I don't own the characters, this would never be allowed on CBBC.
I wrote "An Ordinary Boy" yesterday (I think, I'm officially lost on days of the week at this point in sleep deprivation) and when I got curious, I noticed there was no other "Adam Giles" stuff about that I could find. So, as AOB was written in Adam's point of view, I wanted to do something different. This is based in Ingrid's point of view, and varies from canon (aside from Adam not being Vlad) in her being the same school year as Adam, rather than above, but Ingrid is still older.
I should be writing an update for Chosen Two or starting BVSA sequel, but that would be a logical way to do things. I'm not a logical person!
Onwards!
-YD-
Still in disbelief that the Count had made her, Ingrid Dracula, register at a breather school, Ingrid was not in the best mood when she first set foot in the building. Her mood improved slightly when she realised her charm had not diminished, and almost every male in the school had swarmed her within minutes offering to carry her bag or books or just worship the ground she glided on. Those two morons, the twin Branaghs who's mother had caught the interest of her demented father, had proved useful to her simply because of their brutish size - they kept the others away by being human shields. Lifting her bag off the less rotund of the two, she sent them away as she reached her first class. "Still not happy about this school nonsense." Ingrid muttered to herself, preparing to make an entrace by being five minutes late and playing her sweetest smile and "I got lost" card. It went off without a hitch, the teacher stammering and every boy in the class drooling in her direction. Except one, that was.
Typically, the only free seat in the class was left next to the boy who hadn't been transfixed by her immediately. Ingrid threw herself into the seat, placing her skull-patterned bag on the desk as the teacher introduced her as "Ingrid Count" - they could hardly have registered her as Dracula. The idiot leading the class went back to droning on about maths or some other such rubbish, and Ingrid took the time to survey each male in the class. Given that she could smell half of them from here, and not in an appetising way (not that she could scent them as dinner just yet), she was prepared to discount all of them as no promise. Ingrid couldn't quite catalogue the boy next to her without being obvious, her only current information gleamed from the back of his head and his proximity. His hair was short, nearly black but had a lighter, brown sheen under the bright lights of the school. He didn't smell terrible, which was a step up from every other male in the room right now. His build was slim, but there was something in the way he held himself that said he worked at his body in some way. Deciding there would be plenty of other times to "check him out", along with all the other boys in the school, Ingrid resigned herself to doodling in her notepad. She had almost a full page of bats, coffins and skulls inked on the page by the time the bell went and she had an excuse to actually look at the boy next to her.
His skin was pale, not her own moonlit sheen of course, but not tanned like half the other boys in the school who probably spent too much time rolling around in the mud pretending to be sports stars. His eyes were a particularly bright shade of ice, blue and grey melding together. The school uniform didn't flatter anyone, but the black trousers still hung on his slim legs well. That was all the time she had if she didn't want to appear to be staring like an idiot, and Ingrid would never stoop so low. He shrugged a plain black hooded jacket on over his school blazer and she wondered how he wasn't too warm in it all, then he was leaving and those gigantic neanderthals were waiting outside the door for her. Ingrid was only allowing them the privelege of sharing air with her while they were useful, and right now she needed a rough tour guide to the school. "Rough luck Ingrid, sitting next to Giles there." So the idiots knew who the boy was. "Why's that then, you brainless insects?" The twins shared a look that clearly said 'is she talking about us?' before one of them answered. "He's a right weirdo, killer on the rugby pitch but he's all pale and barely says a word to anyone." "I presume his name isn't actually Giles?" "Nah, well. Adam Giles. He's got a little sister in first year here, she's a firecracker!" Not especially interested in siblings, Ingrid simply filed away his name and demanded the twins lead her to her next class.
Certain this was all designed to test her not-extensive patience, Ingrid found that all but one of her classes today had ended with the only available seat being next to the reclusive "Adam Giles". He never spoke unless called upon, working diligently and silently without a trace of emotion or answering questions with a soft but commanding voice. As the bell rang to signal the end of the day, Ingrid stood outside waiting for the hearse to come and pick her up. The mystery boy was stood with a younger girl, head full of curls and talking a mile a minute. A grey car pulled up, Adam giving the bundle of curls a quick hug as she jumped in the car but not joining her. She watched him exchange a few words with the driver of the car, presumably a parent of his picking up his sister before waving them off and heading in the direction of the sports pitch. Ingrid decided she needed a walk as the hearse was late, and the sports pitch just happened to be where she was thinking of going. Turning the corner he'd last disappeared round, she couldn't see his black-clad figure, but the steady stream of boys entering and leaving a door in rugby clothes gave her an idea of where he'd gone. He wasn't gone long, reappearing in the dark blue top and black shorts. The twins were right, he was pale - the colouring of the kit emphasising it further. The other boys didn't seem too offset by him, though they didn't make much effort to speak to him directly. As they took their places and practiced, Ingrid cursed the twins for being right again. His slight frame didn't stop him tackling, slim legs graceful even as the bulkier boys tried to take him down. Adam Giles *was* good at rugby it seemed.
Hearing the groan of engines and beeping that indicated her ride was here, Ingrid quickly made her way to the car before anyone saw her lurking around the rugby practice. It wouldn't do for anyone to pick up on her strange fascination with the mystery boy. Never more grateful for her fathers lack of interest in her day to day life, Ingrid stalked past Count Dracula, grabbing a snack and heading up to her room in the tower. The Count usually slept in the crypt, or took a lower floor bedroom if he wanted space - he liked it where it was damp and cold. Peering out of her bedroom window, Ingrid could see the school from this viewpoint, but not the sports pitch. Mentally slapping herself for even looking, Ingrid threw herself on her four poster bed and perused the various posters and curtaining material on the walls. Stripping out of the ghastly uniform, Ingrid pulled on her favourite skirt - red with bats all over it - and a red top to match. Setting off the outfit with a small black waistcoat, she felt much less adrift in familiar clothes and settled down to draw again, picking at her bag of crisps and flicking on the CD player in the corner. This worked to relax her for a while, til she realised the sketch beneath her pencil was a very good profile drawing of Adam Giles. Tracing a finger over the solid curve of his jawline, Ingrid shook her head to clear the strange feeling and tore the page up, not stopping until it was shredded into tiny pieces. She was NOT obsessed with a breather. No matter what that stupid stuffed toy in the corner said. Said stuffed toy, also known as Zoltan the hell-hound, wheeled over to her. "Ah, Mistress Ingrid, how was your first day in breather school?"
Ingrid wished she had powers already, so she could set fire to the stupid animal and his sawdust filling. No such luck, so she ground out a typical response of how they were all stinking bloodbags and resolutely not thinking of the drawing she'd just done. Starting a new one, Ingrid sketched the outline of a coffin, adding elegant carvings and burnished metal plague and hinges. That was all well and good until she realised she hadn't added her own I.D initials, but A.G instead. Curse that pale rugby freak. Tearing up that drawing too, Ingrid sighed and flopped back on the bed. Breather school was a bigger mistake than she thought. She could only hope tomorrow led to meeting other, less irritatingly interesting boys so she could forget about Adam Giles. She was Ingrid Dracula, they fawned over her, not the other way around. If only she had her fangs, she could drain the pale freak and be done with it. Rolling over to scream into her pillow, Ingrid allowed herself the moment to lose control and vent her frustrations, threatening Zoltan with disembowelment if he mentioned it to anyone. He'd gasped and wheeled himself away, so she was pretty sure it had worked. Just in case, she'd shoved a squeaky bat in his mouth on her way down for dinner and he'd been gnawing at it happily when she returned. Curling up into a fitful sleep, Ingrid resigned herself to returning to the breather hell-hole when she woke.
Pulling on the atrocious uniform and climbing out of the hearse with all her usual grace, Ingrid dragged herself to "woodwork" class. Unless they were building coffins, she really wasn't interested. The teachers name gave her pause - Van Helsing, she was sure she'd heard it before. There were two empty seats at a desk in the back, so she hung back in hope that nobody would fill them and waited for all the boys to sit down before she did, not wanting any of the drooling morons to decide to sit next to her. Settling in at the back and refusing to even touch any of the tools in front of her, she growled internally as someone rushed in late and sat next to her. The regrettably familiar scent of subtle aftershave hit her, and before she turned to look, she knew it was Adam. He wasn't even looking at her, a mumbled apology all the sound he'd made as he sat down. "Don't let it happen again Giles." Adam had nodded, head bowed over the desk and somehow managing to know what he was doing without even looking at the board. Ingrid sat back and watched him, his slim hands graceful as they worked the tools over raw material. "Count, why aren't you working?" Ingrid pulled up her innocent smile and turned to the teacher. "I have allergies to various metals, until I know what these tools are made of I won't be touching any of them." The bald mans face clearly screamed disbelief, but Ingrid kept up the innocent face until he grunted and turned away.
Even Ingrid's flagrant disregard for the objective of class didn't turn Adams head, his skilled fingers transforming a lump of wood into an almost perfect spoon before the bell had even rung. Van Hell-stinks had looked at him in surprise, apparently the project was supposed to span two lessons so they could learn how each tool worked. Adam had just shrugged, sweeping up the mess he'd made into a bin and dusting off his clothes as quietly as possible. As he moved about the workspace Ingrid was able to observe him further. His mouth was small but his bottom lip pouty, almost petulant. He had two little moles on the inside of his wrist, only visible when his shirt sleeve rolled up as he stretched to reach something. His uniform was immaculate, tie perfectly knotted below his collar. The way he moved had a natural grace, the sweep of his cheekbones only visible under natural light when he had to walk past the window. His hair curled below his ears and at the side of his fringe, casually swept over to the side and he had a habit of pushing it out of his eyes when he worked.
It wasn't even the end of first class and Ingrid already had a whole new page in her mental notebook titled 'Adam Giles'. She really needed to stop this. As the bell rang for next class, Adam was predictably quick to pull his black jacket over his blazer, picking up his bag and leaviing before most people had even tidied up their stations. Waiting for the already-familiar sea of adoring fans to drag past her, Ingrid stood up, the Branagh twins already waiting to carry her bag. Realising it was maths again next, Ingrid barely suppressed a groan of frustration at the realisation she'd be sitting next to him again. Now may be a good time to start skipping classes, but she couldn't even pretend to herself that she didn't want to spend more time observing his pale visage. Letting the bumbling idiots escort her between legions of hormonal boys clamouring for her attention, Ingrid scowled at as many of them in turn as she could. Adam was already in his seat when she got there, and while she knew she could sit elsewhere and scare off anyone who tried to say otherwise, Ingrid didn't see the point and took her seat next to him.
Not daring to risk doodling absent-mindedly in case she started drawing him again, Ingrid begrudgingly took notes on the ramblings of the overweight, annoying teacher whining at them about multiplication or algebra, she wasn't entirely sure which. Adam was diligently taking notes, somehow aware of every word the teacher said without so much as looking up. The rest of the day passed this way, her only free time away from his subtle scent and graceful body at lunch when she was set upon by her fan club again. She saw him sat alone in the corner, but then the mass of bodies swarming her grew and she couldn't see past them. The Branagh idiots kept them at bay while she ate her pick of at least five different lunches in peace. It hadn't escaped her notice, however, that she wasn't the only girl noticing Adam. While he was quiet and by all accounts odd, he was still graceful, slender and his bright eyes and smooth skin gave him a youthful glow of attraction. None of the girls dared approach him, but there were clearly girls eyeing him and hoping he'd notice them back. So far the only people she'd actually seen him say more than two words to without prompting were his mother and sister. Or even look in the face for that matter, during rugby he'd been looking at the body flying toward him or the ball he was throwing and catching, not the faces of the players around him.
Afternoon classes were the same, his quiet yet distracting presence next to her. It was a good thing she didn't care for the breather tests, her transformation meaning she'd be dropping out of school before they came about, as she wasn't sure she could learn much this year with him there. She saw him again, stood with his younger, chattier sister and actually smiling at her, his whole face lighting up. When the car pulled up this time, he climbed in with her and Ingrid had to master an urge to follow them. The hearse was quicker today, though she was contemplating taking up walking home just to avoid hanging around seeing Adam. It was pathetic really, how she was already entranced by a breather she'd known for two days. It must run in the family, her father couldn't resist a breather woman if the Grand High Vampire was watching. Damn Dracula genes.
Giving in to the urge to draw when she got home, her sketch reflected the smile she'd seen earlier, his whole body more relaxed and open as his sister rattled on at him about her day or crayons or whatever younger siblings talked about. Having none, she had no idea. This picture didn't get torn up like the others, instead she folded it up and hid it away in her bedside drawer, tucking it safely below the painting of her, her mother Magda and the Count. She kept it for show, pulling it out when grandparents visited and the like to show "family commitment", but as Magda had left them all for a werewolf, she didn't think it mattered so much. Ingrid wasn't even sure why she kept the picture, but something in her refused to destroy that smile. Scowling at the homework she'd been set, Ingrid saw no point in actually doing it but she set about scrawling down answers to the math questions she'd somehow taken down. Adam's diligent note taking would surely come in useful right now. Pushing the over-romantic thought of doing homework together like a pair of geeks away, Ingrid tossed her school work onto her desk and dressed to go outside. She hated the sun, but clouds were starting to come in so she thought she could get an hour or so of peace away from the Count shouting about peasant mobs and werewolves. Even in the tower room, she could still hear him.
Walking along one of the rural roads, keeping a half-aware ear out for vehicles, Ingrid found herself in an open field. There were a couple of dog walkers, the odd jogger scattered about the place. Black shorts and pale legs caught her eye, Ingrid wanted to turn away and walk closer at the same time. Her eyes followed the pale jogger in the distance, hoping and not hoping it was Adam. Forcing herself to keep walking rather than look like a complete idiot, the milky skin came closer and closer. She saw the pouty lip, the hair curling over his sweaty forehead, the downcast eyes even while he was out jogging. Adam didn't even appear to notice her all of two feet away, simply continuing on the trodden-in route around the field. Letting out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, Ingrid forced herself to turn around and head home before she decided to stand and wait for Adam to circle round past her again.
The next month continued much like this, her bedside table now full of folded pictures of Adam, his smile, his eyes, even one of his naked torso she'd spied when he was finishing rugby practice while she had detention for skipping PE. He'd stripped off the dark blue shirt, wiping his sweaty face and damp hair with it. A couple of the other players had shouted at him jokingly to "put it away", but Ingrid was walking back from 'helping' clean up rubbish (she'd hypnotised the teacher and he'd done it all, thank blood for powers that came in early) and spied the muscled body. His chest and stomach were lean, no bulging musculature but it was clear he excercised. The pale skin extended here too, and Ingrid had committed the sight of him stretching before going back in the shower to memory and drawn it when she got home. It wasn't even a specifically sexual thing she felt towards him, more a craving to know more about him, to be near him. Though she couldn't deny that he was attractive, cloaked in mystery and muscles wrapped in snow-white skin. A week after the first month had gone by, Ingrid had been scowling into her locker while the Branagh twins were in lunch-time detention for punching a guy who'd been picking on their little sister and someone walked into the open locker door. Closing the door to shout at the moron invading her space, she was caught short at the face that met her.
Soft blond curls framed an innocent face, not tanned but not Adam's moonlight pallor either and wide, genuine eyes meeting hers as he hastened to apologise for not looking where he was going. Shaking her head, Ingrid waved him off and said it was fine. "I'm Will, I'm so sorry, are you hurt?" Indicating negative again, Ingrid waited for him to flap off. "Ingrid, right? You're the girl all the boys talk about." Knowing that was likely true given that she had a flock almost everywhere she went, Ingrid just nodded. "Well, I don't blame you for not being chatty, you have a sea of drooling idiots around you mostly and I hear you sit next to Mr Silent in nearly every class, you may have forgotten how to talk to normal people. If you ever want to, come find me. I promise not to drool on your shoes like dumb and dumber do." And with that, the curly haired boy was gone. Ingrid shook herself, remembering she was surrounded by idiot breathers left, right and centre and to stop paying them any mind.
Slamming her locker shut for effect, Ingrid stormed outside. It was heavy and overcast, virtually nobody outside as she wandered across to the stands. There was a chance she'd run into some illicit smoker or smooching pile of hormones, but the dark space below the stands was blissfully empty. Or so she thought. A hand on her shoulder pulled her against a support beam, and if she hadn't drawn a breath prepared to scream at whoever dared touch her, she wouldn't have noticed the subtle scent that belonged to only one boy here at Stokely Grammar. "Already moving on?" His voice was rough, deep with a thick welsh accent. "Don't think I don't see you looking Ingrid, I'm not as blind as you think I am." She'd been about to deny ever looking at him, but as she opened her mouth smooth lips met hers, and whatever she'd been about to say was lost as Adam pressed against her, tongue sliding in her mouth and firm body trapping her against the beam at her back. Her hands came up, intending to push him off her but ended up clasping at his shoulders when he nipped at her lip, a shocked moan of pleasure echoing into his mouth from hers. He pulled off her then, panting almost as heavily as she was. "I don't want to see you looking elsewhere, I'll come to you when I'm ready." And with that, he left her there. The tingling pain in her lip was the only indicator she hadn't actually just dreamed the whole thing. She now had two new things for her "Adam Giles" list - he kissed like the devil and his voice was pure silk.
Stopping to check her face didn't scream illicit encounter in the field, Ingrid made her way back to the school. Sliding into her seat in class, Adam gave absolutely no indication anything had happened, that he'd done something that almost, if not every, boy in the school would give their right arm to have a shot at. Ingrid wasn't about to lower herself to trying to get his attention, pointedly applying tinted balm over her tingling lip before pretending to focus on the class. Not that she could have told him what the class was if he'd asked, her mind still back under the stands feeling him against her. As they left that day, Adam stood with his sister like every other day, Ingrid could have sworn his eyes darted to her for just a second. Not that she'd admit that, in case it turned out to be wishful thinking and that she was pathetically hoping he'd notice her. Setting off on her walk home (it was starting to get tiresome waiting for Renfield to turn up), Ingrid ignored the Branagh bog-brains she knew were nearby in favour of plugging into her iPod and filling her ears with dulcet tones of melodic rock music. She'd found it calmed her when she was trapped thinking of Adam, and with her pulse still racing every time she thought of him against her, Ingrid thought she might need calming down.
Reaching the castle, Ingrid turned her own music off and heard the Count storming about the place again. "What was it this time Renfield? Funerals Monthly late again?" The servile wart scowled at her, twisted and rotten inside from years of serving Count Dracula. "He got caught by the farmer whos animals he's been drinking, he's developed a taste for sheeps blood Mistress Ingrid." Shaking her head at the idiot in charge of her clan, Ingrid made for her tower room where she could privately obsess over Adam bloody Giles. How dare he tell her not to speak to other boys unless he said so, and that she was supposed to wait around until he was ready to come to her, whatever that meant. Ingrid was tempted to go after other boys just to wind him up, she certainly had them lining up, but one memory of his kiss on her and she knew it was pointless. Not that she was worried about hurting others feelings, but Ingrid didn't see the point in lowering herself for second best when Adam could deliver. That didn't mean she couldn't hit him where it hurt, make him jealous just by thinking she was interested elsewhere. Not tomorrow, he'd see right through her then. Soon though, Ingrid was not a patient girl and she wasn't living by anyone elses schedule.
-YD-
I wanted to finish this all in one go but I'm running about 40 hours sleepless now, lets hope my plan for this story doesn't melt out my ears in my sleep and I'll finish it tomorrow, then update Chosen Two and start my BVSA sequel. Well, thats the plan, depending how long I sleep the day away!