to appease Jean-Claude's need for a show without making her look like either a hooker or a frilly china doll: a straight, narrow dress in gold satin with a pattern of dusky climbing roses curling up from the hem to end just over her left shoulder, with one bud acting like a false button closing the high collar. The sides were slit up to her knees to make walking possible, the sleeves ended at the edge of her shoulders, and the whole thing was accompanied by a waist-length rose-colored jacket to ward off any potential chill. Ariadne finished the outfit with a pair of complicated-looking gold sandals whose straps and low heels provided much better balance and traction than one might assume from dress shoes.
Jean-Claude would doubtless prefer her to show more skin, but Jean-Claude could go bite himself. She wore fetish gear at work because that was the required uniform, but on her own time she preferred more fabric.
Ariadne closed her eyes and reached over the city, searching for the taste and feel of Arthur's aura. Ah. There he was, dark and enticing... and yes, Cobb was with him; the hot prickle of lycanthropic energy danced around the cool wellspring of Arthur's power.
Ariadne held the connection in the back of her mind while she walked to the room she thought of as the great hall -- the one Nikolaos had used as a throne room, and which Jean-Claude seemed to repurpose every month. Tonight it was being set up as something halfway between an intimate dining room and an audience chamber. One table stood on a slightly raised dais, its presumably hasty construction hidden by layers of Persian rugs. It was set only along one side, so the people sitting there could look out and down over the rest of the room. Another table stood on the stone floor, a good foot lower, and was set so that its occupants would be facing upward toward the dais. A serving table stood along a side wall, and the great chamber was lit with a combination of candles in wall sconces and an electric chandelier hanging from the ceiling in a dazzle of brass and crystal.
Jean-Claude stood in the center of the room, dressed in a half-open brocade bathrobe and fitted black trousers as he supervised the final touches. "Ariadne," he said, waving her over without so much as a glance in her direction. "I wish a woman's opinion, and ma petite has not yet arrived. Should we use the gold-washed cutlery and the bone china with fruit motif, or the pewter cutlery and the blue Wedgwood?"
Why he thought either Ariadne or Anita would care was beyond her, but Ariadne knew better than to say so. She looked up at the chandelier and down at the carpets. "Gold," she said. "The blue would clash."
"You are right," Jean-Claude said with a sigh. "A pity, though. I know Mallorie had a complete Wedgwood set, and seeing its match might provoke an unguarded moment in Dominick or Arthur." He told one of the human hangers-on to bring the chosen service, then turned to inspect Ariadne's dress with a critical eye. "Ah, good, you will match the theme!"
Ariadne nodded. "Arthur and Cobb are at their motel. If I leave now and traffic is good, we should return at a quarter to eight. Should I bring them through the Circus or use the back door?"
Jean-Claude shrugged, the bathrobe threatening to slip off his left shoulder. "As you wish. I will have people watching both entrances to remove Arthur's weapons, should he attempt to bring them inside. And now you must go and I must finish dressing before ma petite and Richard arrive." He strode off toward the less public rooms, never thinking to look back and verify that Ariadne would obey.
He knew she would.
Ariadne was grateful for his protection -- she had no interest in dominance fights or being responsible for other vampires, and she liked staying unnoticed and out of the riptide currents of politics and intrigue -- but sometimes his casual assumption that because she preferred calm she would accede to anything made her want to rip someone apart. But that would get her nowhere useful, so she let the impulse go and ventured out into the fading twilight.
Ariadne had no talent for crowd hypnosis -- her gifts worked on a more one-to-one basis -- so she avoided flight when there was a chance someone could easily look up and see her. She took a car instead. She had her driver's license now, so she was even legal.
She parked across the lot from the motel's main building and knocked on Arthur's door.
He opened it barely a second later, as if he had been waiting for her.
Arthur was dressed in another suit, this one an interesting shade of soft tan, paired with a rich brown shirt and a gold tie patterned in thin geometric brown designs. His hair was neatly slicked back and tamed by gel, and he wore a handgun openly in a belt holster. Ariadne was sure it wasn't his only weapon.
"One moment." Arthur closed the door to remove the courtesy chain. "Hello, Ariadne," he said as he opened the door properly. His eyes slid appreciatively down her body before returning to her face. A faint smile hovered at the corners of his mouth for a second before he returned to watchful neutrality.
"Hello, Arthur," Ariadne said. "Mr. Cobb," she added, as Cobb strode forward to stand at Arthur's shoulder. He looked slightly more formal than last night -- dark brown trousers, a plain olive green shirt, and a brown tie -- but still casual compared to Arthur and to Jean-Claude's general taste. She supposed it made sense for a lycanthrope, since his clothes would be destroyed if he shifted.
"Jean-Claude requests your presence at the Circus of the Damned. Dinner will be provided."
"Good. Let's go," Cobb said, pushing past her into the parking lot. "I'll drive. You sit in back and give directions."
Ariadne considered telling him she'd brought a car of her own, then decided it was simpler to leave it here and send people to fetch it later. Besides, it would be more interesting to ride with Arthur and Cobb than to drive alone.
Cobb pushed a button on his keychain to unlock the little blue car, and held open the passenger side back door for her. Ariadne mentally rolled her eyes, but slipped in and adjusted her skirt without comment. Cobb closed the door behind her.
"Old habits die hard," Arthur said from the front seat, amusement lacing his voice.
"Men still held doors and chairs for women when I was human," Ariadne said, buckling her seatbelt. "I'm used to it."
Arthur made a noncommittal noise deep in his throat as Cobb got in and started the car. He turned slightly in his seat, looking back over his shoulder. "You're what, sixty years old? Not including your human life."
Ariadne hid her surprise. The Executioner could judge vampires' ages fairly accurately, but she'd never heard of anyone else with that skill. Was it something any animator could develop, or was it inborn? "More or less," she said cautiously. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious," Arthur said with a small shrug. "You do a good job of fitting in to modern life for someone born in the 1930s."
Ariadne returned his shrug. "I pay attention." Choosing to maintain the habits and appearance of another era or nation was something only the powerful or reckless could afford to do, and even those vampires were perfectly capable of camouflage should they choose to blend in. All successful predators learned how to lull prey into false security and disguise themselves from angry mobs.
"Hmm," Arthur said, and changed the subject. "Jean-Claude called us, and I presume Asher will also be present. Can you tell us who else to expect at this meeting?"
"He didn't tell me specifically who would attend," Ariadne said by way of disclaimer, "but I believe he asked the Executioner and the Ulfric. I couldn't say who else might be present."
"His triumvirate," Cobb said. "Of course." He sounded bitter.
"It will be interesting to meet them," Arthur said, touching his companion lightly on the shoulder. He turned back to Ariadne. "Will we also have the pleasure of your company?"
Ariadne shrugged again. "If Jean-Claude wishes me to attend." She was honestly not sure whether she'd prefer to be present and so have the chance to catch any important warnings, or to be safely elsewhere and out of immediate danger if something went sideways.
"I think I'll ask him to let you stay," Arthur said, a slow smile spreading over his face. "I'd prefer to have you where I can watch." His gaze slipped down her body again -- deliberately, Ariadne suspected.
"I'm not working against you," she said, catching his eyes and trying to project a desire to trust her. Her power slid past him like a stream parting around a stone, leaving his will untouched.
"Not yet," Arthur agreed, holding her gaze.
She wanted so badly to weave her power through his, to feel the pulse under his warm skin, to sink her fangs into his flesh and taste the sweet-salt-iron rush of his blood.
"Hey," Cobb said. "We've reached the District. Which way do I turn?"
Ariadne broke her staring match with Arthur and directed Cobb to the employee parking lot of the Circus. Arthur remained half-turned in his seat, watching her, never saying a word. When the car stopped, he was the one who opened her door and silently offered to help her stand.
Ariadne ran her tongue over her fangs and let him take her hand.
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End Part Fifteen
continue to part 16
back to part 14
read the final version on AO3 (Trust me, you want to read the final version. The journal version is a beta draft, with all the errors that implies.)
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I think the weirdest thing about "Weregild," for me as a writer, is having to describe what people are wearing. I don't usually do this. People get a brief description upon introduction and occasionally articles of particular plot or character relevance are mentioned, but I generally work on the assumption that if people are walking around in public, they are wearing reasonably appropriate clothes. Beyond that, I don't care.
But Inception, while not making a huge point of it, uses personal clothing styles as an integral aspect of characterization, and Laurell K. Hamilton often stops her narrative to describe people's outfits and Anita's assessment of them. (Anita may talk about being uninterested in fashion, but trust me, speaking as someone who really is uninterested in fashion: she is interested in fashion. This makes her disinterest in sewing and alteration even more baffling.) In the interests of mimicking canon, I am making an effort to talk about clothes, which means I have to think about clothes, which is like mental contortionism for me. Very strange.
Anyway, sorry for the delay on this part! There were three reasons. First, it has been too hot to think. Second, I have been doing background and outline work for my Narnia Fic Exchange story. Third, I did write about 2,000 words over the past few days, but they were for other, unfinished fics and/or original stories. I am still me, after all, and thus frequently scattered in my focus. :-(
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)
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Weregild, part 15
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Ariadne had not been a master vampire nearly long enough to rise before sunset, let alone delay the dawn death. She snapped into awareness almost precisely as the last sliver of the sun vanished beneath the horizon, at a quarter to seven. Twilight still lingered outside, but the weight of the sun no longer suppressed her.
She had an hour to dress, find Arthur and Cobb, and get them to the Circus of the Damned. Friday night traffic being what it was, she needed to get moving.
She'd showered before dawn, so she simply needed to dress and deal with her hair. She'd chosen her outfit to appease Jean-Claude's need for a show without making her look like either a hooker or a frilly china doll: a straight, narrow dress in gold satin with a pattern of dusky climbing roses curling up from the hem to end just over her left shoulder, with one bud acting like a false button closing the high collar. The sides were slit up to her knees to make walking possible, the sleeves ended at the edge of her shoulders, and the whole thing was accompanied by a waist-length rose-colored jacket to ward off any potential chill. Ariadne finished the outfit with a pair of complicated-looking gold sandals whose straps and low heels provided much better balance and traction than one might assume from dress shoes.
Jean-Claude would doubtless prefer her to show more skin, but Jean-Claude could go bite himself. She wore fetish gear at work because that was the required uniform, but on her own time she preferred more fabric.
Ariadne closed her eyes and reached over the city, searching for the taste and feel of Arthur's aura. Ah. There he was, dark and enticing... and yes, Cobb was with him; the hot prickle of lycanthropic energy danced around the cool wellspring of Arthur's power.
Ariadne held the connection in the back of her mind while she walked to the room she thought of as the great hall -- the one Nikolaos had used as a throne room, and which Jean-Claude seemed to repurpose every month. Tonight it was being set up as something halfway between an intimate dining room and an audience chamber. One table stood on a slightly raised dais, its presumably hasty construction hidden by layers of Persian rugs. It was set only along one side, so the people sitting there could look out and down over the rest of the room. Another table stood on the stone floor, a good foot lower, and was set so that its occupants would be facing upward toward the dais. A serving table stood along a side wall, and the great chamber was lit with a combination of candles in wall sconces and an electric chandelier hanging from the ceiling in a dazzle of brass and crystal.
Jean-Claude stood in the center of the room, dressed in a half-open brocade bathrobe and fitted black trousers as he supervised the final touches. "Ariadne," he said, waving her over without so much as a glance in her direction. "I wish a woman's opinion, and ma petite has not yet arrived. Should we use the gold-washed cutlery and the bone china with fruit motif, or the pewter cutlery and the blue Wedgwood?"
Why he thought either Ariadne or Anita would care was beyond her, but Ariadne knew better than to say so. She looked up at the chandelier and down at the carpets. "Gold," she said. "The blue would clash."
"You are right," Jean-Claude said with a sigh. "A pity, though. I know Mallorie had a complete Wedgwood set, and seeing its match might provoke an unguarded moment in Dominick or Arthur." He told one of the human hangers-on to bring the chosen service, then turned to inspect Ariadne's dress with a critical eye. "Ah, good, you will match the theme!"
Ariadne nodded. "Arthur and Cobb are at their motel. If I leave now and traffic is good, we should return at a quarter to eight. Should I bring them through the Circus or use the back door?"
Jean-Claude shrugged, the bathrobe threatening to slip off his left shoulder. "As you wish. I will have people watching both entrances to remove Arthur's weapons, should he attempt to bring them inside. And now you must go and I must finish dressing before ma petite and Richard arrive." He strode off toward the less public rooms, never thinking to look back and verify that Ariadne would obey.
He knew she would.
Ariadne was grateful for his protection -- she had no interest in dominance fights or being responsible for other vampires, and she liked staying unnoticed and out of the riptide currents of politics and intrigue -- but sometimes his casual assumption that because she preferred calm she would accede to anything made her want to rip someone apart. But that would get her nowhere useful, so she let the impulse go and ventured out into the fading twilight.
Ariadne had no talent for crowd hypnosis -- her gifts worked on a more one-to-one basis -- so she avoided flight when there was a chance someone could easily look up and see her. She took a car instead. She had her driver's license now, so she was even legal.
She parked across the lot from the motel's main building and knocked on Arthur's door.
He opened it barely a second later, as if he had been waiting for her.
Arthur was dressed in another suit, this one an interesting shade of soft tan, paired with a rich brown shirt and a gold tie patterned in thin geometric brown designs. His hair was neatly slicked back and tamed by gel, and he wore a handgun openly in a belt holster. Ariadne was sure it wasn't his only weapon.
"One moment." Arthur closed the door to remove the courtesy chain. "Hello, Ariadne," he said as he opened the door properly. His eyes slid appreciatively down her body before returning to her face. A faint smile hovered at the corners of his mouth for a second before he returned to watchful neutrality.
"Hello, Arthur," Ariadne said. "Mr. Cobb," she added, as Cobb strode forward to stand at Arthur's shoulder. He looked slightly more formal than last night -- dark brown trousers, a plain olive green shirt, and a brown tie -- but still casual compared to Arthur and to Jean-Claude's general taste. She supposed it made sense for a lycanthrope, since his clothes would be destroyed if he shifted.
"Jean-Claude requests your presence at the Circus of the Damned. Dinner will be provided."
"Good. Let's go," Cobb said, pushing past her into the parking lot. "I'll drive. You sit in back and give directions."
Ariadne considered telling him she'd brought a car of her own, then decided it was simpler to leave it here and send people to fetch it later. Besides, it would be more interesting to ride with Arthur and Cobb than to drive alone.
Cobb pushed a button on his keychain to unlock the little blue car, and held open the passenger side back door for her. Ariadne mentally rolled her eyes, but slipped in and adjusted her skirt without comment. Cobb closed the door behind her.
"Old habits die hard," Arthur said from the front seat, amusement lacing his voice.
"Men still held doors and chairs for women when I was human," Ariadne said, buckling her seatbelt. "I'm used to it."
Arthur made a noncommittal noise deep in his throat as Cobb got in and started the car. He turned slightly in his seat, looking back over his shoulder. "You're what, sixty years old? Not including your human life."
Ariadne hid her surprise. The Executioner could judge vampires' ages fairly accurately, but she'd never heard of anyone else with that skill. Was it something any animator could develop, or was it inborn? "More or less," she said cautiously. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious," Arthur said with a small shrug. "You do a good job of fitting in to modern life for someone born in the 1930s."
Ariadne returned his shrug. "I pay attention." Choosing to maintain the habits and appearance of another era or nation was something only the powerful or reckless could afford to do, and even those vampires were perfectly capable of camouflage should they choose to blend in. All successful predators learned how to lull prey into false security and disguise themselves from angry mobs.
"Hmm," Arthur said, and changed the subject. "Jean-Claude called us, and I presume Asher will also be present. Can you tell us who else to expect at this meeting?"
"He didn't tell me specifically who would attend," Ariadne said by way of disclaimer, "but I believe he asked the Executioner and the Ulfric. I couldn't say who else might be present."
"His triumvirate," Cobb said. "Of course." He sounded bitter.
"It will be interesting to meet them," Arthur said, touching his companion lightly on the shoulder. He turned back to Ariadne. "Will we also have the pleasure of your company?"
Ariadne shrugged again. "If Jean-Claude wishes me to attend." She was honestly not sure whether she'd prefer to be present and so have the chance to catch any important warnings, or to be safely elsewhere and out of immediate danger if something went sideways.
"I think I'll ask him to let you stay," Arthur said, a slow smile spreading over his face. "I'd prefer to have you where I can watch." His gaze slipped down her body again -- deliberately, Ariadne suspected.
"I'm not working against you," she said, catching his eyes and trying to project a desire to trust her. Her power slid past him like a stream parting around a stone, leaving his will untouched.
"Not yet," Arthur agreed, holding her gaze.
She wanted so badly to weave her power through his, to feel the pulse under his warm skin, to sink her fangs into his flesh and taste the sweet-salt-iron rush of his blood.
"Hey," Cobb said. "We've reached the District. Which way do I turn?"
Ariadne broke her staring match with Arthur and directed Cobb to the employee parking lot of the Circus. Arthur remained half-turned in his seat, watching her, never saying a word. When the car stopped, he was the one who opened her door and silently offered to help her stand.
Ariadne ran her tongue over her fangs and let him take her hand.
---------------------------------------------
End Part Fifteen
continue to part 16
back to part 14
read the final version on AO3 (Trust me, you want to read the final version. The journal version is a beta draft, with all the errors that implies.)
---------------------------------------------
I think the weirdest thing about "Weregild," for me as a writer, is having to describe what people are wearing. I don't usually do this. People get a brief description upon introduction and occasionally articles of particular plot or character relevance are mentioned, but I generally work on the assumption that if people are walking around in public, they are wearing reasonably appropriate clothes. Beyond that, I don't care.
But Inception, while not making a huge point of it, uses personal clothing styles as an integral aspect of characterization, and Laurell K. Hamilton often stops her narrative to describe people's outfits and Anita's assessment of them. (Anita may talk about being uninterested in fashion, but trust me, speaking as someone who really is uninterested in fashion: she is interested in fashion. This makes her disinterest in sewing and alteration even more baffling.) In the interests of mimicking canon, I am making an effort to talk about clothes, which means I have to think about clothes, which is like mental contortionism for me. Very strange.
Anyway, sorry for the delay on this part! There were three reasons. First, it has been too hot to think. Second, I have been doing background and outline work for my Narnia Fic Exchange story. Third, I did write about 2,000 words over the past few days, but they were for other, unfinished fics and/or original stories. I am still me, after all, and thus frequently scattered in my focus. :-(
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)