Two offerings - the second
Mar. 26th, 2006 12:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrThis story was put off for a long time b/c I wasn't quite sure where to go with it. And I didn't like what I had. But I've worked it out now, so here's the new prologue. ^_^
Paradise
Prologue – Xavier
Xavier Cameron Lord. The name carried a lot of weight, and someday it would carry even more. Someday they wouldn’t even call him that; it would just be Lord. If his father’s plans went accordingly, in five years the world would call him the Master of Paradise. There would no one who called him Ex besides Bastion.
Trick had come up with that name, but only his youngest brother had picked it up. He held it precious, a name used by the two people he cared most about in the world. Just yesterday all three of them had gone out for the day, a rare chance to have fun, be normal, act their ages. He’d been happy.
Now? He felt…numb. No, that wasn’t quite right.
Ex stared at the mass of paper on his desk. Colorful brochures, bright pamphlets, picture-perfect postcards, and at least a rainforest’s worth of applications, explanations, and course books.
So many colleges and universities, all of them selected by his father.
Because Terrence Lord did not waste time with sentiment. No, he would not be sending his son to his Alma Mater. That school was not quite as reputable as it had been, and anyway Ex needed to be closer to get (more) hands-on work with the actual business.
He was the spitting image of his father, the ruthless Terrence Lord. Dark brown hair, with shades of what his mother called ‘wine-red’ when the light hit it. Girls cooed over it all the time, always touching and playing with it, driving him insane. Eyes a sort of dark gold – amber was what people usually said, always pointing it out as if he didn’t know the color of his own eyes. Gangly, but he’d fill out, acquire his father’s tall, lithe frame and look just as good in suit and tie. He knew it; it was what he’d been told. What he was meant to be. He was ever being shaped and molded to be perfect in everything. A Lord fit to rule Paradise; only his father would ever be his better.
So Ex poured over the schools his father had approved of and passed on to him. Business schools of the highest caliber, and with his grade school records and extracurricular activities, combined with a name that very few could equal for power and prestige, Ex would not even really have to try to gain admittance. It would be handed to him.
None of them appealed.
From a desk drawer, Ex pulled out a brochure that was less showy than the ones on his desk, but no less classy. It was for a smaller college, one of brick buildings and cobblestone paths, electric lights that mimicked their retired gaslight brothers. An arts school, one that was famous for its architectural courses.
Ex could still feel his father’s glare, the disappointment, the impatience. The ruthless refusal to let Ex do any such thing, unless he could find time to dabble between his real studies.
Not that choosing which school to attend was really the source of his solemn mood. But he’d succeeded in distracting himself for a bit at least. Ex looked up from the mess on his desk to stare out the window off the right. Wasn’t really much to see at this angle, just a dark sky. A starless night, or at least it seemed. More than likely, they were simply drowned out by the city lights.
He felt…not numb. Hollow, that was it. Like something had been taken out of him.
Something. Ex laughed at himself. Not thing. One. Someone. That someone was currently on a plane, though by this point he’d probably landed.
Ex closed his eyes and relived that moment in the airport, right before Trick had gone through security. He’d never forget those dark green eyes, and how badly it had shaken him to realize Trick had been close to tears.
They’d met on the second day of classes, both of them trying to sneak away to the roof to hide. Ever since that day, they’d been the best of friends.
Then yesterday, out of nowhere, Trick had declared he had to leave. He wouldn’t be coming back. He couldn’t leave any contact info, not even a phone number.
He’d hugged Trick goodbye in front of security, holding tight to that too-skinny frame, smelling cinnamon gum and the woodsy shampoo he’d always teased Trick for using. Trick had hugged him tightly back and for a moment it had seemed as if Trick was about to do something else. What, Ex didn’t know, but he’d seen the moment in those green eyes…and watched it pass. Letting go had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, and he’d felt hollow ever since.
Did Trick miss him? Had their friendship meant anything, that he could just say goodbye like that? Would he ever see Trick again?
Ex felt his eyes burn and shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. From the hallway, the clock chimed once, twice, thrice, and he realized it was three in the morning. He should go to bed. Father would expect him up early to go to the office. Friday night was another of mother’s parties, and he would be expected to mingle and charm and begin to make the connections that would ‘prove to be invaluable later in life’ because his father ‘could not do all the work for him, a real man did the work himself.’ Except the only real work he was allowed to do was the work his father ordered.
Saturday he would be going to Paradise, an island to which some of the most powerful people in the world escaped. A place which he would someday control. Already he understood it as well as his father, and by the time he took it over he would know it better. Terrence Lord had ordered it be so, and Ex would obey. His dreams of doing anything else had vanished along with Trick.
In the hallway the soft, echoing chimes of the clock faded away, leaving only a stark silence. Ex looked at his bed, then stared out the window, glanced at his desk, then repeated everything over again. Finally he gave up, and buried his head in his arms, folded on top of the desk.
If he made any sound, it was lost in the folds of his silk dinner shirt and piles of glossy campus pictures.
Prologue – Patrick
“Are you all right, Trick?”
Trick opened his eyes and stared at the man sitting across from him. He was beautiful; young, blonde, bright green eyes and positively dripping sex. There was no other way to describe him. Patrick was unmoved; all he could think about was the man he’d left behind in the airport.
Most would say they were all still boys. But he hadn’t felt like one for as long as he could remember and there was nothing even remotely boyish about the man sitting across from him. Ex had never known what it was to be a boy, either. The only comforting thought he had was that as difficult as Ex’s life was always going to be, he wasn’t a part of Trick’s world. Trick stared at his hands, his arms. They felt strange, like something wasn’t there that should be.
Ex was missing.
How many times had he daydreamed and fantasized about his best friend? His only friend. More times than he liked to admit. Ex was everything.
Everything he wanted. Everything he couldn’t have.
“Trick?”
“I’m fine, Mickey.” Trick closed his eyes, then opened them again slowly. They felt strange without his contacts. But the green eyes they’d given him belonged to a life that hadn’t been his and the Azura’s son was returning to reality.
Except he wasn’t the Azura’s son anymore. He was the Azura. Trick took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “What happened?”
“Double cross,” Mickey said dispassionately. “We think he was bought by the Emperor.”
Trick nodded, his azure-blue eyes hard. He could see his reflection in the window. Outside, the moon-silvered clouds looked like a strange, mystic sea. A sea carrying him away from the life he loved…the man he loved…and back to a life he didn’t want.
His eyes flicked to two other men sitting nearby. Both were well-built without being over-bulked. The left-most one had dark hair and darker eyes and looked more like he should be going to pick his kids up from school. The second, slightly stockier, had lighter hair but even darker eyes. He looked like he had hockey practice in an hour. Both were in suits, jackets discarded on empty chairs. They each had a gun in shoulder holster, and wore them as easily as they wore their clothes. Neither smiled or moved, merely regarded Trick in patient silence. “Who are you?”
“Your bodyguards,” Mickey answered. The smile that slipped onto his face seemed mostly out of habit, as if he could not help it. ‘Hand-picked by Romeo himself.”
Patrick nodded, easing slightly. If his father had been double-crossed, that meant he could trust no one who had been close to the late Azura. Right now he trusted only the two men he’d known since they were all young, though they were both a few years older than he. If ‘Romeo’ had selected his bodyguards, he had nothing to worry about in that area. “Your names?”
“That’s Justin,” Mickey said before the men could speak for themselves, pointing to the stockier man. “The sexy one is Sam.”
“Shut up,” Sam said.
Trick laughed. “Sounds like he’s actually trying to resist you, Mickey.”
“So far,” Mickey answered lazily. “Anyway, they’re solid. Former good guys and all that.”
“You’ll have to tell me more, later,” Trick said to them. “Thank you in advance.” He winked at Sam. “I don’t mind if you spend a little time with Mickey.”
“I would rather burn in hell,” Sam snarled.
Justin snickered. “That means he was really hoping you’d forbid such a thing.”
Trick threw his head back and laughed. “I think I like you both already.” His laughter slowly faded, replaced by a deep frown “Who double-crossed?”
“Crowley. He doesn’t know we figured it out.”
The deep frown faded, leaving Trick’s face blank of any expression. But his blue eyes, the color of a tropical sea, turned dark with rage. “Who can I trust then?”
“Me, of course. Tybs. Contract aside, Trick, he’d do anything for you.”
Trick nodded, eyes closing as Mickey continued to speak, absorbing the names, putting them to faces and memorizing all of it. Christ, he wouldn’t be eighteen for three more months. Should he feel this tired?
Mickey finally fell silent, and Trick felt more tired than ever, knowing what was coming.
“Your orders, Azura?”
The Azura didn’t cry, not ever. He’d give anything to be back at school, acting like a normal kid, a normal person. Instead he was about to hand out death and life as if he had every right.
His eyes and position said he did, and if he tried to back out people would suffer.
“I’ll take care of Crowley,” Trick said. Azure blue eyes locked with emerald green, a boy of seventeen and a man of twenty-three, and both looked as though they were going on fifty. “Speaking of which…”
Mickey nodded and reached into the seat next to him, throwing aside the leather jacket he’d set there and tossing Trick a black shoulder holster. Stifling a sigh, Trick pulled the handgun free; it dark grey and engraved with a scrolling ‘A’ on the grip. Custom made years ago, and somehow it fit his hand perfectly. He wasn’t supposed to have it yet, though he’d learned how to use it and more besides years ago. He shoved it back in the holster. “Flush the rest out,” he said at last. “I want to know how badly this Emperor weed has grown. Interrogate…exterminate. What of the business has been compromised?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, if you want,” Mickey said almost idly. “I’ve got pictures aplenty, and there’s always more to take. What one trigger won’t fix,” he shrugged, “another will.”
Patrick wondered if his father had ever hated himself this way. “Do it then, and thank you, Mick.”
“Anything for you, Trick.”
He wasn’t worthy, but he wouldn’t argue.
The world shook as his jet touched down, and Trick could feel himself growing colder as they gathered their things. By the time his gun was in place, he felt as though he were made of ice. As it should be.
When they hit the tarmac, Sam was on his right, Justin right behind them. Mickey walked on his left, snapping mint gum as though they were strolling in the park.
A group of men stood waiting, and Trick knew what they saw in him. A snot-nosed kid trying to step into Daddy’s shoes, something he’d never be able to do. Trick wasn’t like his father. Too skinny, too quiet, too mellow.
One man stood ahead of the others, oozing status, confidence, and no small amount of smugness. He was thin, pushing fifty, but looked only forty, eyes shrewd and calculating behind oval, frameless lenses. A genius and loyal to the Azura for years. Trick wondered if it was greed that had finally seduced him, or something slightly more interesting. Maybe it was a woman – or a man – but he thought if that was the case Mickey would have said so.
“Azura,” Crowley said, the sneer in his voice obvious. This was it, then.
Find your center, his father had always said. Find that place where no one can touch you, and act from there.
“Mickey,” Trick said. “Tell me something.”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Did he at least have the balls to do it himself?”
Mickey laughed coldly, and his beautiful features contorted with an expression of utter contempt. “He’s a pussy; of course he didn’t.”
“I see,” Trick said, and in one smooth move pulled his gun and shot Crowley in the head. The sound shattered across the tarmac, which was clear now of even his own jet. Trick looked at the other men, who had scattered the minute they saw the gun. “Get rid of him. If you helped him, I suggest you not show your face at breakfast tomorrow. Does anyone have anything he’d like to say?” He slid the gun back in its holster, and allowed Sam to help him into his coat.
“No, Azura,” the men said together in a rush.
Trick nodded and turned away, heading for the car that was waiting for him, flanked by his bodyguards and Mickey. He listened to all that Mickey told him, responding and ordering as necessary, reacquainting himself with the world that was once more his, and buried all thoughts of the pretend life he’d been enjoying. Goodbye, Ex.
Paradise
Prologue – Xavier
Xavier Cameron Lord. The name carried a lot of weight, and someday it would carry even more. Someday they wouldn’t even call him that; it would just be Lord. If his father’s plans went accordingly, in five years the world would call him the Master of Paradise. There would no one who called him Ex besides Bastion.
Trick had come up with that name, but only his youngest brother had picked it up. He held it precious, a name used by the two people he cared most about in the world. Just yesterday all three of them had gone out for the day, a rare chance to have fun, be normal, act their ages. He’d been happy.
Now? He felt…numb. No, that wasn’t quite right.
Ex stared at the mass of paper on his desk. Colorful brochures, bright pamphlets, picture-perfect postcards, and at least a rainforest’s worth of applications, explanations, and course books.
So many colleges and universities, all of them selected by his father.
Because Terrence Lord did not waste time with sentiment. No, he would not be sending his son to his Alma Mater. That school was not quite as reputable as it had been, and anyway Ex needed to be closer to get (more) hands-on work with the actual business.
He was the spitting image of his father, the ruthless Terrence Lord. Dark brown hair, with shades of what his mother called ‘wine-red’ when the light hit it. Girls cooed over it all the time, always touching and playing with it, driving him insane. Eyes a sort of dark gold – amber was what people usually said, always pointing it out as if he didn’t know the color of his own eyes. Gangly, but he’d fill out, acquire his father’s tall, lithe frame and look just as good in suit and tie. He knew it; it was what he’d been told. What he was meant to be. He was ever being shaped and molded to be perfect in everything. A Lord fit to rule Paradise; only his father would ever be his better.
So Ex poured over the schools his father had approved of and passed on to him. Business schools of the highest caliber, and with his grade school records and extracurricular activities, combined with a name that very few could equal for power and prestige, Ex would not even really have to try to gain admittance. It would be handed to him.
None of them appealed.
From a desk drawer, Ex pulled out a brochure that was less showy than the ones on his desk, but no less classy. It was for a smaller college, one of brick buildings and cobblestone paths, electric lights that mimicked their retired gaslight brothers. An arts school, one that was famous for its architectural courses.
Ex could still feel his father’s glare, the disappointment, the impatience. The ruthless refusal to let Ex do any such thing, unless he could find time to dabble between his real studies.
Not that choosing which school to attend was really the source of his solemn mood. But he’d succeeded in distracting himself for a bit at least. Ex looked up from the mess on his desk to stare out the window off the right. Wasn’t really much to see at this angle, just a dark sky. A starless night, or at least it seemed. More than likely, they were simply drowned out by the city lights.
He felt…not numb. Hollow, that was it. Like something had been taken out of him.
Something. Ex laughed at himself. Not thing. One. Someone. That someone was currently on a plane, though by this point he’d probably landed.
Ex closed his eyes and relived that moment in the airport, right before Trick had gone through security. He’d never forget those dark green eyes, and how badly it had shaken him to realize Trick had been close to tears.
They’d met on the second day of classes, both of them trying to sneak away to the roof to hide. Ever since that day, they’d been the best of friends.
Then yesterday, out of nowhere, Trick had declared he had to leave. He wouldn’t be coming back. He couldn’t leave any contact info, not even a phone number.
He’d hugged Trick goodbye in front of security, holding tight to that too-skinny frame, smelling cinnamon gum and the woodsy shampoo he’d always teased Trick for using. Trick had hugged him tightly back and for a moment it had seemed as if Trick was about to do something else. What, Ex didn’t know, but he’d seen the moment in those green eyes…and watched it pass. Letting go had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, and he’d felt hollow ever since.
Did Trick miss him? Had their friendship meant anything, that he could just say goodbye like that? Would he ever see Trick again?
Ex felt his eyes burn and shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. From the hallway, the clock chimed once, twice, thrice, and he realized it was three in the morning. He should go to bed. Father would expect him up early to go to the office. Friday night was another of mother’s parties, and he would be expected to mingle and charm and begin to make the connections that would ‘prove to be invaluable later in life’ because his father ‘could not do all the work for him, a real man did the work himself.’ Except the only real work he was allowed to do was the work his father ordered.
Saturday he would be going to Paradise, an island to which some of the most powerful people in the world escaped. A place which he would someday control. Already he understood it as well as his father, and by the time he took it over he would know it better. Terrence Lord had ordered it be so, and Ex would obey. His dreams of doing anything else had vanished along with Trick.
In the hallway the soft, echoing chimes of the clock faded away, leaving only a stark silence. Ex looked at his bed, then stared out the window, glanced at his desk, then repeated everything over again. Finally he gave up, and buried his head in his arms, folded on top of the desk.
If he made any sound, it was lost in the folds of his silk dinner shirt and piles of glossy campus pictures.
Prologue – Patrick
“Are you all right, Trick?”
Trick opened his eyes and stared at the man sitting across from him. He was beautiful; young, blonde, bright green eyes and positively dripping sex. There was no other way to describe him. Patrick was unmoved; all he could think about was the man he’d left behind in the airport.
Most would say they were all still boys. But he hadn’t felt like one for as long as he could remember and there was nothing even remotely boyish about the man sitting across from him. Ex had never known what it was to be a boy, either. The only comforting thought he had was that as difficult as Ex’s life was always going to be, he wasn’t a part of Trick’s world. Trick stared at his hands, his arms. They felt strange, like something wasn’t there that should be.
Ex was missing.
How many times had he daydreamed and fantasized about his best friend? His only friend. More times than he liked to admit. Ex was everything.
Everything he wanted. Everything he couldn’t have.
“Trick?”
“I’m fine, Mickey.” Trick closed his eyes, then opened them again slowly. They felt strange without his contacts. But the green eyes they’d given him belonged to a life that hadn’t been his and the Azura’s son was returning to reality.
Except he wasn’t the Azura’s son anymore. He was the Azura. Trick took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “What happened?”
“Double cross,” Mickey said dispassionately. “We think he was bought by the Emperor.”
Trick nodded, his azure-blue eyes hard. He could see his reflection in the window. Outside, the moon-silvered clouds looked like a strange, mystic sea. A sea carrying him away from the life he loved…the man he loved…and back to a life he didn’t want.
His eyes flicked to two other men sitting nearby. Both were well-built without being over-bulked. The left-most one had dark hair and darker eyes and looked more like he should be going to pick his kids up from school. The second, slightly stockier, had lighter hair but even darker eyes. He looked like he had hockey practice in an hour. Both were in suits, jackets discarded on empty chairs. They each had a gun in shoulder holster, and wore them as easily as they wore their clothes. Neither smiled or moved, merely regarded Trick in patient silence. “Who are you?”
“Your bodyguards,” Mickey answered. The smile that slipped onto his face seemed mostly out of habit, as if he could not help it. ‘Hand-picked by Romeo himself.”
Patrick nodded, easing slightly. If his father had been double-crossed, that meant he could trust no one who had been close to the late Azura. Right now he trusted only the two men he’d known since they were all young, though they were both a few years older than he. If ‘Romeo’ had selected his bodyguards, he had nothing to worry about in that area. “Your names?”
“That’s Justin,” Mickey said before the men could speak for themselves, pointing to the stockier man. “The sexy one is Sam.”
“Shut up,” Sam said.
Trick laughed. “Sounds like he’s actually trying to resist you, Mickey.”
“So far,” Mickey answered lazily. “Anyway, they’re solid. Former good guys and all that.”
“You’ll have to tell me more, later,” Trick said to them. “Thank you in advance.” He winked at Sam. “I don’t mind if you spend a little time with Mickey.”
“I would rather burn in hell,” Sam snarled.
Justin snickered. “That means he was really hoping you’d forbid such a thing.”
Trick threw his head back and laughed. “I think I like you both already.” His laughter slowly faded, replaced by a deep frown “Who double-crossed?”
“Crowley. He doesn’t know we figured it out.”
The deep frown faded, leaving Trick’s face blank of any expression. But his blue eyes, the color of a tropical sea, turned dark with rage. “Who can I trust then?”
“Me, of course. Tybs. Contract aside, Trick, he’d do anything for you.”
Trick nodded, eyes closing as Mickey continued to speak, absorbing the names, putting them to faces and memorizing all of it. Christ, he wouldn’t be eighteen for three more months. Should he feel this tired?
Mickey finally fell silent, and Trick felt more tired than ever, knowing what was coming.
“Your orders, Azura?”
The Azura didn’t cry, not ever. He’d give anything to be back at school, acting like a normal kid, a normal person. Instead he was about to hand out death and life as if he had every right.
His eyes and position said he did, and if he tried to back out people would suffer.
“I’ll take care of Crowley,” Trick said. Azure blue eyes locked with emerald green, a boy of seventeen and a man of twenty-three, and both looked as though they were going on fifty. “Speaking of which…”
Mickey nodded and reached into the seat next to him, throwing aside the leather jacket he’d set there and tossing Trick a black shoulder holster. Stifling a sigh, Trick pulled the handgun free; it dark grey and engraved with a scrolling ‘A’ on the grip. Custom made years ago, and somehow it fit his hand perfectly. He wasn’t supposed to have it yet, though he’d learned how to use it and more besides years ago. He shoved it back in the holster. “Flush the rest out,” he said at last. “I want to know how badly this Emperor weed has grown. Interrogate…exterminate. What of the business has been compromised?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, if you want,” Mickey said almost idly. “I’ve got pictures aplenty, and there’s always more to take. What one trigger won’t fix,” he shrugged, “another will.”
Patrick wondered if his father had ever hated himself this way. “Do it then, and thank you, Mick.”
“Anything for you, Trick.”
He wasn’t worthy, but he wouldn’t argue.
The world shook as his jet touched down, and Trick could feel himself growing colder as they gathered their things. By the time his gun was in place, he felt as though he were made of ice. As it should be.
When they hit the tarmac, Sam was on his right, Justin right behind them. Mickey walked on his left, snapping mint gum as though they were strolling in the park.
A group of men stood waiting, and Trick knew what they saw in him. A snot-nosed kid trying to step into Daddy’s shoes, something he’d never be able to do. Trick wasn’t like his father. Too skinny, too quiet, too mellow.
One man stood ahead of the others, oozing status, confidence, and no small amount of smugness. He was thin, pushing fifty, but looked only forty, eyes shrewd and calculating behind oval, frameless lenses. A genius and loyal to the Azura for years. Trick wondered if it was greed that had finally seduced him, or something slightly more interesting. Maybe it was a woman – or a man – but he thought if that was the case Mickey would have said so.
“Azura,” Crowley said, the sneer in his voice obvious. This was it, then.
Find your center, his father had always said. Find that place where no one can touch you, and act from there.
“Mickey,” Trick said. “Tell me something.”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Did he at least have the balls to do it himself?”
Mickey laughed coldly, and his beautiful features contorted with an expression of utter contempt. “He’s a pussy; of course he didn’t.”
“I see,” Trick said, and in one smooth move pulled his gun and shot Crowley in the head. The sound shattered across the tarmac, which was clear now of even his own jet. Trick looked at the other men, who had scattered the minute they saw the gun. “Get rid of him. If you helped him, I suggest you not show your face at breakfast tomorrow. Does anyone have anything he’d like to say?” He slid the gun back in its holster, and allowed Sam to help him into his coat.
“No, Azura,” the men said together in a rush.
Trick nodded and turned away, heading for the car that was waiting for him, flanked by his bodyguards and Mickey. He listened to all that Mickey told him, responding and ordering as necessary, reacquainting himself with the world that was once more his, and buried all thoughts of the pretend life he’d been enjoying. Goodbye, Ex.
