December posting 4: Set Up, HL timestamp
Yup, yet another unfinished story -- one I'm working on for 
killabeez , this time. I think I know how it ends and yes, it will be finished; I just don't know when. I have yet to figure out what trouble Connor's having. That said, feel free to comment, ask questions, speculate, etc. It's the most likely thing to prod this along!
TL;DR? Have a WIP/Amnesty fic. Enjoy! (At the AO3 here.)
Set Up
After three straight weeks of a blackberry winter in Portland, Matthew McCormick settled against an empty stretch of wall to soak up the sun. His stomach was full of a ridiculously good lunch from Mother's Bistro, he could still taste the last cup of coffee, which had been respectable even by Portland standards, and a golden afternoon was pouring blessed warmth over him. He only realized how tight his shoulders had been as they started to relax.
Corwin settled in on his left, oddly quiet now as he hadn't been for the better part of the last eighteen hours. Matthew took that as tacit agreement to stay there for a little while. He wasn't actually sure how long they'd been there when Cory finally murmured, "Matthew. We’ve got a table being seated to your right. We need to move along."
Matthew sighed and opened his eyes. When he nodded an apology to the waitress, she just gave them a grin and told them to come back again anytime. Cory winked at her and guided Matthew out onto the streets. Matthew raised an eyebrow when his first student kept them walking away from the nearby park Matthew had been angling toward. "Are we going somewhere, Corwin?"
Cory checked his watch. "Yes. Our appointments are at 2:00."
Matthew glanced at his watch. "Seventeen 'til. So long as it's within a mile or so, we're fine."
"Half a mile, maybe, but there's routine paperwork." Cory rolled his eyes and added in Norman French, "Not that we need it, we're not going to have anything to tell them, but health regulations. What can you do?"
Matthew eyed him and switched languages with him, happy enough to slide into one of his mother tongues. "Reservations with health regulations? And reservations for lunch. What are you up to?"
"I missed your birthday," Cory said lightly, staying on Matthew's left and just inside his field of vision.
"You've missed the last few," Matthew pointed out. "And you had two years' worth to pick up from me this time, for that matter." He smiled. "Hardly unusual with us." Warmth was soaking through the worn denim of his jeans, a nice change from days in wool slacks, and while he was used to dress shoes and boots, he did enjoy getting to wear tennis shoes for a while. Memories of playing tennis in very different shoes crossed his mind and Matthew dragged himself back to Portland's early summer a block later with an effort that surprised him.
Cory glanced over while they waited for the light to change. "What were you grinning about?"
"Playing tennis in Paris," Matthew said, not specifying the year.
Cory's attention diverted momentarily to a deliberately androgynous Asian youth who'd striped dark cobalt into their hair. He was still grinning when turned his attention back to Matthew. "Yeah, you wrote me about that. Well, you left journals with Darius for me. Same thing. How much money did you lose before you admitted your return isn't as consistent as your serve?"
Matthew didn't even try to look annoyed; he was too busy laughing. "Why in hell weren't you in Paris to tell me that at the time?"
"Because Darius had suckered me into charity work in Salzburg." Cory snorted in disbelief. "Why in hell didn't you ever tell me there was no winning with that man?"
Matthew smiled. "Some lessons have to be learned through experience. You know that. Besides. After that many years, I'd thought you'd have learned sooner." Cory turned left, heading for a three-story building with signs for Wonderland Books, Tap and Tamp, and Release the Day Spa; the bookstore was on the second floor, but Cory kept heading up the stairs to third. "A reservation, hmm? Not for a wine tasting, I assume?"
Cory shrugged and started climbing. "That's not for four hours. Last I checked, you liked a good massage. I sure as hell do."
"We are absolutely not dating, Corwin," Matthew said dryly -- and laughed again at the horrified look that drew. He also stopped in the stairwell; some answers were in order. "If that's not it, what are you up to?"
"Returning some favors," Cory said. "Sweet Christ, Matthew, of course we're not dating. We'd kill each other for real. You know that, too! What the hell brought that on?"
"Let's see," Matthew said dryly. "You showed up last night with take-out, harassed me until I called in sick today, turned off my alarm, and took me to one of my favorite restaurants in town when we finally did get up. Now you're getting us massages and, apparently, wine." By the end of the list, Cory was laughing. "I see you take my point? Although I'm glad to hear we're in agreement."
"I swear, if this is what spoiling you gets me, you'll be lucky if I ever do it again." Cory shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, grinning madly. "Bitch, bitch, bitch, Matthew. You missed the part where I put clothes out for you that weren't a suit, made damn sure there was no tie on the pile, and hauled out the shoes that do have traction and don't weight five pounds. I like hiking boots, too, but get real. Come on. We're going to be late."
Matthew was frowning by the end of the list. "Corwin. What's going on?"
Cory sighed and wrapped an arm around his teacher's shoulder, trying to tug him into motion. "Now you ask, Matthew? You couldn't do it over lunch when we had time for this?"
Matthew held his position, not least because Cory keeping to a timetable usually involved a crime of some type. "I tried. You dodged."
"If you say so. Too late now, though. Come on. You can ask me again later." Cory gave him an unexpectedly stern look. "I swear, if you don't get your ass in gear to this, I have Ceirdwyn's number on speed-dial and never mind that it's 10 PM in Cambridge and she has an early lecture tomorrow."
Matthew stared at him. "Christ and all his saints. You're plotting something?"
"And you only just noticed? Move, Matthew. Paperwork, massage, get your neck unstrung."
Cory hauled him up the last half-flight of stairs and Matthew allowed it, still wondering what the hell he'd missed that had set his oldest student off. He had an all too familiar suspicion that if he didn't figure out this plan and get ahead of Corwin, he was going to get run over. Again.
# # #
A flute and saxophone duet filled the air as unobtrusively as the fir and cypress scent. Almost-abstract watercolors of meadows and glens stood out here and there on walls the green of fresh bamboo shoots. For that matter, the rug was pleasantly thick under bare feet and it was a shade of slate blue that managed to be calming while probably relatively impervious to oil stains.
Matthew finished shedding his clothes onto the available chair and sprawled onto a massage table which turned out to be heated. He sagged into the warmth, trying not to make noises he'd never live down. "One way to start the process."
Cory laughed at him and finished settling his jacket on top of his own chair full of shoes and clothes. He also pulled the sheet up over Matthew before sprawling on his own table. For the gift of not having to move, Matthew would forgive him the impending comments.
Cory groaned in contentment, a sound Matthew was more used to hearing over glasses of good alcohol. "Oh, yeah. This was a really good idea."
Matthew ignored the implicit 'told you so' and agreed with the rest. "Heated tables? I approve alread--" He bit the word off as immortal presence slid under his skin, jarring nerves that had been relaxing and making his hands flex in search of weapons that were a few feet away.
"It's fine, Matthew." Cory was up on one elbow already, but he was facing Matthew instead of the door. He shifted to rapid Iceni, the use of that language an old code between them that no coercion had been applied. "The place is owned by a friend of mine. He's no enemy of yours, either. I asked."
"No name? Worried I won't agree?" Matthew watched him narrowly, but Cory flopped back down on his table and Matthew let himself slump down again, too. The day'd been too pleasant so far to give up on yet. If he had to shift gears, he'd be angry enough to add enough edge to his fighting to compensate for the lost second or two.
Cory snorted and flopped back down. "No. Worried I'll annoy him. I don't know his current name."
The presence faded and returned, as if the man were making rounds. If he worked here as well as owned the place he might well be. Or he might be keeping an eye on the area for them as a favor to Cory, come to that.
Someone tapped on the door and Vincente, one of their assigned masseurs, called, "Ready?"
Matthew growled a profanity at his student but didn't argue when Cory called, "Yeah, come on in."
Matthew just muttered in Iceni, "You remember to get both of us booked into the same room and don't remember to tell me about the stranger ahead of time?"
Cory grinned over at him and shifted back to Norman. "You distracted me. Dating you? Like hell, Matthew."
Vincente and Karri didn't ask what they were discussing, just waited for a lull to ask, "Any preferences on who works on who?"
"Your pick," Cory said before Matthew could. "But I can guarantee his neck and shoulders are a mess. He's been working too much again."
Vincente nodded and smiled. "That's not unusual around here. Right." He came over and asked Matthew, "How much pressure do you like? And how deep do you want me to go?"
Matthew sighed. "Corwin? We'll discuss this later, I assure you. And do what you think you need to, sir. If it starts to hurt, I'll tell you. Will that suit?"
Vincente gave him a thoughtful look, then nodded. "It will. Just tell me promptly, please. The point is to have you leave feeling better." He oiled his hands and started checking Matthew's shoulders. "I'm afraid he's right; you're pretty knotted up. Fortunately, I've got an hour and a half to work on that."
Matthew wasn't going to argue with a professional and definitely not with one who was already digging into sore spots he hadn't known he had. Within a few knots, he wasn't paying attention to much besides his own breathing and the hands digging into his shoulders and peeling muscle back off bone much more gently than he'd have thought possible.
He even got used to that steady presence rising and falling around them but never quite moving out of range, as if whoever it was didn't want to jolt them in the middle of this healing. The consideration in that made Matthew hope whoever it was had owed Cory the favor rather than Cory now being in debt for this.
The tone of Cory's voice didn't sound worried; when Matthew finally paid attention, Cory and Karri were discussing yoga and some local bands. Matthew had no idea how those two meshed, but he wasn't worried, either.
He also quit worrying about the immortal somewhere in the building. Whoever it was, he probably was on watch from the feel of it. If not, he wasn't likely to destroy his own business with a challenge.
And Cory was between Matthew and the door.
A surprising number of immortals couldn't seem to take Cory seriously, simply because he didn't carry a sword. He did, however, carry paired daggers sharp enough and strong enough to go through reinforced leather, and he had more than enough muscle and skill to use them. Several fools had ended up both damned as well as decapitated -- frequently with their own blades.
Vincente wasn't quite laughing when he finally asked, "Are you awake down there?"
Matthew did laugh. "If I'm not, it's a testament to your skills?"
"Thank you, then. Take your time getting dressed. We'll be out front with water for you both. You'll want to push fluids today. I unlocked quite a few knots." He retreated out the door before Matthew had even finished stretching.
Commentary & Miscellanea:
Blackberry winter is a stretch of cold weather that's lingered or reappeared in spring. One last burst of chill.
Author's note: This is a time-stamp of Killa's Waylaid, with her kind permission. And while Duncan married Kate in that world… we're gonna veer back as close to series continuity as possible. Or, as a friend's icon succinctly put it: Does Connor look like a man who'd spend 10 years in 'Sanctuary'?
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW
Given the new LJ 'design' decisions, please comment on DW if you can.
killabeez , this time. I think I know how it ends and yes, it will be finished; I just don't know when. I have yet to figure out what trouble Connor's having. That said, feel free to comment, ask questions, speculate, etc. It's the most likely thing to prod this along!
TL;DR? Have a WIP/Amnesty fic. Enjoy! (At the AO3 here.)
Set Up
After three straight weeks of a blackberry winter in Portland, Matthew McCormick settled against an empty stretch of wall to soak up the sun. His stomach was full of a ridiculously good lunch from Mother's Bistro, he could still taste the last cup of coffee, which had been respectable even by Portland standards, and a golden afternoon was pouring blessed warmth over him. He only realized how tight his shoulders had been as they started to relax.
Corwin settled in on his left, oddly quiet now as he hadn't been for the better part of the last eighteen hours. Matthew took that as tacit agreement to stay there for a little while. He wasn't actually sure how long they'd been there when Cory finally murmured, "Matthew. We’ve got a table being seated to your right. We need to move along."
Matthew sighed and opened his eyes. When he nodded an apology to the waitress, she just gave them a grin and told them to come back again anytime. Cory winked at her and guided Matthew out onto the streets. Matthew raised an eyebrow when his first student kept them walking away from the nearby park Matthew had been angling toward. "Are we going somewhere, Corwin?"
Cory checked his watch. "Yes. Our appointments are at 2:00."
Matthew glanced at his watch. "Seventeen 'til. So long as it's within a mile or so, we're fine."
"Half a mile, maybe, but there's routine paperwork." Cory rolled his eyes and added in Norman French, "Not that we need it, we're not going to have anything to tell them, but health regulations. What can you do?"
Matthew eyed him and switched languages with him, happy enough to slide into one of his mother tongues. "Reservations with health regulations? And reservations for lunch. What are you up to?"
"I missed your birthday," Cory said lightly, staying on Matthew's left and just inside his field of vision.
"You've missed the last few," Matthew pointed out. "And you had two years' worth to pick up from me this time, for that matter." He smiled. "Hardly unusual with us." Warmth was soaking through the worn denim of his jeans, a nice change from days in wool slacks, and while he was used to dress shoes and boots, he did enjoy getting to wear tennis shoes for a while. Memories of playing tennis in very different shoes crossed his mind and Matthew dragged himself back to Portland's early summer a block later with an effort that surprised him.
Cory glanced over while they waited for the light to change. "What were you grinning about?"
"Playing tennis in Paris," Matthew said, not specifying the year.
Cory's attention diverted momentarily to a deliberately androgynous Asian youth who'd striped dark cobalt into their hair. He was still grinning when turned his attention back to Matthew. "Yeah, you wrote me about that. Well, you left journals with Darius for me. Same thing. How much money did you lose before you admitted your return isn't as consistent as your serve?"
Matthew didn't even try to look annoyed; he was too busy laughing. "Why in hell weren't you in Paris to tell me that at the time?"
"Because Darius had suckered me into charity work in Salzburg." Cory snorted in disbelief. "Why in hell didn't you ever tell me there was no winning with that man?"
Matthew smiled. "Some lessons have to be learned through experience. You know that. Besides. After that many years, I'd thought you'd have learned sooner." Cory turned left, heading for a three-story building with signs for Wonderland Books, Tap and Tamp, and Release the Day Spa; the bookstore was on the second floor, but Cory kept heading up the stairs to third. "A reservation, hmm? Not for a wine tasting, I assume?"
Cory shrugged and started climbing. "That's not for four hours. Last I checked, you liked a good massage. I sure as hell do."
"We are absolutely not dating, Corwin," Matthew said dryly -- and laughed again at the horrified look that drew. He also stopped in the stairwell; some answers were in order. "If that's not it, what are you up to?"
"Returning some favors," Cory said. "Sweet Christ, Matthew, of course we're not dating. We'd kill each other for real. You know that, too! What the hell brought that on?"
"Let's see," Matthew said dryly. "You showed up last night with take-out, harassed me until I called in sick today, turned off my alarm, and took me to one of my favorite restaurants in town when we finally did get up. Now you're getting us massages and, apparently, wine." By the end of the list, Cory was laughing. "I see you take my point? Although I'm glad to hear we're in agreement."
"I swear, if this is what spoiling you gets me, you'll be lucky if I ever do it again." Cory shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, grinning madly. "Bitch, bitch, bitch, Matthew. You missed the part where I put clothes out for you that weren't a suit, made damn sure there was no tie on the pile, and hauled out the shoes that do have traction and don't weight five pounds. I like hiking boots, too, but get real. Come on. We're going to be late."
Matthew was frowning by the end of the list. "Corwin. What's going on?"
Cory sighed and wrapped an arm around his teacher's shoulder, trying to tug him into motion. "Now you ask, Matthew? You couldn't do it over lunch when we had time for this?"
Matthew held his position, not least because Cory keeping to a timetable usually involved a crime of some type. "I tried. You dodged."
"If you say so. Too late now, though. Come on. You can ask me again later." Cory gave him an unexpectedly stern look. "I swear, if you don't get your ass in gear to this, I have Ceirdwyn's number on speed-dial and never mind that it's 10 PM in Cambridge and she has an early lecture tomorrow."
Matthew stared at him. "Christ and all his saints. You're plotting something?"
"And you only just noticed? Move, Matthew. Paperwork, massage, get your neck unstrung."
Cory hauled him up the last half-flight of stairs and Matthew allowed it, still wondering what the hell he'd missed that had set his oldest student off. He had an all too familiar suspicion that if he didn't figure out this plan and get ahead of Corwin, he was going to get run over. Again.
# # #
A flute and saxophone duet filled the air as unobtrusively as the fir and cypress scent. Almost-abstract watercolors of meadows and glens stood out here and there on walls the green of fresh bamboo shoots. For that matter, the rug was pleasantly thick under bare feet and it was a shade of slate blue that managed to be calming while probably relatively impervious to oil stains.
Matthew finished shedding his clothes onto the available chair and sprawled onto a massage table which turned out to be heated. He sagged into the warmth, trying not to make noises he'd never live down. "One way to start the process."
Cory laughed at him and finished settling his jacket on top of his own chair full of shoes and clothes. He also pulled the sheet up over Matthew before sprawling on his own table. For the gift of not having to move, Matthew would forgive him the impending comments.
Cory groaned in contentment, a sound Matthew was more used to hearing over glasses of good alcohol. "Oh, yeah. This was a really good idea."
Matthew ignored the implicit 'told you so' and agreed with the rest. "Heated tables? I approve alread--" He bit the word off as immortal presence slid under his skin, jarring nerves that had been relaxing and making his hands flex in search of weapons that were a few feet away.
"It's fine, Matthew." Cory was up on one elbow already, but he was facing Matthew instead of the door. He shifted to rapid Iceni, the use of that language an old code between them that no coercion had been applied. "The place is owned by a friend of mine. He's no enemy of yours, either. I asked."
"No name? Worried I won't agree?" Matthew watched him narrowly, but Cory flopped back down on his table and Matthew let himself slump down again, too. The day'd been too pleasant so far to give up on yet. If he had to shift gears, he'd be angry enough to add enough edge to his fighting to compensate for the lost second or two.
Cory snorted and flopped back down. "No. Worried I'll annoy him. I don't know his current name."
The presence faded and returned, as if the man were making rounds. If he worked here as well as owned the place he might well be. Or he might be keeping an eye on the area for them as a favor to Cory, come to that.
Someone tapped on the door and Vincente, one of their assigned masseurs, called, "Ready?"
Matthew growled a profanity at his student but didn't argue when Cory called, "Yeah, come on in."
Matthew just muttered in Iceni, "You remember to get both of us booked into the same room and don't remember to tell me about the stranger ahead of time?"
Cory grinned over at him and shifted back to Norman. "You distracted me. Dating you? Like hell, Matthew."
Vincente and Karri didn't ask what they were discussing, just waited for a lull to ask, "Any preferences on who works on who?"
"Your pick," Cory said before Matthew could. "But I can guarantee his neck and shoulders are a mess. He's been working too much again."
Vincente nodded and smiled. "That's not unusual around here. Right." He came over and asked Matthew, "How much pressure do you like? And how deep do you want me to go?"
Matthew sighed. "Corwin? We'll discuss this later, I assure you. And do what you think you need to, sir. If it starts to hurt, I'll tell you. Will that suit?"
Vincente gave him a thoughtful look, then nodded. "It will. Just tell me promptly, please. The point is to have you leave feeling better." He oiled his hands and started checking Matthew's shoulders. "I'm afraid he's right; you're pretty knotted up. Fortunately, I've got an hour and a half to work on that."
Matthew wasn't going to argue with a professional and definitely not with one who was already digging into sore spots he hadn't known he had. Within a few knots, he wasn't paying attention to much besides his own breathing and the hands digging into his shoulders and peeling muscle back off bone much more gently than he'd have thought possible.
He even got used to that steady presence rising and falling around them but never quite moving out of range, as if whoever it was didn't want to jolt them in the middle of this healing. The consideration in that made Matthew hope whoever it was had owed Cory the favor rather than Cory now being in debt for this.
The tone of Cory's voice didn't sound worried; when Matthew finally paid attention, Cory and Karri were discussing yoga and some local bands. Matthew had no idea how those two meshed, but he wasn't worried, either.
He also quit worrying about the immortal somewhere in the building. Whoever it was, he probably was on watch from the feel of it. If not, he wasn't likely to destroy his own business with a challenge.
And Cory was between Matthew and the door.
A surprising number of immortals couldn't seem to take Cory seriously, simply because he didn't carry a sword. He did, however, carry paired daggers sharp enough and strong enough to go through reinforced leather, and he had more than enough muscle and skill to use them. Several fools had ended up both damned as well as decapitated -- frequently with their own blades.
Vincente wasn't quite laughing when he finally asked, "Are you awake down there?"
Matthew did laugh. "If I'm not, it's a testament to your skills?"
"Thank you, then. Take your time getting dressed. We'll be out front with water for you both. You'll want to push fluids today. I unlocked quite a few knots." He retreated out the door before Matthew had even finished stretching.
Commentary & Miscellanea:
Blackberry winter is a stretch of cold weather that's lingered or reappeared in spring. One last burst of chill.
Author's note: This is a time-stamp of Killa's Waylaid, with her kind permission. And while Duncan married Kate in that world… we're gonna veer back as close to series continuity as possible. Or, as a friend's icon succinctly put it: Does Connor look like a man who'd spend 10 years in 'Sanctuary'?
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW
Given the new LJ 'design' decisions, please comment on DW if you can.