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edenfallingUm. So, I may have, two or three days ago, had a completely cracked idea for a story fusing Inception characters into the Anita Blake world. Which I decided not to write, because A) it's crack; B) I have no time; and C) I haven't read any Anita Blake since one or two books after Narcissus in Chains (I seem to have blanked out the titles), which was years ago, and I gave away my copies of the earlier books.
I wrote over a thousand words of it anyway while grocery shopping this afternoon.
*headdesk*
I hate my brain some days. I really, really do.
Anyway, this is the first section, from Ariadne's POV. The story as a whole is set sometime after Circus of the Damned, as marked by references to the Earthmover's visit to St. Louis, but beyond that I am vague like a vague thing. More may appear if I can't stop myself. *hits head again* (1,050 words)
---------------------------------------------
Weregild, part 1
---------------------------------------------
There were times, Ariadne thought sourly, when she was almost sure her life had been better while Nikolaos was still around. Her maker hadn't been anyone's idea of a picnic, but however cruel and capricious she'd been, she hadn't made Ariadne dress up in fetish gear and play hostess at a glorified strip club.
She tugged at the upper edge of her strapless red satin corset and smiled brightly, but close-lipped, at the two men who'd just entered Guilty Pleasures. Autumn rain dappled their coats and slicked-back hair, and they smelled faintly of gunpowder and blood. The taller and visually older was blond, tired, and most probably a lycanthrope of some kind; he had that sense of contained energy and life, though muted. The other man, slim, dark-haired, and controlled, was harder to place. He seemed human, but oddly unfazed by his surroundings, and, of course, he was accompanying a lycanthrope. Maybe a witch, Ariadne decided.
She moved smoothly forward, noting that the blond avoided meeting her eyes. His companion showed no such caution. His eyes were dark and clear, and unreadable.
"Welcome to Guilty Pleasures," Ariadne said, reaching up to slide the dark-haired man's coat from his shoulders. Underneath, he was wearing a three piece suit: light gray trousers and coat, a white shirt with faint blue vertical stripes, and a darker gray waistcoat with some kind of patterning woven into the fabric. It suited him, though it was an odd choice for this location.
"I'm Ariadne. What can I do for you tonight?"
"We're here to see your master," the blond said abruptly. "Council business. We have word on what Fisher and Saito petitioned for last month."
The dark-haired man turned and frowned at his companion. "It won't kill you to be polite now and then, Dom," he said. He glanced back at Ariadne, who had his coat draped over her left arm. "Pleased to meet you, Ariadne. I'm Arthur and this is Dominic Cobb. We have information Jean-Claude may be interested in, but it's not a matter of life and death yet. We're happy to wait while you get in touch with him."
He smiled. He had dimples, Ariadne noted.
"I'll pass word on," she said, and then, because Jean-Claude would know if she neglected the job he'd assigned her, she reached toward Cobb's shoulders. "How can we serve you while you wait?"
Cobb shrugged off his coat and tossed it into her arms before she could touch him. He was much less formally dressed than Arthur -- jeans and a green plaid button-down shirt -- and the shirt was rumpled besides. It was hard to imagine someone so clearly uninterested in presentation knowing anything important about the Council, but Ariadne supposed stranger things had happened.
"We'll be fine with drinks and a table," Arthur said as Cobb pushed open the ante-room door and scowled at the interior of the club.
"We're happy to provide," Ariadne said. "Do you have any holy items to check? No? Then follow me."
She left their coats with the human cloakroom attendant and led the two men through the main room, threading her way neatly between tables and ignoring any covetous or fearful eyes. The current stage act was one of the sillier ones -- a male and female vampire dressed in nothing but feathers acting out a passion play where she turned him and they had elaborately simulated sex when he rose. Ariadne tuned it out with the ease of long practice. Her guests paid similarly little attention, despite the mild mass hypnosis effect someone was exerting from backstage.
Ariadne tucked that observation away for later analysis.
There were several smaller rooms off to the side of the club for guests who wanted more intimate -- or specialized -- attention. Ariadne doubted Arthur and Cobb were interested in a lapdance or a feeding, but she thought they'd appreciate the privacy and soundproofing.
It would also be easier for the staff to keep track of them, but there was no need to advertise that.
"Here you go," Ariadne said, pulling aside a heavy velvet curtain to reveal an oak door with iron braces. She unhooked the small antique key from one of her corset rings and unlocked the room, opening the door with a minor flourish. "I'll send one of the bartenders over to take your order," she said as Cobb pushed past her. She handed the key to Arthur as he followed.
"Thank you, Ariadne," Arthur said, and shut the door.
Ariadne waited until she heard the lock turn from inside. Then she threaded her way back across the main floor to the bar, where she sent one of the human staff to deal with the private room. She ducked backstage and grabbed an unoccupied stripper -- Julian, a vampire twice her age who would never be a master -- and told him to play host until she got back. She crossed his half hour off the night's schedule and told three other acts to tack ten minutes on to their sessions to cover the gap.
Then she slipped out the back door into the alley, leaned against the brick wall, and indulged in a few seconds of panic.
If everyone was very lucky, nothing would come of the message she was about to deliver. If not, well, Council politics had a tendency to start deadly and end worse. The last thing anyone needed was a repeat of the near-catastrophe the Earthmover had ignited when he'd come to town.
Unfortunately, the last thing anyone needed had a diabolical way of happening, especially since Jean-Claude had taken over and brought the Executioner deeper and deeper into the underworld.
Love and vampire politics were a bad mix, Ariadne thought, but there was no way on earth she'd willingly criticize Jean-Claude. He might not be as bad as Nikolaos, but he was still a master vampire raised in the old Council traditions, and Ariadne had no interest in finding out how far his tolerance ran. She hadn't survived fifty-eight years to die stupidly just when she might finally have the resources to strike out on her own.
Speaking of which, she'd best get moving before someone noticed she was dawdling.
Ariadne pulled herself together and took to the sky, heading for the Circus of the Damned.
---------------------------------------------
TBC... maybe
continue to part 2
---------------------------------------------
The title makes no sense with this section, but it would become self-explanatory if I wrote more and revealed some of Dom and Arthur's backstory, and, you know, the actual plot. *sigh* (Also, did you know there is an Anita Blake wiki? Well, there is. And now I have lost part of my excuse for not continuing this, since I have an easy way to look up some basic canon details. *beats head repeatedly against computer desk*)
I wrote over a thousand words of it anyway while grocery shopping this afternoon.
*headdesk*
I hate my brain some days. I really, really do.
Anyway, this is the first section, from Ariadne's POV. The story as a whole is set sometime after Circus of the Damned, as marked by references to the Earthmover's visit to St. Louis, but beyond that I am vague like a vague thing. More may appear if I can't stop myself. *hits head again* (1,050 words)
---------------------------------------------
Weregild, part 1
---------------------------------------------
There were times, Ariadne thought sourly, when she was almost sure her life had been better while Nikolaos was still around. Her maker hadn't been anyone's idea of a picnic, but however cruel and capricious she'd been, she hadn't made Ariadne dress up in fetish gear and play hostess at a glorified strip club.
She tugged at the upper edge of her strapless red satin corset and smiled brightly, but close-lipped, at the two men who'd just entered Guilty Pleasures. Autumn rain dappled their coats and slicked-back hair, and they smelled faintly of gunpowder and blood. The taller and visually older was blond, tired, and most probably a lycanthrope of some kind; he had that sense of contained energy and life, though muted. The other man, slim, dark-haired, and controlled, was harder to place. He seemed human, but oddly unfazed by his surroundings, and, of course, he was accompanying a lycanthrope. Maybe a witch, Ariadne decided.
She moved smoothly forward, noting that the blond avoided meeting her eyes. His companion showed no such caution. His eyes were dark and clear, and unreadable.
"Welcome to Guilty Pleasures," Ariadne said, reaching up to slide the dark-haired man's coat from his shoulders. Underneath, he was wearing a three piece suit: light gray trousers and coat, a white shirt with faint blue vertical stripes, and a darker gray waistcoat with some kind of patterning woven into the fabric. It suited him, though it was an odd choice for this location.
"I'm Ariadne. What can I do for you tonight?"
"We're here to see your master," the blond said abruptly. "Council business. We have word on what Fisher and Saito petitioned for last month."
The dark-haired man turned and frowned at his companion. "It won't kill you to be polite now and then, Dom," he said. He glanced back at Ariadne, who had his coat draped over her left arm. "Pleased to meet you, Ariadne. I'm Arthur and this is Dominic Cobb. We have information Jean-Claude may be interested in, but it's not a matter of life and death yet. We're happy to wait while you get in touch with him."
He smiled. He had dimples, Ariadne noted.
"I'll pass word on," she said, and then, because Jean-Claude would know if she neglected the job he'd assigned her, she reached toward Cobb's shoulders. "How can we serve you while you wait?"
Cobb shrugged off his coat and tossed it into her arms before she could touch him. He was much less formally dressed than Arthur -- jeans and a green plaid button-down shirt -- and the shirt was rumpled besides. It was hard to imagine someone so clearly uninterested in presentation knowing anything important about the Council, but Ariadne supposed stranger things had happened.
"We'll be fine with drinks and a table," Arthur said as Cobb pushed open the ante-room door and scowled at the interior of the club.
"We're happy to provide," Ariadne said. "Do you have any holy items to check? No? Then follow me."
She left their coats with the human cloakroom attendant and led the two men through the main room, threading her way neatly between tables and ignoring any covetous or fearful eyes. The current stage act was one of the sillier ones -- a male and female vampire dressed in nothing but feathers acting out a passion play where she turned him and they had elaborately simulated sex when he rose. Ariadne tuned it out with the ease of long practice. Her guests paid similarly little attention, despite the mild mass hypnosis effect someone was exerting from backstage.
Ariadne tucked that observation away for later analysis.
There were several smaller rooms off to the side of the club for guests who wanted more intimate -- or specialized -- attention. Ariadne doubted Arthur and Cobb were interested in a lapdance or a feeding, but she thought they'd appreciate the privacy and soundproofing.
It would also be easier for the staff to keep track of them, but there was no need to advertise that.
"Here you go," Ariadne said, pulling aside a heavy velvet curtain to reveal an oak door with iron braces. She unhooked the small antique key from one of her corset rings and unlocked the room, opening the door with a minor flourish. "I'll send one of the bartenders over to take your order," she said as Cobb pushed past her. She handed the key to Arthur as he followed.
"Thank you, Ariadne," Arthur said, and shut the door.
Ariadne waited until she heard the lock turn from inside. Then she threaded her way back across the main floor to the bar, where she sent one of the human staff to deal with the private room. She ducked backstage and grabbed an unoccupied stripper -- Julian, a vampire twice her age who would never be a master -- and told him to play host until she got back. She crossed his half hour off the night's schedule and told three other acts to tack ten minutes on to their sessions to cover the gap.
Then she slipped out the back door into the alley, leaned against the brick wall, and indulged in a few seconds of panic.
If everyone was very lucky, nothing would come of the message she was about to deliver. If not, well, Council politics had a tendency to start deadly and end worse. The last thing anyone needed was a repeat of the near-catastrophe the Earthmover had ignited when he'd come to town.
Unfortunately, the last thing anyone needed had a diabolical way of happening, especially since Jean-Claude had taken over and brought the Executioner deeper and deeper into the underworld.
Love and vampire politics were a bad mix, Ariadne thought, but there was no way on earth she'd willingly criticize Jean-Claude. He might not be as bad as Nikolaos, but he was still a master vampire raised in the old Council traditions, and Ariadne had no interest in finding out how far his tolerance ran. She hadn't survived fifty-eight years to die stupidly just when she might finally have the resources to strike out on her own.
Speaking of which, she'd best get moving before someone noticed she was dawdling.
Ariadne pulled herself together and took to the sky, heading for the Circus of the Damned.
---------------------------------------------
TBC... maybe
continue to part 2
---------------------------------------------
The title makes no sense with this section, but it would become self-explanatory if I wrote more and revealed some of Dom and Arthur's backstory, and, you know, the actual plot. *sigh* (Also, did you know there is an Anita Blake wiki? Well, there is. And now I have lost part of my excuse for not continuing this, since I have an easy way to look up some basic canon details. *beats head repeatedly against computer desk*)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-25 02:57 am (UTC)mmm what happens next *_*
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-25 03:29 am (UTC)Jean-Claude's fashion sense (or Laurell Hamilton's fashion sense?) is indeed seriously questionable. *grin*
I am actually writing what happens next now. *headdesk*