Hey folks, how are we all fairing after the Bram confessions? Ive managed to avoid it so far. But heres a nice chap that might make it a little more bearable.
Dedicated to BetTheDuckisInTheHat.
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VAMP VERSE.
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Rome, 1690. The PlayHouse.
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As the weak rays of daylight dwindled upon the horizon, lazily giving way to the full hue of twilight, Charlotte rested against the veranda watching the preparations for Orin's and Lyubitshka's funeral in the square below.
A number of days had past since Charlotte had last been under the effects of the powerful spell that had sapped her strength and left her nerves shattered.
Her hearing and sight had yet to return to normal and she would break out in sudden bouts of tremors. Unable to control the quiver in her hands, she had taken to hiding them in the recesses of her loose clothing or crossing her arms and concealing them in her armpits. Outwardly it gave off an air of confidence when she felt anything but.
As each night she awoke to find her affliction un changed, she couldn't ignore the niggling thoughts of inadequacy and the fears that whispered tauntingly in the back of her mind.
What if she never regained her much loved Vampire gifts, what then?
She would no longer be able to perform her duties as a Justice Keeper and she most certainly would not be to serve as an Emissary for House Dubois.
In most cases Ambassador's were the first person introduced to new leaders or important members of the phenomenal community. They represented the power and strength of a House and in their world, first impressions were paramount. A strong Emissary spoke volumes and could deter trouble in the future. A sickly vampire would suggest weakness and as upholders of The Law, House Dubois could not afford to be seen lacking.
If she no longer had a purpose, what would she fill the long evenings of her existence with?
Would the centuries stretch before her, desolate and bleak, her boredom becoming all consuming, causing her to snap by walking out into the dawn or worse, going on a rip roaring rampage of destruction.
It was a very real possibility.
Over the centuries she had been witness to and hunted down many of her kind that had done just that. Mild mannered, quiet ladies and gentlemen, well as mild mannered as a Vampire could be, suddenly threw all the rules instilled in them from rebirth out of the window citing a lack of occupation or simply put by one unfortunate terminatee 'Because I felt like it.'
She was well aware The Council kept a watch list full of names of those that they thought may one day become unhinged and expose them. Eyes were everywhere and if news of her 'accident' reached certain ears, she knew particular factions would not hesitate to petition her name be added in order to use it to their advantage.
She hoped that her reputation would proceed and protect her, at least, until she regained her health
Shivering, the blond vampire drew the sable cloak she had commandeered further around her.
Charlotte couldn't remember ever having noticed the lack of warmth that was the signature of the undead, not even when she had been reborn. She was sure she must have but it had more than likely been lost within the new sensations and experiences of being a newborn, however, since the spell, the biting cold had become her constant companion. It was the type no fire could thaw, set deep within her bones, causing her skin to prick and her extremities to ache.
She took a sip of the steaming blood from the tankard she was currently warming her hands on, much like an old washer woman.
Those few moments when the heat of the liquid coated her throat and filled her belly gave her an all too brief feeling of normalcy and she wondered if this is what she would be reduced to, feeding out of a need, like an addiction rather than survival and enjoyment.
With a sigh she returned to watching Vargo's brethren and the Bomherwald pack continue to build the pyre whilst others carried carcasses of meat and casks of wine for the funerary feast through to the smaller square.
The loss of loved ones hung heavy and was reflected in the subdued and sombre mood of those that had survived
The gouged, smashed and in some cases seared masonry of the walls and verandas surrounding the courtyard were the only indicators that only a few days previously an epic battle had occurred within. However, nobody could ignore the faint but large blackened circles on the cobble stoned floor from the gargantuan cremation that had taken place.
Under the ever watchful eyes of Babel, the Wolves had diligently dispatched the Play House thralls and had adhered to the old gypsy regarding the disposal of the dead. By all accounts clearing out The Hole had been a gruesome affair, making grown men quail and in some cases weep. It had taken three solid days, along with two constantly manned pyres, burning on rotation to dispose of them properly.
The square had been engulfed in thick black smoke and the stink of scorched, necrotic flesh had become unbearable.
In this instance Charlotte was glad of her weakened state and lack of hypersensitive smell as the sickening and offensive stench lingered beneath the mask of charms and aroma's from the lit bowls of oils and flowers tiresomely tended to by the remaining Mystics.
They had somehow cleverly cocooned the open courtyard within a net that dispersed the choking smog, turning it into pale wisps the rest of the city would mistake for a jovial feast fire.
Ignorance was a privilege afforded to the humans. Where The Play House and the evil deeds performed here were concerned, the ignorance of man was indeed bliss and necessary.
The level of depravity one of her own kind had inflicted upon others disgusted her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
Taking another sip, she reflected on what little had come to light about the creation of the blasphemous House of Bastian.
She was no fool.
She knew of the dark thoughts and twisted imaginings that lurked in the corners of the soul of humanity, held in check by fear of reprisal. Having experienced it herself, she also knew that the freedom of no longer being bound by mortal form and morality caused every vampire to dance upon the periphery of a god complex for a short while.
The power was enticing and addictive and if left unguided could turn ugly. The scene before her was a prime example.
The High Council had stringent rules and fail safes in place that was supposed to prevent such things from gaining ground.
How had such a young vampire, less than two centuries old had managed to shirk his Maker, forsake his House allegiance, rally other supernatural beings to his cause all the while keeping itoff the grapevine?
The only person to have come close to the discovery was Lucinda and that had been partly by accident and Sebastian's design.
Such wanton destruction and disregard for life couldn't have gone entirely un noticed. If the number of corpses removed from The Hole was anything to go by and the sheer amount of food needed to keep an operation of this magnitude on its feet, there had to have been a spike in missing people from the nearby slums.
The Council as a rule were vigilant at keeping each other in line, not wishing to upset the delicate balance of the treaties they had painstakingly crafted and upheld over the centuries. They gleaned over numbers and all the available information, making note of any anomalies and strange goings on that was cause for suspicion before alerting the Justice Keepers.
There was also the question of the Crusaders. Rome was the seat of their power and all this had happened in their own back yard. Surely Sebastian couldn't have been persuasive enough to infiltrate their highest ranks and curry the amount of influence needed for them to turn a blind eye?
Being too arrogant and self involved, Sebastian did not strike Charlotte as the patient type, yet what he had managed to accomplish in such a short space of time, and right under their noses, suggested otherwise.
She didn't doubt for a second the greenhorn was smart but the way he had used the continent as his personal chess board, playing a game with tactics and strategies decades in the making with a finesse the members of the House of Franz could only dream of, had shown a level of cunning, guile and control far beyond his years.
It seemed too neat and well thought out for Charlotte's liking and she was beginning to come to the conclusion that he must have had help from an outside influence.
Many of the Play House Versipellis, Vampires and Mystics had perished, or realising they were on the losing side had fled, no doubt to be hunted down by her sister in the near future. Those that had been caught were currently being held in The Pits, in marginally better conditions than their previous occupants and were refusing to talk.
Until Brittany relinquished her hold over the traitor, Charlotte doubted that any information regarding his suspected affiliates would be forth coming.
Until then all they could do was speculate but there would be time for that later.
Right now she was more concerned with her charges and what the future may hold..
It had been Kurt and the young Wolf, Charn that had come upon them in the Wolves Den, Santana resembling that of a corpse and Brittany at death's door having almost drained herself in an desperate attempt to heal her.
The tale of Brittany's willing sacrifice in order to save her lover filtered through the ranks, fuelled in part by the way in which Kurt told the tale as an epic adventure fraught with peril and a love that knew no bounds. It was enough to melt the coldest of hearts. Even her own sister had begrudgingly admitted she had melted just a little.
Even though the tale was one of chivalry and romance, it did not come without it's pitfalls. Holly and she had discussed at length what a huge swap of life force could mean for the youngsters and she wasn't quite willing to write this off as a happily ever after just yet.
Little was known about the nature of blood bonds and its effects upon the people in question. Coupled with the strange connection they already shared and the new information of Santana's lineage, it could very well spell disaster.
The older vampires had come to the decision to keep a close eye on the love birds and pray that it would go in their favour and no adverse affects would become apparent.
Neither could they ignore the fact that for a time Santana had been the Rogue whose behaviour mirrored that of Vlad and had been cause for alarm. Though the latin girl claimed she was commanded and committed these atrocities against her will, it remained to be seen if it was true or a desperate ploy to save her own neck. Either way, until it was proven Charlotte would continue to give the youngster the benefit of the doubt and treat her as she would her own.
Not entirely trusting that the Mystics in the building did not know of Santana's history, Charlotte had taken to keeping vigil over them, finding peace in watching them sleep.
The way they curled into each other, their mouths twitching up at the corners and the contented sighs that escaped them warmed her still heart and she could only imagine what dreams they frolicked in.
They were finally together and it made the loss they had all suffered a little more bearable.
She had watched with motherly affection as the grey pallor and dark circles beneath her offspring's eyes disappeared and the flesh returned to Santana's bones, her hair becoming glossy with health. She had bore witness to the confused mumblings and lack of awareness of their surroundings as she roused them, encouraging them to drink in order to regain their strength before they returned to the much needed slumber that would help them heal.
Lucinda, despite her insistence she would not share a room with the pair, had been seen on numerous occasions sneaking out at the crack of twilight, claiming she was simply retrieving a book or an all important scroll when it was quite evident the spare coffin had been slept in.
She had even caught Lucinda red handed soothing Santana's brow whilst she wrestled with what ever demons stalked her through the myriad of the shadow realms she frequented.
Psychically, the brunette looked fine but who would really know the amount of damage wrought upon her psyche from the cruel treatment she had endured at Sebastian's hands.
A shout from below roused her from her pensive mood.
"Charlie!"
She peered over the lip of the veranda attempting to find its origin. The effeminate voice continued,
"Left! Left! A little further!"
Her eyes finally landed on the young notary in the yard below, his hands on his hips and sleeves rolled up his forearms. To her, the white of his shirt no longer carried the brilliance she was used to, instead it appeared dingy like a day old snow on the slopes of their home.
Craning his neck to take her in, he informed her,
"The delivery arrived. Do you want to come have a look?"
Keeping busy and being around the upbeat youngsters was exactly what she needed. Grinning, she cajoled,
"I hope you haven't wasted my money?"
Kurt replied with mock shock,
"Miss Charlotte, I assure you when it comes to fashion, nothing is a waste" Flicking the curl of hair at his forehead, he announced. "Once I'm finished with her she shall be mistaken for royalty!"
Rolling her eyes at the young man's hubris, she chuckled. Emptying the contents of her tankard she pushed herself off the veranda, calling,
"I'll see you down there."
He smiled at her broadly before taking off with a spring in his step and disappearing from view.
X
When Charlotte had brought up the question of Santana's lack of attire the young man had trawled through every trunk and wardrobe in the building. Dissatisfied, Kurt had announced she needed a whole new wardrobe befitting of her station and Charlotte was inclined to agree.
Wishing to extend Santana the same courtesy that Brittany had been given when being presented to her Grand Dam, Charlotte had given Kurt licence to oversee the project.
At the prospect of having a free rein and unlimted funds to clothe her as he saw fit, he had brimmed with excitement. Immediately, he had cast a critical eye over her tiny frame, making notes a on scrap of parchment, whilst Lucinda joked about her proclivity towards dressing like a harlot, before taking off into the night with Charn on his heels only to return on the cusp of dawn invigorated, babbling on about material and night time robbery.
Hovering in the doorway of the wide bedroom that had once belonged to Ryder, she watched as Kurt, in his element, transformed the once slovenly hovel into a dress shop fit for the ladies of the highest social standing, giving the odd word of encouragement to the young wolf that much to Babel's chagrin, had become his constant shadow of late.
Charlotte had yet to be told what had caused the curved scar that followed his jaw line and of which he was proud showing it off to Lucinda at any opportunity, but what ever is was, was enough to have the Bohmerwald teenager hanging on his every word.
Charlotte had noticed small changes in the girl's appearance as under Kurt's tutelage, her hair became neater and her nails trimmed and clean. More surprisingly was her table manners. She no longer tore into her dinner as would be her natural behaviour as a hunting carnivore. The sight of the notary lightly swatting at her hand as she went to pick up a hunk of meat had become common place, much to the amusement of Puck who needed all the light relief he could get nursing Loren through her grief.
Preoccupied, the two young adults hadn't notice her presence as they continued to fawn and coo over the new garments. She watched as Kurt lovingly unwrapped a pretty russet tunic holding it out to the bright eyed teenager.
"Here, this is for you. Just don't tell Charlotte."
The blond vampire smirked,
"Don't tell Charlotte what?"
The youngster's spun round in surprise and Charn, sheepishly, attempted to conceal the tunic behind her back.
Charlotte arched an eyebrow, asking in mock annoyance,
"What are you hiding behind your back young lady?"
Bringing the tunic from its hiding place, the dirty blond held it out. Her face flushed with guilt, she stammered,
"I… I'm .. Ssorry."
Stepping further into the room, the older vampire let out a hearty laugh waving the young girl away,
"After all you have risked, it's the least I can do."
The young girl gave a sigh relief as she draped the tunic over the nearby coffin
Kurt scowled, chiding,
"Charlotte, that was mean."
Trailing her fingers lightly over the silken material of a bodice, she could only imagine would look stunning on Santana, she gave a side eyed glance, adding,
"I hope you bought the pants and boots to match?"
The notary bumped her hip, playfully as he leaned past her to hang a red justacorp,
"You know I did."
They where interrupted when Lucinda and Bramble came bustling through the door,
"There you are, I've been looking for you all over."
The ash blonde Justice Keeper flopped into the armchair in the corner, sullenly taking a huge gulp of the contents of the jug in her hands.
Charlotte crinkled her brow taking in her sister's demeanour. She asked,
"Is that Taint?"
Taking another gulp, Lucinda nodded. Charlotte continued,
"Is it not a little early?"
Giving a shudder, Lucinda dead panned,
"I have seen things. Things that once seen, cannot be unseen."
Kurt crinkled his dainty nose,
"What on earth is that smell?"
Charlotte sniffed. Unable to smell what her companion was sensing, she shrugged. Charn let out a strangled whine and her face burning bright with embarrassment before bolting from the room.
Kurt gave a pointed stare at Bramble who returned his look as if to say,
'It's not me."
Taking a step towards Lucinda, Kurt took a large sniff, immediately scrunching his face in disgust. Covering over his nose, exclaimed,
"You stink like a whore house!"
The Justice Keeper leapt of the chair, cursing,
"You've got to be kidding me!"
Leaning towards her sister, Charlotte picked up the tell tale musky odour.
"Oh my god, you do!"
"How would you know? " Lucinda snapped, "You can't even smell properly!"
Grinning, Charlotte quipped,
"Well, I guess that shows how much you stink then!"
Hopping from one foot to the other, Lucinda swatted at her clothes.
"Harlots." She cursed, "The pair of them!" as if in a world of her own, she continued, "All I wanted was a bit of peace and quiet but nooo I had to be witness to the Brittana fingerbang reunion!"
Kurt and Charlotte hid their guffaws. Narrowing her eyes and whirling on the pair, Lucinda screamed,
"Its not funny!"
Through their gales of laughter, Charlotte choked with amusement,
"So they are awake then?"
The cords on Lucinda's pale neck bulged as she continued on her irate tirade, gesticulating with her arms, sloshing the contents of the jug on the floor,
"Awake! Awake! There isn't a word for what they are!"
She paused, flopping defeatedly into the chair, her features became haunted as she added mournfully,
"Trapped! I was trapped! Held against my will and tortured!"
Kurt tuttted,
"Don't be so dramatic. I'm sure it wasn't that bad?"
The Justice Keeper narrowed her flashing hazel eyes, rounding on the notary
"Really Kurt? In that case why don't you share with them tomorrow eh?"
Kurt coughed awkwardly,
"No. No , I don't think it would be appropriate for a gentleman to share with two young ladies. It would be the height of bad manners."
Taking another drink, Lucinda scoffed,
"That's what I thought!"
"Right." Charlotte announced, "As much as I love hearing the two of you arguing I'm going to check on them."
"Don't say I didn't warn you. Im sure you'll hear them anyway." Lucinda muttered darkly.
Leaving the room, Charlotte was sure she heard her sister mumble,
"Loud.. so loud!"
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p.s .. not my best but lots of info.. let me know what you think..
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