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dragonyphoenix) wrote2011-05-10 11:11 pm
dragonyphoenix) wrote2011-05-10 11:11 pm
Happy Birthday teaser
It's Ash Carpenter's birthday, and I don't have a story ready, but I am working on another sequel to Property, so I thought I'd post a teaser for it. The story was originally going to be two separate stories, but they've merged together just today, even though hardly any of either of them is written down yet. Also, each time I think about it, this story gets bigger and longer (heh heh) so it could easily be Ash's next birthday before I start posting!
Ethan was in the drawing room, perusing an eighteenth century edition of the Kama Sutra. It wasn't something he had to peruse for knowledge since he was, hmmm, intimately might be the best word, familiar with the book, but the pictures were exquisite, the jewel-like colors shining brilliantly, looking almost like tiny panes of stained glass on the page. He was so lost in the book that he didn't see the vampire at first. “Hey,” the beast shouted. Glancing up, Ethan saw a tight black t-shirt, black jeans, army boots, all under pale skin and a mop of brown hair – the vampire that Rupert had enslaved during his stint in Sunnydale. “He said to tell you he'll be in the cage.” With that, the vampire was gone. Intrigued, Ethan rose. Rupert must be in a mood-and-a-half to send the vampire running for ground. Not surprising, the dear man had made a visit to home, even if it had turned into a very short one.
Making his way to the lowest level of Rupert's estate, past the wine cellar to a set of rooms that hadn't been used for over a century until Rupert had taken over, he stopped at the doorway of the rooms Rupert had made over to suit his needs. The floor was concrete, sloping down toward a drain so any blood would be easier to wash away. There was an exercise equipment, top of the line, so the slave would remain in perfect physical condition while in Rupert's, well care wasn't quite the right word. The bed was fairly utilitarian, a futon mattress raised off the floor by a frame, and the slave only got that much because Rupert sometimes liked to use his slave in the cage rather than bothering to have him sent up.
The current one, so new that Rupert hadn't had a chance to use it before rushing off to visit kith and kin, had obviously protested. He was down on the floor, one bloody eyes peering around arms that protected his face, as Rupert gave three shark kicks to his ribs. Hauling the very young man up by the collar around his neck, Rupert threw him, face first, onto the futon and rammed into his ass without stopping to acknowledge Ethan. Based on the screams, Rupert hadn't used any lubrication at all. He really was in a bad mood.
Rupert came quickly. Climbing off the bed, ignoring the whimpers from the bed, he shouted for the vampire. “Spike. Spike.”
“I believe he's run to ground, dearheart,” Ethan said.
“I'll show him to ground,” Ripper growled, eldritch fire flickering at the edge of his fingertips.
“Sir,” Spike said, suddenly there in a way only a vampire could manage.
Spike jumped out of the way as Ripper stalked out into the dank and dark coolness of the basement. “Clean that up and take him to my room. Leave him spread-eagled for me.”
Running to catch up, Ethan called out, “What did they do now?”
“What?” Ripper said, stopping to wait for Ethan. “Whom?”
“Your family. You didn't even stay a full day, and I'm wondering what they could have done that was even more atrocious than usual.”
“Nothing. I'm going back tomorrow.” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I'm here to pick up Lydia's athame.”
Lydia, the sainted sister, Ethan thought, recalling how Ripper wouldn't use any other knife for spellcasting those three years after her death, those years they'd spent buddying around London before he'd gone back to the Council. “Whatever for?” Ethan replied, making an effort so that his voice sounded normal. It was hard to live up to the dead.
“My nephew, I thought he might like it,” Ripper said.
Ethan thought back and made a few calculations. “What is he, fourteen now?”
“Fifteen.”
Ethan gave him a sharp look. “And as ripe as a peach I take it?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You come storming in here, are as violent as I've ever seen you with one of your slaves, and then bring up Lydia's son. What am I supposed to think? Does he look like her?”
“No,” Ripper said, shaking his head. “I mean yes. Well no, he doesn't, but he reminds me of her.”
“So much that he's got your knickers in a twist?” Ethan asked.
“It's his father,” Ripper said, denying any attraction. “You know what a milquetoast he is. He's turning Lydia's son into an exact replica of himself. The boy is the last of the Giles line, and he'll never live up to his potential raised by that man.”
“So you're going to take him for yourself,” Ethan said, quickly adding, “to raise up properly that is,” before Rupert's puritanical streak, well hidden these past few years and Ethan meant to keep it that way, could rise up.
“Roger won't just hand the lad over to me,” Ripper growled.
“Of course not,” Ethan agreed. “He'll have to be out of the picture. Do you mean to do it?”
Ripper pulled down a whip, one that Ethan had seen him use only once, one that he'd used to flay skin off of the vampire when he'd first enslaved it in Sunnydale. “Yes,” Ripper said. “I'm not about to let Roger ruin the lad. I'll need you to talk to Lukeman for me. Have him find out who gets the boy when Roger dies.”
“Are you going to want him to arrange an accident for Roger?” Ethan asked as the vampire dragged the slave in.
Ripper's eyes shaded toward black. “My sister died under his watch. What do you think?”
Ethan was in the drawing room, perusing an eighteenth century edition of the Kama Sutra. It wasn't something he had to peruse for knowledge since he was, hmmm, intimately might be the best word, familiar with the book, but the pictures were exquisite, the jewel-like colors shining brilliantly, looking almost like tiny panes of stained glass on the page. He was so lost in the book that he didn't see the vampire at first. “Hey,” the beast shouted. Glancing up, Ethan saw a tight black t-shirt, black jeans, army boots, all under pale skin and a mop of brown hair – the vampire that Rupert had enslaved during his stint in Sunnydale. “He said to tell you he'll be in the cage.” With that, the vampire was gone. Intrigued, Ethan rose. Rupert must be in a mood-and-a-half to send the vampire running for ground. Not surprising, the dear man had made a visit to home, even if it had turned into a very short one.
Making his way to the lowest level of Rupert's estate, past the wine cellar to a set of rooms that hadn't been used for over a century until Rupert had taken over, he stopped at the doorway of the rooms Rupert had made over to suit his needs. The floor was concrete, sloping down toward a drain so any blood would be easier to wash away. There was an exercise equipment, top of the line, so the slave would remain in perfect physical condition while in Rupert's, well care wasn't quite the right word. The bed was fairly utilitarian, a futon mattress raised off the floor by a frame, and the slave only got that much because Rupert sometimes liked to use his slave in the cage rather than bothering to have him sent up.
The current one, so new that Rupert hadn't had a chance to use it before rushing off to visit kith and kin, had obviously protested. He was down on the floor, one bloody eyes peering around arms that protected his face, as Rupert gave three shark kicks to his ribs. Hauling the very young man up by the collar around his neck, Rupert threw him, face first, onto the futon and rammed into his ass without stopping to acknowledge Ethan. Based on the screams, Rupert hadn't used any lubrication at all. He really was in a bad mood.
Rupert came quickly. Climbing off the bed, ignoring the whimpers from the bed, he shouted for the vampire. “Spike. Spike.”
“I believe he's run to ground, dearheart,” Ethan said.
“I'll show him to ground,” Ripper growled, eldritch fire flickering at the edge of his fingertips.
“Sir,” Spike said, suddenly there in a way only a vampire could manage.
Spike jumped out of the way as Ripper stalked out into the dank and dark coolness of the basement. “Clean that up and take him to my room. Leave him spread-eagled for me.”
Running to catch up, Ethan called out, “What did they do now?”
“What?” Ripper said, stopping to wait for Ethan. “Whom?”
“Your family. You didn't even stay a full day, and I'm wondering what they could have done that was even more atrocious than usual.”
“Nothing. I'm going back tomorrow.” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I'm here to pick up Lydia's athame.”
Lydia, the sainted sister, Ethan thought, recalling how Ripper wouldn't use any other knife for spellcasting those three years after her death, those years they'd spent buddying around London before he'd gone back to the Council. “Whatever for?” Ethan replied, making an effort so that his voice sounded normal. It was hard to live up to the dead.
“My nephew, I thought he might like it,” Ripper said.
Ethan thought back and made a few calculations. “What is he, fourteen now?”
“Fifteen.”
Ethan gave him a sharp look. “And as ripe as a peach I take it?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You come storming in here, are as violent as I've ever seen you with one of your slaves, and then bring up Lydia's son. What am I supposed to think? Does he look like her?”
“No,” Ripper said, shaking his head. “I mean yes. Well no, he doesn't, but he reminds me of her.”
“So much that he's got your knickers in a twist?” Ethan asked.
“It's his father,” Ripper said, denying any attraction. “You know what a milquetoast he is. He's turning Lydia's son into an exact replica of himself. The boy is the last of the Giles line, and he'll never live up to his potential raised by that man.”
“So you're going to take him for yourself,” Ethan said, quickly adding, “to raise up properly that is,” before Rupert's puritanical streak, well hidden these past few years and Ethan meant to keep it that way, could rise up.
“Roger won't just hand the lad over to me,” Ripper growled.
“Of course not,” Ethan agreed. “He'll have to be out of the picture. Do you mean to do it?”
Ripper pulled down a whip, one that Ethan had seen him use only once, one that he'd used to flay skin off of the vampire when he'd first enslaved it in Sunnydale. “Yes,” Ripper said. “I'm not about to let Roger ruin the lad. I'll need you to talk to Lukeman for me. Have him find out who gets the boy when Roger dies.”
“Are you going to want him to arrange an accident for Roger?” Ethan asked as the vampire dragged the slave in.
Ripper's eyes shaded toward black. “My sister died under his watch. What do you think?”
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Thank you so much honey! I look forward to seeing the rest...one day ;-)
*hugs*
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