Sands Day 4 part 1
As consciousness slipped back like light fingers playing in his brain, Sands decided that pretending to be dead was a good idea. At least until he knew what was going on.
He was definitely in another place. This was no airplane. He could smell the scents of dozens of vampires. There was also leather. Paint. Cleaning products. And.soap and shampoo? Not what he expected.
Without moving his body, it was difficult to tell what shape he was in. It seemed pretty obvious by the coolness of the air touching his skin that he was damp and naked. Interesting. Even his hair was wet. That explained the shampoo scent. Why on earth would they wash him down and clean his hair? So he had a little mud on him, that wasn't the sort of thing to bother the undead. Things were getting curiouser and curiouser.
Maybe, Sands thought, the drugs they'd given him were producing tactile hallucinations. Was such a thing possible?
Not too far off, he could sense the presence of a very powerful vampire, one much older than himself. It couldn't be Jacob. Who then? Too many questions, not enough answers.
"Fuck it," he breathed out loud, opening his eyes and trying to move his extremities. He didn't get far. His hands were manacled to the sides of the gurney he lay upon, as were his ankles. So they didn't trust him loose. Smart. He rattled his manacles. They were secured too well for him to simply slip out of them. Not good.
He heard a noise. Footsteps drawing close over thick carpet. Looking down, he saw he was in a richly decorated room, complete with plush carpet, leather couches, and modern art, which looked like an original. Too weird. He rattled his restraints again.
The door opened and there stood Jacob. He hadn't changed much in the past nearly 350 years, except for the clothes. His hair was still long and shaggy blondish. His eyes were a little bloodshot. His cloths were sloppy.
"You never did have much fashion sense," Sands heard himself say, slipping back into his role as tormentor. The hatred had been there all along, now it rose to the surface. Not unexpected, considering the fuel it had been fed in the past few days.
"I can say the same for you, naked boy," Jacob moved closer. "You're still disgusting." He went over to the open door opposite the one he had entered buy, reached inside, and came back with a towel, which he tossed over Sands' hips and thighs. "That's better."
"Prude or simply jealous?" Sands asked, digging his claws into Jacob's sensitive areas a little more deeply.
"Yeah, jealous of you, who are about to die." Jacob sat casually on the couch, but Sands could read tenseness behind every over-played gesture.
"Now, Jacob, I know you were never much in the brains department," Sands spoke slowly, as if explaining things to a child, "but have you not stopped to wonder: Why is Viscalli helping you? What's in it for him?"
Jacob frowned. "I'm his ally."
"Oh, yeah, like he'd go looking after Litlith's get for an ally." Sands rolled his eyes. "Think, idiot. He doesn't want you for an ally. He doesn't want me. He doesn't even want Lilith."
Apparently, Jacob was not swallowing or following what Sands said. "He's brought you here for me to kill," Jacob said plainly. "And I'm going to make it last a long long time."
"You never were bright," Sands scoffed. "He's trying to lure Lilith here. I'm simply bait. You are worthless to him. Once he has her here, we're both write-offs. He wants her to get Abberline. No other vampire, except Abberline's sire, has more power. Don't you get it?" Sands exhaled dramatically. "Even drugged, I figured that out."
Jacob stood, his eyes narrow, his lips tight. "You egotistical aristocrat. That's why I joined the peasants in the French Revolution, to fight bastards like you."
"Yeah yeah yeah. Sing me your sad song." Sands shook his head. "The sorry thing is, no matter how much you learn, it won't change the fact that you're fucking stupid, Jacob. Dumb as a cow. No, wait, that's an insult to cows everywhere."
For a moment, Jacob stood frowning, blinking, then he met Sands' gaze. "You want me to kill you quick so you won't linger. Is that why you're insulting me?"
"No, I'm insulting you because you're an idiot." Sands looked away. "You bore me."
Suddenly, both vampires turned their attention to the door through which Jacob had originally entered the room. The presence of the vampire with great power grew perceptibly. He was drawing close.
As Sands watched, the shadows beyond melted into the form of a tall man with ash-blond hair and pale blue eyes. He moved gracefully, like some of the older ones could move, appearing almost as if he moved in slow motion, yet he walked at a normal speed.
Sands knew who this vampire was, the one who had actually been responsible for his capture. He'd never met Viscalli, but he'd heard descriptions. The older vampire was said to have been created around 350 A.D. His background was clouded in myth and supposition, but he looked Nordic, with high cheekbones and his fair coloring.
Viscalli came to stand beside the Sands' gurney. His blue gaze focused upon Sands. The younger vampire turned his eyes away, less he be overpowered.
Fear streaked through Sands. Viscalli was very compelling. He would be able to manipulate those of weak will.
Sands refused to be manipulated. He was the one who maneuvered and schemed.
Suddenly, Sands' training at the C.I.A. flooded back. At the first sign that he might be losing control of his thoughts, due to pain or drugs, he had been programmed to repeat specific phrases. The order didn't matter. The phrases would restore control to Sands. "I am Sheldon Jeffrey Sands," he began, "I throw shapes. I set them up and watch them fall."
"What?" Viscalli asked.
Sands smiled broadly. "You heard me."
"Perhaps my English is not too good," Viscalli said, his voice heavily accented.
"Jacob is an idiot," Sands continued, still smiling. "You could do better. Abberline is no friend of mine, you know. I'm quite the rogue. Black sheep, really. Understand? Comprendo? Comprendez vous?"
"Don't listen to him," Jacob began. "I told you."
A raised hand by Viscalli cut him off. "McLoud, you may leave us for a while. I wish to question," he looked down at Sands, "Sheldon Jeffery Sands."
Jacob's hands fisted, but he nodded and left the word without an argument.
"So speak," Viscalli instructed Sands once Jacob had left.
"Why you would want to work with the likes of him, is beyond me." Sands watched Viscalli. The older vampire was studying him, his gaze lingering upon his eyes, his lips, his chest. Sands wondered what it would take to get out of this mess. He didn't dare risk drawing Lilith into this obvious trap.
"It's plain you want Abberline," Sands continued. "I can tell you how to get into his clan house. I know all the entrances. The codes."
"And in return?" Viscalli asked.
"You allow Lilith, my friend Andre and I to live." Sands didn't dare mention Victoria. Hopefully Viscalli had no idea she even existed.
Viscalli reached out to touch Sands' cheek with his cool finger. It was all Sands could do not to jerk away. He reminded himself about catching flies with honey, and he simply smiled, hoping this vampire couldn't read minds the way Victoria could.
"Jacob was hoping to torture you," Viscalli told him, a smile playing across his lips.
"He likes to pull the wings off of flies, too. Simple mind. Not much to him. I have an idea: Why don't we torture him instead?"
"What will I gain by that?" Viscalli asked.
"You'll please the heck out of me." Sands grinned genuinely this time.
Viscalli looked thoughtful. He walked around the gurney, tugging the towel off as he passed it. He paused, looking thoughtfully at Sands. "I shall consider your offer." He moved back around to stand by Sands' head. "I shall return with my answer within the hour."
Sands raised his brows and smiled. He watched Viscalli turn and leave and wondered what he would do if the older, certainly lethal vampire decided he wanted to do more than talk? Sands had flirted, though it terrified him. Death terrified him more. Somehow, he'd taken power away from Jacob. The fact that Viscalli would even consider his proposition made Sands darkly happy. Yes, Sands would enjoy torturing Jacob and maybe he could buy himself enough time to escape from wherever they were. One could only hope. He had to protect Lilith and Abberline. If Viscalli bought his lies, perhaps he could persuade him that he knew the location of Abberline's sire. Would he believe such a far-fetched lie?
Sands smiled to himself. Keep it simple. Yes. He could make Viscalli believe just about anything. "I throw shapes," he mouthed to himself.
As consciousness slipped back like light fingers playing in his brain, Sands decided that pretending to be dead was a good idea. At least until he knew what was going on.
He was definitely in another place. This was no airplane. He could smell the scents of dozens of vampires. There was also leather. Paint. Cleaning products. And.soap and shampoo? Not what he expected.
Without moving his body, it was difficult to tell what shape he was in. It seemed pretty obvious by the coolness of the air touching his skin that he was damp and naked. Interesting. Even his hair was wet. That explained the shampoo scent. Why on earth would they wash him down and clean his hair? So he had a little mud on him, that wasn't the sort of thing to bother the undead. Things were getting curiouser and curiouser.
Maybe, Sands thought, the drugs they'd given him were producing tactile hallucinations. Was such a thing possible?
Not too far off, he could sense the presence of a very powerful vampire, one much older than himself. It couldn't be Jacob. Who then? Too many questions, not enough answers.
"Fuck it," he breathed out loud, opening his eyes and trying to move his extremities. He didn't get far. His hands were manacled to the sides of the gurney he lay upon, as were his ankles. So they didn't trust him loose. Smart. He rattled his manacles. They were secured too well for him to simply slip out of them. Not good.
He heard a noise. Footsteps drawing close over thick carpet. Looking down, he saw he was in a richly decorated room, complete with plush carpet, leather couches, and modern art, which looked like an original. Too weird. He rattled his restraints again.
The door opened and there stood Jacob. He hadn't changed much in the past nearly 350 years, except for the clothes. His hair was still long and shaggy blondish. His eyes were a little bloodshot. His cloths were sloppy.
"You never did have much fashion sense," Sands heard himself say, slipping back into his role as tormentor. The hatred had been there all along, now it rose to the surface. Not unexpected, considering the fuel it had been fed in the past few days.
"I can say the same for you, naked boy," Jacob moved closer. "You're still disgusting." He went over to the open door opposite the one he had entered buy, reached inside, and came back with a towel, which he tossed over Sands' hips and thighs. "That's better."
"Prude or simply jealous?" Sands asked, digging his claws into Jacob's sensitive areas a little more deeply.
"Yeah, jealous of you, who are about to die." Jacob sat casually on the couch, but Sands could read tenseness behind every over-played gesture.
"Now, Jacob, I know you were never much in the brains department," Sands spoke slowly, as if explaining things to a child, "but have you not stopped to wonder: Why is Viscalli helping you? What's in it for him?"
Jacob frowned. "I'm his ally."
"Oh, yeah, like he'd go looking after Litlith's get for an ally." Sands rolled his eyes. "Think, idiot. He doesn't want you for an ally. He doesn't want me. He doesn't even want Lilith."
Apparently, Jacob was not swallowing or following what Sands said. "He's brought you here for me to kill," Jacob said plainly. "And I'm going to make it last a long long time."
"You never were bright," Sands scoffed. "He's trying to lure Lilith here. I'm simply bait. You are worthless to him. Once he has her here, we're both write-offs. He wants her to get Abberline. No other vampire, except Abberline's sire, has more power. Don't you get it?" Sands exhaled dramatically. "Even drugged, I figured that out."
Jacob stood, his eyes narrow, his lips tight. "You egotistical aristocrat. That's why I joined the peasants in the French Revolution, to fight bastards like you."
"Yeah yeah yeah. Sing me your sad song." Sands shook his head. "The sorry thing is, no matter how much you learn, it won't change the fact that you're fucking stupid, Jacob. Dumb as a cow. No, wait, that's an insult to cows everywhere."
For a moment, Jacob stood frowning, blinking, then he met Sands' gaze. "You want me to kill you quick so you won't linger. Is that why you're insulting me?"
"No, I'm insulting you because you're an idiot." Sands looked away. "You bore me."
Suddenly, both vampires turned their attention to the door through which Jacob had originally entered the room. The presence of the vampire with great power grew perceptibly. He was drawing close.
As Sands watched, the shadows beyond melted into the form of a tall man with ash-blond hair and pale blue eyes. He moved gracefully, like some of the older ones could move, appearing almost as if he moved in slow motion, yet he walked at a normal speed.
Sands knew who this vampire was, the one who had actually been responsible for his capture. He'd never met Viscalli, but he'd heard descriptions. The older vampire was said to have been created around 350 A.D. His background was clouded in myth and supposition, but he looked Nordic, with high cheekbones and his fair coloring.
Viscalli came to stand beside the Sands' gurney. His blue gaze focused upon Sands. The younger vampire turned his eyes away, less he be overpowered.
Fear streaked through Sands. Viscalli was very compelling. He would be able to manipulate those of weak will.
Sands refused to be manipulated. He was the one who maneuvered and schemed.
Suddenly, Sands' training at the C.I.A. flooded back. At the first sign that he might be losing control of his thoughts, due to pain or drugs, he had been programmed to repeat specific phrases. The order didn't matter. The phrases would restore control to Sands. "I am Sheldon Jeffrey Sands," he began, "I throw shapes. I set them up and watch them fall."
"What?" Viscalli asked.
Sands smiled broadly. "You heard me."
"Perhaps my English is not too good," Viscalli said, his voice heavily accented.
"Jacob is an idiot," Sands continued, still smiling. "You could do better. Abberline is no friend of mine, you know. I'm quite the rogue. Black sheep, really. Understand? Comprendo? Comprendez vous?"
"Don't listen to him," Jacob began. "I told you."
A raised hand by Viscalli cut him off. "McLoud, you may leave us for a while. I wish to question," he looked down at Sands, "Sheldon Jeffery Sands."
Jacob's hands fisted, but he nodded and left the word without an argument.
"So speak," Viscalli instructed Sands once Jacob had left.
"Why you would want to work with the likes of him, is beyond me." Sands watched Viscalli. The older vampire was studying him, his gaze lingering upon his eyes, his lips, his chest. Sands wondered what it would take to get out of this mess. He didn't dare risk drawing Lilith into this obvious trap.
"It's plain you want Abberline," Sands continued. "I can tell you how to get into his clan house. I know all the entrances. The codes."
"And in return?" Viscalli asked.
"You allow Lilith, my friend Andre and I to live." Sands didn't dare mention Victoria. Hopefully Viscalli had no idea she even existed.
Viscalli reached out to touch Sands' cheek with his cool finger. It was all Sands could do not to jerk away. He reminded himself about catching flies with honey, and he simply smiled, hoping this vampire couldn't read minds the way Victoria could.
"Jacob was hoping to torture you," Viscalli told him, a smile playing across his lips.
"He likes to pull the wings off of flies, too. Simple mind. Not much to him. I have an idea: Why don't we torture him instead?"
"What will I gain by that?" Viscalli asked.
"You'll please the heck out of me." Sands grinned genuinely this time.
Viscalli looked thoughtful. He walked around the gurney, tugging the towel off as he passed it. He paused, looking thoughtfully at Sands. "I shall consider your offer." He moved back around to stand by Sands' head. "I shall return with my answer within the hour."
Sands raised his brows and smiled. He watched Viscalli turn and leave and wondered what he would do if the older, certainly lethal vampire decided he wanted to do more than talk? Sands had flirted, though it terrified him. Death terrified him more. Somehow, he'd taken power away from Jacob. The fact that Viscalli would even consider his proposition made Sands darkly happy. Yes, Sands would enjoy torturing Jacob and maybe he could buy himself enough time to escape from wherever they were. One could only hope. He had to protect Lilith and Abberline. If Viscalli bought his lies, perhaps he could persuade him that he knew the location of Abberline's sire. Would he believe such a far-fetched lie?
Sands smiled to himself. Keep it simple. Yes. He could make Viscalli believe just about anything. "I throw shapes," he mouthed to himself.