A/N: So I've finally picked this up again after 2 years and my writing style has changed a fair bit but I'll try match to this since it's been eating at me that I left this unfinished. Watch me attempt to amend that and do drop a review, it's super motivating. I hope you're all well x
Chapter 4: Vaiding
It is often that one may find one's self wandering around, aimlessly throwing forward foot after foot, either pondering the complexity of a given life situation or wandering what exactly you'll be having for lunch. Bonnibelle finds herself in such a state, as she trudges back to her room, past the rows and rows of chambers, past the various paintings ad portraits, past the floral woodwork that surrounded the arch that led to their "maids' quarters". But, she doesn't wander about if it was the chicken or egg that came first, instead, she thinks about the confusing tumble of thoughts she has for the lady of the house.
Marceline. Homo Chiroptera.
The name sounds so wrong in the whispers of her mind's voice. The specie? Much worse. She thinks for a moment of the long, electric hair that surrounds Marceline and as she sits on the made sheets of her bedding in the stillness of the darkness in her room, she thinks of those dark, red eyes. Marceline was a vampire, she had the fact ingrained into every fibre of her being. She had a fascination for learning, but the vampire species disgusted her. Scarfing down the blood of other beings to live, the idea made her sick as a child. Now, it made her hate. Such a hatred, that it boiled deep in her chest, smouldering and damning her to lash out at her captors, to stab them till the same blood they consumed spilled out of their bellies, to avenge herself and her people. She might have been shocked to have known, a few months ago, that she'd be thinking such violent, ironically "vampire-like" thoughts, but now, "thoughts" was an understatement for what she felt the need to do. But, she was helpless, had no cause and she was lost in a stranger's land. What could she do all by herself; princess or not? Who would help her, how would she escape, was their anything worth escaping for? How many legions away had she been carried on Rainicorn-back? Most of all, she, was, alone.
How funny it seemed to use the word alone. There were "friends" around her, there was food on her plate, a mansion of a roof above her head – and yet, she felt like she knew and did not know these people. She was with so many, but she was still singled out by the pain and fear that chewed at the still remaining world that once was hers.
What was funny yet, was despite her abhorrence of these soul-sucking demons, she had found a sudden fascination after a very long time. She was fascinated, by Marceline.
She could not help it.
There was more of a playful tinge to the eyes she saw this afternoon, than the expected lustful greed. There was a sense of carefree metaphor in the hair that swayed behind her neck. There was that unknown thrill she'd felt when their gazes had locked, and she was uncomfortably aware of how close they were. Most of all, there was a pulchritudinous aura that emanated from the young woman that had really grazed the conscious of her inner scientist. A provocative sort of integrity that enlightened what seemed to be her rebellious mannerisms – which she still could not make sense of. Her eyes catch the passing shadow beneath the helm of her doorway, clearly visible from the brightly lit corridors outside.
That must be Mary. She's muses as she brings her feet up to curl at the bedding she had nested herself in.
Sure enough, the pompous figure of the woman's shadow tilts back and forth as her hand wraps two exact knocks on the door to the room. A answer is clearly not expected, or needed, as she twists open the knob of the door and walks in, a satchel at her side and a little jump in her walk. She smiles at Bonnibelle placing herself on the opposite end of the bed. Instinctively her hand reaches up to push out a few stray hairs trailing across her forehead.
"Ive been told that you're to be taught Vaiding," she pauses as if giving the space for Bonibelle to nod - which she does, "Ive also been told that you were instructed to find me". The young lady feels a blood rush at her cheeks, wandering about in the world of her thoughts had left her forgetting that she was to report to Mary at all. Neither could she muster enthusiasm for a "thing" when she had absolutely no idea what the thing was.
The former monarch put on a sincere face, hoping to mask her embarrassment of having forgotten and for being preoccupied with unusual thoughts of unusual personages. "I'm sorry, I meant to come see you."
"But got distracted with the very complicated life you lead?" Mary smiles somewhat sarcastically, standing up and producing a similar light leather satchel from within the on she carried. Thrusting it towards Bonnibelle, she states, "this is now yours." She then proceeds to pull out a darkened, brown parchment from her own satchel, producing an exact copy beneath the one she had and placing that in the leather container that now rested against Bonnibelle's hip.
"This," she points at the crosses, odd spheres and blocks on the parchment, "is a map of the grounds, well, of the forest in and around the mansion". The head maid stands up, heading towards the door and beckoning for the somewhat confused lady with leather to follow. "Vaiding is a sport, sort of an exercise, you can even say competition. Us maids, are the participants, spectators being our lords, masters and region rulers and enemies being the maids of other lords."
Bonnibelle wasn't a slow learner, she needn't prod for obvious answers. "What happens at the end?"
Taken back by the forwardness the young lady put up, Mary crosses her arms as they walk down corridor after corridor gradually making towards the large timber gates on the eat side of the mansion. "You seem to have accepted it quite quickly? Then again, you're pink too." She laughs to herself before continuing, "One lord's group wins, by racing around the chosen arena and fending off opposite teams till they're all either dead or unconscious."
This took back Bonnibelle instead. A sport would go as far as death?
"Oh don't worry sweetie, as long as you stay alive, you won't know who you've killed and they won't know too till the end." She began to unlatch the large wooden door hold at the gates, in-between carrying it to a side, she mentions, "we're all covered from head to toe in garment you see, the only thing that differentiates even us between each other is the satchel."
She pulls out to the side her own leathery holder, a clear blue ribbon tied to both of the straps that held it up and around her shoulders. Nodding towards the ribbons at her own, Mary advises, "you'd better get some pink ones for yours, the colour hasn't been taken by any of our girls yet."
They'd stepped out into a vast clearing right outside the gates where clear sea skies met them from above, and a cascade of pine trees surrounded the amphitheatre of the mansion. Ironic enough, that the sport was to be watched, now even nature seemed to want to remind Bonnibelle that her life was to become a game. No animals seemed to move about the forest; no sound could be heard save for their steps within the brown dirt clearing that seemed to span on for much more than a few dozen kitchen carts to come through.
"Towards the centre is where the real arena is held, this semicircle outside the gate is where we practice and inside your satchel is what makes magic happen."
Extending her arm down into the said bag, Bonnibelle reaches past the crinkle of the map she'd neatly folded and placed inside, till her fingers slid across the smooth, solid touch of a vial. Lifting it up to her eyes, she could make out a red, sloshing liquid inside. All too soon, her mind jumped to the conclusion that inside it was not pixie wine or magical fairy spirits, but most definitely blood.
"That, is Marceline's blood. Vampire blood that contains the subtle effects of what the Abadeer's are most known for: speed. We take sips of it," she pauses to smile at the cringe slowly taking over the young lady's face, "it's not as bitter as you think, besides it is what gives us a certain advantage as representatives of the Abadeer family. We can run quite fast. We have to face the Strength in physical attribute of the Culas and the Vision in the all seeing eyes of the Dalatine.
"Culas and Dalatine?" Bonibelle asks aloud. The scientist in her tells her they're family names and they sound powerful, but she asks anyway, feigning curiosity. The vial is cold against her fingers, even as she sloshes its liquid about.
Mary smiles, a motherly patience on her features as she answers Bonnibelle.
"They're all powerful vampire families, you didn't think we were the only maids in the vaiding did you?"
She doesn't allow the younger girl to reply. "We wouldn't kill our own," a matter-of-fact look is directed at the newcomer, "after-all, who would remain to serve the Abadeers if we lost?"
The audible crackle of a twig snapping resounds from somewhere to the right, they ignore the sound as they begin to walk towards the forestry with Bonibelle trailing behind Mary - partially to take in her surroundings, partially to process her thoughts.
"So haven't any of you ever died?" She intends to get as many answers as she can, her interest piqued after many a month of stagnant emptiness.
Mary stops walking, she doesn't turn to face Bonnibelle when she answers.
"Oh yes," her voice falters briefly, "Alexa was a lovely wood elf, but that's why we have you now".
The name seems to ring a bell, though she can't tell why it only feels like wisps of a memory more than an actual living person. Well, deceased now.
The trees around them seem to narrow in towards each other, no signs of shrubbery at their feet. Long branches tighten their grips as they brush against each other, leaves splattered about more like a mess than natural foliage. She presumes she's being led to the main arena, but there seems to be no vast difference between each passing tree trunk. They're all broad, dark bark masses clumped together, occasionally a stump or two would be amongst some of the smaller trees. She notes the wretched hacks that seem to have axed the tops of the stumps. The person didn't seem to have had the best of efforts with whatever they'd been using.
She half expects Marceline to spring up from one of the branches, the vampire ha taken to appearing out of the most unusual places. At times it was amusing, like a child hiding behind a curtain but at times… she puts the thought out of her mind's space as she recounts the lack of proximity with their recent 'meetings'.
Soon enough, their seems to be a clearing at the centre of the forest. Ruddy stumps litter the circle, all level with their feet and closer to the ground than what she'd seen before. Only a singular stump rests higher than the others, its top having been axed halfway and its body draped in a dark cloth.
"This is the centre of the arena," Mary announces, waving her hand around the clearing.
Bonnibelle's eyebrows raise slightly. "Centre?"
"Well, we just walked through the arena. The forest is the arena, this is where the Lords wait and watch from". Mary sees the questioning look in the younger lady's face. "They stay in the air high above and watch. The lords' assistants stay down here on the stumps".
Bonnibelle nods, not having much to say.
"You have to run, hide, whatever it is you do in a circle but outside this centre. If you try to even approach the centre, the vampires will kill you. Your lord will be disgraced and lose".
"I thought they needed their servants?" Bonnibelle finally asks.
"Not in the vaiding. If there's one thing vampires love more than a bloody hunt, its competition of the same nature that they get to watch," she seems to hesitate, "a show and dinner, if you will".
"Drink up," Mary says now. Her arms are around her knees as she sits down one of the stumps. Her withered features crinkled into a content smile.
Bonnibelle knows its to comfort her, to help her, but she only cringes as she smells the rancid red liquid in the now open vial under her nose. It tastes worse, metallic but somehow pungent as well. She'd grown up sucking the blood off her finger when she'd stumble up stairs or bruise her arms, but the blood that sullies her throat is almost coarse. There's an odd after-taste of grapes on her tongue. Her body begins to feel a rapid jitter, her feet tapping by themselves and her heart beginning to pound louder in her ears as she glacially looks down to try will her feet to stop.
"Now, run".
And she does. Even with the older woman yelling orders and instructions to her every now and then and occasionally throwing things in her path from afar. It is well into an hour before she finally comes to a stop. Her face is hot with sweat and her heart is at resting pace, which confuses her body even more with the torrid tens of kilometres she'd just run in minutes. The effects of the blood wane away, allowing her to catch her breath all at once. She gasps in for air, feeling like someone has just punched her throat in and clasped her lungs inwards.
She begins to understand just how quick the women around her were.
"Are-we-meant-to-outrun," she pants deeply," the other-families?"
"They can see through objects and lift things with superior strength," Mary offers, "we're lucky the Abadeer name and blood brings us speed".
Mary's wrist makes a sudden, swift movement and a blind of silver seems to fly from her fingertips. Bonnibelle follows its path, only to find a dead hare at the end of its trajectory. A set of snapped twigs beneath its snow-white paws. Mary turns to face her this time.
"Don't die".