Hello everybody! I hope you have all enjoyed a wonderful Christmas and New Year.
I am so sorry this has taken so long. I have been really struggling with this part and have crumbled beneath the pressure and split it in half.
Term also started this week, so I'm back to working on 'Real World' things first.
Warnings: Swearing, horrible violence, gore,
Disclaimers: I only own the OCs and the plot. Even the concept isn't mine, Chapter 1 was adopted and adapted.
The Master, the Graf Von Eppensteiner, the Hon. Dominic Searles-Buckingham (during his mortal years in another century) paced furiously about his library, waiting for the report from his lieutenants. His rage when he was told of Eleanor Tolvay's return and adoption of Stark had been terrible enough that not even Tiffany or Owen had stayed in the room when he smashed the grand piano to splinters and twisted shards of metal. The desk had been reduced to brittle antique kindling and the first unfortunate lackey to be sent through the door (some groupie warm girl whose name he never learned) had their throat chewed down to the bone. Gorged but not sated, his face purple with the excess blood in his system, the Graf roared his rage to the ceiling, his fangs more like ivory tusks that protruded over his swollen lips.
Then the tide of his rage turned again and the body was rent limb from limb, the flesh tearing with a sound like wet Velcro and the bones popping and splintering under his brute strength. When there was little more than tripe and bone fragments left, he collapsed onto the gore-drenched couch and snarled like a tiger.
That bitch! That conniving, evil little exotic bitch! He had never liked her. Oh sure, once he had been in awe of her, since her staggering age commanded respect—but that was a long time ago. She had since proven herself to be manipulative and power-hungry, going so far as to force him from his rightful territory.
So much for the ties of friendship and alliance with the Von Eppensteiner line! He snorted and coughed as droplets of blood caught in his nose. Wiping the blood from his upper lip, he surveyed the devastation around him and resolved that a bath would do as well as anything else at that moment.
He rose and crossed to the door and threw it open. Tiffany was waiting respectfully at the end of the corridor and did not mention his blood-stained figure.
"A bath," he said, not looking at her as he strode along to the main hall and the stairs.
She made a tiny noise of assent and flitted ahead to see to it. As Dominic rounded the corner, he saw Owen leaning against the wall, examining his diamond-shaped fingernails. When he sensed the Graf, he straightened up immediately.
"Sir?" he asked, and he did openly eye the blood drenching his leader's frame. His face was an inscrutable mask.
"The parlour—I want it cleaned and restored within the week," the Graf said, not breaking stride.
Owen was silent for a moment, before nodding. "Sir, if I may ask," he said. "What about the girl?"
"What about her?" the Graf said, a laugh in his voice, but a hint of warning in his eyes.
Owen caught that warning and his expression became even more closed. "Nothing, sir. Forgive me."
The Graf nodded condescendingly and let Owen turn away to carry out his task. He would have to formulate an immediate counter-strike that would wound Stark and Tolvay before that damned exotic could make her move.
And it would be decisive.
Loki and Christopher stared at each other for a very long time. Both were tall, aristocratically handsome and proud. Neither was willing to give an inch.
Eleanor, the one to start all this trouble, rolled her eyes and stepped between them, shoving a hand against their manly chests.
"Alors M'sieu de Courtenay, you said you had my other presents and I must dress to terrify for my next appointment." She plucked at her borrowed clothes—courtesy of Sweetie, who was at least three dress sizes larger than Eleanor, especially in the chest area.
"Oh?" Loki raised an eyebrow at her as Christopher's stony demeanour shifted gears in a millisecond. He whooped and hauled them both inside, his wariness of Loki forgotten.
"This is a landmark event!" Christopher exclaimed. "Everybody! Eleanor fucking Tolvay has capitulated to my demands!"
Several nosferatu lounged into the hall, looking sexy-dishevelled and regarding Loki sleepily, as if trying to work out whether he was food or not. Loki's skin crawled under the scarlet-hued gazes, but kept his spine ramrod straight as one of the vampires—a tall blond man with a handsome face and greyish skin—yawned impressively, flashing his sharp teeth in the process. "It's almost bedtime, C, is this about the new wardrobe?"
Christopher stamped his foot impatiently. "Of course it's about the new wardrobe, stupid creature! Make haste! Break out the clothes, the shoes, the make-up—everything! She's ready!"
The insolent vampire and the rest made apathetic excuses and retreated. Then Christopher and a female nosferatu called 'Sweetie' to led them upstairs to a spacious parlour with sunny yellow walls and every conceivable grooming product imaginable.
However, the conversation was all business.
"Someone has seriously threatened the lives of my deputies in Turkey," Eleanor groused as Sweetie washed her hair in a basin. "I'm the only one allowed to do that."
"Is that what's in the bag?" Christopher asked, interested as he selected clothes from an enormous armoire. "Field reports?"
"And the rest," Eleanor said, apparently unmoved by the scalp massage Sweetie was giving her. "Apparently it was one of That Bitch's lieutenants who can actually be seen in public on a night other than Halloween. It would have been someone like Boris Roseus."
"Who?" Christopher frowned.
"He used to go by 'Calidor' before the Soviet Union."
"Oh him," Christopher held up a dress of deep purple velvet, which was dismissed with a wave of an ivory hand. "Ghastly brute."
"Yes, and Astor is too refined for what I have in mind. I need an attack dog. Alfred will have to dragoon someone terrifying from the Legions or HQ, like Peregrine or Cholmondeley."
"Lord help us," Christopher shuddered. "They're absolute madmen. How on earth do you manage to keep them on the staff?"
"I promise them sport," Eleanor smiled. "I'll set the hellhounds loose in Istanbul, fangs out and promising that throats will be ripped if the upper management hear that anyone in my faction has allowed themselves to be endangered by such vampires as Calidor."
"Thus terrifying the opposition. It looks like you'll be going back sooner than anticipated. That also means accelerating Stark," Christopher said.
Loki, who had been politely but firmly ushered into the plush wing-back armchair by the window and given a large glass of wine, listened to this exchange with interest. And took mental notes.
"Oh yes, I figured it out," Christopher continued, apparently unconcerned by the glare Eleanor was shooting him. "I pushed him in the direction of a couple of Dominic's flea-ridden cast-offs, who I actually allowed onto these premises for that precise purpose, by the way. I hope you're grateful."
Eleanor flopped back, her mane swirling in the sudsy water. "At least tell me that they look to be useful," she said.
Christopher, taking this as all the thanks he'd get from the proud creature, affirmed it. "Silas is a very talented shapeshifter and Chloe is getting to grips with the forms she can take. Both are biddable and cleave to stronger personalities."
Eleanor nodded and allowed Sweetie to wrap her hair in a towel before moving to another chair, where she refused everything except the application of a blow-dryer to the silvery-white tresses. After this noisy process was over, Eleanor spoke again, her tone careful: "If I were to discuss my plan with you, that would not be involving you, would it?"
"I can hear it, I just can't join in," Christopher agreed. "At least, not in a way that would be construed as aid."
"Precisely," Eleanor nodded and swept up the chosen clothes before retiring behind a changing screen with beautiful oriental paintings on it. "I think I need to capitalise upon the secondary players."
"Why? Stark has been coming along nicely—you should have seen him when he came here looking for you."
"Yes, but not fast enough. He is trying so hard to compromise and be both a superhero and a nosferatu."
"He cannot accept the change," Loki said, and he would never admit that he could distantly sympathise with that feeling.
"He's trying, on a practical level, to assimilate the physical changes," Eleanor conceded. "But it's the mentality that I find so tiresome. Under normal circumstances, I would allow him to figure it out in his own time. Unfortunately, time is not on our side."
"So you're not going to use the superheroes?"
"I think we can do better than that." Eleanor said icily. "Loki?"
"Yes?" he looked round in time to see Taibhse step around the screen in a blue silk shirt, A-line black skirt and elegant high-heels. "Hardly terrifying," he said, unable to suppress his impulsive evaluation of her outfit.
"Just so," Christopher said disapprovingly. "You couldn't look tamer in tweed—go back and put this on," he commanded, shoving a bundle of black material into her hands.
Eleanor obediently disappeared again. "Loki, I was going to ask if you fancied hunting specific nosferatu with me?"
"With your permission?" Loki said sardonically.
Eleanor's pale hand appeared over the screen and waved carelessly. "With my fondest blessings."
Loki tossed back the rest of his wine and grinned. "Sure, why not?"
"Just what I like to hear," Eleanor reappeared again, wearing tight black trousers, a black turtle-neck top and black thigh-high suede boots. "Christopher, pass me that coat—the grey one."
Christopher obediently tossed her an ankle-length dark grey coat with a tall military-style collar. "That's better," he said approvingly.
Eleanor pulled it on and frowned down at herself. "Is this tailored to conceal weaponry?" she asked, examining the lining of the coat.
Christopher's smile was a thing of predatory anticipation. "Faster than a speeding bullet?" he teased.
"If I concentrate and there's only one," Eleanor replied seriously. She turned to Loki. "Do you need anything?"
Between the time it took to set the wine glass down and get to his feet, Loki had changed his clothes—an actual exchange, not a mere illusion—into the tailored suit and long dark coat he had worn in Stuttgart. That was answer enough.
Christopher whistled. "You do know that contradicts the law of conservation of mass," he said, almost accusingly.
Loki smiled. "Consider it a footnote," he said carelessly, running a hand over his lapel as if to smooth away a phantom crease.
Christopher harrumphed and glared at a smirking Eleanor. "You two deserve each other," he said as Brandon entered with a new experimental cocktail on a tray. Christopher drained it in one enormous gulp, his throat momentarily expanding like a snake's to take the liquid, and then grabbed his topcoat—another ankle-sweeping statement in very dark burgundy wool with embossed brass buttons.
"What's this?" Loki drawled, already holding the door open for Eleanor.
"What, you don't think I'm going to miss all the fun, do you?" Christopher said, laying a perfunctory peck on Brandon's lips before gently propelling Eleanor through the door by her shoulders.
"Thank you for your hospitality," Loki said as they walked along the pre-dawn streets. He could feel his aristocratic manners impress themselves upon his lips and force those words out.
Christopher, looking far more relaxed and cheerful now that Loki had proven himself capable of basic restraint and manners, beamed at him. "Let's do this again," he said. "You're next in the chair."
Loki refrained from verbal commitment. Then Christopher turned his beneficent gaze upon Eleanor. "Well, my girl," he said. "What's the lay?"
"Again," Silas said, sitting on his bed as he watched Chloe practise her shape-shifting. He had been coaching her to grow and refine her abilities slowly, safely. She had been too eager initially and had almost caused a permanent deformity in her arms and skull. Fortunately, Silas had gently coaxed her back into her normal shape and told her to never attempt a trans-species shift again, since her body was not strong enough. Chloe had pouted but capitulated, not wanting to experience the horror and agony of a botched shift ever again.
Silas, meanwhile, had such mastery over his forms that it was not only effortless and fast, but he could also hold the shape indefinitely if needed. Chloe was only able to take on the appearance of different humans. She was working her way up to taking the forms of men, but for the moment Silas had her imitating film stars and pop singers. She was currently experimenting with changing her height, taking on the statuesque proportions of a currently famous supermodel. Bloody sweat beaded on her brow as the bones in her legs and back creaked and elongated. The fresh blood gave her the strength to attempt this, but it still required immense effort. Her nose shortened and snubbed, her cheekbones lifted and her jawline became square.
"Good," Silas said.
Chloe relaxed into her new shape, her blood settling as she glanced at herself in the full-length mirror hanging inside the wardrobe. "It's getting easier," she remarked, and struck an exaggerated pose at Silas, who smiled softly. He was like an older brother to Chloe, protective and patient with her. She was barely thirty in human terms and had been turned when she was only eighteen, making her very young indeed.
"Say that again if you can hold that form until four o' clock," Silas said.
Chloe nodded, tacitly accepting the challenge. "So… what do you think about Stark?" she asked.
Silas looked thoughtful for a long moment. "His star is in ascent, especially with Tolvay as his sponsor."
Chloe sighed. "And now we've joined him… what do you think he's got planned?"
"I don't know," Silas shrugged. "He's clearly not going back to the Graf, and he's still Tony Stark—in as much as the public still think he's alive—and the world still needs Iron Man… I'm not sure, but I reckon Tolvay has something to do with it. The Leopard never takes even a single step without a reason."
"Do you think she's going to take Stark back to Europe?" Chloe asked.
"No, but she may want to cut a deal with Stark in return for her help. A quid pro quo."
Chloe sighed and walked over to the window, marvelling at being able to be in the overcast December daytime without her flesh blistering and cracking.
But what she saw on the street below so surprised her that she promptly failed Silas' task as her body reverted to its original shape.
"What is it?" Silas asked, immediately picking up on her shock and joining her at the window. When he saw who was approaching the Manor, he muttered a curse.
Tony was glad Eleanor wasn't skulking around the Manor. But as it seemed no one on this entire continent had that bitch's cell-phone number, it was impossible to say whether Eleanor would make an unexpected appearance or not. She had emphatically stated she wanted nothing to do with the whole Avengers gig, and he suspected that was because she had a big thing going on back in Europe that kept her busy.
So as the meeting wound up with the usual objectives established and the eye-watering estimates for repairs laid out in detail, he was unspeakably grateful that Eleanor's sense of timing had not failed her. By his side in the armchair, Pepper was stiff and nervous—which in turn made him jumpy. The problem with becoming a vampire was that very sense was quickened, but realigned in the weirdest ways. Alcohol and coffee were mere placebos and yet Starbursts invariably triggered the pleasure centres in his brain. The meeting was becoming so tedious that he resorted to digging a pack of the sweets out of his pocket and shoving one in his mouth. It mitigated his feeling of frustration—somewhat—and he offered one to Pepper, who tucked her copy of the paperwork under her arm to accept an orange one with a smile.
"I've got to take these back to my office and have our teams co-ordinate with the city's response units. The insurance on this is crazy," she said, and Tony could see she was going to whip herself into a frenzy of worry if he tried to keep her there any longer. So he smiled gently took her hand in his.
"Want me to bring you dinner tonight? We could stay in the penthouse," he suggested, trying to be the good boyfriend. Pepper's hesitation and intake of breath was obvious enough that he could have spotted it with human senses. Pain lanced through him, deep and insidious, but he hid it with a small smile. "I understand." Then he pressed a kiss to her comparatively hot cheek. She shivered and he hoped it was just the temperature difference and not revulsion, but he couldn't be sure. The pain increased tenfold.
"Tony," Pepper whispered. "I'm so sorry—it's just—"
"A strain, I know," he finished. "Really—it's okay."
Pepper looked stricken, but Tony sensed she was relieved. "I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked.
Tony shrugged. "Of course," he said. "Good luck with the work."
"Thanks," Pepper whispered. She couldn't meet his eyes and Tony's humanity never felt so far away as his anger built in his gut. He put it aside, knowing that it was futile and dangerously stupid to be upset at that moment, when SHIELD's top people milled around them chatting as they pulled on their coats and scarves. So he simply smiled tightly and waited for them all to go away.
Eleanor's vampire lessons hadn't covered this…
Then JARVIS gave him the apocalyptic information that Eleanor had arrived on the Manor's grounds 'with company'.
Tony may have been medically dead, but that didn't stop the sudden, convulsive clench of his sphincter that straightened his spine and caused his head to snap up. He needed to head Eleanor off before she reached this room, his mind was already whirling with pessimistic conjecture as he stood.
"Stark?"
Fury's voice snapped him back to the room.
"Time-sensitive experiment, Nick," he said, lying smoothly as he strolled to the door. "Back in five."
"Stark—!"
"Five!" Tony repeated emphatically over his shoulder, not breaking stride. Above all else, no one here could know who had just arrived. This could go so terribly wrong in so many different ways that he couldn't even think of the worst scenario.
But before his hand even brushed the brass handle, the door transformed into a portal to hell and through it stepped Eleanor Tolvay.
Who was flanked by Christopher de Courtenay and I-am-a-god-and-I-have-an-army!-Loki.
Evil, evil cliffhangers! What do you think is going to happen next? (Yes, that's me asking for feedback. Shameless, aren't I?)
Also, I know we're all wondering what Eleanor's up to, and I can only promise that all will be revealed by the end.
~ L.