Random fic
A little explanation first-off. I dreamt about this story's plot one night a few weeks back and wrote this chapter as a beginning to how the plot was outlined to me during the dream. I knew the character's names, their appearance and the jist of their relationships from the single dream, so the plot's pretty detailed, I just had to get this first chapter thing down so I wouldn't forget.
I'll post the chapters as I create them and use it like an archive, just so I know they're somewhere in case the computer craps out. It's been acting up lately, so who knows. They'll also be posted in classic fanfic style, with title, warnings, summary, word count, etc. listed under the cut.
Also, the story has no title as of yet, so I'll give it Untitled for now. I have an idea of what I'd like, but it's difficult to title it after only the first chapter.
Title: Untitled
Warnings: Eventual NC-17 adult situations, bad language, mild gore, heterosexual and homosexual relationships, squick
Word Count: 2000 or so (I forget the exact number, but each chapter will be a similar amount so they don't get too wordy and boring, lol)
Summary: Victus Cavanaugh, only son of Valernus Cavanaugh, finds himself torn between his duty to his family and his love for fellow Sythee but opposing clan-member, Jean-Luc Lucerne. Between the hatred stemming from Jean-Luc's twin brother Marcel and the demand Valernus presses upon him, Victus is unsure of what his future may hold as the 'prince' of the Sythee and the unruly child of a family whose past is as dark as its future.
------------------------
There were more of us, back in the old days. A substantial number of Sythee; enough to take down an entire country if we had been given the opportunity. Only a few of our groups remained, called covens by those who kept record of us, though the Sythee word for it was karesh.
I was the second male born to our karesh, the Cavanaugh. My father had named me Victus, after the Latin phrase, Vae Victis. He had had a particular soft spot for Roman history, it would seem. My brother, the generous and courageous Valgus, had been killed in the twelfth century, leaving me to inherit the leadership once our father passed on. Valernus Cavanaugh, my father, twice my age and just as swarthy, hid himself away for years after my brother's passing, venturing back out into the world only after a lengthy time alone, his demeanor changed in that he refused to speak of Valgus. We honoured his request and never spoke of him, though I refuse to let his memory disappear as so many others have over the years.
Eight hundred years later, Valernus still lived and controlled the karesh with due strength, though the duties, responsibilities and the wealth of being his only surviving heir had fallen to me. Our group was ninety-one strong and while we wanted to control the whole of Berlin, two other karesh vied for it; the French-born Lucerne and the German-born Zweig families. The Lucerne's had been our allies and some of them still showed allegiance to that agreement, but the others had fallen on hard times in the last century and the easiest way for them to survive, had been to ally themselves with the Zweig karesh. My father and I didn't hold it against them, but after the rebuilding of Europe during the late 1940's and early 1950's, we had distanced ourselves from them, keeping the remaining, loyal Lucerne's with us.
Jean-Luc and Marcel Lucerne were maternal twins, the eldest of their group and in positions much like my own. Though Jean-Luc was the elder of the two, it was Marcel that the family relied upon, giving him the most attention and therefore, the most prominence. When the time came for their ascension to the heads of their karesh, Jean-Luc let his brother have the highest position, choosing instead to serve as his right hand. It suit me just fine, as Jean-Luc was the one I most associated with and whom I had the most experiences with.
Keep in mind, that on the outside we look like everyone else. No distinguishing marks that identify us as anything other than human. We have jobs and families. Our home lives are much like those of the human race, though we have secrets we decline to mention. There aren't any classic secrets; no vampirism, no werewolves in our ranks, no succubi or incubi to charm unwilling hosts out of their pants and into the arms of death. We don't feed on humans, nor do we keep them as pets. They roam the earth as we do; surviving, tolerating those who are different and making headway generation by generation.
No, the Sythee aren't in any historical tomes or books relating to superstitions and demonic possession. We could be classified as something akin to a shape shifter, though we don't take on the form of a token animal or a monster from a fairy tale. We remain in human form. Our fingernails become claws reminiscent of a bear's; long, thick, razor sharp. We're unable to cut our hair. No blade can shear it, so our kind wear it as a certain style; the women carrying it casually, while most of the men kept it in ponytails or tight buns beneath their hats. I carried mine loose, free from the tail, as did Jean-Luc. It was frowned upon, but who would complain about the Sons and what they did? Nobody, save from Marcel.
“You look like a woman, Victus.”
I flashed a brilliant little smile at him and patted my backside as I strode past, my eyes set on the decorative cast-iron framework of the door that led to Jean-Luc's private quarters.
“He's out,” Marcel announced, the book he had been reading now closed, a thin strip of cloth holding his place between the pages.
“And you're a liar. Go back to your book, Frenchman.”
I heard a hiss from Marcel and grinned as I pushed the door open about halfway, bright yellow light pouring out onto the thick area rug below my feet. I hadn't heard music coming from inside when I first entered their home, but it was loud once the door was ajar, leading me to roll my eyes, as I'd forgotten about the soundproofing Jean-Luc installed the previous month. I heard the wails of a 1980's hair band and smiled a little wider. He had great taste in music.
“Even over the music, I heard what went on out there,” He said loudly, before flicking the stereo off and crossing the plush carpet to greet me, his breath warm on my cheek as he pressed a firm kiss to it, my arms already winding around his broad shoulders. “Nice to see you, Victus. It's been a while, hasn't it?”
I snorted softly and gave him a shove as I peeled away, loathe to but trying to make a point.
“A month, which is why I forgot about your soundproofing. Was Marcel finally tired of hearing you fight with Catalina?”
He shook his head and sat back down, the wicker basket-seat rocking gently on its thick, steel chain, the tiny bell attached to its base jingling along with the movement. Jean-Luc crossed one leg over so that his ankle rested on the opposite knee, comfortable in his little swinging cage.
“She's a good dog, but you know how they get when they haven't had a chance to roam for a while. Even yours gets edgy, doesn't she?”
“Minka's with my father now. He wanted some sort of insurance against intruders,” I answered, my voice conversational, though I was upset about the decision. “You know Valernus. He's suspicious of everybody and only trusts me now. If all I need to do to keep him off of my back is loan him my pet, I'll do it. She'll come back to me once he passes anyway.”
The gentle rocking was like a heartbeat in the room, causing me to sink down to my haunches and fall back onto the comfortable pallet-bed Jean-Luc had; its mattress cushy and the linens freshly laundered as usual. I stretched out and laid right onto my back, my eyes catching the barest glimpse at the ceiling before they closed. A smile played across my face and I lifted a hand to swat toward the white tiles above me, a chuckle coming from Jean-Luc.
“You can't hit them from there, Vic.”
I furrowed my eyebrows and tried a little harder, a good five feet from the mark but as childish and demanding as ever. “Maybe the wind from my hand will touch them and make them move.”
By 'them', I referred to the glittering little stars Jean-Luc had hanging from his ceiling. The expensive little things had been bought for him during one of his father's trips back into the deepest parts of Europe; each one hand-made and decorated differently. They had been hung from the painted brass tiles when he was only a child and they had remained throughout his lengthy life, not a single one breaking or even falling from their heavenly perches. I would normally have swatted at one while I was standing, but it was so much more entertaining to see them dangling over my head and trying for them while reclined.
“Keep trying, my little prince. You'll never strike them that way.”
I frowned a little more deeply and he chuckled again, ignored by my frustrated mind. “Stop calling me that.”
“But you are a little prince, aren't you?,” he started, the bell's jingling indicating that he had gotten up from his seat, his heavy footfalls muffled by the carpeting.
I felt the bed dip and Jean-Luc's large body fell over me, held up by his arms on either side of my head. I kept my eyes closed until I felt his lips upon my own, my arms immediately moving to wind back around his shoulders, pulling him down with a desperation that had him laughing against me. I laughed right back and gave him another shove, though with gravity against me and his superior size, it was a useless endeavor.
“Get up, Luc. You're going to crush me.”
“Like hell. The last thing I need is a prince's blood on my hands.”
I swatted at him with one of the pillows that covered the end of the bed, its awkward shape throwing itself out of my hand and striking one of the stars just above the pallet, my squeak of triumph blocked out by his cry of shock as the glistening little shape bounced off of its steel clip and fell toward the floor. The pillow landed with a thump and the star fell atop it, bouncing off and landing on the carpeting beside it, not breaking or cracking but certainly drawing a black mark against me on Jean-Luc's 'list'.
“Goddammit, Vic! If it had broken, you would be a dead prince!”
He knelt down on the cream-coloured pile and scooped the sharp object up, turning it around and noticing no damage at all, much to my relief. He held it lovingly by the little clip and scooted his ottoman over to stand on, hooking the star back onto his ring after giving it a tiny kiss. I would have remarked on the sentimental moment but I was still a little worried about a serious reprimand.
“Am I in trouble now?” I wasn't really afraid, more curious if anything. “Am I going to get a spanking-”
“Victus,” Marcel's deep voice broke my excited thought and I sat back up from my spur of the moment splay, not wanting my backside exposed to the other twin.
“Hm?”
“Your patriarch called for you. He'd like you back as soon as possible.”
“Did he say-” I started, barely making the sentence even piece together before Marcel cut me off for a second time.
“He demanded that you return. I only softened the blow for you by telling him that you were with my brother. He knows how close you are.”
I nodded and got to my feet, heading to the door to follow him out, turning back to see that Jean-Luc had already ducked himself back into the hanging basket, the remote control for the stereo back in his hand. He lifted his gaze before I closed the door behind me, giving me a little wink. I returned it and closed the heavy object with a light click, hearing a deadbolt throw behind it.
Jean-Luc always did love his privacy, especially after a shock like almost losing one of his stars to a tyrannical little prince's tantrum.
Comments and stuff aren't exactly necessary, but if any of you do happen to read it, feel free to do whatever you like.
I'll post the chapters as I create them and use it like an archive, just so I know they're somewhere in case the computer craps out. It's been acting up lately, so who knows. They'll also be posted in classic fanfic style, with title, warnings, summary, word count, etc. listed under the cut.
Also, the story has no title as of yet, so I'll give it Untitled for now. I have an idea of what I'd like, but it's difficult to title it after only the first chapter.
Title: Untitled
Warnings: Eventual NC-17 adult situations, bad language, mild gore, heterosexual and homosexual relationships, squick
Word Count: 2000 or so (I forget the exact number, but each chapter will be a similar amount so they don't get too wordy and boring, lol)
Summary: Victus Cavanaugh, only son of Valernus Cavanaugh, finds himself torn between his duty to his family and his love for fellow Sythee but opposing clan-member, Jean-Luc Lucerne. Between the hatred stemming from Jean-Luc's twin brother Marcel and the demand Valernus presses upon him, Victus is unsure of what his future may hold as the 'prince' of the Sythee and the unruly child of a family whose past is as dark as its future.
------------------------
There were more of us, back in the old days. A substantial number of Sythee; enough to take down an entire country if we had been given the opportunity. Only a few of our groups remained, called covens by those who kept record of us, though the Sythee word for it was karesh.
I was the second male born to our karesh, the Cavanaugh. My father had named me Victus, after the Latin phrase, Vae Victis. He had had a particular soft spot for Roman history, it would seem. My brother, the generous and courageous Valgus, had been killed in the twelfth century, leaving me to inherit the leadership once our father passed on. Valernus Cavanaugh, my father, twice my age and just as swarthy, hid himself away for years after my brother's passing, venturing back out into the world only after a lengthy time alone, his demeanor changed in that he refused to speak of Valgus. We honoured his request and never spoke of him, though I refuse to let his memory disappear as so many others have over the years.
Eight hundred years later, Valernus still lived and controlled the karesh with due strength, though the duties, responsibilities and the wealth of being his only surviving heir had fallen to me. Our group was ninety-one strong and while we wanted to control the whole of Berlin, two other karesh vied for it; the French-born Lucerne and the German-born Zweig families. The Lucerne's had been our allies and some of them still showed allegiance to that agreement, but the others had fallen on hard times in the last century and the easiest way for them to survive, had been to ally themselves with the Zweig karesh. My father and I didn't hold it against them, but after the rebuilding of Europe during the late 1940's and early 1950's, we had distanced ourselves from them, keeping the remaining, loyal Lucerne's with us.
Jean-Luc and Marcel Lucerne were maternal twins, the eldest of their group and in positions much like my own. Though Jean-Luc was the elder of the two, it was Marcel that the family relied upon, giving him the most attention and therefore, the most prominence. When the time came for their ascension to the heads of their karesh, Jean-Luc let his brother have the highest position, choosing instead to serve as his right hand. It suit me just fine, as Jean-Luc was the one I most associated with and whom I had the most experiences with.
Keep in mind, that on the outside we look like everyone else. No distinguishing marks that identify us as anything other than human. We have jobs and families. Our home lives are much like those of the human race, though we have secrets we decline to mention. There aren't any classic secrets; no vampirism, no werewolves in our ranks, no succubi or incubi to charm unwilling hosts out of their pants and into the arms of death. We don't feed on humans, nor do we keep them as pets. They roam the earth as we do; surviving, tolerating those who are different and making headway generation by generation.
No, the Sythee aren't in any historical tomes or books relating to superstitions and demonic possession. We could be classified as something akin to a shape shifter, though we don't take on the form of a token animal or a monster from a fairy tale. We remain in human form. Our fingernails become claws reminiscent of a bear's; long, thick, razor sharp. We're unable to cut our hair. No blade can shear it, so our kind wear it as a certain style; the women carrying it casually, while most of the men kept it in ponytails or tight buns beneath their hats. I carried mine loose, free from the tail, as did Jean-Luc. It was frowned upon, but who would complain about the Sons and what they did? Nobody, save from Marcel.
“You look like a woman, Victus.”
I flashed a brilliant little smile at him and patted my backside as I strode past, my eyes set on the decorative cast-iron framework of the door that led to Jean-Luc's private quarters.
“He's out,” Marcel announced, the book he had been reading now closed, a thin strip of cloth holding his place between the pages.
“And you're a liar. Go back to your book, Frenchman.”
I heard a hiss from Marcel and grinned as I pushed the door open about halfway, bright yellow light pouring out onto the thick area rug below my feet. I hadn't heard music coming from inside when I first entered their home, but it was loud once the door was ajar, leading me to roll my eyes, as I'd forgotten about the soundproofing Jean-Luc installed the previous month. I heard the wails of a 1980's hair band and smiled a little wider. He had great taste in music.
“Even over the music, I heard what went on out there,” He said loudly, before flicking the stereo off and crossing the plush carpet to greet me, his breath warm on my cheek as he pressed a firm kiss to it, my arms already winding around his broad shoulders. “Nice to see you, Victus. It's been a while, hasn't it?”
I snorted softly and gave him a shove as I peeled away, loathe to but trying to make a point.
“A month, which is why I forgot about your soundproofing. Was Marcel finally tired of hearing you fight with Catalina?”
He shook his head and sat back down, the wicker basket-seat rocking gently on its thick, steel chain, the tiny bell attached to its base jingling along with the movement. Jean-Luc crossed one leg over so that his ankle rested on the opposite knee, comfortable in his little swinging cage.
“She's a good dog, but you know how they get when they haven't had a chance to roam for a while. Even yours gets edgy, doesn't she?”
“Minka's with my father now. He wanted some sort of insurance against intruders,” I answered, my voice conversational, though I was upset about the decision. “You know Valernus. He's suspicious of everybody and only trusts me now. If all I need to do to keep him off of my back is loan him my pet, I'll do it. She'll come back to me once he passes anyway.”
The gentle rocking was like a heartbeat in the room, causing me to sink down to my haunches and fall back onto the comfortable pallet-bed Jean-Luc had; its mattress cushy and the linens freshly laundered as usual. I stretched out and laid right onto my back, my eyes catching the barest glimpse at the ceiling before they closed. A smile played across my face and I lifted a hand to swat toward the white tiles above me, a chuckle coming from Jean-Luc.
“You can't hit them from there, Vic.”
I furrowed my eyebrows and tried a little harder, a good five feet from the mark but as childish and demanding as ever. “Maybe the wind from my hand will touch them and make them move.”
By 'them', I referred to the glittering little stars Jean-Luc had hanging from his ceiling. The expensive little things had been bought for him during one of his father's trips back into the deepest parts of Europe; each one hand-made and decorated differently. They had been hung from the painted brass tiles when he was only a child and they had remained throughout his lengthy life, not a single one breaking or even falling from their heavenly perches. I would normally have swatted at one while I was standing, but it was so much more entertaining to see them dangling over my head and trying for them while reclined.
“Keep trying, my little prince. You'll never strike them that way.”
I frowned a little more deeply and he chuckled again, ignored by my frustrated mind. “Stop calling me that.”
“But you are a little prince, aren't you?,” he started, the bell's jingling indicating that he had gotten up from his seat, his heavy footfalls muffled by the carpeting.
I felt the bed dip and Jean-Luc's large body fell over me, held up by his arms on either side of my head. I kept my eyes closed until I felt his lips upon my own, my arms immediately moving to wind back around his shoulders, pulling him down with a desperation that had him laughing against me. I laughed right back and gave him another shove, though with gravity against me and his superior size, it was a useless endeavor.
“Get up, Luc. You're going to crush me.”
“Like hell. The last thing I need is a prince's blood on my hands.”
I swatted at him with one of the pillows that covered the end of the bed, its awkward shape throwing itself out of my hand and striking one of the stars just above the pallet, my squeak of triumph blocked out by his cry of shock as the glistening little shape bounced off of its steel clip and fell toward the floor. The pillow landed with a thump and the star fell atop it, bouncing off and landing on the carpeting beside it, not breaking or cracking but certainly drawing a black mark against me on Jean-Luc's 'list'.
“Goddammit, Vic! If it had broken, you would be a dead prince!”
He knelt down on the cream-coloured pile and scooped the sharp object up, turning it around and noticing no damage at all, much to my relief. He held it lovingly by the little clip and scooted his ottoman over to stand on, hooking the star back onto his ring after giving it a tiny kiss. I would have remarked on the sentimental moment but I was still a little worried about a serious reprimand.
“Am I in trouble now?” I wasn't really afraid, more curious if anything. “Am I going to get a spanking-”
“Victus,” Marcel's deep voice broke my excited thought and I sat back up from my spur of the moment splay, not wanting my backside exposed to the other twin.
“Hm?”
“Your patriarch called for you. He'd like you back as soon as possible.”
“Did he say-” I started, barely making the sentence even piece together before Marcel cut me off for a second time.
“He demanded that you return. I only softened the blow for you by telling him that you were with my brother. He knows how close you are.”
I nodded and got to my feet, heading to the door to follow him out, turning back to see that Jean-Luc had already ducked himself back into the hanging basket, the remote control for the stereo back in his hand. He lifted his gaze before I closed the door behind me, giving me a little wink. I returned it and closed the heavy object with a light click, hearing a deadbolt throw behind it.
Jean-Luc always did love his privacy, especially after a shock like almost losing one of his stars to a tyrannical little prince's tantrum.
Comments and stuff aren't exactly necessary, but if any of you do happen to read it, feel free to do whatever you like.