Elizabeth Culmer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
edenfalling) wrote2011-06-25 12:38 am
edenfalling) wrote2011-06-25 12:38 am
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[Fic] "Weregild," part 2 -- Inception/Anita Blake
I have failed to stop myself so far. More of the Inception/Anita Blake crossover fusion thing. Arthur POV, following directly from the first section. (1,125 words)
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askerian, you might find this slightly spoilery in terms of Dom and Arthur's backstory. It's not like the film in detail, but the general information about one character's status might count as a spoiler.
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Weregild
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"She seemed nice," Arthur said as he pulled out a chair at the small, ornate table. The private room was done up in standard historical film opulence -- overly plush furniture, lots of gilding, carving, and reflective glass elements all around, presumably the better for guests to see themselves and their chosen entertainers. Typical of a vampire-owned establishment. Something about death seemed to ruin people's concept of subtlety in fashion and interior décor.
Dom grunted and continued to stare down at his hands.
"Too nice for this place, to be honest," Arthur continued, talking more to himself than his unresponsive friend. "I'd peg her at fifty or sixty years dead, and only a master for the last two or three of those. Usually vampires who reach that age and power come off more hardened. This Ariadne still feels sweet."
"She survived Nikolaos and the chaos that's been boiling over here the past couple years. Don't take her surface for her heart," Dom said, lifting his head to meet Arthur's eyes.
"So you were paying attention," Arthur said, half amused and half annoyed. "Good. Pay attention to this, too -- we can't afford to get on Jean-Claude's bad side yet. Once he receives official notice that the Council has agreed to hold the competition to replace the Earthmover in St. Louis, we'll have an excuse to stay as part of Saito's entourage, but right now there's nothing but manners and curiosity to stop Jean-Claude from kicking us out or siccing Ms. Blake on us. Get hold of yourself and quit lashing out."
"I am not lashing out," Dom muttered, dropping his head to stare at his hands again.
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off his growing headache. "Right. Fine. You're the soul of patience and courtesy. Just try to remember we have a plan, and things will go much more smoothly if we can convince Jean-Claude it's not in his interests to support Fisher. I'd love to persuade him to throw his voice to Saito, but that's probably too much to ask for even if we manage to charm him."
Dom grunted.
Arthur tipped his chair back and stared at the ceiling, wondering why he bothered. Yes, Dom was his friend -- the only close friend he'd had since dead things had started following him home in junior high -- and yes, they both owed Mal's killers as brutal a revenge as they could manage, but when Dom was having one of his bad periods, wrangling him was, appropriately enough, like trying to take a particularly lethargic and bull-headed tiger for a walk as if it were a pet dog. Not easy, and liable to end with Arthur's hand bitten off... metaphorically speaking, of course. There was no way he'd let Dom bite him for real.
Someone knocked on the door. Probably the bartender Ariadne had promised to send.
Arthur stood and turned the key in the lock. "Yes?" he said, opening the door a bare two inches and staring into the eyes of the vampire on the other side.
The vampire, a rather weedy young man who couldn't be more than two years dead, glanced aside and flashed his fangs nervously. "Um, I'm supposed to take your drink orders? Ariadne said?"
"Yes, she did. Please bring a Black Russian for me and a bottle of whatever local microbrew is darkest for Mr. Cobb," Arthur said. He closed the door without waiting for confirmation.
"Now who needs to work on his manners?" Dom said, a hint of amusement surfacing in his tired voice.
"There's a difference between expecting servers to be competent and treating master vampires like toddlers," Arthur said as he returned to his seat. "Besides, I said please."
"So you did," Dom agreed. He slung his right arm over the back of his chair and looked across the table at Arthur, squinting a bit in the dim light though Arthur knew he could see perfectly well. "Do you think Jean-Claude will get back to us tonight, or will he make us wait?"
Arthur shrugged. "If I were him, I'd make us wait -- we told his people our errand wasn't too urgent and either he has no idea who we are and therefore no reason to show consideration, or he does know who we are and would prefer not to be seen giving us too much credence. Then again, he's known for being unpredictable, and I don't know if he has any sources within the Council structure these days. He might think accurate information is more important than playing status games."
"When pigs fly," Dom said bitterly. "All vampires play power games, no matter how much they try to pretend otherwise. Even Mal was no exception."
"Mal wanted power to protect what was hers -- to protect us, and the children," Arthur said, leaning across the table to touch Dom's wrist. "You know that."
Dom yanked his hand back and turned away.
They sat in silence for a few minutes until someone knocked on the door again.
"It's unlocked," Arthur said, but the knob didn't turn. Either the soundproofing was top notch or the server was pretending it was, the better to lull them into false security so someone could eavesdrop later on. Best to assume the latter.
Arthur stood and went to collect their drinks, nodding his thanks to the nervous bartender. This time, he locked the door. "Cheers," he said as he handed the beer to Dom and dropped into his chair.
Dom muttered something unintelligible in reply.
Arthur sipped his drink and took a moment to savor the tinge of vaguely coffee-and-chocolate flavor. There was no way to mistake a Black Russian for anything but alcohol -- the Kahlúa did nothing to disguise the vodka's burn -- which Arthur appreciated. It kept him from underestimating how much he was drinking.
Dom was nearly done with his beer already. Arthur wondered if he should have ordered two, and then thought about Dom meeting vampires when drunk, or himself trying to manhandle his friend back to their cheap motel, and winced. No, best to simply take his edge off and leave it at that.
He took another sip of his drink. "Eames says Fisher should reach St. Louis in three days. I'd assume Saito will time his arrival to match, but I haven't spoken to him since yesterday. Has he called you?"
Dom shook his head. "I wouldn't forget to tell you something that important," he said. "Stop acting like you're my babysitter. I have a good two hundred years on you, remember?"
"Age means nothing if you don't learn from it," Arthur said mildly.
Before Dom could reply, the lock clicked -- somebody outside the room had another key -- and the door swung soundlessly open.
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TBC... maybe
continue to part 3
back to part 1
---------------------------------------------
I think I have really and truly lost it, you know? *headdesk times infinity*
askerian, you might find this slightly spoilery in terms of Dom and Arthur's backstory. It's not like the film in detail, but the general information about one character's status might count as a spoiler.---------------------------------------------
Weregild
---------------------------------------------
"She seemed nice," Arthur said as he pulled out a chair at the small, ornate table. The private room was done up in standard historical film opulence -- overly plush furniture, lots of gilding, carving, and reflective glass elements all around, presumably the better for guests to see themselves and their chosen entertainers. Typical of a vampire-owned establishment. Something about death seemed to ruin people's concept of subtlety in fashion and interior décor.
Dom grunted and continued to stare down at his hands.
"Too nice for this place, to be honest," Arthur continued, talking more to himself than his unresponsive friend. "I'd peg her at fifty or sixty years dead, and only a master for the last two or three of those. Usually vampires who reach that age and power come off more hardened. This Ariadne still feels sweet."
"She survived Nikolaos and the chaos that's been boiling over here the past couple years. Don't take her surface for her heart," Dom said, lifting his head to meet Arthur's eyes.
"So you were paying attention," Arthur said, half amused and half annoyed. "Good. Pay attention to this, too -- we can't afford to get on Jean-Claude's bad side yet. Once he receives official notice that the Council has agreed to hold the competition to replace the Earthmover in St. Louis, we'll have an excuse to stay as part of Saito's entourage, but right now there's nothing but manners and curiosity to stop Jean-Claude from kicking us out or siccing Ms. Blake on us. Get hold of yourself and quit lashing out."
"I am not lashing out," Dom muttered, dropping his head to stare at his hands again.
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off his growing headache. "Right. Fine. You're the soul of patience and courtesy. Just try to remember we have a plan, and things will go much more smoothly if we can convince Jean-Claude it's not in his interests to support Fisher. I'd love to persuade him to throw his voice to Saito, but that's probably too much to ask for even if we manage to charm him."
Dom grunted.
Arthur tipped his chair back and stared at the ceiling, wondering why he bothered. Yes, Dom was his friend -- the only close friend he'd had since dead things had started following him home in junior high -- and yes, they both owed Mal's killers as brutal a revenge as they could manage, but when Dom was having one of his bad periods, wrangling him was, appropriately enough, like trying to take a particularly lethargic and bull-headed tiger for a walk as if it were a pet dog. Not easy, and liable to end with Arthur's hand bitten off... metaphorically speaking, of course. There was no way he'd let Dom bite him for real.
Someone knocked on the door. Probably the bartender Ariadne had promised to send.
Arthur stood and turned the key in the lock. "Yes?" he said, opening the door a bare two inches and staring into the eyes of the vampire on the other side.
The vampire, a rather weedy young man who couldn't be more than two years dead, glanced aside and flashed his fangs nervously. "Um, I'm supposed to take your drink orders? Ariadne said?"
"Yes, she did. Please bring a Black Russian for me and a bottle of whatever local microbrew is darkest for Mr. Cobb," Arthur said. He closed the door without waiting for confirmation.
"Now who needs to work on his manners?" Dom said, a hint of amusement surfacing in his tired voice.
"There's a difference between expecting servers to be competent and treating master vampires like toddlers," Arthur said as he returned to his seat. "Besides, I said please."
"So you did," Dom agreed. He slung his right arm over the back of his chair and looked across the table at Arthur, squinting a bit in the dim light though Arthur knew he could see perfectly well. "Do you think Jean-Claude will get back to us tonight, or will he make us wait?"
Arthur shrugged. "If I were him, I'd make us wait -- we told his people our errand wasn't too urgent and either he has no idea who we are and therefore no reason to show consideration, or he does know who we are and would prefer not to be seen giving us too much credence. Then again, he's known for being unpredictable, and I don't know if he has any sources within the Council structure these days. He might think accurate information is more important than playing status games."
"When pigs fly," Dom said bitterly. "All vampires play power games, no matter how much they try to pretend otherwise. Even Mal was no exception."
"Mal wanted power to protect what was hers -- to protect us, and the children," Arthur said, leaning across the table to touch Dom's wrist. "You know that."
Dom yanked his hand back and turned away.
They sat in silence for a few minutes until someone knocked on the door again.
"It's unlocked," Arthur said, but the knob didn't turn. Either the soundproofing was top notch or the server was pretending it was, the better to lull them into false security so someone could eavesdrop later on. Best to assume the latter.
Arthur stood and went to collect their drinks, nodding his thanks to the nervous bartender. This time, he locked the door. "Cheers," he said as he handed the beer to Dom and dropped into his chair.
Dom muttered something unintelligible in reply.
Arthur sipped his drink and took a moment to savor the tinge of vaguely coffee-and-chocolate flavor. There was no way to mistake a Black Russian for anything but alcohol -- the Kahlúa did nothing to disguise the vodka's burn -- which Arthur appreciated. It kept him from underestimating how much he was drinking.
Dom was nearly done with his beer already. Arthur wondered if he should have ordered two, and then thought about Dom meeting vampires when drunk, or himself trying to manhandle his friend back to their cheap motel, and winced. No, best to simply take his edge off and leave it at that.
He took another sip of his drink. "Eames says Fisher should reach St. Louis in three days. I'd assume Saito will time his arrival to match, but I haven't spoken to him since yesterday. Has he called you?"
Dom shook his head. "I wouldn't forget to tell you something that important," he said. "Stop acting like you're my babysitter. I have a good two hundred years on you, remember?"
"Age means nothing if you don't learn from it," Arthur said mildly.
Before Dom could reply, the lock clicked -- somebody outside the room had another key -- and the door swung soundlessly open.
---------------------------------------------
TBC... maybe
continue to part 3
back to part 1
---------------------------------------------
I think I have really and truly lost it, you know? *headdesk times infinity*