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maderrJust proof that I didn't waste my evening ^_~ 2.5 pages is okay, yeah? *sigh* Mind you it's the first draft = lots of stuff to fix. Mosty by way of details which need added, and others double checked >_> Anyway. Also switched the order of chaps 4 & 5. Liked it better with this one first.
Stregoni hummed softly, occasionally breaking to mutter to himself. He walked the halls from memory, his eyes only for the meticulously written notes held in his free hand. Scattered between notes were small drawings: plants, flowers and other, less distinct pictures.
In the dead silence that had befallen the house, his mixture of hums and mutters was loud, if unclear.
A voice broke the still, and Stregoni jerked his head as he recognized it…then he realized what he was hearing. Annoyance, pain…and something like jealousy all mingled into an expression of abject misery. He crept to the open door and peeked inside.
The room was one of the smaller salons on the second floor; used mostly during festivities or by guests staying for a prolonged length of time. The amber salon, this one was called. It was done entirely in browns and various shades of amber. On a delicate table beside the couch was a large crystal vase full of dark yellow roses.
Gille sat in the middle of the couch, his light brown hair loose and spread around him, as if impatient fingers had raked it loose, then left it to seek out other pleasures. His normally neat clothes were just as disarrayed, whoever had done it had spared no time for finesses. His chest was smooth, pale, rather more toned that was to be expected of a leisurely gentleman. Gille panted, his parted lips damp, eyes fastened on the dark head between his legs.
Jade green eyes, flecked with pale gold.
Do you want me?
Stregoni jerked away, but not before Gille looked up at the sound, and a knowing smirk curved his kiss-damp lips.
The sounds increased in volume then, and Stregoni frantically stooped to recover the notes he’d dropped. In his haste, he knocked over a white china vase. Water and purple agapanthus spilled across the carpet. Turning red, vainly trying to block the sounds coming from the amber salon, Stregoni gathered up the flowers and shoved them back into the vase. Retrieving his notes, he shoved them back into the pocket of his dark blue coat and all but ran toward Carmilla’s room. Soft purple petals trailed after him, falling from his coat and bright orange-red hair.
“What’s wrong, Stregoni?” Carmilla looked at him with concern. Her pen paused over the small sketchbook in her lap. “You look as though…” She stopped, then smiled kindly. “They only do that sort of thing when you’re around.”
Stregoni didn’t look at her. He pulled his crumpled notes from his pocket and fussed over them, gently smoothing them out and double checking that everything was still legible. From his other pocket, he pulled out a small book, bound in dark red leather. He flipped it open about half way and strode over to a small writing desk. “So how are you feeling, Milla? Better or worse than this morning?”
“I’m fine,” she said. The tip of her tongue stuck out between her lips as she bent over her sketch book again. A long strand of hair slipped over her shoulder and patiently she tucked it back. Her movements were slow and steady as she detailed a leaf. “A little tired, but not as bad as yesterday. What have you been doing all afternoon?”
Stregoni noted what she’d said in his little book. “I was reading some of the books Brey brought back. I was hoping they’d tell me something I didn’t already know.”
“You don’t need a book to tell you that I’ve a weak constitution.”
“A weak constitution is not the reason. You’ve some sort of illness, sweet. I just haven’t figured it out yet. But I will.” Stregoni smiled at her. “I promised I’d see you off on your own adventures, didn’t I little sister?”
Carmilla smiled back. “Yes, you did. But that was to a sad, silly little girl. I keep telling you, Stregoni, I’m perfectly content now that Brey is back. I have both of you, that’s enough.” She went back to drawing for a moment, finishing the leaf with a flourish and smile. “Besides, I have the book to keep me occupied alongside the garden. If it sells well, I won’t be a burden to the family anymore.”
“You’re not a burden, Milla.” Stregoni spoke firmly.
“Yes, I am.” Carmilla said sadly. Neatly she printed the name of the flower below the image. Red Carnation. “I’ve heard father discuss it all the time. ‘Two children a complete waste.’ On and on he goes, about how unfair it is that his wastrel brother gets the good child—“ a soft snort at this. “And he, the hardworking, loyal, son gets the useless ones.” She set her pen down, her book aside, and folded her hands neatly in her lap as she looked at Stregoni. “I’m sick, not stupid. Father would love any excuse to be rid of his cumbersome children. He keeps picking at Aubrey. Just watch. Little things at first…then it will get worse. One day Brey is going to finally snap, and run off and I’ll never see him again.” Her face was composed, but in her lap her hands were clenched in the pale pink satin of her dinner dress. “There’s no telling what he’ll finally decide to do with me.” She looked down at her hands and slowly relaxed them, smoothing the wrinkled fabric.
Stregoni frowned. Standing, he crossed over and took her hands gently in his own. “Your father is not the kindest of men, it’s true. But Milla, he would never be that cruel to you. Perhaps you are weaker than he would have liked; especially when your mother was apparently so strong. But you are his daughter; he had not gotten rid of you this far. He won’t.” He squeezed her hands. “And Brey would never abandon you. Silly. You’re the only reason he came back.” He kissed the back of her hand. “And if the worst should happen, which it won’t, I will take care of you.”
“You’re sweet, Stregoni.” Carmilla tugged him down and kissed his cheek. “You deserve far better than my bastard of a cousin.”
“Such language!” Stregoni teased.
Milla frowned. “Don’t try to laugh it off. I let you escape it once already. Why not just admit things and be done?”
“To whom should I admit 'things'?” Stregoni asked with a strangled laugh. “Myself? I already did that. Him? He already knows, or at least knows more than either of us likes. Brey? I will eventually. It’s the epitome of foolish. The man, if you’ll pardon, is a bastard. There’s nothing good about him.”
Carmilla’s looked him in the eyes as she spoke, her voice whisper soft. “Then why do you care?”
Stregoni turned away. He tucked his papers and book away and strode toward the door. “I will come by in a couple of hours to administer your sleeping draught.”
Stregoni hummed softly, occasionally breaking to mutter to himself. He walked the halls from memory, his eyes only for the meticulously written notes held in his free hand. Scattered between notes were small drawings: plants, flowers and other, less distinct pictures.
In the dead silence that had befallen the house, his mixture of hums and mutters was loud, if unclear.
A voice broke the still, and Stregoni jerked his head as he recognized it…then he realized what he was hearing. Annoyance, pain…and something like jealousy all mingled into an expression of abject misery. He crept to the open door and peeked inside.
The room was one of the smaller salons on the second floor; used mostly during festivities or by guests staying for a prolonged length of time. The amber salon, this one was called. It was done entirely in browns and various shades of amber. On a delicate table beside the couch was a large crystal vase full of dark yellow roses.
Gille sat in the middle of the couch, his light brown hair loose and spread around him, as if impatient fingers had raked it loose, then left it to seek out other pleasures. His normally neat clothes were just as disarrayed, whoever had done it had spared no time for finesses. His chest was smooth, pale, rather more toned that was to be expected of a leisurely gentleman. Gille panted, his parted lips damp, eyes fastened on the dark head between his legs.
Jade green eyes, flecked with pale gold.
Do you want me?
Stregoni jerked away, but not before Gille looked up at the sound, and a knowing smirk curved his kiss-damp lips.
The sounds increased in volume then, and Stregoni frantically stooped to recover the notes he’d dropped. In his haste, he knocked over a white china vase. Water and purple agapanthus spilled across the carpet. Turning red, vainly trying to block the sounds coming from the amber salon, Stregoni gathered up the flowers and shoved them back into the vase. Retrieving his notes, he shoved them back into the pocket of his dark blue coat and all but ran toward Carmilla’s room. Soft purple petals trailed after him, falling from his coat and bright orange-red hair.
“What’s wrong, Stregoni?” Carmilla looked at him with concern. Her pen paused over the small sketchbook in her lap. “You look as though…” She stopped, then smiled kindly. “They only do that sort of thing when you’re around.”
Stregoni didn’t look at her. He pulled his crumpled notes from his pocket and fussed over them, gently smoothing them out and double checking that everything was still legible. From his other pocket, he pulled out a small book, bound in dark red leather. He flipped it open about half way and strode over to a small writing desk. “So how are you feeling, Milla? Better or worse than this morning?”
“I’m fine,” she said. The tip of her tongue stuck out between her lips as she bent over her sketch book again. A long strand of hair slipped over her shoulder and patiently she tucked it back. Her movements were slow and steady as she detailed a leaf. “A little tired, but not as bad as yesterday. What have you been doing all afternoon?”
Stregoni noted what she’d said in his little book. “I was reading some of the books Brey brought back. I was hoping they’d tell me something I didn’t already know.”
“You don’t need a book to tell you that I’ve a weak constitution.”
“A weak constitution is not the reason. You’ve some sort of illness, sweet. I just haven’t figured it out yet. But I will.” Stregoni smiled at her. “I promised I’d see you off on your own adventures, didn’t I little sister?”
Carmilla smiled back. “Yes, you did. But that was to a sad, silly little girl. I keep telling you, Stregoni, I’m perfectly content now that Brey is back. I have both of you, that’s enough.” She went back to drawing for a moment, finishing the leaf with a flourish and smile. “Besides, I have the book to keep me occupied alongside the garden. If it sells well, I won’t be a burden to the family anymore.”
“You’re not a burden, Milla.” Stregoni spoke firmly.
“Yes, I am.” Carmilla said sadly. Neatly she printed the name of the flower below the image. Red Carnation. “I’ve heard father discuss it all the time. ‘Two children a complete waste.’ On and on he goes, about how unfair it is that his wastrel brother gets the good child—“ a soft snort at this. “And he, the hardworking, loyal, son gets the useless ones.” She set her pen down, her book aside, and folded her hands neatly in her lap as she looked at Stregoni. “I’m sick, not stupid. Father would love any excuse to be rid of his cumbersome children. He keeps picking at Aubrey. Just watch. Little things at first…then it will get worse. One day Brey is going to finally snap, and run off and I’ll never see him again.” Her face was composed, but in her lap her hands were clenched in the pale pink satin of her dinner dress. “There’s no telling what he’ll finally decide to do with me.” She looked down at her hands and slowly relaxed them, smoothing the wrinkled fabric.
Stregoni frowned. Standing, he crossed over and took her hands gently in his own. “Your father is not the kindest of men, it’s true. But Milla, he would never be that cruel to you. Perhaps you are weaker than he would have liked; especially when your mother was apparently so strong. But you are his daughter; he had not gotten rid of you this far. He won’t.” He squeezed her hands. “And Brey would never abandon you. Silly. You’re the only reason he came back.” He kissed the back of her hand. “And if the worst should happen, which it won’t, I will take care of you.”
“You’re sweet, Stregoni.” Carmilla tugged him down and kissed his cheek. “You deserve far better than my bastard of a cousin.”
“Such language!” Stregoni teased.
Milla frowned. “Don’t try to laugh it off. I let you escape it once already. Why not just admit things and be done?”
“To whom should I admit 'things'?” Stregoni asked with a strangled laugh. “Myself? I already did that. Him? He already knows, or at least knows more than either of us likes. Brey? I will eventually. It’s the epitome of foolish. The man, if you’ll pardon, is a bastard. There’s nothing good about him.”
Carmilla’s looked him in the eyes as she spoke, her voice whisper soft. “Then why do you care?”
Stregoni turned away. He tucked his papers and book away and strode toward the door. “I will come by in a couple of hours to administer your sleeping draught.”
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 02:28 am (UTC)Soon?
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 09:43 am (UTC)No. It's free for all. But thanks ^_^
It'll get fixed eventually. Kekeke.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 04:39 pm (UTC)I think you're meter is swinging back toward Pyscho...
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 04:42 pm (UTC)Hell, I never got my goddamned hug out of Grave, but have I harmed you? No. I am not psycho. I'm simply reasonably demanding. ^_^
Now fix it.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 04:46 pm (UTC)Sorry, babycakes. This is only chapter four. It's got a ways to go yet. But thank you for not injuring the writer.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 04:48 pm (UTC)Wanna see what I got for Zac and Lee so far? Got time? Or should I try to finish and have it ready for when you get home? Would that be better?
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 04:53 pm (UTC)Home would be better, since the Man Club is here for meetings and I'll probably be interrupted momentarily. Which sucks, because I was totally gong to type more of Embrace up over lunch. Blah. Have to settle for the ol' pen and paper gig.
Damn you! I demand my will be done!
MY GODDAMN STORY WHORE
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 04:57 pm (UTC)Right. So I really need to crack down and get shit written. Gotcha gotcha, Mr. Hitman-man! ^_^
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Date: 2005-10-26 05:00 pm (UTC)Oh you did not. Bitch, start countin'em down. Your life ends come Christmas.
Somebody had a little too much sugar today.
And I hear Mr. Asshat, so I'm out. Lata'
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 05:38 pm (UTC)Zac and Lee and maybe more when you get home. ^_^
Later.