Kidnapped Drabbles
Jan. 14th, 2007 05:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrMost of these will make more sense if you've read my latest stuff and all of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tygati's stuff. Else you will be mightily confused ^_^
Beloved Nephew
Planet 0000000 (Zero), The Kavalerov Estate
“You’re late.”
Pyotr rolled his eyes. “You arrived two minutes before me, Uncle. I bet Aunt yelled at you, which is why you’re yelling at me.”
Arkadii said nothing, merely turned and strode back into his study. Obeying the unspoken order, Pyotr followed him inside, then closed and locked the door.
“How was it?” Arkadii asked, sitting behind his desk.
“It was a dinner. They all tend to be exactly the same.”
Arkadii rolled his eyes. “Nephew,” he said slowly. “It was arranged for you to sit between the Countess Delemega and Duke Wevren. One of the most beautiful women in the IG, many claim, and a man with his own fan club. How in all the stars were you bored? What must I do to get you to settle down?”
“Shoot me?” Pyotr said tiredly. Moving closer to the desk, he unbuttoned his coat and draped it over the back of an antique wingback chair. Rid of the blue and silver uniform jacket, he looked some years younger and far less stern. Unbuttoning the top two buttons of his white shirt, he collapsed down in the wingback and glared at Arkadii. “Tell your wife to stop trying to put a collar and leash on me. I am what I am.”
“You are obsessed and it needs to stop.”
Pyotr shook his head. “You know I can’t.”
Arkadii lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Same difference,” Pyotr replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Petya…”
“Don’t,” Pyotr said sharply. “Do you really want to get into another argument tonight? I know you both want me to settle down. To be stable. You and I both know that will never happen, and the reasons why. I’ve accepted it, why can’t you?”
Arkadii sighed and looked out the window. “I was dragged halfway across the galaxy to learn that my sister had been as stupid about dying as anything else. Not a minute later I found out she’d left you behind. All I could think that day, Petya, was that I had no idea what to do with a child – and the child of my sister at that.” His eyes flicked briefly to Pyotr, then back to the window and the shining Palace of Eternity in the distance. “Only a month later I could not imagine life without you. You are my nephew, but you may as well be my son, and I want to see you happy.”
Pyotr rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the dark carpet while his uncle continued to stare out the window. “I see the problems and I have to fix them. I don’t know how to stop…and let us face it. I am…at a personal, intimate level, no one can stand me.”
A soft laugh. “The words you’re looking for, Petya, are ‘too intense’. It is not that they can’t stand you, it is that you are too intense for the average person.” Arkadii smiled. “You need someone as intense as you. I will speak with your aunt.”
“With uncles like you, who needs enemies?” Pyotr replied with a grimace. “I am not going to anymore dinners.”
“I’ll tell your aunt to arrange a brunch.”
Surprise
Custom Class star Ship 98147892, the Shangri La
“Lord High Chancellor…”
Pyotr didn’t even bother to look up. “What has he done now?”
“You may have to see this one to believe it.”
“Where Tau Ceti is concerned,” Pyotr says dryly, “nothing surprised me anymore.”
His Captain snorted softly and left the office.
Shaking his head, chuckling at just the thought of Tau doing something even though Pyotr had told him not to do anything, he clicked off his data screens and stood. Buttoning his black and silver jacket, he left his room and made his way to the bridge. Then buried his face in one hand.
“How…how did they find the ship?” the navigation officer asked, gawking at the main screen, which showed a view of the ship and what surrounded it. “There must hundreds.”
Pyotr’s shoulder shook with laughter. “Forty of each. Forty mermaids. Forty sheep. Forty dragons. Forty faeries. Forty soldiers. Forty model ships. Forty devils. Forty angels. Forty cowboys. Four hundred total.”
All the small, intricate toys held miniature guns, combing to create an over the top laser show. As Pyotr continued to laugh, music suddenly spilled over the speakers, four hundred little voices singing a song he had not heard since he was a child.
His Captain rolled his eyes and shot Pyotr a look. “You could have told us it was your birthday, High Chancellor. At least we would have had some warning.”
Disciplinary Action
Planet 000000 (Zero), The Palace of Eternity
“High Councilor Torrik,” Pyotr greeted calmly.
The nervousness on Torrik’s face turned into abject terror, though Pyotr was never certain what precisely was in his voice that did that to people. He motioned for the man to sit.
When he’d done so, Pyotr related all that he had learned from Ekaitz about the kidnapping of Sigma and Delta.
By the time he’d finished, Torrik looked as though he were going to be violently ill.
“As you are no doubt aware,” Pyotr said levelly, “the IG is still recovering from the loss a term ago of three Lower Chancellors. We are working hard to restore our image. What’s more, you have violated the trust of the planets under your care, the people you serve, and the government that entrusted you with those duties. I will not go into the lives you have cost or those you nearly succeeded in destroying. Never mind the war you encouraged instead of preventing as was your sworn duty. You are detestable.”
He could see the mind working, the way those eyes went cold, almost distant as Torrik raced to find a way out of his sudden predicament.
“Forget it,” Pyotr said, interrupting the thought process. “I will put this as plainly as I can. You are, compared to what I have dealt with in the past, pathetic. It is remarkable I did not find you out sooner. I must learn how stupid it is to think that IG officials would do their jobs properly and not abuse the power given them.”
Torrik gave up any pretense he might have been considering. “So what now? I go to trial and off to Rehab?”
Pyotr smiled, this time knowing precisely how chilling his expression was. He had learned it from his uncle. “I do not feel like wasting time and money on a trial. You are not worth either, to me or the IG. Nor do I feel like tarnishing the image I have been working so hard to polish.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you have taken ill and are retiring to an obscure planet. You have no family, no close friends – that aren’t already in Authorities custody – and no one is terribly fond of your snits in all the meetings.”
Torrik frowned.
Pyotr spoke before he could. “You are ill, you are going away, you will not return.”
“You can’t—“
“I can and will,” Pyotr said. The chill in his voice and face killed any protests. “I have before, and no doubt I will do so in the future. You should have been more careful, former High Councilor, when you decided to mess with Internal Affairs and those that are under my personal care.” He stood up. “Your ‘escort’ is waiting for you.”
Torrik started. “Now? You want me to leave now? I can’t—that’s not---“
“You will go to dock 5 quietly via the private routes – under escort of course – or I will to it you are dragged way. That is the last choice you have in this affair.”
“I will not be treated in so uncouth a matter.”
“So be it,” Pyotr said. He pressed a button on his data console and a hidden door at the back of his office slid open.
A man with dark copper skin, tall and slender, hair a mass of beads and braids stepped out of it, his grin wolfish and cold.
“Zon,” Pyotr said. “Take him away.”
“Yes, High Chancellor.” Zon lifted a stunner and fired. Behind him, two more men appeared, moving soundlessly forward to lift the unconscious man and carry him from the office.
Pyotr looked briefly at Zon. “Inform me when you reach Bangkok.”
“Of course.” Zon looked distastefully at the space where Torrik had recently been sitting. “What’s he going to get?”
“The usual,” Pyotr said calmly, opening his data screens and resuming the work he’d left off to speak with the former High Councilor.
Zon grunted. “I’ll stick to the brighter sides of Bangkok. See ya, Boss.”
“Don’t cut him any slack. Thank you, Zon. My regards to your men and Keon.”
With a wave, Zon vanished, leaving Pyotr alone and as though nothing at all had transpired.
Poor Kitty
Combat Class Starship 13512550, The Melee
Gypsy was grinning in a way that Cornelius could only describe as 'not good' as he approached. He held a small, flat data pane in his hand...and held it out to Formane, who had come up to the bridge to visit and relax for a bit. "Happy birthday, Formane. I've been holding on to these, waiting for the right moment. Thought maybe you should have them now."
Formane lifted one brow and accepted the pane, thumbing the on switch – and then his jaw dropped in complete and utter shock. More disturbing was the sudden interest being displayed by his pants.
Cornelius eyed his friend in suspicion as Gypsy walked back to the comm chair, then snatched the pane from Formane’s figures. He blinked at what he saw.
Him. In a collar. The stars damned collar Tau had gotten on him. Years ago. What the hell…he’d never realized Gypsy had gotten pictures. “GYPSY!”
Formane snatched the pane back and hid it in one of the myriad pockets of his dark pants. “Thanks, Gypsy,”
Gypsy grinned. “Sure thing.”
Forman turned to Cornelius, eyes hot. “Still have that collar?”
“No,” Cornelius said. “If you even think about getting one, you will be sleeping alone for a very long time.”
“Not if I get a leash to go with it,” Formane said, then bolted for the door as Cornelius howled in outrage and chased after him.
tygati's stuff. Else you will be mightily confused ^_^Beloved Nephew
Planet 0000000 (Zero), The Kavalerov Estate
“You’re late.”
Pyotr rolled his eyes. “You arrived two minutes before me, Uncle. I bet Aunt yelled at you, which is why you’re yelling at me.”
Arkadii said nothing, merely turned and strode back into his study. Obeying the unspoken order, Pyotr followed him inside, then closed and locked the door.
“How was it?” Arkadii asked, sitting behind his desk.
“It was a dinner. They all tend to be exactly the same.”
Arkadii rolled his eyes. “Nephew,” he said slowly. “It was arranged for you to sit between the Countess Delemega and Duke Wevren. One of the most beautiful women in the IG, many claim, and a man with his own fan club. How in all the stars were you bored? What must I do to get you to settle down?”
“Shoot me?” Pyotr said tiredly. Moving closer to the desk, he unbuttoned his coat and draped it over the back of an antique wingback chair. Rid of the blue and silver uniform jacket, he looked some years younger and far less stern. Unbuttoning the top two buttons of his white shirt, he collapsed down in the wingback and glared at Arkadii. “Tell your wife to stop trying to put a collar and leash on me. I am what I am.”
“You are obsessed and it needs to stop.”
Pyotr shook his head. “You know I can’t.”
Arkadii lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Same difference,” Pyotr replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Petya…”
“Don’t,” Pyotr said sharply. “Do you really want to get into another argument tonight? I know you both want me to settle down. To be stable. You and I both know that will never happen, and the reasons why. I’ve accepted it, why can’t you?”
Arkadii sighed and looked out the window. “I was dragged halfway across the galaxy to learn that my sister had been as stupid about dying as anything else. Not a minute later I found out she’d left you behind. All I could think that day, Petya, was that I had no idea what to do with a child – and the child of my sister at that.” His eyes flicked briefly to Pyotr, then back to the window and the shining Palace of Eternity in the distance. “Only a month later I could not imagine life without you. You are my nephew, but you may as well be my son, and I want to see you happy.”
Pyotr rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the dark carpet while his uncle continued to stare out the window. “I see the problems and I have to fix them. I don’t know how to stop…and let us face it. I am…at a personal, intimate level, no one can stand me.”
A soft laugh. “The words you’re looking for, Petya, are ‘too intense’. It is not that they can’t stand you, it is that you are too intense for the average person.” Arkadii smiled. “You need someone as intense as you. I will speak with your aunt.”
“With uncles like you, who needs enemies?” Pyotr replied with a grimace. “I am not going to anymore dinners.”
“I’ll tell your aunt to arrange a brunch.”
Surprise
Custom Class star Ship 98147892, the Shangri La
“Lord High Chancellor…”
Pyotr didn’t even bother to look up. “What has he done now?”
“You may have to see this one to believe it.”
“Where Tau Ceti is concerned,” Pyotr says dryly, “nothing surprised me anymore.”
His Captain snorted softly and left the office.
Shaking his head, chuckling at just the thought of Tau doing something even though Pyotr had told him not to do anything, he clicked off his data screens and stood. Buttoning his black and silver jacket, he left his room and made his way to the bridge. Then buried his face in one hand.
“How…how did they find the ship?” the navigation officer asked, gawking at the main screen, which showed a view of the ship and what surrounded it. “There must hundreds.”
Pyotr’s shoulder shook with laughter. “Forty of each. Forty mermaids. Forty sheep. Forty dragons. Forty faeries. Forty soldiers. Forty model ships. Forty devils. Forty angels. Forty cowboys. Four hundred total.”
All the small, intricate toys held miniature guns, combing to create an over the top laser show. As Pyotr continued to laugh, music suddenly spilled over the speakers, four hundred little voices singing a song he had not heard since he was a child.
His Captain rolled his eyes and shot Pyotr a look. “You could have told us it was your birthday, High Chancellor. At least we would have had some warning.”
Disciplinary Action
Planet 000000 (Zero), The Palace of Eternity
“High Councilor Torrik,” Pyotr greeted calmly.
The nervousness on Torrik’s face turned into abject terror, though Pyotr was never certain what precisely was in his voice that did that to people. He motioned for the man to sit.
When he’d done so, Pyotr related all that he had learned from Ekaitz about the kidnapping of Sigma and Delta.
By the time he’d finished, Torrik looked as though he were going to be violently ill.
“As you are no doubt aware,” Pyotr said levelly, “the IG is still recovering from the loss a term ago of three Lower Chancellors. We are working hard to restore our image. What’s more, you have violated the trust of the planets under your care, the people you serve, and the government that entrusted you with those duties. I will not go into the lives you have cost or those you nearly succeeded in destroying. Never mind the war you encouraged instead of preventing as was your sworn duty. You are detestable.”
He could see the mind working, the way those eyes went cold, almost distant as Torrik raced to find a way out of his sudden predicament.
“Forget it,” Pyotr said, interrupting the thought process. “I will put this as plainly as I can. You are, compared to what I have dealt with in the past, pathetic. It is remarkable I did not find you out sooner. I must learn how stupid it is to think that IG officials would do their jobs properly and not abuse the power given them.”
Torrik gave up any pretense he might have been considering. “So what now? I go to trial and off to Rehab?”
Pyotr smiled, this time knowing precisely how chilling his expression was. He had learned it from his uncle. “I do not feel like wasting time and money on a trial. You are not worth either, to me or the IG. Nor do I feel like tarnishing the image I have been working so hard to polish.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you have taken ill and are retiring to an obscure planet. You have no family, no close friends – that aren’t already in Authorities custody – and no one is terribly fond of your snits in all the meetings.”
Torrik frowned.
Pyotr spoke before he could. “You are ill, you are going away, you will not return.”
“You can’t—“
“I can and will,” Pyotr said. The chill in his voice and face killed any protests. “I have before, and no doubt I will do so in the future. You should have been more careful, former High Councilor, when you decided to mess with Internal Affairs and those that are under my personal care.” He stood up. “Your ‘escort’ is waiting for you.”
Torrik started. “Now? You want me to leave now? I can’t—that’s not---“
“You will go to dock 5 quietly via the private routes – under escort of course – or I will to it you are dragged way. That is the last choice you have in this affair.”
“I will not be treated in so uncouth a matter.”
“So be it,” Pyotr said. He pressed a button on his data console and a hidden door at the back of his office slid open.
A man with dark copper skin, tall and slender, hair a mass of beads and braids stepped out of it, his grin wolfish and cold.
“Zon,” Pyotr said. “Take him away.”
“Yes, High Chancellor.” Zon lifted a stunner and fired. Behind him, two more men appeared, moving soundlessly forward to lift the unconscious man and carry him from the office.
Pyotr looked briefly at Zon. “Inform me when you reach Bangkok.”
“Of course.” Zon looked distastefully at the space where Torrik had recently been sitting. “What’s he going to get?”
“The usual,” Pyotr said calmly, opening his data screens and resuming the work he’d left off to speak with the former High Councilor.
Zon grunted. “I’ll stick to the brighter sides of Bangkok. See ya, Boss.”
“Don’t cut him any slack. Thank you, Zon. My regards to your men and Keon.”
With a wave, Zon vanished, leaving Pyotr alone and as though nothing at all had transpired.
Poor Kitty
Combat Class Starship 13512550, The Melee
Gypsy was grinning in a way that Cornelius could only describe as 'not good' as he approached. He held a small, flat data pane in his hand...and held it out to Formane, who had come up to the bridge to visit and relax for a bit. "Happy birthday, Formane. I've been holding on to these, waiting for the right moment. Thought maybe you should have them now."
Formane lifted one brow and accepted the pane, thumbing the on switch – and then his jaw dropped in complete and utter shock. More disturbing was the sudden interest being displayed by his pants.
Cornelius eyed his friend in suspicion as Gypsy walked back to the comm chair, then snatched the pane from Formane’s figures. He blinked at what he saw.
Him. In a collar. The stars damned collar Tau had gotten on him. Years ago. What the hell…he’d never realized Gypsy had gotten pictures. “GYPSY!”
Formane snatched the pane back and hid it in one of the myriad pockets of his dark pants. “Thanks, Gypsy,”
Gypsy grinned. “Sure thing.”
Forman turned to Cornelius, eyes hot. “Still have that collar?”
“No,” Cornelius said. “If you even think about getting one, you will be sleeping alone for a very long time.”
“Not if I get a leash to go with it,” Formane said, then bolted for the door as Cornelius howled in outrage and chased after him.
