To the dork who pulled the fire alarm while I was in the middle of writing this.
by Jessica French (Midnite363@aol.com)
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Scotland - 1744
Shannon and Gretchen's plan did not go as they had expected.
When Shannon entered the room she shared with her cousin Gretchen she was disappointed to see that her cousin was fully dressed and sitting on the bed as if waiting for her. She had an annoyed look on her face.
"Where were you last night?" Gretchen asked, knowing it was the question Shannon was hoping for.
"Oh no where special...." Shannon smiled.
"Do you know where Mr. Salvatore went?"
"What do you mean?" A little bit of anxiety working it's way through Shannon's voice.
"I mean," Gretchen huffed out, more annoyed than she let on. Her plans had been foiled as well, "He is gone. As in, I asked your father why he was not present at dinner or breakfast this morning and he said because Damon had left the estate, and Scotland."
Shannon sunk to a chair positioned against the wall next to the door. It was a beautiful chair, high backed and upholstered with dark maroon silky fabric with paislies. The trim was done in gold. Shannon loved the chair, but right now all she could think about was Damon. He had left without say 'goodbye', left without a word, not even a note. She had left him angry, and now.... Now he may be gone forever. How would she ever find him? The question repeated itself, as if mocking her, until Gretchen's bark of chatter broke through the veil of thought.
"I saw you walk away with Toby last night," she said it conversationally, but her lips were curved in disgust. "I suppose that is where you were last night. Shannon I thought you above the help, I guess I was wrong. I thought you had better taste than some... some dirty, horse smelling, flea ridden.... disgusting...." She just could not express her disgust enough.
"Don't talk about Toby that way," her voice was quiet, her eyes staring unseeingly at the bedspread of Gretchen's bed. She blinked several times and focused on Gretchen, "I mean it."
Pursing her lips Gretchen shrugged. "Aye, yes Shannon. I won't speak about your best friend, who just happens to be help, and who happens to be the one you spent all last night with... alone... in the hay." With a disgusted sound she repeated, "In the hay!"
Shannon pushed her cousin's insults aside with a distracted hand wave. She was to busy thinking of other things to be angered by Gretel's insulting jabs. The fact that Shannon was ignoring Gretchen's well thought out insults annoyed her even more, so much that Gretchen grabbed her sun bonnet from the bed post and stormed out, not forgetting to make the door close with a loud slam behind her.
The door made Shannon look up but she did not give her angered cousin another thought as she went to her own bed, and lay down across it, not caring if the hay and dust from her well soiled skirts ruined the bed quilts. She had made a mistake, she knew that now. She should not of left Damon the way she had, riding off on his horse, and making him walk back to the estate. Furthermore she should of given him more credit. His story, no matter how ridiculous it might sound, was something he believed. He spoke with such clarity and conviction and.... knowledge... that even to her level mind the story rang of some truth. Perhaps he did have a brother, Stefan, who he disliked. She didn't doubt he was part of the aristocracy found on the elite Italian countryside, he had the manner and accent to prove that a truth. What she had trouble comprehending was the nonsense about vampires, drinking blood, killing a brother and that girl.... Katherine... the story was a tragedy, she would not fool herself in seeing the romantic side of the story. The girl had been an idiot, doing nothing more than causing more anger and hate between the already feuding brothers.....
With a jerk Shannon woke up. The bright day had turned into a warm night. It was night, full night. She must of fallen asleep. Shannon ran a hand back through her length of jet black waves of hair and looked to the unoccupied bed beside her. Gretchen was still upset, it appeared. She should really apologize to her before any real, permanent problems arose. Gretchen and her had always been good natured enemies, constantly poking fun at the other and foiling the other's pranks. As of recent though, the "good-natured joking" had taken on a more personal turn. That was not much of a surprise, as seeing that Damon Salvatore was the first male the girls had ever shown a mutual interest in. Before, for Shannon, there had always been... well... just Toby. He had never been anything romantic, though. Always a friend, a boy she had grown up with. They were close. Gretchen looked down on that relationship. Gretchen was stuck up, Shannon had come to realize early on.
Shannon pulled her legs over the edge of the bed, so they dangled slightly, almost touching the floor. A bath was needed and, at the rumble of her stomach, food. She stumbled the vanity they shared and lit a dwindling candle, the flame sprung and cast warm light over her features in the mirror. She looked tired. A yawn confirmed that.
She let the candle burn, and bent in front of the peat furnace. Gretchen would make one of the chamber maids do this, but Shannon lit the peat on her own, striking the flint and opening the furnace door so the thick smoke could escape through a chimney in the roof. She watched the peat shift as is heated, and listened the faint crackle. Then she stood, striped and wrapped herself in a heavy bath cloak of dark red velvet. It was long enough to trail behind her as she walked from her room the bathing room. Now, she pulled the thin cord that would ring a bell to summon a chamber maid. She had no energy to haul and heat water tonight. She sat on the bench facing the basin where her washing would commence, and waited for the maid to come.
Damon stood in the shadowed doorway of the English brothel and drew in the scent of aroused, dirty women. He hated gutter holes like this, unfortunately his current company did not. He looked over his shoulder, through the open doorway to Char, who was paying the house mother in small copper coins. When he completed the transaction he joined Damon on the doorstep, closed the door, cutting off the stronger scents that permeated the establishment.
Char tilted his head the left and lit a cigarette, the flame from the flint enlighted his handsome features for a moment. He took his time with the first drag, exhaled a cloud of smoke skyward and turned to Damon, a pleasant smile on his face. "So, my friend, what do I owe this occasion too? It isn't ever day you stop by to see me." His english accent was thick, and cultured. Charles Dalmantia was an educated man, born and raised in a wealthy home. He had abandoned such luxuries when he became immortal, a vampire like Damon. Charles, who always went by Char now, had met Damon just after he had joined the Renegade Warriors, which were known throughout Europe as the Rens.
The Rens were a band of thieves, murderers, rapist and scum alike, roving across Europe like a plague. They plundered, burned and threw havoc across the continent. Damon was not the leader of this mismatched group of sin, but he was highly respected and looked up to by the members. Damon never seemed to get caught, and always seemed to be there when another member got in trouble. He killed in silence, and the killings always seemed to make him stronger. It was later, as the Rens started to go separate ways, that Damon had revealed his secret to Char.
The trust and friendship did not appear over night.
When Char had entered the group around the age of twenty, he was experienced only with a pistol. He had fought minor duels over petty things like stolen chickens and jealous husbands, but guns were not allowed in the Rens. They caused to much noise when fired, something the Rens just could not have. The weapon of choice among the Rens, was the blade. Dagger and sword alike, the blade was a silent killer, never failing those who used and appreciated it well.
The moment of friendship sprung when the Rens were in the process of raiding a small village on the outskirts of Germany. Char had entered a home, intent on leaving with some pocket change, maybe even a nice sized jewel. When he had crossed the threshold of the establishment he had only slight warning before a wooden chair had been smashed over his skull. Though he was immortal, the impact of the chair had dazed him, the fact that it was wood left him unconscious and bleeding from a head wound on the floor. The attacker, a middle aged man intent on saving his family was overcome with a sense of victory as Char lay, bleeding on the ground at his feet. He celebrated prematurely. He was dead, on the floor beside Char, two minutes later.
The head of the home killed by Damon's casual hand, had the rest of the family in panic. They ran from their house, unbothered by Damon who had knelt by Char, turning him over. His head had been opened from left eyebrow to right temple. The cut bled continuously. He may of died, if it had not been for Damon's care.
Later when he awoke Damon was beside his bed, reading a book. He had set the book down, regarded Char almost boredly. Then he smiled and said, "Welcome back to the living, if you can call it that." Damon knew now what Char was. A vampire like himself, yet the reasons it had gone unnoticed until now was a mystery to Damon. Damon possessed Power, more than most vampires he had the pleasure, or displeasure, of knowing. But Char had successfully hid his nature, which only meant one thing. Char was more powerful, possessed more Power than Damon. That very, single fact made Damon determined to make this man an ally. They had become friends, and remained friends for almost a hundred years.
Damon and Char stepped into the murky streets of England and began their journey to the apartment Char was currently residing in. "I missed your company," Damon began, breaking the silence that had held them on the doorstep of the brothel. "I wanted to catch up on the times. We have been apart for... almost five years." He brushed damp hair from his forehead, the English air always was damp. "I've been in Scotland most of the time. It is a dangerous place these days. Jacobites everywhere. How is your Bonnie Prince?"
Char snorted, "Politics were never my interest." His own auburn hair was matted to his head, his eyes, the color of the Mediterranean waters, narrowed to blue-green slits, "I heard of a Salvatore roaming around the north. Germany. That wasn't you though, was it?" He took another drag from his cigarette.
Damon shook his head, looking up at the overcast night sky. Night black eyes scanned the clouds before sending out a probe. Nothing flickered in his mind, Stefan was not in England. "Little brother...." he cooed, and clucked his tongue. He stopped in the middle of the cobblestone road, looking down the darkened path that lay before them. "Char, I have a favor to ask. One that you will like." His lips curved into a smile. "One that you will like a lot."