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edenfallingPart twenty, in which Arthur gets maudlin, Ariadne gets philosophical, and they continue to flirt something awful. (1,450 words)
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Weregild, part 20
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Dom's methods for short-circuiting the tedious posturing of preternatural politics were far from graceful, Arthur reflected, but they were certainly effective. As Ms. Blake and the Ulfric began to talk at once, turned, and redirected their ire toward each other, Jean-Claude caught Asher's eyes and flicked his fingers in careless dismissal.
Asher rose smoothly from his seat and gestured toward one of the inner doors of the room. "As you so bluntly pointed out, Dominick, your business with Jean-Claude is completed. I will accompany you while Ariadne retrieves her telephone, after which you may go where you wish."
Arthur set his hand on the back of Ariadne's chair as he stood. At her slight nod, he drew the seat backward to let her step freely away from the table. She favored him with a single raised eyebrow and a fleeting brush of toes against his ankle, the contact hidden by the swing of her hem.
Mal had considered such courtesies her due, accepting them as a queen collecting tribute from her subjects. Ariadne seemed to consider them an unnecessary complication at best, but she fell easily into the patterns. Old habits, Arthur decided, and an unwillingness to rock the boat. Perhaps also a willingness to play along with a bit of mutually amusing frivolity.
"My lady," he murmured, and raised her hand to kiss the air just over her knuckles.
When he glanced up, he could see the imprint of her fangs against the inside of her lower lip as she stifled a smile. He let his eyes show his silent laughter in return.
He didn't want her trailing him and Dom. She was far too sharp for his peace of mind, and no matter how he spread out his purchases, she could quite easily keep a list and give it to Ms. Blake to interpret. Additionally, the ritual he had in mind needed to be cast at midnight, which would be impossible with Ariadne present.
Even so, Arthur couldn't help liking her company.
He wondered, yet again, whether there was any way to not simply ensure Ariadne's neutrality -- a stance she seemed inclined to of her own accord, despite her obligations to Jean-Claude -- but to win her actively to their side. He suspected not. Neither he nor Dom had much expectation of leaving St. Louis alive. Saito likely had the edge over Fisher even with Lebrun in the mix, but Jean-Claude was no fool and would not take kindly to the word games Arthur had played with his offer of free passage.
Destroying Lebrun's power would drain him, and the physical fight would drain Dom. Eames might have the wherewithal to whisk them away from the Circus, but he had no chance of standing against Jean-Claude on his own and would not bother to try. He was fond of Arthur, but not to that degree, and his favor would be long-since repaid by that point.
No, Ariadne had no reason to throw in with them and every reason not to.
A pity. He would have liked to dream with her again. He had never encountered a magic like that before, and its implications were fascinating. But Mal came first, until Lebrun had paid full price for her death.
As he followed Ariadne toward wherever she kept her cell phone, Arthur absently slotted the corridors and doorways of the Circus's basement and sub-basement into a mental map. He would have to sketch it on paper once he and Dom were free of surveillance. Most likely the information would be useless, but it was best to be prepared for all eventualities, however unlikely.
Ariadne paused in front of one door -- like all the others, it was featureless, blank, and very, very solid -- and sent Asher a slanting look whose nuances Arthur couldn't quite see. Asher promptly slid between her and Arthur, then took a step forward to force Arthur back across the hallway.
"A lady deserves her privacy," Asher said, the visible half of his mouth quirking ever so slightly upward to reveal a fleeting glint of fang.
"Of course," Arthur agreed, and turned to look at Dom rather than the slice of room he might have been able to see over Asher's shoulder for the second before Ariadne shut herself in what was apparently her private room. Or suite, more likely. She was a master vampire, after all, and vampires were very keen on marking distinctions of rank with increased privileges and and possessions.
"We have a guest for the night," Arthur said to Dom in a carefully idle tone. "I have no idea what people do for fun in St. Louis. Any ideas?"
Dom shrugged. "I don't know, a movie? Why're you asking me? You have the internet. Look something up. I just want something more to eat than soup and arguments."
"Dinner first, then," Arthur decided. "And blood for the lady, which argues for finding a restaurant within the District. Or should we wait here while she arranges her own meal?" he added, turning back toward Asher.
Asher tilted one shoulder in an understated shrug. "That is Ariadne's choice. I note you have neglected one option, however. You may offer to feed her yourself." He flashed that tiny, glinting smile again.
Arthur smiled back. "I might. But not on the first date."
"Surely this counts as the second, though?" Ariadne said unexpectedly. Arthur blinked, wondering when and how she had opened the door without him noticing the change in the light or feeling the shift in the air. She smiled up at him, her lower lip artfully concealing the length of her fangs; the expression made her look achingly young and harmless, especially since she had changed out of the golden dress and into a simpler rose-colored blouse, pleated brown skirt, and rose ballet flats. She had a black purse slung over one shoulder, easily large enough to hold a phone.
Or a gun. Speaking of which, she still had his Glock, Arthur reminded himself. She might not be interested in politics, but she was far from harmless.
"I know last night began as business," Ariadne continued, "but I feel we grew quite intimate later on."
Arthur raised one eyebrow. Did she really want to talk about dreamwalking in front of Jean-Claude's second, no matter how obliquely?
Ariadne glanced swiftly at Asher to ensure she was out of his line of sight. Then she winked. "I had such fascinating dreams..."
Arthur gave in and grinned back. He tried not to smile too much or too widely -- dimples were not helpful in cultivating a dangerous image -- but in this particular battle, they might be a better weapon than his standard tools. "I would hate to disappoint you," he said. "But even so, I'd rather go too slow than too fast. Audacity is all very well and good, but I find that anticipation makes rewards sweeter in the end."
"I'm sure you'll be delicious," Ariadne said. "Until then, I know a bar that I'm told does a mean fried chicken, and definitely has fresh blood on tap. Shall we?"
"Hey Dom, what are your thoughts on fried chicken?" Arthur asked.
"It's food. I'm hungry. Where does thought enter that equation?" Dom said, light and wry and Arthur held his breath for a moment, unwilling to turn and see the dark circles under his friend's eyes. If he didn't look, he could almost convince himself that Dom was happy and in a minute Mal would finish politicking and exchanging terrible French compliments with Jean-Claude and sweep them off on some grand and ridiculous tour of what she considered the highlights of the city, "making memories for the children, you understand," she would say.
"Fair point. Fried chicken it is," Arthur said. "Lead the way, Ariadne. We're at your mercy."
Ariadne tucked her free hand into the crook of his elbow. "I'll be gentle," she said. "No biting until the the third date, as requested. In lieu of such scandalous pastimes, might I recommend visiting the Museum of Contemporary Religious Art? In recent years many institutions have begun offering special after-dark hours on weekends for an increased entrance fee, and I think you might find the exhibits interesting from a professional standpoint. It's always interesting to learn where exactly the line falls between holy symbol and simple paint or metal, though I confess I'm still not certain how much of the effect relies on the faith of the artist and how much on the faith of whoever might be viewing the work, or whether--"
Wrapping them in a stream of careless words, she led Arthur and Dom upward into the whirl of the city night.
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End Part Twenty
back to part 19
read the final version on AO3 (Trust me, you want to read the final version. The journal version is a beta draft, with all the errors that implies.)
---------------------------------------------
And that is the end of chapter 3! I will post the collected version on AO3 in a couple days, after I've had a chance to look it over and make a few edits.
---------------------------------------------
Weregild, part 20
---------------------------------------------
Dom's methods for short-circuiting the tedious posturing of preternatural politics were far from graceful, Arthur reflected, but they were certainly effective. As Ms. Blake and the Ulfric began to talk at once, turned, and redirected their ire toward each other, Jean-Claude caught Asher's eyes and flicked his fingers in careless dismissal.
Asher rose smoothly from his seat and gestured toward one of the inner doors of the room. "As you so bluntly pointed out, Dominick, your business with Jean-Claude is completed. I will accompany you while Ariadne retrieves her telephone, after which you may go where you wish."
Arthur set his hand on the back of Ariadne's chair as he stood. At her slight nod, he drew the seat backward to let her step freely away from the table. She favored him with a single raised eyebrow and a fleeting brush of toes against his ankle, the contact hidden by the swing of her hem.
Mal had considered such courtesies her due, accepting them as a queen collecting tribute from her subjects. Ariadne seemed to consider them an unnecessary complication at best, but she fell easily into the patterns. Old habits, Arthur decided, and an unwillingness to rock the boat. Perhaps also a willingness to play along with a bit of mutually amusing frivolity.
"My lady," he murmured, and raised her hand to kiss the air just over her knuckles.
When he glanced up, he could see the imprint of her fangs against the inside of her lower lip as she stifled a smile. He let his eyes show his silent laughter in return.
He didn't want her trailing him and Dom. She was far too sharp for his peace of mind, and no matter how he spread out his purchases, she could quite easily keep a list and give it to Ms. Blake to interpret. Additionally, the ritual he had in mind needed to be cast at midnight, which would be impossible with Ariadne present.
Even so, Arthur couldn't help liking her company.
He wondered, yet again, whether there was any way to not simply ensure Ariadne's neutrality -- a stance she seemed inclined to of her own accord, despite her obligations to Jean-Claude -- but to win her actively to their side. He suspected not. Neither he nor Dom had much expectation of leaving St. Louis alive. Saito likely had the edge over Fisher even with Lebrun in the mix, but Jean-Claude was no fool and would not take kindly to the word games Arthur had played with his offer of free passage.
Destroying Lebrun's power would drain him, and the physical fight would drain Dom. Eames might have the wherewithal to whisk them away from the Circus, but he had no chance of standing against Jean-Claude on his own and would not bother to try. He was fond of Arthur, but not to that degree, and his favor would be long-since repaid by that point.
No, Ariadne had no reason to throw in with them and every reason not to.
A pity. He would have liked to dream with her again. He had never encountered a magic like that before, and its implications were fascinating. But Mal came first, until Lebrun had paid full price for her death.
As he followed Ariadne toward wherever she kept her cell phone, Arthur absently slotted the corridors and doorways of the Circus's basement and sub-basement into a mental map. He would have to sketch it on paper once he and Dom were free of surveillance. Most likely the information would be useless, but it was best to be prepared for all eventualities, however unlikely.
Ariadne paused in front of one door -- like all the others, it was featureless, blank, and very, very solid -- and sent Asher a slanting look whose nuances Arthur couldn't quite see. Asher promptly slid between her and Arthur, then took a step forward to force Arthur back across the hallway.
"A lady deserves her privacy," Asher said, the visible half of his mouth quirking ever so slightly upward to reveal a fleeting glint of fang.
"Of course," Arthur agreed, and turned to look at Dom rather than the slice of room he might have been able to see over Asher's shoulder for the second before Ariadne shut herself in what was apparently her private room. Or suite, more likely. She was a master vampire, after all, and vampires were very keen on marking distinctions of rank with increased privileges and and possessions.
"We have a guest for the night," Arthur said to Dom in a carefully idle tone. "I have no idea what people do for fun in St. Louis. Any ideas?"
Dom shrugged. "I don't know, a movie? Why're you asking me? You have the internet. Look something up. I just want something more to eat than soup and arguments."
"Dinner first, then," Arthur decided. "And blood for the lady, which argues for finding a restaurant within the District. Or should we wait here while she arranges her own meal?" he added, turning back toward Asher.
Asher tilted one shoulder in an understated shrug. "That is Ariadne's choice. I note you have neglected one option, however. You may offer to feed her yourself." He flashed that tiny, glinting smile again.
Arthur smiled back. "I might. But not on the first date."
"Surely this counts as the second, though?" Ariadne said unexpectedly. Arthur blinked, wondering when and how she had opened the door without him noticing the change in the light or feeling the shift in the air. She smiled up at him, her lower lip artfully concealing the length of her fangs; the expression made her look achingly young and harmless, especially since she had changed out of the golden dress and into a simpler rose-colored blouse, pleated brown skirt, and rose ballet flats. She had a black purse slung over one shoulder, easily large enough to hold a phone.
Or a gun. Speaking of which, she still had his Glock, Arthur reminded himself. She might not be interested in politics, but she was far from harmless.
"I know last night began as business," Ariadne continued, "but I feel we grew quite intimate later on."
Arthur raised one eyebrow. Did she really want to talk about dreamwalking in front of Jean-Claude's second, no matter how obliquely?
Ariadne glanced swiftly at Asher to ensure she was out of his line of sight. Then she winked. "I had such fascinating dreams..."
Arthur gave in and grinned back. He tried not to smile too much or too widely -- dimples were not helpful in cultivating a dangerous image -- but in this particular battle, they might be a better weapon than his standard tools. "I would hate to disappoint you," he said. "But even so, I'd rather go too slow than too fast. Audacity is all very well and good, but I find that anticipation makes rewards sweeter in the end."
"I'm sure you'll be delicious," Ariadne said. "Until then, I know a bar that I'm told does a mean fried chicken, and definitely has fresh blood on tap. Shall we?"
"Hey Dom, what are your thoughts on fried chicken?" Arthur asked.
"It's food. I'm hungry. Where does thought enter that equation?" Dom said, light and wry and Arthur held his breath for a moment, unwilling to turn and see the dark circles under his friend's eyes. If he didn't look, he could almost convince himself that Dom was happy and in a minute Mal would finish politicking and exchanging terrible French compliments with Jean-Claude and sweep them off on some grand and ridiculous tour of what she considered the highlights of the city, "making memories for the children, you understand," she would say.
"Fair point. Fried chicken it is," Arthur said. "Lead the way, Ariadne. We're at your mercy."
Ariadne tucked her free hand into the crook of his elbow. "I'll be gentle," she said. "No biting until the the third date, as requested. In lieu of such scandalous pastimes, might I recommend visiting the Museum of Contemporary Religious Art? In recent years many institutions have begun offering special after-dark hours on weekends for an increased entrance fee, and I think you might find the exhibits interesting from a professional standpoint. It's always interesting to learn where exactly the line falls between holy symbol and simple paint or metal, though I confess I'm still not certain how much of the effect relies on the faith of the artist and how much on the faith of whoever might be viewing the work, or whether--"
Wrapping them in a stream of careless words, she led Arthur and Dom upward into the whirl of the city night.
---------------------------------------------
End Part Twenty
back to part 19
read the final version on AO3 (Trust me, you want to read the final version. The journal version is a beta draft, with all the errors that implies.)
---------------------------------------------
And that is the end of chapter 3! I will post the collected version on AO3 in a couple days, after I've had a chance to look it over and make a few edits.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-08-22 01:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-08-22 01:52 am (UTC)Yes, absolutely. :-)