mildly constructive...
Jun. 9th, 2008 10:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrNot finished yet, but about halfway.
Aubrey had about had enough of foul tempers.
Well, Millie he could not blame. She was tired, and her illness had taken a turn, so she was permitted to be a bit off. Father was as sours as he always was when the weather was foul. Aurey had not expected cheerful conversation from that corner, at any rate.
Gille was ever nastier than Aubrey could ever remember him being.
Even Stregoni, upon whom he'd been counting for happy companionship, was in a foul mood.
He could not escape outside, the weather was a breath away from being a proper blizzard. Feeling very much sour himself, now, Aubrey trolled the house looking for something to either soothe his ill-temper, or something on which he could vent it.
When his hunt proved in vain, he retreated at last to the small room he had taken over as his private study and office.
He startled upon entering, as he realized someone else was in the room.
Since returning home a week ago, Aubrey had done his best to avoid Ruthven for all but the necessary feedings. Of course, Ruthven slept in his bed. Much to his regret, Aubrey had seen no way out of that particular problem.
Elisabeth and Francois both slept with their respective owners. It would be humiliating in the extreme for Ruthven if Aubrey were to make him sleep above stairs in the servant quarters like he was common help. Neither could he simply give Ruthven a room of his own – his father would put his foot right down on such an outlandish notion.
Currently, Ruthven was ensconced in the window seat, the main reason Aubrey had stolen this room away to be his own. It was wide and long, and gave a beautiful view of the west side of the house, the lush lawn and the forest beyond it.
At the edge of that forest were the faded remains of a path which Aubrey knew led straight to the house of his Uncle – Gille's father – but he had never visited his Uncle, except perhaps when he was too small to recall.
There were other paths, even more faded than the one made by brothers who had once been close, but he'd never been inclined to explore. Something about the forest nagged at him, prickled the same way being locked in a carriage bothered him.
Thoughts of the forest, however, were distant.
Ruthven had made himself quite comfortable, propped on pillows that also served to separate him from the cold glass. He was wrapped in a blanket, and had a book set in his lap. Some heavy tome that looked familiar, but which he could not at the moment place. There was very little light coming from the window, all of it blocked by piles upon piles of snow, the wind whipping up even more flakes and tossing them about.
All the reading light came instead from the various lamps Ruthven had lit, one pulled near the window that he could better see to read there. It made his beeswax hair a rich gold, warmed the sun-kissed skin.
He turned the pages with his left hand, the faintest of smiles curving his pale pink lips. Aubrey noted this only because in his right hand, Ruthven held a teacup – one from the winter set, pale green porcelain decorated with mistletoe.
"Pets drink tea?"
Ruthven looked up, then smiled and closed his book, setting his teacup aside. "It doesn't help us, but it doesn't hurt, either. I like tea."
Aubrey frowned. He did not know much about Pets, because he hated the whole idea and so avoided the matter…but he was fairly certain the breeding grounds and the Pet houses did not feed the Pets anything but blood. "Where did you drink tea?"
"Here and there," Ruthven said, head dipping, eyelids falling so long lashes just brushed his cheeks. Then he brought his gaze up to directly meet Aubrey's. "Mostly during interviews. It is rude not to drink, is it not?"
Drat it, he still could not tell the color of Ruthven's eyes. Why did it bother him so much?
Something else suddenly occurred to him. "You can read."
Ruthven's mouth quirked. "Yes, master."
Aubrey scowled. "My name is Aubrey."
"Yes, master," Ruthven said again, doing that thing with his lashes. A demure move, submissive. Yet something prickled along Aubrey's skin that said submissive and Ruthven did not belong in the same breath.
He was a Pet, though. A blood drinker bound to Aubrey for the rest of his life. If there was any life more submissive than that, Aubrey did not want to know about it.
Why was he even thinking about such things?
"How is it you are able to read? That is expressly forbidden to Pets."
Ruthven smiled. "I was…I guess you could say, my upbringing was a bit more loose than it should have been. The woman who raised me in the nursery, until I was sent off for lessons, indulged me overmuch." He dipped his head and looked up through his lashes, the very pictures of subservient and eager to oblige. "If it bothers my master, then of course I shall cease at once."
Aubrey frowned.
It was one of the top rules of Pets – they were taught all the basics of moving in polite society, but nothing that might encourage them to be dissatisfied with their lot. Keeping Pets that drank blood was much like playing with fire, even if controlling them was long ago turned into a fine art.
They were not allowed to read or write. Before being sold, Pets were rendered unable to breed. They did not converse with Pets outside their own household unless given permission and strictly supervised, and even within the household the Pets did not spend overmuch time together. Slews of rules existed, for the good of everyone involved, or so the supporters said.
"What are you reading?" he asked finally. If he was going to be saddles with a pet, why not one who broke a few rules? At least Ruthven seemed to be in a good mood.
Ruthven lifted the book so he could see the cover.
"What do you think of it?" Aubrey asked, almost smacking himself for not recognizing it. A philosophical volume; not one of his favorites, but a compelling one. He stepped closer despite himself, already eager for the chance at conversation and debate.
This close to Ruthven, however, he noticed what Ruthven was wearing – deep blue breeches, and a simple white shirt. Nothing else, save for a collar around his throat.
Aubrey scowled. "Why do you wear those? Where did you get them?"
He had noticed Ruthven wearing them, but only distantly, far more interested in avoiding him altogether. This was the first time he'd paid real notice since the night Ruthven had become his Pet. That collar had been supple black leather.
This one was deep blue velvet, with a small burst of wisteria stitched on the left side.
Ruthven reached up to touch it. "I like them, master."
"You really do not need to call me that," Aubrey said irritably. "My name is Aubrey – Brey, if you like."
"I like 'master'," Ruthven replied, and leaned forward, until he was close enough Aubrey could smell the tea he was drinking, a hint of flowers and velvet and cologne that smelled of peach blossom and apple. "Unless, of course, my master finds it displeasing that I regard him so."
"Do as you wish," Aubrey said hastily, taking a step back, retreating to his desk.
He thought he heard Ruthven laugh, but dismissed it. "Is there more of that tea?"
"I will ring for it," Ruthven replied, and shoved back the blankets in which he'd wrapped himself.
Aubrey saw he had no shoes, only stockings.
Shaking his head, he pulled out his own book, one he had been reading before all the moving and settling had interfered.
"As to the book, master," Ruthven said, returning to his nest of blankets. It looked cozy, but Aubrey turned from that thought immediately. "I think his reasoning carries serious flaws."
"Oh?" Aubrey said, shutting his book again and leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest. He'd never argued philosophy with a Pet before; perhaps it would prove interesting.
Peach Blossom
(chapter three)
(chapter three)
Aubrey had about had enough of foul tempers.
Well, Millie he could not blame. She was tired, and her illness had taken a turn, so she was permitted to be a bit off. Father was as sours as he always was when the weather was foul. Aurey had not expected cheerful conversation from that corner, at any rate.
Gille was ever nastier than Aubrey could ever remember him being.
Even Stregoni, upon whom he'd been counting for happy companionship, was in a foul mood.
He could not escape outside, the weather was a breath away from being a proper blizzard. Feeling very much sour himself, now, Aubrey trolled the house looking for something to either soothe his ill-temper, or something on which he could vent it.
When his hunt proved in vain, he retreated at last to the small room he had taken over as his private study and office.
He startled upon entering, as he realized someone else was in the room.
Since returning home a week ago, Aubrey had done his best to avoid Ruthven for all but the necessary feedings. Of course, Ruthven slept in his bed. Much to his regret, Aubrey had seen no way out of that particular problem.
Elisabeth and Francois both slept with their respective owners. It would be humiliating in the extreme for Ruthven if Aubrey were to make him sleep above stairs in the servant quarters like he was common help. Neither could he simply give Ruthven a room of his own – his father would put his foot right down on such an outlandish notion.
Currently, Ruthven was ensconced in the window seat, the main reason Aubrey had stolen this room away to be his own. It was wide and long, and gave a beautiful view of the west side of the house, the lush lawn and the forest beyond it.
At the edge of that forest were the faded remains of a path which Aubrey knew led straight to the house of his Uncle – Gille's father – but he had never visited his Uncle, except perhaps when he was too small to recall.
There were other paths, even more faded than the one made by brothers who had once been close, but he'd never been inclined to explore. Something about the forest nagged at him, prickled the same way being locked in a carriage bothered him.
Thoughts of the forest, however, were distant.
Ruthven had made himself quite comfortable, propped on pillows that also served to separate him from the cold glass. He was wrapped in a blanket, and had a book set in his lap. Some heavy tome that looked familiar, but which he could not at the moment place. There was very little light coming from the window, all of it blocked by piles upon piles of snow, the wind whipping up even more flakes and tossing them about.
All the reading light came instead from the various lamps Ruthven had lit, one pulled near the window that he could better see to read there. It made his beeswax hair a rich gold, warmed the sun-kissed skin.
He turned the pages with his left hand, the faintest of smiles curving his pale pink lips. Aubrey noted this only because in his right hand, Ruthven held a teacup – one from the winter set, pale green porcelain decorated with mistletoe.
"Pets drink tea?"
Ruthven looked up, then smiled and closed his book, setting his teacup aside. "It doesn't help us, but it doesn't hurt, either. I like tea."
Aubrey frowned. He did not know much about Pets, because he hated the whole idea and so avoided the matter…but he was fairly certain the breeding grounds and the Pet houses did not feed the Pets anything but blood. "Where did you drink tea?"
"Here and there," Ruthven said, head dipping, eyelids falling so long lashes just brushed his cheeks. Then he brought his gaze up to directly meet Aubrey's. "Mostly during interviews. It is rude not to drink, is it not?"
Drat it, he still could not tell the color of Ruthven's eyes. Why did it bother him so much?
Something else suddenly occurred to him. "You can read."
Ruthven's mouth quirked. "Yes, master."
Aubrey scowled. "My name is Aubrey."
"Yes, master," Ruthven said again, doing that thing with his lashes. A demure move, submissive. Yet something prickled along Aubrey's skin that said submissive and Ruthven did not belong in the same breath.
He was a Pet, though. A blood drinker bound to Aubrey for the rest of his life. If there was any life more submissive than that, Aubrey did not want to know about it.
Why was he even thinking about such things?
"How is it you are able to read? That is expressly forbidden to Pets."
Ruthven smiled. "I was…I guess you could say, my upbringing was a bit more loose than it should have been. The woman who raised me in the nursery, until I was sent off for lessons, indulged me overmuch." He dipped his head and looked up through his lashes, the very pictures of subservient and eager to oblige. "If it bothers my master, then of course I shall cease at once."
Aubrey frowned.
It was one of the top rules of Pets – they were taught all the basics of moving in polite society, but nothing that might encourage them to be dissatisfied with their lot. Keeping Pets that drank blood was much like playing with fire, even if controlling them was long ago turned into a fine art.
They were not allowed to read or write. Before being sold, Pets were rendered unable to breed. They did not converse with Pets outside their own household unless given permission and strictly supervised, and even within the household the Pets did not spend overmuch time together. Slews of rules existed, for the good of everyone involved, or so the supporters said.
"What are you reading?" he asked finally. If he was going to be saddles with a pet, why not one who broke a few rules? At least Ruthven seemed to be in a good mood.
Ruthven lifted the book so he could see the cover.
"What do you think of it?" Aubrey asked, almost smacking himself for not recognizing it. A philosophical volume; not one of his favorites, but a compelling one. He stepped closer despite himself, already eager for the chance at conversation and debate.
This close to Ruthven, however, he noticed what Ruthven was wearing – deep blue breeches, and a simple white shirt. Nothing else, save for a collar around his throat.
Aubrey scowled. "Why do you wear those? Where did you get them?"
He had noticed Ruthven wearing them, but only distantly, far more interested in avoiding him altogether. This was the first time he'd paid real notice since the night Ruthven had become his Pet. That collar had been supple black leather.
This one was deep blue velvet, with a small burst of wisteria stitched on the left side.
Ruthven reached up to touch it. "I like them, master."
"You really do not need to call me that," Aubrey said irritably. "My name is Aubrey – Brey, if you like."
"I like 'master'," Ruthven replied, and leaned forward, until he was close enough Aubrey could smell the tea he was drinking, a hint of flowers and velvet and cologne that smelled of peach blossom and apple. "Unless, of course, my master finds it displeasing that I regard him so."
"Do as you wish," Aubrey said hastily, taking a step back, retreating to his desk.
He thought he heard Ruthven laugh, but dismissed it. "Is there more of that tea?"
"I will ring for it," Ruthven replied, and shoved back the blankets in which he'd wrapped himself.
Aubrey saw he had no shoes, only stockings.
Shaking his head, he pulled out his own book, one he had been reading before all the moving and settling had interfered.
"As to the book, master," Ruthven said, returning to his nest of blankets. It looked cozy, but Aubrey turned from that thought immediately. "I think his reasoning carries serious flaws."
"Oh?" Aubrey said, shutting his book again and leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest. He'd never argued philosophy with a Pet before; perhaps it would prove interesting.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 02:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 02:37 am (UTC)One must wonder how the vampires ended up in such a situation to be enslaved as Pets. hehe Forbidden to read or write.. Can't keep slaves ignorant forever...
no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 04:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 06:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 11:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-13 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 09:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-11 03:05 am (UTC)Ooh, differences! I love that I don't know what to expect, and yet at the same time it reads like a well-loved, half-forgotten story from my youth.
Am too lazy to look up peach blossoms and mistletoe and wisteria, and... was there more? But I will, eventually. *mental note*
^___^
no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 11:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-11 05:57 pm (UTC)loving ruthven. that he's unconventional will hopefully only endear him to aubrey all the more quickly. not sure i understand what aubrey's objection to ruthven's clothing is, though. is it that he is underdressed, only wearing breeches and a shirt? or is there some other offense that i missed?
anyhow. definitely enjoying this and looking forward to the next bit! :D
no subject
Date: 2008-06-15 11:38 am (UTC)Zomg, Embrace Yaay!!: Dno subject
Date: 2008-06-16 10:38 pm (UTC)I love the world you've built here, and I like the way the whole pet thing is like slavery, but sort of not, and I like that Ruthven doesn't seem to struggle at all against being a pet, but still manages to act very...Dom in spite of the fact that he's in the position to be a traditional sub. It's all just very, very fun and squee worthy to read. ^__________^ <333 *twirls you about*