Disclaimer: see some other chapter
Notes: I think this is a better chapter than the last one. But what can I do? I have a script to follow! Anyway, it's longer for your patience.
^w^ ^w^ ^w^ ^w^
Holiday
by Nightfall Rising
part five
^w^ ^w^ ^w^ ^w^
When Zel knocked again, it was at the front door, and he was gripping a large, half-cowed wolf by the scruff of the neck. He'd tried to ditch it several times, but it had kept on turning around to jump him again, so he'd finally grabbed hold of it and towed it along behind him. He handed it off to the spooky butler and asked, "Is Val back?"
"Master Valgaav has not yet returned from church, sir," Zoelmelguster said, holding the wolf firmly by the ruff with complete equinamity. "Master Xellos expects you in the crypt."
"Oh. Master Xellos, huh. --The crypt?"
"The basement level, sir." Zoamelguster indicated the elevator
"Uh, has Master Xellos eaten yet?" he asked warily.
"Most amusing, sir."
"Ahaha. No, really."
"Sir is an invited guest here. Such a breach of hospitality would be draconic."
"Oh. Okay."
"Besides which, sir, the dungeon is on the sub basement level."
"Oh, fine," he said, relieved, and headed for the elevator. "The crypt. Right."
It let him out at what was definitely a crypt. The walls were rough grey stone, hung with torches girded in black iron. There was even a window looking out on a system of roots, as though to prove that the chamber was really underground. Good grief, he thought to himself scornfully, but it was false bravado.
He walked for a bit, and all of a sudden he realized that his boots had stopped ringing on the stone floor. He looked down, and saw that he was walking on a crocheted carpet, with enormous shaggy flowers in psychedelic colors picked out on a silly fuscia background. He blinked, and his lips started to draw up. He cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, "Hey!"
"Hey, yourself," Xellos yelled back. He followed the voice and found his host draped on an uncomplicated wooden doorframe, munching on a brownie, which he held out for Zel to take a bite of. Zel inclined his head and bit. Then, when the mocha chips hit his tongue, he retreated greedily, with the rest of the brownie between his teeth. Xellos raised a perplexed eyebrow, but let him pass into he room.
"Oh," he said, in altered tones. "This is quite different."
There was a working fireplace, and armchairs and a sofa and a coffee table, and two walls that were shelves, packed with books, folders, scrolls, and a few other things. The other wall showcased a large dog-bed, a veiled easel, and an enormous rolled-up exercise mat. The sofa was a comfortable affair of pale leather in the middle of the room, with the coffee table between it and the stove, and behind it was a cabinet of drawers. There was a lap desk propped up next to one of the armchairs, and a little writing table next to it, and a set of exercise bars and hanging rings off to the side of the room, near the unshelved wall.
The carpet was extremely thick, and a green color that hinted at late summer grass, and the walls in this room were planks of knotted blond wood, with dark trim, and the bookcases glowed with a dark, ruddy finish. The general effect was somewhat confused, but there was no confusion about the room's coziness. This was clearly the heart of the house.
"It was Mother's idea," Xellos said from behind him. He'd closed the door and was leaning on it. He'd also stolen the brownie back while Zel was rubbernecking, and was munching on it again. "She said there should always be at least one room in a house where life could happen."
Zel moved around the bookshelves, quietly taking in the titles. There were some military and supernatural thrillers, but the vast majority of the books were historical texts, philosophical tracts, cookbooks, and political treateases, with the fictional genre solidly represented by most of what were largely agreed upon to be the world's best, mostly in first edition and all in leather-bound hardback. The thrillers were the only trashy- looking items, and they were also the only dusty ones. They were, however, carefully ordered by author and subject, whereas the other books were arranged in no order whatsoever that Zel could make out.
His exposed eye drifted happily across Kouma Sensou: A Causative Analysis, A Toast to the Roast, and Everyday Life on the Post-War Continent (v3: Zephilia under the Knight) before it landed on a plushie of a pineapple in neon green and yellow, and flew open in shock.
"That was Val's," Xellos said, sauntering over and offering up the last bite of brownie. "He used to love that thing. Slept with it. Took it to church, even."
"It looks just like him," Zel chuckled, touching the bushy leaves sprouting from the top, and chomped. Ah, mocha goodness. And cotton gloves. Oops.
Xellos graciously ignored the attack on his fingers. "My sister made us all things like that in the brief period during which Father succeeded in making her act her gender. It lasted about two months. Grandfather got a lobster."
"Was this his, too?" he smirked, touching the bedraggled electric-pink teddy bear next to it.
"Don't you mock Blushy," Xellos warned, snatching it up and cuddling it with an amused pout. "He's very sensitive."
"Yours," Zel assumed.
"Looks like me," Xellos said wryly, squinching up his face again to match the bear's little grin, and tilting his head backwards to let straight hair slide away from the perfectly, humanly round ears laid flat against his head. They had attached lobes and cute little Darwin's points. The left one had the same ruby stud Val wore, but it was attatched by a fall of thin gold chains to a spiraling earcuff, and had the oval of a shadow-boxed wolf's paw falling down from it.
When Zel came to think of it, Xellos was the most human-looking mazoku he'd seen so far. Val had that horn, and the gravity defying hair, and he'd seen a hint of fangs behind Zelas's lipstick, and a movement around her fingertips that suggested retractable nails--to say nothing of the butler. There was usually something wrong with them--some off detail. Their skin color was usually a little off, for one thing. Val was nicely tanned, but the green ichor that was his blood made him look a little like a palm tree, and Zelas's skin was so unnaturally creamy as to indicate that she had disregarded the whole blood idea altogether. Zel himself was a tranquil sky- blue, with grey bits.
Xellos's skin wasn't off. He was pale, (not unhealthily so) in a luminous kind of way, but not enough to be vampiric, and the faint blush he hadn't drawn attention to at the elevator had been charming, understated, and apparently involontary.
He realized that it might be taken as slightly odd of him to be examining his future brother-in-law's skin tone, and said, "I think I've seen your sister. All in ivory, with a hangover and the marks of rough handling by lupines?"
"That was Zelas," he sighed. "She could have been a real maestro at animal handling if..."
"If?"
"If Father hadn't interfered," he said grimly.
"Oh." They observed what seemed to be the requisite moment of silence. "Did she make herself a plushy?"
"No, just the dog bed. But she lets me use it, too. It's very comfortable. At times."
"Does Val get to use it?" he asked with playful sternness, defending his beloved's rights.
Xellos laughed. "Valgaav? Mayhem, no. He'd never fit. He takes after Father, you see," he felt the need to explain. "He's a dracanthrope."
Zel blinked, stared, opened his mouth, paused, closed it again, and went to look at the uneven bars.
"We all used those," Xellos said, moving up close behind him, "although I'm the only one who's kept it up. Zelas runs with the pack, and Father takes Val to skirmishes, so they don't need the exercise."
"He doesn't take you?"
"Um. Not anymore." He looked embarrassed and then, at Zel's puzzled look, seemed to feel the need to defend himself, or possibly his father. "Well, he took me once, but I got a little... uh, overexcited, and Father--well, Father has a very particular style when he goes about this sort of thing, and I kind of ruined it for him, even though I didn't actually do badly, mind you, but I spoiled it for him, and that was that. Even though I've learned better by now." He sighed. "I've promised him I have, and he nods like he believes me, but then nothing happens."
"I'm sorry?"
"Well," he chuckled, brightening up, "it's not like I actually mind being stuck with the excercise equipment. My beloved siblings," he explained wickedly, "are both much too tall to use them now. Last time Val tried, he got his horn caught and cracked his chin. And I just like the moving, you know?"
"Yeah," Zel agreed, liking him.
"I miss when we all used to crawl all over them, though," he reminisced. "Zelas and I used to hang from the rings upside down and play clapping games. And oh, speaking of hanging upside down." He grinned evenly, showing a plethora of very white teeth without a fang in sight. "There's this cousin of ours--I'm afraid you'll have to meet him at some point; it's inevitable--we used to swing from the rings and shoot things at each other. Peas and arrows and fireballs, and like that. I'm happy now to say," he finished virtuously, "that I rarely missed."
Zel smiled, and his eye was caught by a glint of firelight on a gold picture frame on one of the shelves. He moved to it, and picked it up. It was a tiny little Val, who seemed to have been stuffed by main force into a tiny little kendo outfit and was glowering at the camera. He hadn't gotten his horn yet, but his hair was still bright teal and inclined to spike. "Aw, look at that," he said, and Xellos obligingly came up behind him. "He was cute even then."
All of a sudden, he found himself facing the other way, Xellos's glove tight on his arm. "Zel," Xellos frowned at him earnestly, "do you love my brother?"
[end part five]
Hysteria82: (grins) Sadly, it has to be a little OOC, due to the nature of the beast. I regret this; ooc usually annoys me, too. I'm glad you're enjoying it anyway. And *nobody's* seen the movie. This is my whole point. It needs to be watched and loved and adored. Kyra2 is a kind entity, and shall be rewarded with more hysterical Xellos. Or, well, bipolar, anyway. Fragile Reflection: The story's about half-written so far. There are many completed chapters yet to be posted. And thank you, thank you, thank you for telling me someone's still interested.
And finally, Xellas, where are you? (is mournful and concerned) Don't be dead, please.
Important Notes: This story is not only based but riveted into the cement of an absolutely marvelous movie called 'Holiday,' starring Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant, played respectively in this fic by Xellos Metallium and Zelgadis Greywhatever. If you haven't seen it (and most of you probably haven't; it's not even as well known as 'Philadelphia Story, gloom), please, please, make an effort to! This is a black and white movie! It's from the time when movies were about the acting and the scripts, and not about disguising the lack of either with splashy special effects! Go see it, go!
Notes: I think this is a better chapter than the last one. But what can I do? I have a script to follow! Anyway, it's longer for your patience.
^w^ ^w^ ^w^ ^w^
Holiday
by Nightfall Rising
part five
^w^ ^w^ ^w^ ^w^
When Zel knocked again, it was at the front door, and he was gripping a large, half-cowed wolf by the scruff of the neck. He'd tried to ditch it several times, but it had kept on turning around to jump him again, so he'd finally grabbed hold of it and towed it along behind him. He handed it off to the spooky butler and asked, "Is Val back?"
"Master Valgaav has not yet returned from church, sir," Zoelmelguster said, holding the wolf firmly by the ruff with complete equinamity. "Master Xellos expects you in the crypt."
"Oh. Master Xellos, huh. --The crypt?"
"The basement level, sir." Zoamelguster indicated the elevator
"Uh, has Master Xellos eaten yet?" he asked warily.
"Most amusing, sir."
"Ahaha. No, really."
"Sir is an invited guest here. Such a breach of hospitality would be draconic."
"Oh. Okay."
"Besides which, sir, the dungeon is on the sub basement level."
"Oh, fine," he said, relieved, and headed for the elevator. "The crypt. Right."
It let him out at what was definitely a crypt. The walls were rough grey stone, hung with torches girded in black iron. There was even a window looking out on a system of roots, as though to prove that the chamber was really underground. Good grief, he thought to himself scornfully, but it was false bravado.
He walked for a bit, and all of a sudden he realized that his boots had stopped ringing on the stone floor. He looked down, and saw that he was walking on a crocheted carpet, with enormous shaggy flowers in psychedelic colors picked out on a silly fuscia background. He blinked, and his lips started to draw up. He cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, "Hey!"
"Hey, yourself," Xellos yelled back. He followed the voice and found his host draped on an uncomplicated wooden doorframe, munching on a brownie, which he held out for Zel to take a bite of. Zel inclined his head and bit. Then, when the mocha chips hit his tongue, he retreated greedily, with the rest of the brownie between his teeth. Xellos raised a perplexed eyebrow, but let him pass into he room.
"Oh," he said, in altered tones. "This is quite different."
There was a working fireplace, and armchairs and a sofa and a coffee table, and two walls that were shelves, packed with books, folders, scrolls, and a few other things. The other wall showcased a large dog-bed, a veiled easel, and an enormous rolled-up exercise mat. The sofa was a comfortable affair of pale leather in the middle of the room, with the coffee table between it and the stove, and behind it was a cabinet of drawers. There was a lap desk propped up next to one of the armchairs, and a little writing table next to it, and a set of exercise bars and hanging rings off to the side of the room, near the unshelved wall.
The carpet was extremely thick, and a green color that hinted at late summer grass, and the walls in this room were planks of knotted blond wood, with dark trim, and the bookcases glowed with a dark, ruddy finish. The general effect was somewhat confused, but there was no confusion about the room's coziness. This was clearly the heart of the house.
"It was Mother's idea," Xellos said from behind him. He'd closed the door and was leaning on it. He'd also stolen the brownie back while Zel was rubbernecking, and was munching on it again. "She said there should always be at least one room in a house where life could happen."
Zel moved around the bookshelves, quietly taking in the titles. There were some military and supernatural thrillers, but the vast majority of the books were historical texts, philosophical tracts, cookbooks, and political treateases, with the fictional genre solidly represented by most of what were largely agreed upon to be the world's best, mostly in first edition and all in leather-bound hardback. The thrillers were the only trashy- looking items, and they were also the only dusty ones. They were, however, carefully ordered by author and subject, whereas the other books were arranged in no order whatsoever that Zel could make out.
His exposed eye drifted happily across Kouma Sensou: A Causative Analysis, A Toast to the Roast, and Everyday Life on the Post-War Continent (v3: Zephilia under the Knight) before it landed on a plushie of a pineapple in neon green and yellow, and flew open in shock.
"That was Val's," Xellos said, sauntering over and offering up the last bite of brownie. "He used to love that thing. Slept with it. Took it to church, even."
"It looks just like him," Zel chuckled, touching the bushy leaves sprouting from the top, and chomped. Ah, mocha goodness. And cotton gloves. Oops.
Xellos graciously ignored the attack on his fingers. "My sister made us all things like that in the brief period during which Father succeeded in making her act her gender. It lasted about two months. Grandfather got a lobster."
"Was this his, too?" he smirked, touching the bedraggled electric-pink teddy bear next to it.
"Don't you mock Blushy," Xellos warned, snatching it up and cuddling it with an amused pout. "He's very sensitive."
"Yours," Zel assumed.
"Looks like me," Xellos said wryly, squinching up his face again to match the bear's little grin, and tilting his head backwards to let straight hair slide away from the perfectly, humanly round ears laid flat against his head. They had attached lobes and cute little Darwin's points. The left one had the same ruby stud Val wore, but it was attatched by a fall of thin gold chains to a spiraling earcuff, and had the oval of a shadow-boxed wolf's paw falling down from it.
When Zel came to think of it, Xellos was the most human-looking mazoku he'd seen so far. Val had that horn, and the gravity defying hair, and he'd seen a hint of fangs behind Zelas's lipstick, and a movement around her fingertips that suggested retractable nails--to say nothing of the butler. There was usually something wrong with them--some off detail. Their skin color was usually a little off, for one thing. Val was nicely tanned, but the green ichor that was his blood made him look a little like a palm tree, and Zelas's skin was so unnaturally creamy as to indicate that she had disregarded the whole blood idea altogether. Zel himself was a tranquil sky- blue, with grey bits.
Xellos's skin wasn't off. He was pale, (not unhealthily so) in a luminous kind of way, but not enough to be vampiric, and the faint blush he hadn't drawn attention to at the elevator had been charming, understated, and apparently involontary.
He realized that it might be taken as slightly odd of him to be examining his future brother-in-law's skin tone, and said, "I think I've seen your sister. All in ivory, with a hangover and the marks of rough handling by lupines?"
"That was Zelas," he sighed. "She could have been a real maestro at animal handling if..."
"If?"
"If Father hadn't interfered," he said grimly.
"Oh." They observed what seemed to be the requisite moment of silence. "Did she make herself a plushy?"
"No, just the dog bed. But she lets me use it, too. It's very comfortable. At times."
"Does Val get to use it?" he asked with playful sternness, defending his beloved's rights.
Xellos laughed. "Valgaav? Mayhem, no. He'd never fit. He takes after Father, you see," he felt the need to explain. "He's a dracanthrope."
Zel blinked, stared, opened his mouth, paused, closed it again, and went to look at the uneven bars.
"We all used those," Xellos said, moving up close behind him, "although I'm the only one who's kept it up. Zelas runs with the pack, and Father takes Val to skirmishes, so they don't need the exercise."
"He doesn't take you?"
"Um. Not anymore." He looked embarrassed and then, at Zel's puzzled look, seemed to feel the need to defend himself, or possibly his father. "Well, he took me once, but I got a little... uh, overexcited, and Father--well, Father has a very particular style when he goes about this sort of thing, and I kind of ruined it for him, even though I didn't actually do badly, mind you, but I spoiled it for him, and that was that. Even though I've learned better by now." He sighed. "I've promised him I have, and he nods like he believes me, but then nothing happens."
"I'm sorry?"
"Well," he chuckled, brightening up, "it's not like I actually mind being stuck with the excercise equipment. My beloved siblings," he explained wickedly, "are both much too tall to use them now. Last time Val tried, he got his horn caught and cracked his chin. And I just like the moving, you know?"
"Yeah," Zel agreed, liking him.
"I miss when we all used to crawl all over them, though," he reminisced. "Zelas and I used to hang from the rings upside down and play clapping games. And oh, speaking of hanging upside down." He grinned evenly, showing a plethora of very white teeth without a fang in sight. "There's this cousin of ours--I'm afraid you'll have to meet him at some point; it's inevitable--we used to swing from the rings and shoot things at each other. Peas and arrows and fireballs, and like that. I'm happy now to say," he finished virtuously, "that I rarely missed."
Zel smiled, and his eye was caught by a glint of firelight on a gold picture frame on one of the shelves. He moved to it, and picked it up. It was a tiny little Val, who seemed to have been stuffed by main force into a tiny little kendo outfit and was glowering at the camera. He hadn't gotten his horn yet, but his hair was still bright teal and inclined to spike. "Aw, look at that," he said, and Xellos obligingly came up behind him. "He was cute even then."
All of a sudden, he found himself facing the other way, Xellos's glove tight on his arm. "Zel," Xellos frowned at him earnestly, "do you love my brother?"
[end part five]
Hysteria82: (grins) Sadly, it has to be a little OOC, due to the nature of the beast. I regret this; ooc usually annoys me, too. I'm glad you're enjoying it anyway. And *nobody's* seen the movie. This is my whole point. It needs to be watched and loved and adored. Kyra2 is a kind entity, and shall be rewarded with more hysterical Xellos. Or, well, bipolar, anyway. Fragile Reflection: The story's about half-written so far. There are many completed chapters yet to be posted. And thank you, thank you, thank you for telling me someone's still interested.
And finally, Xellas, where are you? (is mournful and concerned) Don't be dead, please.
Important Notes: This story is not only based but riveted into the cement of an absolutely marvelous movie called 'Holiday,' starring Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant, played respectively in this fic by Xellos Metallium and Zelgadis Greywhatever. If you haven't seen it (and most of you probably haven't; it's not even as well known as 'Philadelphia Story, gloom), please, please, make an effort to! This is a black and white movie! It's from the time when movies were about the acting and the scripts, and not about disguising the lack of either with splashy special effects! Go see it, go!