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edenfallingAnd here we are at the end of chapter one. Isn't that exciting? *removes tongue from cheek*
Anyway, two brief reaction scenes and some setup for future events. (925 words)
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Weregild, part 8
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Ariadne's eyes snapped open and her hands flew to her throat, verifying the lack of chains and burning charms. She was on her own bed, in her own room, wearing her own clothes instead of the work outfit Arthur's mind had dressed her in. She was awake.
None of that had happened.
And yet.
She lowered her arms, mimicking the spread-eagle position she'd been chained in. That dream had felt real. She'd spoken to Arthur -- to his conscious mind. She'd never done that before. Even when she'd dared to whisper around the edges of dreams, she'd only ever touched stutter-start fragments thrown up by subconscious minds oblivious to her presence.
Arthur was as dangerous as she'd suspected. He'd never get the drop on her like that in real life, not unless he found her during the day, while she might as well be dead, but even so. To catch her mind and turn her own gift against her...
He was a very interesting man.
Ariadne sat up and checked the battery-powered alarm clock beside her bed. The glowing numbers promised her another three hours until dawn. That was plenty of time to find one of the older vampires and start gathering details about Mallorie and Dominic Cobb, their feud with Peter Lebrun, and Mallorie's fascinating human servant.
If she was lucky, Arthur would keep her secret. He and Cobb would leave St. Louis shortly, taking their trouble with them, and Ariadne wouldn't need to know more about them.
But luck was rarely her friend.
Someone knocked on her door and began to open it before Ariadne could give a verbal invitation. She sat up hastily as the door swung wide, revealing Asher leaning against the frame.
"Do you need me for anything?" she asked.
"Not now," Asher said. "But tomorrow night, Jean-Claude wants you to fetch Dominic and Arthur as soon as you locate them. We will meet under the Circus, an hour past sunset. Wear something appropriate."
"I understand," Ariadne said, ducking her head in a show of respect.
Asher smiled, gently. "We will protect you, little sister, but you must remember you are a master vampire, however young. You can't hide your fangs forever."
He pulled the door shut and left, too quiet and fast for Ariadne to track.
She flopped back down on her bed and indulged in a minute of frustrated anger. So. Not only was Jean-Claude dragging her right into the middle of the politics she'd tried so long and hard to avoid, he was forcing her back into contact with Arthur. Who knew her secret.
He could ruin her if he wanted.
Well then. She would just have to make sure he didn't want to, or that if he tried, she was in a position to ruin him first.
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Arthur snapped awake fast and cold, his breathing even and his body still through long force of habit. After a moment he remembered where he was, and heard Dom's snuffling wheeze in the other bed. Safe, then.
He pulled his gun out from under the other pillow just in case. Then he shoved his bare feet into his shoes and stole out of the room to walk around the motel building, shivering as the cool night breeze sent fingers up the loose ankles of his sweatpants and kissed his bare forearms. He saw nothing out of place. That didn't mean no one was lurking -- he was good, but he could never be as fast as a vampire or lycanthrope -- but there was a line between reasonable caution and outright paranoia that he'd prefer not to cross.
Arthur returned to the rented room and paused, letting his eyes readjust to darkness after the artificial twilight of the motel parking lot. By the window, Dom turned in his sleep and mumbled, "'thur? Wha's wrong?"
"Nature called. Go back to sleep, Dom," Arthur said.
He slipped into the bathroom, turned on the brilliant fluorescent light, and stared himself down in the mirror, trying to think.
What on earth had happened? How had Ariadne broken in to his dreams? He'd never heard of a vampire with that ability, not even masters a thousand years old. They could surround a person's innermost self and exert pressure, projecting emotions until they overwhelmed the human mind and heart. They could siphon off fear or lust to supplement their more physical diet. But they couldn't get in without a link. They couldn't create anything remotely that real.
He wondered if Saito or Eames had heard of anything like Ariadne's gift.
Wait.
Eames.
Ariadne knew he was angry at Eames, and that Eames was coming to St. Louis. She was clever and quick enough to survive under both Nikolaos and Jean-Claude, which meant she knew trouble when she saw it. When she saw Eames with Fisher and Lebrun -- and Arthur had to assume she'd see him, since none of his plans seemed to go right around those two -- she would know something was up.
Shit.
He needed to get her on their side or get her out of the way. Fast.
Arthur slipped out of the bathroom long enough to grab his phone -- "Still just me, don't worry," he murmured in response to Dom's wordless, curious noise -- and kick off his shoes. Then he entered Eames's number manually, since neither of them could afford to have each other in their contact lists, and texted him one word: spanner.
The "call me" was understood.
Anything else would have to wait for morning.
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End Part Eight
continue to part 9
back to part 7
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On Monday or Tuesday, I will do a final check on these sections and post them as a unit on ff.net and probably the AO3 as well.
...You know, this chapter is about 11,000 words long when the parts are put together. I wrote it in 10 days, give or take a few hours. I cannot remember the last time I wrote anything at that speed that wasn't a challenge response for which I was about to miss the deadline. Life is very strange sometimes.
Anyway. Onward to chapter two, daylight, and Eames's appearance as my third POV character!
Anyway, two brief reaction scenes and some setup for future events. (925 words)
---------------------------------------------
Weregild, part 8
---------------------------------------------
Ariadne's eyes snapped open and her hands flew to her throat, verifying the lack of chains and burning charms. She was on her own bed, in her own room, wearing her own clothes instead of the work outfit Arthur's mind had dressed her in. She was awake.
None of that had happened.
And yet.
She lowered her arms, mimicking the spread-eagle position she'd been chained in. That dream had felt real. She'd spoken to Arthur -- to his conscious mind. She'd never done that before. Even when she'd dared to whisper around the edges of dreams, she'd only ever touched stutter-start fragments thrown up by subconscious minds oblivious to her presence.
Arthur was as dangerous as she'd suspected. He'd never get the drop on her like that in real life, not unless he found her during the day, while she might as well be dead, but even so. To catch her mind and turn her own gift against her...
He was a very interesting man.
Ariadne sat up and checked the battery-powered alarm clock beside her bed. The glowing numbers promised her another three hours until dawn. That was plenty of time to find one of the older vampires and start gathering details about Mallorie and Dominic Cobb, their feud with Peter Lebrun, and Mallorie's fascinating human servant.
If she was lucky, Arthur would keep her secret. He and Cobb would leave St. Louis shortly, taking their trouble with them, and Ariadne wouldn't need to know more about them.
But luck was rarely her friend.
Someone knocked on her door and began to open it before Ariadne could give a verbal invitation. She sat up hastily as the door swung wide, revealing Asher leaning against the frame.
"Do you need me for anything?" she asked.
"Not now," Asher said. "But tomorrow night, Jean-Claude wants you to fetch Dominic and Arthur as soon as you locate them. We will meet under the Circus, an hour past sunset. Wear something appropriate."
"I understand," Ariadne said, ducking her head in a show of respect.
Asher smiled, gently. "We will protect you, little sister, but you must remember you are a master vampire, however young. You can't hide your fangs forever."
He pulled the door shut and left, too quiet and fast for Ariadne to track.
She flopped back down on her bed and indulged in a minute of frustrated anger. So. Not only was Jean-Claude dragging her right into the middle of the politics she'd tried so long and hard to avoid, he was forcing her back into contact with Arthur. Who knew her secret.
He could ruin her if he wanted.
Well then. She would just have to make sure he didn't want to, or that if he tried, she was in a position to ruin him first.
---------------------------------------------
Arthur snapped awake fast and cold, his breathing even and his body still through long force of habit. After a moment he remembered where he was, and heard Dom's snuffling wheeze in the other bed. Safe, then.
He pulled his gun out from under the other pillow just in case. Then he shoved his bare feet into his shoes and stole out of the room to walk around the motel building, shivering as the cool night breeze sent fingers up the loose ankles of his sweatpants and kissed his bare forearms. He saw nothing out of place. That didn't mean no one was lurking -- he was good, but he could never be as fast as a vampire or lycanthrope -- but there was a line between reasonable caution and outright paranoia that he'd prefer not to cross.
Arthur returned to the rented room and paused, letting his eyes readjust to darkness after the artificial twilight of the motel parking lot. By the window, Dom turned in his sleep and mumbled, "'thur? Wha's wrong?"
"Nature called. Go back to sleep, Dom," Arthur said.
He slipped into the bathroom, turned on the brilliant fluorescent light, and stared himself down in the mirror, trying to think.
What on earth had happened? How had Ariadne broken in to his dreams? He'd never heard of a vampire with that ability, not even masters a thousand years old. They could surround a person's innermost self and exert pressure, projecting emotions until they overwhelmed the human mind and heart. They could siphon off fear or lust to supplement their more physical diet. But they couldn't get in without a link. They couldn't create anything remotely that real.
He wondered if Saito or Eames had heard of anything like Ariadne's gift.
Wait.
Eames.
Ariadne knew he was angry at Eames, and that Eames was coming to St. Louis. She was clever and quick enough to survive under both Nikolaos and Jean-Claude, which meant she knew trouble when she saw it. When she saw Eames with Fisher and Lebrun -- and Arthur had to assume she'd see him, since none of his plans seemed to go right around those two -- she would know something was up.
Shit.
He needed to get her on their side or get her out of the way. Fast.
Arthur slipped out of the bathroom long enough to grab his phone -- "Still just me, don't worry," he murmured in response to Dom's wordless, curious noise -- and kick off his shoes. Then he entered Eames's number manually, since neither of them could afford to have each other in their contact lists, and texted him one word: spanner.
The "call me" was understood.
Anything else would have to wait for morning.
---------------------------------------------
End Part Eight
continue to part 9
back to part 7
---------------------------------------------
On Monday or Tuesday, I will do a final check on these sections and post them as a unit on ff.net and probably the AO3 as well.
...You know, this chapter is about 11,000 words long when the parts are put together. I wrote it in 10 days, give or take a few hours. I cannot remember the last time I wrote anything at that speed that wasn't a challenge response for which I was about to miss the deadline. Life is very strange sometimes.
Anyway. Onward to chapter two, daylight, and Eames's appearance as my third POV character!
