*gives up the goods*
May. 28th, 2007 01:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrThe first five pages of the story I'm writing for my beloved Avalons' birthday (sammie, I am sorry, yours is being worked on as well ^^;;)
She wanted a pretty demon.
Then she said she wanted a demon and a dragon.
I don't know if this is quite what she had in mind, but mine is to obediently type, not question.
The Dragon's Treasure
Tate made a face as the last customer left the shop, then stomped to the door and defiantly flipped the sign so that it said closed.
Stupid humans, messing up his den.
Pulling the key out from beneath his tunic, Tate locked the door then turned and stomped back across the room, retrieving his broom from behind the counter.
There was dirt and grass and all kinds of stuff and he always swept so carefully and still the humans messed it all up again. Sighing, he set to work, sweeping up every last scrap of dirt and dust, frowning as he swept it into a corner.
He would have to sweep again, of course, and if he opened the door now for even a moment someone else would come to bother him.
Sometimes he really wished Master wasn't so nice because that meant Tate had to be nice and he didn't want to be nice. He wanted to snarl and growl and make the humans leave or, failing that, eat them – though humans tended to taste kind of yuck – and Master would never let him.
Though he supposed Master could be the type to make him kill everything in sight and be big and mean and scary all the time. That really wasn't fun – and it was messy, being an evil type of dragon.
Sighing, Tate returned to the counter and pulled out all his cleaning things – the bucket of water he'd gotten earlier, the lovely soap the nice lady next door gave to him, the pretty polish in the blue glass bottle.
Laying everything out on the counter, he then swiftly braided his long, dark turquoise hair, grimacing to feel all the grime which had collected in it during the day. Everyone laughed at him, of course, but he could feel it.
He didn't like being dirty. He didn't like his den – Master's shop – being dirty. All things dirt were bad, and the stupid humans who kept messing it up with their touching and knocking over and whining and indecisiveness – Tate growled low and tied off his hair, winding it around the back of his head so it would stay out of his way while he cleaned and not get dirtier than it already was.
That taken care of, Tate began to work his way slowly through the shop, cleaning the whole top to bottom – polishing the crystal balls 'til they sparkled, dusting off the dozens of jars filled with spell components, carefully cleaning the spell books, tending the magic wands, making certain all the magic charms and talismans positively glittered.
Finished with all the items, he then set to work on the shelves, the cases, the cabinets, then gave the floor another, more thorough sweeping, dumping all the nasty dirt outside before retrieving his soap and water and going to work scrubbing the floor – twice.
Stupid humans. He didn't understand why Master had to get money in such a frustrating way. Why couldn't he just make Tate go out and take it from the humans? Much more efficient, and then he could have a proper den, with everything clean and organized and pretty and no stupid humans trekking through putting their grubby hands on it and—
A soft, muffled crack came from the vicinity of upstairs and Tate sighed, rolling his eyes.
Master and his experiments.
Setting down his scrubbing things, Tate stomped to the back door of the shop and then climbed up the stairs, throwing open the upstairs door. He coughed as pale, greenish smoke poured out. "Master?"
"I'm fine, Tate," came a gruff, easy voice, the words managed between coughs. "Too much eye of newt."
Tate rolled his eyes again and promptly went back downstairs.
He was going to hide the eye of newt. This was the third time this week already – and it wasn't even half over! Grumbling about idiotic humans and even more idiotic human Masters, Tate went back to his scrubbing, finishing off the last bit of floor and then fetching the polish and a new rag, meticulously going over the floor all over again with the polish that would make it shiny and pretty.
Until the humans messed it up again tomorrow.
When he finally finished, the hour was late. Upstairs, everything had finally gone quiet. Master had probably fallen asleep in his chair again; Tate hadn't heard him trip over the piles of junk in his bedroom. Sighing again, he put away his things, put the dirty rags in the bin of stuff to be cleaned tomorrow – every third day was laundry day – and began to put out the lamps.
He wanted to go to bed, but his hair was dusty and sweaty now, and his scales needed a good scrub and maybe if he could get ahead in his chores tomorrow he would have time to polish them properly. That would be nice.
As he moved to the second to last lamp, the one nearest the front door, a familiar voice rippled through him, stopping him in his tracks.
Oh. Oh oh oh. It was early for Macklin to be back – but when he looked out the window, there he was.
His secret Treasure.
Macklin was so very pretty. Tate could stare at him all day. Every day. Forever. The dark silvery-gray hair, the skin that was always beautifully pale despite all the time Macklin spent outside, the bright blue-gray eyes. Tall, slender, the way he moved was so fine. His hands…he adored Macklin's hands. The claws were long, always carefully tended, kept clean and wicked sharp. The only thing sharper was likely his teeth; even from here he could see the points of Macklin's front teeth.
He saw demons all the time, running to and fro for their Masters, but none of them were as pretty as Macklin, who was so much better than jewels or gold or silver or anything else. He sparkled much, much more in Tate's eyes.
If only Macklin thought the same of him…but he could only sigh sadly as he watched his demon flirt with a human who hadn't yet gone to bed. Stupid Macklin.
When the human stepped closer, moving in a way that Tate knew all too well, he angrily yanked the curtain over the window and blew out the lamp, then stomped over to the desk.
Sitting down on his stool, he pulled out the ledger and the chest which held the day's coins, rumbling happily as he neatly wrote in the day's numbers and tallied them up. Then he pulled out a clean cloth and began to carefully wipe and polish every coin, stacking them up neatly.
He was just standing to carry them into the back when there came the familiar three quick, sharp raps at the door.
Tate jumped, then crossly ordered his heart to slow down. It couldn't be Macklin, he never came this late – he always came in the morning, not late at night.
But a quick peek out the glass in the door belied his words – there was his Treasure, smiling away.
Feeling sick, painfully aware of how dirty and messy he looked, but unable to resist any chance to spend time with Macklin, he unlocked the door and pulled it open.
"Good evening," Macklin said, flashing an easy smile – but nothing like the one he'd given the human earlier, the kind that made Tate tingly because it was such a hot sort of smile and sad because that sort of smile would never be for him. "I thought I saw you at the window, figured I'd go ahead and drop off my goods for Mad Finnegan."
Tate growled. "Master is not mad." Personally, he thought 'mad' was far too mild a term, but he would defend his Master. "You may come in, but—"
"But don't make a mess," Macklin interrupted with a laugh, and reached out to tug at a strand of hair which had come loose.
Suddenly remembering how messy he was, Tate stumbled back and turned sharply around, stalking back to the counter and finishing up with the coins.
When he'd locked everything up in the backroom and relocked the front door, he finally strode back the counter, where Macklin had set out all the things he'd brought back on his latest trip.
Lots of stuff. Tate reached out and picked up the small, rather battered looking book lying off to the right. Shape-changing spells, and he recognized the wizard marks. This would bring in lots of coins. Giving a deep, pleased growl, he set it carefully aside.
Next he moved to the jewels – an enchanted hairpin, two necklaces, three talismans, and a cloak broach with travel protections laid upon it. "What is the enchantment on the pin?" he asked.
"Mild love spell," Macklin replied. "Nothing too bad, just will get a girl a few extra offers of lemonade." He winked. "Or encourage people not to track in mud, maybe."
Growling at the jest, Tate turned his attention back to the wares. Picking out several small vials of various potions and tonics, he set them in the pile of stuff he knew Master would want and gave a final nod. "Thirty silver."
"Oh, seventy easy," Macklin said with a taunting grin.
Narrowing his eyes, growling more loudly than he had before, Tate fell into the bartering, his tail twitching with every infuriating smirk Macklin tossed him.
At last they settled on a price of fifty three silver, and Macklin swiftly put away the remainder of his goods. Settling his pack, he reached out and again tugged at Tate's hair. "Always a pleasure, dragon. Tell Mad Finnegan I'll be back in a couple of days and will bring the silver serpent tongue with me."
"I will."
"Oh!" Macklin suddenly cried, snapping his fingers. "How could I forget?" He grinned. "Too busy arguing, maybe. That always gets my blood up."
Tate wished that were true, but knew it wasn't. Macklin just liked teasing him, the same as everyone else. He knew what got Macklin's blood up, he'd seen the man flirt and play in the streets more than once.
Reaching beneath his shirt, Macklin pulled out something hanging from a leather cord. Pulling it up over his neck, he held his fist out toward Tate.
Frowning, Tate held his hand out – his eyes widened as he saw the large, glittering diamond which fell into it. There was magic in it, but he couldn't tell what sort. It made his nose itch, his scales prickle, to smell and sense such strong magic, but dragons could not discern the particulars of magic. "What is it?"
"Something I've been trying to get for awhile," Macklin said, a hardness settling over his face, and if Tate had any reason to fear a demon, that look would give him cause to worry. "The former owner isn't very happy I took it, however. If you and Mad Finnegan don't mind me borrowing your dragon-y ways for a few days, I would like you to guard it for me. Like you would a treasure. Please?"
Tate barely kept from spilling that it was guarding a treasure, because Macklin was his Treasure and so he treasured everything about and belonging to Macklin.
Still, it made him a thousand different kinds of warm that Macklin was asking him to guard something. Macklin had never… "I will," he huffed. "You had better pay, though."
Macklin grinned. "You can name your price, oh clean and mighty dragon of Mad Finnegan." His teasing faded away. "Thanks, Tate. I really will be in your debt. I'd take care of it myself, but the man can be rather nasty, and if he manages to best me I don't want him getting it back. No one looks after treasure better than a dragon. I wouldn't bother you with it, but I don't know any other dragons around here well enough to ask."
Oh. Some of Tate's warmth died. Well, that was fair enough. He supposed. Still, once Macklin was gone, he knew his ears would droop the rest of the night.
Another sharp tug at his hair made him growl. "Stop that, demon."
Macklin laughed and winked. "Don't let it get so messy, then," he teased.
Still growling, Tate pointed to the door. "Out."
"Going, going. See, I didn't mess up your floor a bit." Macklin smiled. "Thanks for protecting the diamond, Tate. I'll reclaim it as soon as I know the bastard will leave me alone. If someone comes asking about it –"
Tate growled loud and sharp, baring his teeth, tail lashing. "I know how to guard a treasure, you stupid demon. Now go away!" He strode over and unlocked the door, pulling the door open and pointing outside.
Laughing, Macklin obeyed. "Goodnight, Tate," he called over his shoulder.
Ignoring him, Tate once more closed and locked the door. He leaned against it and looked at the diamond in his hand. He would get Master to cast a protection over it, to hide its magic. That would hide it from anyone looking for it.
Slipping the cord around his neck, he went to blow out the last lamp. He would get his bath, lay out his clothes for tomorrow, and then he could sleep.
Humming softly, he set about his plans, frequently reaching up to touch the diamond his Treasure had entrusted to him.
She wanted a pretty demon.
Then she said she wanted a demon and a dragon.
I don't know if this is quite what she had in mind, but mine is to obediently type, not question.
The Dragon's Treasure
Tate made a face as the last customer left the shop, then stomped to the door and defiantly flipped the sign so that it said closed.
Stupid humans, messing up his den.
Pulling the key out from beneath his tunic, Tate locked the door then turned and stomped back across the room, retrieving his broom from behind the counter.
There was dirt and grass and all kinds of stuff and he always swept so carefully and still the humans messed it all up again. Sighing, he set to work, sweeping up every last scrap of dirt and dust, frowning as he swept it into a corner.
He would have to sweep again, of course, and if he opened the door now for even a moment someone else would come to bother him.
Sometimes he really wished Master wasn't so nice because that meant Tate had to be nice and he didn't want to be nice. He wanted to snarl and growl and make the humans leave or, failing that, eat them – though humans tended to taste kind of yuck – and Master would never let him.
Though he supposed Master could be the type to make him kill everything in sight and be big and mean and scary all the time. That really wasn't fun – and it was messy, being an evil type of dragon.
Sighing, Tate returned to the counter and pulled out all his cleaning things – the bucket of water he'd gotten earlier, the lovely soap the nice lady next door gave to him, the pretty polish in the blue glass bottle.
Laying everything out on the counter, he then swiftly braided his long, dark turquoise hair, grimacing to feel all the grime which had collected in it during the day. Everyone laughed at him, of course, but he could feel it.
He didn't like being dirty. He didn't like his den – Master's shop – being dirty. All things dirt were bad, and the stupid humans who kept messing it up with their touching and knocking over and whining and indecisiveness – Tate growled low and tied off his hair, winding it around the back of his head so it would stay out of his way while he cleaned and not get dirtier than it already was.
That taken care of, Tate began to work his way slowly through the shop, cleaning the whole top to bottom – polishing the crystal balls 'til they sparkled, dusting off the dozens of jars filled with spell components, carefully cleaning the spell books, tending the magic wands, making certain all the magic charms and talismans positively glittered.
Finished with all the items, he then set to work on the shelves, the cases, the cabinets, then gave the floor another, more thorough sweeping, dumping all the nasty dirt outside before retrieving his soap and water and going to work scrubbing the floor – twice.
Stupid humans. He didn't understand why Master had to get money in such a frustrating way. Why couldn't he just make Tate go out and take it from the humans? Much more efficient, and then he could have a proper den, with everything clean and organized and pretty and no stupid humans trekking through putting their grubby hands on it and—
A soft, muffled crack came from the vicinity of upstairs and Tate sighed, rolling his eyes.
Master and his experiments.
Setting down his scrubbing things, Tate stomped to the back door of the shop and then climbed up the stairs, throwing open the upstairs door. He coughed as pale, greenish smoke poured out. "Master?"
"I'm fine, Tate," came a gruff, easy voice, the words managed between coughs. "Too much eye of newt."
Tate rolled his eyes again and promptly went back downstairs.
He was going to hide the eye of newt. This was the third time this week already – and it wasn't even half over! Grumbling about idiotic humans and even more idiotic human Masters, Tate went back to his scrubbing, finishing off the last bit of floor and then fetching the polish and a new rag, meticulously going over the floor all over again with the polish that would make it shiny and pretty.
Until the humans messed it up again tomorrow.
When he finally finished, the hour was late. Upstairs, everything had finally gone quiet. Master had probably fallen asleep in his chair again; Tate hadn't heard him trip over the piles of junk in his bedroom. Sighing again, he put away his things, put the dirty rags in the bin of stuff to be cleaned tomorrow – every third day was laundry day – and began to put out the lamps.
He wanted to go to bed, but his hair was dusty and sweaty now, and his scales needed a good scrub and maybe if he could get ahead in his chores tomorrow he would have time to polish them properly. That would be nice.
As he moved to the second to last lamp, the one nearest the front door, a familiar voice rippled through him, stopping him in his tracks.
Oh. Oh oh oh. It was early for Macklin to be back – but when he looked out the window, there he was.
His secret Treasure.
Macklin was so very pretty. Tate could stare at him all day. Every day. Forever. The dark silvery-gray hair, the skin that was always beautifully pale despite all the time Macklin spent outside, the bright blue-gray eyes. Tall, slender, the way he moved was so fine. His hands…he adored Macklin's hands. The claws were long, always carefully tended, kept clean and wicked sharp. The only thing sharper was likely his teeth; even from here he could see the points of Macklin's front teeth.
He saw demons all the time, running to and fro for their Masters, but none of them were as pretty as Macklin, who was so much better than jewels or gold or silver or anything else. He sparkled much, much more in Tate's eyes.
If only Macklin thought the same of him…but he could only sigh sadly as he watched his demon flirt with a human who hadn't yet gone to bed. Stupid Macklin.
When the human stepped closer, moving in a way that Tate knew all too well, he angrily yanked the curtain over the window and blew out the lamp, then stomped over to the desk.
Sitting down on his stool, he pulled out the ledger and the chest which held the day's coins, rumbling happily as he neatly wrote in the day's numbers and tallied them up. Then he pulled out a clean cloth and began to carefully wipe and polish every coin, stacking them up neatly.
He was just standing to carry them into the back when there came the familiar three quick, sharp raps at the door.
Tate jumped, then crossly ordered his heart to slow down. It couldn't be Macklin, he never came this late – he always came in the morning, not late at night.
But a quick peek out the glass in the door belied his words – there was his Treasure, smiling away.
Feeling sick, painfully aware of how dirty and messy he looked, but unable to resist any chance to spend time with Macklin, he unlocked the door and pulled it open.
"Good evening," Macklin said, flashing an easy smile – but nothing like the one he'd given the human earlier, the kind that made Tate tingly because it was such a hot sort of smile and sad because that sort of smile would never be for him. "I thought I saw you at the window, figured I'd go ahead and drop off my goods for Mad Finnegan."
Tate growled. "Master is not mad." Personally, he thought 'mad' was far too mild a term, but he would defend his Master. "You may come in, but—"
"But don't make a mess," Macklin interrupted with a laugh, and reached out to tug at a strand of hair which had come loose.
Suddenly remembering how messy he was, Tate stumbled back and turned sharply around, stalking back to the counter and finishing up with the coins.
When he'd locked everything up in the backroom and relocked the front door, he finally strode back the counter, where Macklin had set out all the things he'd brought back on his latest trip.
Lots of stuff. Tate reached out and picked up the small, rather battered looking book lying off to the right. Shape-changing spells, and he recognized the wizard marks. This would bring in lots of coins. Giving a deep, pleased growl, he set it carefully aside.
Next he moved to the jewels – an enchanted hairpin, two necklaces, three talismans, and a cloak broach with travel protections laid upon it. "What is the enchantment on the pin?" he asked.
"Mild love spell," Macklin replied. "Nothing too bad, just will get a girl a few extra offers of lemonade." He winked. "Or encourage people not to track in mud, maybe."
Growling at the jest, Tate turned his attention back to the wares. Picking out several small vials of various potions and tonics, he set them in the pile of stuff he knew Master would want and gave a final nod. "Thirty silver."
"Oh, seventy easy," Macklin said with a taunting grin.
Narrowing his eyes, growling more loudly than he had before, Tate fell into the bartering, his tail twitching with every infuriating smirk Macklin tossed him.
At last they settled on a price of fifty three silver, and Macklin swiftly put away the remainder of his goods. Settling his pack, he reached out and again tugged at Tate's hair. "Always a pleasure, dragon. Tell Mad Finnegan I'll be back in a couple of days and will bring the silver serpent tongue with me."
"I will."
"Oh!" Macklin suddenly cried, snapping his fingers. "How could I forget?" He grinned. "Too busy arguing, maybe. That always gets my blood up."
Tate wished that were true, but knew it wasn't. Macklin just liked teasing him, the same as everyone else. He knew what got Macklin's blood up, he'd seen the man flirt and play in the streets more than once.
Reaching beneath his shirt, Macklin pulled out something hanging from a leather cord. Pulling it up over his neck, he held his fist out toward Tate.
Frowning, Tate held his hand out – his eyes widened as he saw the large, glittering diamond which fell into it. There was magic in it, but he couldn't tell what sort. It made his nose itch, his scales prickle, to smell and sense such strong magic, but dragons could not discern the particulars of magic. "What is it?"
"Something I've been trying to get for awhile," Macklin said, a hardness settling over his face, and if Tate had any reason to fear a demon, that look would give him cause to worry. "The former owner isn't very happy I took it, however. If you and Mad Finnegan don't mind me borrowing your dragon-y ways for a few days, I would like you to guard it for me. Like you would a treasure. Please?"
Tate barely kept from spilling that it was guarding a treasure, because Macklin was his Treasure and so he treasured everything about and belonging to Macklin.
Still, it made him a thousand different kinds of warm that Macklin was asking him to guard something. Macklin had never… "I will," he huffed. "You had better pay, though."
Macklin grinned. "You can name your price, oh clean and mighty dragon of Mad Finnegan." His teasing faded away. "Thanks, Tate. I really will be in your debt. I'd take care of it myself, but the man can be rather nasty, and if he manages to best me I don't want him getting it back. No one looks after treasure better than a dragon. I wouldn't bother you with it, but I don't know any other dragons around here well enough to ask."
Oh. Some of Tate's warmth died. Well, that was fair enough. He supposed. Still, once Macklin was gone, he knew his ears would droop the rest of the night.
Another sharp tug at his hair made him growl. "Stop that, demon."
Macklin laughed and winked. "Don't let it get so messy, then," he teased.
Still growling, Tate pointed to the door. "Out."
"Going, going. See, I didn't mess up your floor a bit." Macklin smiled. "Thanks for protecting the diamond, Tate. I'll reclaim it as soon as I know the bastard will leave me alone. If someone comes asking about it –"
Tate growled loud and sharp, baring his teeth, tail lashing. "I know how to guard a treasure, you stupid demon. Now go away!" He strode over and unlocked the door, pulling the door open and pointing outside.
Laughing, Macklin obeyed. "Goodnight, Tate," he called over his shoulder.
Ignoring him, Tate once more closed and locked the door. He leaned against it and looked at the diamond in his hand. He would get Master to cast a protection over it, to hide its magic. That would hide it from anyone looking for it.
Slipping the cord around his neck, he went to blow out the last lamp. He would get his bath, lay out his clothes for tomorrow, and then he could sleep.
Humming softly, he set about his plans, frequently reaching up to touch the diamond his Treasure had entrusted to him.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-28 05:54 pm (UTC)Poor Tate, poor lovable, adorable, obsessive compulsive Tate, who is hopelessly in love with mud for brains Macklin. For this, the sex better be good. *rawr*
You are beautiful and wonderful and Supreme. I will never regret the day I stopped lurking. Ever.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-28 06:01 pm (UTC)I'm almost done with it, but should probably let it sit a bit so I can tweak it later. Would hate to rush it more than I already am.
<<333 I am so very happy you stopped lurking.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-28 06:05 pm (UTC)And now the master (who must have totally caught on to the fact that his obsessive compulsive, type A dragon has the hots for Mr.Mud For Brains demon) will make absentminded comments (yay mad professor types), the scary guy who's diamond Macklin stole will show up, and there will be hurt/comfort and Macklin will catch on, and Tate will be very tetchy cleaning and recleaning things.
or not.
But so much love for this.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-28 07:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-28 07:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-28 07:42 pm (UTC)wonderful adorableness, and i love the 'treasure' angle.
thankee! and more! why do you worry about rushing? it's still quality to me.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-28 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-28 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-01 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-03 04:42 am (UTC)