A/N Listen oh fandom, ye Clankers and Darwinists all, this be the first fanfiction by the humble wordsmith, and unfortunately unbeta-ed. Do be gentle. Set sometime between the events of Behemoth and Goliath or perhaps during either. No spoilers here. Count Volger's thought process on a certain boffin of note. Written in response to a challenge from a friend who liked my figurative language.

Leviathan and Co. (c) Westerfeld


-All Things Considered-

It was very interesting, Volger decided, as well as a little thrilling, to be on a hunt such as this—two hunters, each the other's prey. And for all the majestic creatures he had made sport of in his younger days, he had never sought after a doe like her.

Venison, like most game meat, is an acquired taste. But from the first taste of her—a formal, polite, politically calculated brush of his lips to her gloved hand—he knew her breed was a rare and sweet one. Although, perhaps "sweet" was not the word. "Full-bodied" was closer to the mark, like an expensive red wine. Yes, and the metaphor was more to his taste as well. But to savor such a strong bouquet and flavor again would require the abandonment of more inhibitions than he was at liberty to dispense with. And though the Count was king in subterfuge, he was nothing but honest to himself. That simplified things. She, his would-be quarry, not only bore the marks of another hunter, the seal of another vineyard, but more importantly, the hated crest of the heathen enemy.

And yet, when they were together there was a playful, almost mocking gleam in her eyes that seemed to be daring him to something. It was the same light he saw when she spoke at length about her work and when she knew something he did not. What a dangerous game it would be, to play with that fabricated fire. There were after all other priorities, ones that could reshape maps and topple thrones as quickly as raise them. He had no time for this kind of sport, this mere, comely distraction.

But, some other part of him murmured, perhaps this was not solely sport after all. There were more ways than one to build an alliance. At the present, it was a mutual understanding and a shared cunning. Beauty was one thing, intelligence another, but cunning, true applied cunning, was a cut above the rest. It was very clear now how he had entangled himself in her invisible web of calculated allurement, and somehow hacking his way free was simply out of the question at this point. The object here was to build bridges, and hopefully not be swept away by the current beneath. Which would be no small feat as the mere thought of her sent a rushing through his veins. It was in kind to the same rush of adrenaline before a fight, before a plan reached its climax. The same thrill as before a hunt. To that extent, he was very familiar with the feeling, enjoyed it even. But on another, deeper level, the feeling was utterly foreign, an alien emotion which had a name he only deigned to state in flagrant dismissal when he recognized it in others. But of course it was foolish to fear the unknown, and foolishness would never be tolerated.

And it was not foolishness to do everything in his power to garner favor with the "enemy", so long as it would be beneficial later on.

Yes, all things considered, perhaps one more formal, polite, gallant kiss on the hand would not hurt.


A/N You like Varlow? So do I. Review and more will follow, though I know my threats are hollow. Also, I'd like to know what you all thought about the hunting/wine imagery. We know from the canon that Volger hunted frequently with Alek's father, and that he enjoys a good drink (bonus chapter, oh my) and so I thought it apropos to use those as my main figures. Still, I had one friend say it was a little confusing but then again, she hasn't read the books...