start of unbreakable rewrite
Jan. 5th, 2009 06:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrFirst, two things:
I do not want to hear any bitching about old vs. new. You don't like it, well, I'm sorry. This feels solid to me, it's the way the story is going to play. Related to that, if you noticed some changed detail, I did it on purpose.
I'm not certain it'll be poly as I wanted. Jasmine and Chanda seem pretty solid just the two of them. What will become of the twins, I do not yet know. Fair warning.
It's only like four or five pages so far. Just the barest start.
Unbreakable
He hated stares, and he hated whispers. He especially hated the two combined, and most especially when they were focused upon his person. Whatever the hell Mandrake had dragged him out of his tower to do, it had better be worth the whispers and stares he was enduring as he limped his way through the royal palace.
Ugh. He had hoped never to tread these halls again. Never to smell the royal lilies, or the perfumes of thousands of silk-clad peacocks, or the underlying stench of lies and deception beneath all the glitter and glamour.
Gritting his teeth, tightening the grip on his cane, he pressed on through the halls, vaguely grateful when hard marble tile gave over to the soft, plush rugs of the more private sections of the palace. Here it was also relatively secluded. Those he saw had not time at present to spare for gawking and whispering, and the odd servant was too well trained to even show they even noticed him until something was required.
The rugs had changed, he noted absently. The last time he had been here, the rugs had been predominately red with touches of gold and silver. Now, they were deep green with touches of dark blue and red, the barest hints of gray. Softer, too, or at least his wounded leg appreciated something to which he had never paid any mind in the past.
Reaching the room to which he had been directed, he knocked briskly upon it. An unseen figure opened it, a practiced voice murmuring, "Lord Jasmine Night, your grace, my lords," to the men seated on the far side of the room.
One man, very early Jasmine's double, rolled his eyes at the formality. The other man simply chuckled and poured tea for all three of them.
Jasmine noted there was one more teacup, still turned over on its saucer, but did not comment upon it. Instead, he took the seat which was obviously intended for his use, and propped his sore leg on the provided stool.
"Jasmine," Mandrake greeted cheerfully.
Grunting in reply, Jasmine took a sip of tea—dark and sweet precisely as he liked it, and he wondered what in the world sort of favor Mandrake and Cherry were about to beg that they would go to such much trouble to ensure his comfort. "What do you want?" he asked. "You did not drag me from my tower just because you missed my pretty face."
Mandrake quirked a brow at him. "Oddly enough, Jasmine, I do miss your pretty face."
"Then look in a mirror," Jasmine replied irritably. "Why did you call for me?"
Cherry laughed quietly. "I see you have not changed a bit in three years."
Jasmine shrugged, and sat back in the chair, making himself as comfortable as he could. He missed his tower more with each passing minute. Chairs built to suit him and his ruined leg, no annoying smells—blissful peace and quiet, and no one to stare at him. He took another sip of tea, then set the cup down with a muted clack. He looked at his brother, and said more somberly, "Why, Mandrake?"
Mandrake's mouth twisted in a smile that seldom appeared for anyone but his younger brother—equal parts amusement, affection, and aggravation. "A week ago, the King of Daar sent a very special gift to the crown prince."
"Oh?" Jasmine asked. Daar was the land of dragons. Negotiations with them had always been tenuous at best. After exiling himself from court life after the barely-shushed scandal that had ruined his leg and put him forever in his brother's debt, Jasmine had ceased to keep track of politics. Apparently, much had been gained in the three years since he had stopped caring.
"He sent two of his own sons," Mandrake said.
"Oh," Jasmine said again, and drained his tea. That was quite the gift. The Daar King had six wives, and who knew how many children from them. Still, it was quite the honor to be given one of them as a gift, never mind two. In dragon thought, it was nigh on the equivalent of handing over entire parcels of land. "Why?"
Mandrake looked at him in amusement. "Why do you think?"
Jasmine made a face, and refilled his teacup.
Cherry laughed in his quiet way again. Jasmine glanced at them both surreptitiously, glaring into his tea all the while. The gem of society, Cherry Monserrant, he would someday be Vizier to the next King. He and Mandrake were both very good friends with the crown prince, which explained why Mandrake was calling in Jasmine's debt by way of…whatever he wanted Jasmine to do as regarded the dragon gifts.
The future vizier was a handsome man, eyes and hair both a rich, dark mahogany. He was a full head taller than Mandrake, who had always been short—a trait Jasmine did not share; he fell only a hair or two shorter than Cherry. Tall, slender, and probably the smartest man in the room.
Also hopelessly in love with Mandrake, feeling which Mandrake returned. Jasmine hated being in the same room as them; it just reminded him of his own stupidity. The pain in his leg flared up, sharp and bright, as though stoked by his thoughts.
He and his brother looked a good deal alike. Pale blond hair, though Jasmine wore his ruthlessly short and Mandrake's fell fashionably to his shoulders, with a hint of wave. Jasmine had once worn his even longer—
That line of though was immediately cut off, and he drained his teacup for the second time.
His brother and he also shared their mother's pale green eyes, and a certain delicateness of features that had led many to refer to him as pretty—Mandrake avoided that fate, just barely, by way of having their father's stockier frame. Jasmine, unfortunately, was as tall and willowy as their mother. Once, he had enjoyed that fact. Now it was just one more thing he hated.
"What do you want from me, Mandrake?"
"To teach them," Mandrake replied. "They are young, only about nineteen."
Jasmine's mouth tightened. "They are fucking children, who the hell—"
"We're lucky they're that old," Cherry interjected. "In Daar, such a gift is fit for giving after fourteen years."
"That is true," Jasmine agreed reluctantly. "I still do not know what this had to do with me. Teach them what?"
"Everything," Mandrake said, then grinned. "Well, almost everything. Improve their language skills, teach them court etiquette, all of it. You are the consummate tutor, Jasmine—"
"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," Jasmine cut in. "I am hardly the ideal tutor. Quite the opposite, I should think."
Mandrake snorted. "Honestly, Jasmine. Who are you fooling? There is no man alive who knows more than you, or is as capable of teaching it to others."
"I have never taught a person in my life," Jasmine replied, utterly baffled. "Any person in this palace—I daresay the country—would tell you that I am the exact opposite of what a teacher should be."
"After Ivy," Mandrake said quietly. "Before him—"
Jasmine slammed his teacup down and barely kept from throwing it across the room. "I do not want to hear that name," he snapped. "I was no teacher before all that. Learning is my talent, not teaching."
This time, it was Cherry who laughed and said, "Now, Jasmine, you never suffered from false modesty. Modesty, perhaps, but never false. You are easily the smartest man in the country; it is only that you do not flaunt it."
"Indeed," Jasmine said with a sneer. "I will not tolerate empty flattery from the man who is acclaimed the smartest in the country.'
Cherry smiled at him in that way Jasmine had always hated growing up—like Jasmine was missing something that he should have noticed, a rarity when once upon a time he had been smarter than all of them. Growing up, he had always been leaps and bounds ahead of them both in lessons.
That certainly did not prove he was the smarter of the lot. No…he was quite painfully the dumbest. Even now, it made him nauseous to think of it. Three years was not enough for the entire mess to fade, it seemed.
"Jasmine," Cherry said, "You are the smartest man alive. You taught both of us those things which have made us so famous, or are you carefully forgetting all the times we came to your rooms or had you in ours to discuss one thing or another?"
He shrugged the words away. He did not want to hear them. "So you want me to play tutor. I think if you were to discuss this madcap idea with his Majesty, you find him displeased. His Majesty has much better tutors by the score, Mandrake. They will also be more thorough, for I draw a firm line at the more amorous lessons."
Mandrake waved the words away. "The care of the gifts was given into our hands by his Highness, and his Majesty is content to leave the matter to his son. We suggested you, and his Highness agreed."
Jasmine's brows rose at that. "Why?"
"We are close friends to his Highness," Cherry said mildly. "He prefers the unorthodox and is curious to see how the twins will turn out beneath the instruction of their two unusual tutors.
"Twins?" Jasmine echoed. "Who is this other tutor? I also hope you do not expect me to move here while I address the matter for you."
Mandrake laughed. "No, Jasmine, though I did not thin you wanted strangers in your tower, either."
Jasmine scowled, for he had not thought of that, and he liked that idea not a bit. A knock at the door stalled his protestations.
"That would be the other tutor," Mandrake said. "Remember, Jasmine, you do have to get long with him."
Jasmine shot him a look, and started to voice his scathing opinion on getting along with anyone—
Then he forgot what he'd been thinking, as the new arrival came into view. He was beautiful. Jasmine's gut twisted in a way it had not since he had first seen Ivy—and now the sudden rush of hot want was dampened by cold fear. No, he wanted no part of lust. Never again.
Still, the stranger was beautiful. He seemed as though he would match Cherry in height, lean but more muscled than Jasmine. His hair was fashionably long, pulled into a neat braid that fell over one shoulder as he swept a bow the very definition of elegance. The color…Jasmine had never seen a color like that. His hair was red, but so rich and dark it might almost past for black in the right light. It gleamed in the early morning light spilling through the windows.
As the man drew himself back to his full height, Jasmine saw his eyes were the very same, set in a face that many a noble would kill to possess—sharp, refined, elegant. Beautiful without being pretty, and the whole set off by smooth skin that was pale without being sickly. He was dressed head to foot in black clothes, well made but not of the quality a nobleman would wear.
The dark eyes met his, and Jasmine jerked his gaze away, hoping he did not look as awkward and lost as he felt.
"Your grace, my lords," the man said.
Lust poured through Jasmine again, triggered by that voice, and it was all he could do to bite back a gasp. He looked up again, taken aback when he immediately collided with the dark red eyes. "You're an incubus."
The man smiled and moved closer, sitting down next to Jasmine on the short sofa when Mandrake indicated that he may. "Half, actually. Chanda is my name. You must the Lord Jasmine of whom I have heard so much."
Jasmine scoffed. "I sincerely doubt you have heard anything about me." Not that he wanted to know what Chanda had heard—none of it would be flattering.
"Well, you are as beautiful as they say, though that much was clear just by looking at your brother. I also hear you are quite the scholar. I look forward to working with you, my lord."
"Indeed," Jasmine said, as thoughts began to occur to him.
Namely, Chanda was an incubus. A perfect choice for instructing two men—boys—in the ways of pleasure…but Chanda would need to be fed, and he could not feed from those he was teaching. Nevermind he would exhaust them; they would be so overtaken by what Chanda could do that it could hardly be called instruction.
Well, surely his brother would have arranged something. Mandrake would not hire an incubus without arranging some way by which to feed him.
Really, he just wanted to go home. Tearing his eyes away from Chanda, he glared at his brother and drank his tea.
Twins…so the dragon king had gifted twin sons to the crown prince, who wanted them trained in all the scholarly subjects, in addition to etiquette, conversation, dancing…and the bedroom arts. Hmm. He hoped Chanda could teach them how to dance, for he certainly could not.
I do not want to hear any bitching about old vs. new. You don't like it, well, I'm sorry. This feels solid to me, it's the way the story is going to play. Related to that, if you noticed some changed detail, I did it on purpose.
I'm not certain it'll be poly as I wanted. Jasmine and Chanda seem pretty solid just the two of them. What will become of the twins, I do not yet know. Fair warning.
It's only like four or five pages so far. Just the barest start.
Unbreakable
He hated stares, and he hated whispers. He especially hated the two combined, and most especially when they were focused upon his person. Whatever the hell Mandrake had dragged him out of his tower to do, it had better be worth the whispers and stares he was enduring as he limped his way through the royal palace.
Ugh. He had hoped never to tread these halls again. Never to smell the royal lilies, or the perfumes of thousands of silk-clad peacocks, or the underlying stench of lies and deception beneath all the glitter and glamour.
Gritting his teeth, tightening the grip on his cane, he pressed on through the halls, vaguely grateful when hard marble tile gave over to the soft, plush rugs of the more private sections of the palace. Here it was also relatively secluded. Those he saw had not time at present to spare for gawking and whispering, and the odd servant was too well trained to even show they even noticed him until something was required.
The rugs had changed, he noted absently. The last time he had been here, the rugs had been predominately red with touches of gold and silver. Now, they were deep green with touches of dark blue and red, the barest hints of gray. Softer, too, or at least his wounded leg appreciated something to which he had never paid any mind in the past.
Reaching the room to which he had been directed, he knocked briskly upon it. An unseen figure opened it, a practiced voice murmuring, "Lord Jasmine Night, your grace, my lords," to the men seated on the far side of the room.
One man, very early Jasmine's double, rolled his eyes at the formality. The other man simply chuckled and poured tea for all three of them.
Jasmine noted there was one more teacup, still turned over on its saucer, but did not comment upon it. Instead, he took the seat which was obviously intended for his use, and propped his sore leg on the provided stool.
"Jasmine," Mandrake greeted cheerfully.
Grunting in reply, Jasmine took a sip of tea—dark and sweet precisely as he liked it, and he wondered what in the world sort of favor Mandrake and Cherry were about to beg that they would go to such much trouble to ensure his comfort. "What do you want?" he asked. "You did not drag me from my tower just because you missed my pretty face."
Mandrake quirked a brow at him. "Oddly enough, Jasmine, I do miss your pretty face."
"Then look in a mirror," Jasmine replied irritably. "Why did you call for me?"
Cherry laughed quietly. "I see you have not changed a bit in three years."
Jasmine shrugged, and sat back in the chair, making himself as comfortable as he could. He missed his tower more with each passing minute. Chairs built to suit him and his ruined leg, no annoying smells—blissful peace and quiet, and no one to stare at him. He took another sip of tea, then set the cup down with a muted clack. He looked at his brother, and said more somberly, "Why, Mandrake?"
Mandrake's mouth twisted in a smile that seldom appeared for anyone but his younger brother—equal parts amusement, affection, and aggravation. "A week ago, the King of Daar sent a very special gift to the crown prince."
"Oh?" Jasmine asked. Daar was the land of dragons. Negotiations with them had always been tenuous at best. After exiling himself from court life after the barely-shushed scandal that had ruined his leg and put him forever in his brother's debt, Jasmine had ceased to keep track of politics. Apparently, much had been gained in the three years since he had stopped caring.
"He sent two of his own sons," Mandrake said.
"Oh," Jasmine said again, and drained his tea. That was quite the gift. The Daar King had six wives, and who knew how many children from them. Still, it was quite the honor to be given one of them as a gift, never mind two. In dragon thought, it was nigh on the equivalent of handing over entire parcels of land. "Why?"
Mandrake looked at him in amusement. "Why do you think?"
Jasmine made a face, and refilled his teacup.
Cherry laughed in his quiet way again. Jasmine glanced at them both surreptitiously, glaring into his tea all the while. The gem of society, Cherry Monserrant, he would someday be Vizier to the next King. He and Mandrake were both very good friends with the crown prince, which explained why Mandrake was calling in Jasmine's debt by way of…whatever he wanted Jasmine to do as regarded the dragon gifts.
The future vizier was a handsome man, eyes and hair both a rich, dark mahogany. He was a full head taller than Mandrake, who had always been short—a trait Jasmine did not share; he fell only a hair or two shorter than Cherry. Tall, slender, and probably the smartest man in the room.
Also hopelessly in love with Mandrake, feeling which Mandrake returned. Jasmine hated being in the same room as them; it just reminded him of his own stupidity. The pain in his leg flared up, sharp and bright, as though stoked by his thoughts.
He and his brother looked a good deal alike. Pale blond hair, though Jasmine wore his ruthlessly short and Mandrake's fell fashionably to his shoulders, with a hint of wave. Jasmine had once worn his even longer—
That line of though was immediately cut off, and he drained his teacup for the second time.
His brother and he also shared their mother's pale green eyes, and a certain delicateness of features that had led many to refer to him as pretty—Mandrake avoided that fate, just barely, by way of having their father's stockier frame. Jasmine, unfortunately, was as tall and willowy as their mother. Once, he had enjoyed that fact. Now it was just one more thing he hated.
"What do you want from me, Mandrake?"
"To teach them," Mandrake replied. "They are young, only about nineteen."
Jasmine's mouth tightened. "They are fucking children, who the hell—"
"We're lucky they're that old," Cherry interjected. "In Daar, such a gift is fit for giving after fourteen years."
"That is true," Jasmine agreed reluctantly. "I still do not know what this had to do with me. Teach them what?"
"Everything," Mandrake said, then grinned. "Well, almost everything. Improve their language skills, teach them court etiquette, all of it. You are the consummate tutor, Jasmine—"
"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," Jasmine cut in. "I am hardly the ideal tutor. Quite the opposite, I should think."
Mandrake snorted. "Honestly, Jasmine. Who are you fooling? There is no man alive who knows more than you, or is as capable of teaching it to others."
"I have never taught a person in my life," Jasmine replied, utterly baffled. "Any person in this palace—I daresay the country—would tell you that I am the exact opposite of what a teacher should be."
"After Ivy," Mandrake said quietly. "Before him—"
Jasmine slammed his teacup down and barely kept from throwing it across the room. "I do not want to hear that name," he snapped. "I was no teacher before all that. Learning is my talent, not teaching."
This time, it was Cherry who laughed and said, "Now, Jasmine, you never suffered from false modesty. Modesty, perhaps, but never false. You are easily the smartest man in the country; it is only that you do not flaunt it."
"Indeed," Jasmine said with a sneer. "I will not tolerate empty flattery from the man who is acclaimed the smartest in the country.'
Cherry smiled at him in that way Jasmine had always hated growing up—like Jasmine was missing something that he should have noticed, a rarity when once upon a time he had been smarter than all of them. Growing up, he had always been leaps and bounds ahead of them both in lessons.
That certainly did not prove he was the smarter of the lot. No…he was quite painfully the dumbest. Even now, it made him nauseous to think of it. Three years was not enough for the entire mess to fade, it seemed.
"Jasmine," Cherry said, "You are the smartest man alive. You taught both of us those things which have made us so famous, or are you carefully forgetting all the times we came to your rooms or had you in ours to discuss one thing or another?"
He shrugged the words away. He did not want to hear them. "So you want me to play tutor. I think if you were to discuss this madcap idea with his Majesty, you find him displeased. His Majesty has much better tutors by the score, Mandrake. They will also be more thorough, for I draw a firm line at the more amorous lessons."
Mandrake waved the words away. "The care of the gifts was given into our hands by his Highness, and his Majesty is content to leave the matter to his son. We suggested you, and his Highness agreed."
Jasmine's brows rose at that. "Why?"
"We are close friends to his Highness," Cherry said mildly. "He prefers the unorthodox and is curious to see how the twins will turn out beneath the instruction of their two unusual tutors.
"Twins?" Jasmine echoed. "Who is this other tutor? I also hope you do not expect me to move here while I address the matter for you."
Mandrake laughed. "No, Jasmine, though I did not thin you wanted strangers in your tower, either."
Jasmine scowled, for he had not thought of that, and he liked that idea not a bit. A knock at the door stalled his protestations.
"That would be the other tutor," Mandrake said. "Remember, Jasmine, you do have to get long with him."
Jasmine shot him a look, and started to voice his scathing opinion on getting along with anyone—
Then he forgot what he'd been thinking, as the new arrival came into view. He was beautiful. Jasmine's gut twisted in a way it had not since he had first seen Ivy—and now the sudden rush of hot want was dampened by cold fear. No, he wanted no part of lust. Never again.
Still, the stranger was beautiful. He seemed as though he would match Cherry in height, lean but more muscled than Jasmine. His hair was fashionably long, pulled into a neat braid that fell over one shoulder as he swept a bow the very definition of elegance. The color…Jasmine had never seen a color like that. His hair was red, but so rich and dark it might almost past for black in the right light. It gleamed in the early morning light spilling through the windows.
As the man drew himself back to his full height, Jasmine saw his eyes were the very same, set in a face that many a noble would kill to possess—sharp, refined, elegant. Beautiful without being pretty, and the whole set off by smooth skin that was pale without being sickly. He was dressed head to foot in black clothes, well made but not of the quality a nobleman would wear.
The dark eyes met his, and Jasmine jerked his gaze away, hoping he did not look as awkward and lost as he felt.
"Your grace, my lords," the man said.
Lust poured through Jasmine again, triggered by that voice, and it was all he could do to bite back a gasp. He looked up again, taken aback when he immediately collided with the dark red eyes. "You're an incubus."
The man smiled and moved closer, sitting down next to Jasmine on the short sofa when Mandrake indicated that he may. "Half, actually. Chanda is my name. You must the Lord Jasmine of whom I have heard so much."
Jasmine scoffed. "I sincerely doubt you have heard anything about me." Not that he wanted to know what Chanda had heard—none of it would be flattering.
"Well, you are as beautiful as they say, though that much was clear just by looking at your brother. I also hear you are quite the scholar. I look forward to working with you, my lord."
"Indeed," Jasmine said, as thoughts began to occur to him.
Namely, Chanda was an incubus. A perfect choice for instructing two men—boys—in the ways of pleasure…but Chanda would need to be fed, and he could not feed from those he was teaching. Nevermind he would exhaust them; they would be so overtaken by what Chanda could do that it could hardly be called instruction.
Well, surely his brother would have arranged something. Mandrake would not hire an incubus without arranging some way by which to feed him.
Really, he just wanted to go home. Tearing his eyes away from Chanda, he glared at his brother and drank his tea.
Twins…so the dragon king had gifted twin sons to the crown prince, who wanted them trained in all the scholarly subjects, in addition to etiquette, conversation, dancing…and the bedroom arts. Hmm. He hoped Chanda could teach them how to dance, for he certainly could not.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-05 07:57 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing.