Wednesday morning (Fandom Time), Dhemlan Kaeleer, SaDiablo Hall
The landing web beckoned Karla, and she launched herself out of the Winds down to the brightly glowing Jewels below. Landing neatly, she took a moment just to inhale. It smelled of Kaeleer; of strong, dark psychic scents tempered with kindness and the need to protect. Of plants and herbs that only grew here. Of wildlife and water and, most importantly, of Witch.
"Lady Karla, it is a pleasure to see you again."
"Beale!" Karla grinned, running up to the doorway of the Hall. The Red-Jeweled Warlord gave her a warm smile of welcome--more emotion than the impassive butler usually allowed--at least until he caught a hint of her psychic scent. Then, without warning, he reached down, scooped her in his arms, and began carrying her toward the High Lord's study.
Karla was a little annoyed and a little embarrassed that he was carrying her and also a little flattered that he hadn't called one of the footmen to do it. Though from the way Holt had gone by them to shut the door, some kind of message had been sent on a spear thread. Males, she thought fondly.
Uncle Saetan was sitting behind his great blackwood desk when she was deposited in his office. Beale carefully placed her on the small couch in the study, then draped a small lapblanket over her, adding a warming spell to it. He left the room for a moment, then returned with yet another, larger blanket--also with a warming spell--and several pillows. Moments after him, in came his wife, the impressively huge Mrs. Beale, with a tray of soup, nutcakes, and a big pot of tea. Karla got a look that effectively communicated: Eat that. Or else. From the way the High Lord quailed a bit behind his desk, Karla assumed he'd been on the receiving end of a similar glare: Make her eat that. Or else.
No one around here argued with Mrs. Beale. If someone tried to point out to Saetan that, as owner of the Hall and Warlord Prince of the Territory, he outranked her and certainly shouldn't have to do a servant's bidding, he would simply suggest that individual walk down to the kitchen and explain that fact to Mrs. Beale. And then he'd sit back to watch the explosion.
Sometimes, Saetan had a wicked sense of humor.
Once the study door had closed behind the Beales, Saetan took off his half-moon spectacles, vanished them, and came around the desk. "Karla," he said, "since I know you share Jaenelle's love of fussing, what exactly has happened to get you fussed over so completely only three steps into the Hall? By my butler no less?"
She untangled herself from the blankets, gently moved the tray out of her way, and stood. Saetan's eyes flickered over her body, noticing her weight loss, and his stance shifted to something far more predatory. Karla thanked the Darkness and every deity she'd heard of in Fandom that it wasn't the other-her standing before him. When he caught her psychic scent, something in his eyes froze. "Tell me about this school I sent you to," he said in a silky croon. "Explain to me why they aren't feeding you. What happened to add this new fragility. Where the headmistress was when this was being done to you." They weren't actually questions, they were demands. Her sweet Uncle Saetan was rising to the killing edge.
Karla was nervous, but didn't let that show in her psychic scent. Anything could be a spark in a situation like this. She wasn't afraid exactly; the explanation for the shift in temper was simple enough: somehow Karla had been harmed while under his protection and he was taking it personally. You couldn't blame a Warlord Prince for his nature anymore than you could blame a Black Widow or a Healer for hers. And this was the reason Protocol was invented. "I w-will, Uncle Saetan," she promised, stressing his name, "but I'm awfully tired. And cold. Will you help me?"
Instantly, Saetan was by her side, easing her back to the couch, arranging pillows, strengthening the warming spells that hadn't had time to fade. Asking a Blood male for help was the easiest way to redirect them towards service and away from the killing edge. "There, darling," he said when she was properly cocooned in blankets, a mug of tea in one hand and a nutcake in the other. He skimmed a hand along her cheek. "Feel better?"
Karla nodded shyly. "Thank you, Uncle Saetan," she said, taking a bite of nutcake. He pulled over a footstool and sat down in front of her. "It's no one's fault," she explained, gesturing carefully towards herself so she didn't spill her tea. "There was a spell and I got caught up in it. My body slept for three days while my mind was elsewhere."
"In the Twisted Kingdom?" Saetan asked.
Karla shook her head quickly. "No. In the body of a different me. It's very hard to explain. But her Fandom was under attack. A spell was cast to find help. It trapped the minds of a lot of students, causing our bodies to sleep and our minds to awaken in their world. The next few days were...rough." She looked up into his golden eyes. "It was a battlefield. Some of my friends died. I killed. It wasn't a pretty few days."
Saetan sat back, rubbing his temples. "May the Darkness be merciful, Karla. I'm so sorry. I'd heard that the school was safe. That you'd be safe. I never should have sent you." He stood and began pacing, raising an expectant eyebrow at her until she took another swallow of tea. "I'll write a letter, send it to the headmistress, explain you won't be going back to that place. Morton can fetch your things. The coven and the boyos are staying through the summer. I see no reason not to keep you for that long and beyond it. If those fools on the Dark Council want to challenge me over it, well, let them. If they think your uncle is a better guardian than I then they deserve to see some of Hell's more remarkable landscapes, don't they." He was growling again, but there was heat behind it, no cold.
Part of Karla thrilled to that. Staying in Dhemlan, staying with Jaenelle. She could keep learning Craft, become a fully fledged Black Widow and Healer, live with people who understood her and behaved in ways she could expect and understand herself. But part of her sorrowed at the thought of never seeing her friends again. "Let's talk about that later," she said softly.
"Eat your soup," was his reply.
"I'm not--"
"Eat your soup. Or I'll tell Helene what happened to the wall upstairs."
Karla began to eat, muttering uncomplimentary things about pushy males under her breath. "Tell me about the Dark Council," she said.
"Not while you're eating," Saetan countered.
Karla gave him a bland look and put down the spoon. And waited.
Saetan glared for a moment, but relented. "Members of the Dark Council are coming to see how Jaenelle and I live. Since they granted me Jaenelle's legal guardianship, it is their right to do so."
"But?" Karla asked darkly.
Saetan paused. He was reluctant to burden her with this information, she could tell. "But?" she asked again. She was a Black Widow Healer Queen. And this was Jaenelle. He'd tell her, though he'd feel badly for it. But everything had a price and he knew it. Karla would pay this one to keep Jaenelle safe. And Saetan would pay in guilt. It wasn't even a questions. She simply continued to look up at him with patient eyes.
"Reading between the lines of the missive, noting their strident insistence, they're coming to pass judgment on me. They don't care what kind of guardian I am. They've decided I am unfit and Jaenelle will be taken away."
"A power play," Karla said, voice poisonously sweet. "It's exactly as I assumed then. Gutter sons of whores." She took another sip of her tea to keep from saying anything else. "I'm here to keep Jaenelle from doing anything precipitous? And to stop her from keeping you from doing anything precipitous?"
"Exactly. Fortunately, she won't question why you're here, looking like that."
Karla picked up the spoon again. "How kind of you to say so," she said wryly. "Where is Jaenelle anyway?"
"She and the coven are off visiting Prince Kaetien. I expect them back for lun--"
The doors to the study slammed open and a wave of pure power rolled into the room, like a cold mist, one that concealed lightning in its depths. "What happened to my Sister?" Jaenelle's maelvolent midnight voice echoed through the Hall. She almost floated in the room, sapphire eyes skimmed with ice. Karla marveled a bit at her. So much dark power. So much strength. "High Lord. I am waiting for an answer."
"Lady," Saetan stood and bowed, reverting instantly to Protocol. "Karla is here and safe. Eating." He nodded towards her couch, directing Witch's eyes to her. "She is fine, Lady. Just needs a few days of rest and food is all."
"What happened?" Witch demanded. "Karla?"
"I will tell you everything, Lady," Karla said quietly. "I swear. But...later?"
Witch contemplated Karla for a moment, considering the offer. "You are well?"
"I am recovering," Karla answered, choosing honesty over glibness.
Witch nodded once. "Later," she agreed. It carried the force of command. And then it was Jaenelle standing in front of Karla, bending down to give her a fierce hug. "I'm glad to see you."
Karla hugged her back. "I'm glad to be home," she said. "I've missed you. And Morghann and Morton and Aaron and Khary--well, maybe not Khary."
Jaenelle chuckled, the silvery velvet-coated laugh that always sounded like music. "Finish your soup," she said. "Papa won't let me kidnap you till you're done. He's got that 'grumpy-belly' face he always wears when he's being stern."
Karla's laugh almost drowned out Saetan's protest. "I do not!"
"Yes, you do, Papa," Jaenelle said with a grin. She skipped over and bussed his cheek. "I love you anyway." She sat down on the stool Saetan had vacated, clasped her knees, and watched Karla eat with the contained excitement of a kitten. "Hurry," she urged. "I have a surprise for you."
"What?" Karla asked, grinning. "Tell! Tell!"
"I'm going to teach you to fly," Jaenelle promised with shining eyes.
[Establishy. NFI, NFB, OOC is love]
"Lady Karla, it is a pleasure to see you again."
"Beale!" Karla grinned, running up to the doorway of the Hall. The Red-Jeweled Warlord gave her a warm smile of welcome--more emotion than the impassive butler usually allowed--at least until he caught a hint of her psychic scent. Then, without warning, he reached down, scooped her in his arms, and began carrying her toward the High Lord's study.
Karla was a little annoyed and a little embarrassed that he was carrying her and also a little flattered that he hadn't called one of the footmen to do it. Though from the way Holt had gone by them to shut the door, some kind of message had been sent on a spear thread. Males, she thought fondly.
Uncle Saetan was sitting behind his great blackwood desk when she was deposited in his office. Beale carefully placed her on the small couch in the study, then draped a small lapblanket over her, adding a warming spell to it. He left the room for a moment, then returned with yet another, larger blanket--also with a warming spell--and several pillows. Moments after him, in came his wife, the impressively huge Mrs. Beale, with a tray of soup, nutcakes, and a big pot of tea. Karla got a look that effectively communicated: Eat that. Or else. From the way the High Lord quailed a bit behind his desk, Karla assumed he'd been on the receiving end of a similar glare: Make her eat that. Or else.
No one around here argued with Mrs. Beale. If someone tried to point out to Saetan that, as owner of the Hall and Warlord Prince of the Territory, he outranked her and certainly shouldn't have to do a servant's bidding, he would simply suggest that individual walk down to the kitchen and explain that fact to Mrs. Beale. And then he'd sit back to watch the explosion.
Sometimes, Saetan had a wicked sense of humor.
Once the study door had closed behind the Beales, Saetan took off his half-moon spectacles, vanished them, and came around the desk. "Karla," he said, "since I know you share Jaenelle's love of fussing, what exactly has happened to get you fussed over so completely only three steps into the Hall? By my butler no less?"
She untangled herself from the blankets, gently moved the tray out of her way, and stood. Saetan's eyes flickered over her body, noticing her weight loss, and his stance shifted to something far more predatory. Karla thanked the Darkness and every deity she'd heard of in Fandom that it wasn't the other-her standing before him. When he caught her psychic scent, something in his eyes froze. "Tell me about this school I sent you to," he said in a silky croon. "Explain to me why they aren't feeding you. What happened to add this new fragility. Where the headmistress was when this was being done to you." They weren't actually questions, they were demands. Her sweet Uncle Saetan was rising to the killing edge.
Karla was nervous, but didn't let that show in her psychic scent. Anything could be a spark in a situation like this. She wasn't afraid exactly; the explanation for the shift in temper was simple enough: somehow Karla had been harmed while under his protection and he was taking it personally. You couldn't blame a Warlord Prince for his nature anymore than you could blame a Black Widow or a Healer for hers. And this was the reason Protocol was invented. "I w-will, Uncle Saetan," she promised, stressing his name, "but I'm awfully tired. And cold. Will you help me?"
Instantly, Saetan was by her side, easing her back to the couch, arranging pillows, strengthening the warming spells that hadn't had time to fade. Asking a Blood male for help was the easiest way to redirect them towards service and away from the killing edge. "There, darling," he said when she was properly cocooned in blankets, a mug of tea in one hand and a nutcake in the other. He skimmed a hand along her cheek. "Feel better?"
Karla nodded shyly. "Thank you, Uncle Saetan," she said, taking a bite of nutcake. He pulled over a footstool and sat down in front of her. "It's no one's fault," she explained, gesturing carefully towards herself so she didn't spill her tea. "There was a spell and I got caught up in it. My body slept for three days while my mind was elsewhere."
"In the Twisted Kingdom?" Saetan asked.
Karla shook her head quickly. "No. In the body of a different me. It's very hard to explain. But her Fandom was under attack. A spell was cast to find help. It trapped the minds of a lot of students, causing our bodies to sleep and our minds to awaken in their world. The next few days were...rough." She looked up into his golden eyes. "It was a battlefield. Some of my friends died. I killed. It wasn't a pretty few days."
Saetan sat back, rubbing his temples. "May the Darkness be merciful, Karla. I'm so sorry. I'd heard that the school was safe. That you'd be safe. I never should have sent you." He stood and began pacing, raising an expectant eyebrow at her until she took another swallow of tea. "I'll write a letter, send it to the headmistress, explain you won't be going back to that place. Morton can fetch your things. The coven and the boyos are staying through the summer. I see no reason not to keep you for that long and beyond it. If those fools on the Dark Council want to challenge me over it, well, let them. If they think your uncle is a better guardian than I then they deserve to see some of Hell's more remarkable landscapes, don't they." He was growling again, but there was heat behind it, no cold.
Part of Karla thrilled to that. Staying in Dhemlan, staying with Jaenelle. She could keep learning Craft, become a fully fledged Black Widow and Healer, live with people who understood her and behaved in ways she could expect and understand herself. But part of her sorrowed at the thought of never seeing her friends again. "Let's talk about that later," she said softly.
"Eat your soup," was his reply.
"I'm not--"
"Eat your soup. Or I'll tell Helene what happened to the wall upstairs."
Karla began to eat, muttering uncomplimentary things about pushy males under her breath. "Tell me about the Dark Council," she said.
"Not while you're eating," Saetan countered.
Karla gave him a bland look and put down the spoon. And waited.
Saetan glared for a moment, but relented. "Members of the Dark Council are coming to see how Jaenelle and I live. Since they granted me Jaenelle's legal guardianship, it is their right to do so."
"But?" Karla asked darkly.
Saetan paused. He was reluctant to burden her with this information, she could tell. "But?" she asked again. She was a Black Widow Healer Queen. And this was Jaenelle. He'd tell her, though he'd feel badly for it. But everything had a price and he knew it. Karla would pay this one to keep Jaenelle safe. And Saetan would pay in guilt. It wasn't even a questions. She simply continued to look up at him with patient eyes.
"Reading between the lines of the missive, noting their strident insistence, they're coming to pass judgment on me. They don't care what kind of guardian I am. They've decided I am unfit and Jaenelle will be taken away."
"A power play," Karla said, voice poisonously sweet. "It's exactly as I assumed then. Gutter sons of whores." She took another sip of her tea to keep from saying anything else. "I'm here to keep Jaenelle from doing anything precipitous? And to stop her from keeping you from doing anything precipitous?"
"Exactly. Fortunately, she won't question why you're here, looking like that."
Karla picked up the spoon again. "How kind of you to say so," she said wryly. "Where is Jaenelle anyway?"
"She and the coven are off visiting Prince Kaetien. I expect them back for lun--"
The doors to the study slammed open and a wave of pure power rolled into the room, like a cold mist, one that concealed lightning in its depths. "What happened to my Sister?" Jaenelle's maelvolent midnight voice echoed through the Hall. She almost floated in the room, sapphire eyes skimmed with ice. Karla marveled a bit at her. So much dark power. So much strength. "High Lord. I am waiting for an answer."
"Lady," Saetan stood and bowed, reverting instantly to Protocol. "Karla is here and safe. Eating." He nodded towards her couch, directing Witch's eyes to her. "She is fine, Lady. Just needs a few days of rest and food is all."
"What happened?" Witch demanded. "Karla?"
"I will tell you everything, Lady," Karla said quietly. "I swear. But...later?"
Witch contemplated Karla for a moment, considering the offer. "You are well?"
"I am recovering," Karla answered, choosing honesty over glibness.
Witch nodded once. "Later," she agreed. It carried the force of command. And then it was Jaenelle standing in front of Karla, bending down to give her a fierce hug. "I'm glad to see you."
Karla hugged her back. "I'm glad to be home," she said. "I've missed you. And Morghann and Morton and Aaron and Khary--well, maybe not Khary."
Jaenelle chuckled, the silvery velvet-coated laugh that always sounded like music. "Finish your soup," she said. "Papa won't let me kidnap you till you're done. He's got that 'grumpy-belly' face he always wears when he's being stern."
Karla's laugh almost drowned out Saetan's protest. "I do not!"
"Yes, you do, Papa," Jaenelle said with a grin. She skipped over and bussed his cheek. "I love you anyway." She sat down on the stool Saetan had vacated, clasped her knees, and watched Karla eat with the contained excitement of a kitten. "Hurry," she urged. "I have a surprise for you."
"What?" Karla asked, grinning. "Tell! Tell!"
"I'm going to teach you to fly," Jaenelle promised with shining eyes.
[Establishy. NFI, NFB, OOC is love]