To everyone who worked on Rurouni Kenshin, an anime I am obsessed with, thank you for everything. The music inspires my writing, and they are all so damn cute.
by Jessica French (Midnite363@aol.com)
****
Florence, Italy - Somewhere in the Mid-16th Century
Damon's lip curled in arrogance at his father, who held his chin in his hand and his eyes locked on his eldest son's. The conversation was beginning to annoy him. He was about to express just what he thought of Giuseppe, Conti di Salvatore's high opinion of the university life, when a soft step broke through the tension. It was a moment before the Conti turned and released his grip on his eldest's chin, his expression lighted.
Stefan, who had been in the room to witness the clash between father and son made a sound at Katherine's hesitate move to leave the room. "Katherine," Stefan said with a small smile, "don't go. Stay." He looked over his shoulder to the now separated father and son, as if for confirmation.
Giuseppe stepped up, straightened the folds of his attire, and bowed slightly to Katherine. "It is a pleasure to see you, little Katherine. I see so little of you during the day, and you look so pale. I trust that you are not ill again, I hope."
Katherine touched her cheek vainly and smiled at the Conti. "No sir, I am always pale as you know. I do not use rouge like your bold Italian girls." Her eyes closed softly for a moment, and when they opened she smiled at the Conti.
Stefan, who was now looking at his father, smiled as well. Katherine's secret was safe with him, he would never tell. He knew how her cheeks reddened to a light rose after she had taken her "medicine" as she called it. He did not know the ways of her new condition yet, and he knew that she was upset with the means she had to take to maintain her health. But Stefan did not care. He loved her, he wished to marry her. Their father's had been speaking of marriage for months.
The Conti motioned to a servant. "You must excuse me little Katherine, I have business to attend to before we dine tonight." He looked at Damon, who had been standing patiently to the side, "We will speak later." Giuseppe left, along with his servant, leaving his last comment floating in the air.
Stefan turned back to Katherine, hoping to invite her for a walk through their gardens, and to perhaps visit her favorite spot, a lemon tree beside a low wall overlooking the olive groves. His eyes rose to her face and he warmed at the small, secret smile that played on her lips. It took him a moment to notice that her eyes were not on him, that the smile was not for him. Slowly his head turned. Behind him. To Damon. Damon, who had his own arrogant smile, playing on his lips.
His head turned back to Katherine quickly, but she was already moving step by agonizing slow step toward Damon, her favorite gold and white dress whispering across the Italian tiles.
Damon extended a hand to her, and she took it lightly in her own. As they passed, one of the folds in Damon's coat brushed against Stefan's arm. In the instant, Stefan was tempted beyond reason to grab Damon and smash his perfect beauty to the floor, to make that triumphant smile shatter. But all he could do was watch, silently, as Katherine and Damon entered the gardens, hand in hand, and the door close behind them. Leaving Stefan alone.
Scotland - 1744
Shannon Drake was looking at Damon Salvatore with a stunned look on her face. She had been engulfed in his story, which he told with rare, vivid ability. After a moment, when she realized he was not going to continue, she spoke, "Damon... you cannot be telling the truth. I look at you and you appear not a day older than two and ten, twenty. You are talking about a time that is almost two hundred years ago. I learned of the Italian Renaissance, but you know so much more than I could ever know. You speak as though you lived there."
He looked at her for a moment and then spoke matter-of-factly, "It is a true story Shannon, I did live there."
Her sharp, quickly fading laugh assaulted his ears. "You are fooling me." She looked at him, and when she saw his face the same as it had been, saw that her words passed through him, not affecting his outer appearance she went on to say, "Very well, Mr. Salvatore, pray tell how you have preserved yourself for almost two hundred years."
He smiled then, his eyes danced, and then he looked away towards his horse who was grazing across the glen. The sun was barely grazing the horizon, they had a few hours left until night fall. "Very well, contessa, I will continue the story of my life."
He faced her, and continued.