Disclaimer: see some other chapter
Thanks to SilverThorn the Thoughtful, ChaosDaughter the Very Encouraging, and Fragile Reflection the Extremely Enthusiastic for reviewing. Special thanks to Kaeru Shisho, who not only reviews but does it in detail! Glad you're enjoying Val--there's more of him in this section.
I'll post two chapters today, as an apology for taking forever. It's just that I'm doing less Slayers in general lately. First of all, Saiyuki and FAKE are eating my brain, and secondly, there seems to be such a huge amount of canon-pairing and het being posted on ffnet that I'm feeling discouraged. Maybe I need to join a mailing list or something. Any civilized lists around?
Please review!
^w^ ^w^ ^w^ ^w^
Holiday
by Nightfall Rising
part eight
^w^ ^w^ ^w^ ^w^
Gaav's 'study' had thirty-six torches and five roaring fireplaces, one of which was campfire shaped and in the center of the enormous room. The furs on the floor were all walked out, and were due to be changed soon. In an effort at civilization, the ears and shrunken heads had been neatly arranged and labeled on a curiosity shelf against one wall, in the only place where the very masculine tapestries weren't.
The hundreds of larger heads on the walls (mostly animal) all had little placards under them (in handwriting and spelling that got better about halfway from the door and even eventually stopped being in crayon). These said things like, "i Kilded ths Ellyfint All bi miself and Cuk sedd she can Yuz the boddy and Zely wnned the Skinn for a jakket but I wanned YU to hav .the Hedd, Dady!"
The throne was seated in resplendent glory between two of the fireplaces. It was solid gold and studded with rubies, with plush, blood-red cushions. It also had a red pad down the back for lumbar support, with a discrete control panel on it that plugged into the wall and had three settings each for heat and vibration.
On one side of it was a bloody enormous globe with a lapis lazuli ocean, sapphire lakes and rivers, and land masses in precious metals and semiprecious stones, with raised mountains capped by diamond where necessary. There were little post-it notes all over it, saying things like 'Zephilia--Knight. Avoid 10 yrs? 90?' and 'slums--recruit?' It lacked, however, lines of any sort defining political demarcations.
On the other side was a table with a head-sized tankard of something brown and frothy, a ruby and citrine-encrusted notebook, a neatly ironed newspaper, and two photo albums. The three booklike things all had orangey- yellow leather covers.
There was a couch in front of the throne, less comfortably upholstered in a slightly scaly black leather that glistened like an oil slick. Nobody but Val would sit on it directly, and Gaav had told him once, in exasperation, to go buy a throw to put over it for his pansy siblings. The throw had been in stripes of violent aqua and scarlet until Xellos had sneaked away with it on the sly and thrown it to the wolves. Now it was more or less tattered, but the stripes were infinitely more tolerable in the weary new browns.
It was Val's favorite room in the entire manse.
"Morning, Daddy," he said, draping his elbows over the arm of the throne so as to provide his father with access to his forehead (the horn went up, not out).
Gaav only grunted, but did bend to plant a noncommittal kiss on the offered area.
Ignoring the offered message (that he was not out of favor but would do well not to bring up the subject which was currently irritating his father), Val pressed, "Did you see Mr. Rodimus?"
"We had a chat," Gaav rumbled. "But before I look at the boy's work record, his background must be taken into consideration."
"What did he say?" Val asked impatiently. "I wanna get married next Wednesday."
Scowling down at his son instead of choking, Gaav censured him, "What I say is not to be impulsive. I see that your brother is having a bad influence on you."
"Usually," Xellos said cheerfully, and hopped lightly down from the moose head nobody had noticed him sitting on. Zelas took the opportunity to separate herself from the shadows of Gaav's throne while everyone was gaping and/or snarling at her little brother. Unrepentant, they moved with a similar casual lack of shame to sit on the ratty brown throw and smile, Zelas modestly and Xellos like a cheeky urchin, at their father.
Having learned long ago not to bother twitching at the antics of his older children, Gaav ignored them and repeated his position. "Next Wednesday is out of the question."
"Why?" Xellos asked. Bored, Zelas snapped her fingers, and the newspaper blinked off the table and appeared in her lap. She turned to the sports section and settled into the couch, crossing her legs elegantly above the knee.
"I hate those engagements that just drag on and on," Val put in.
"He steals brownies," Xellos offered in triumph, as though it were a closing argument.
Gaav looked at him, and didn't pinch the bridge of his nose. "You know this boy?"
"I've heard of him," Xellos covered quickly. "Something of a rational rogue, they say. But I suppose it's strength you're after. I understand he's got that too. Twenty stone and ruthless, and something of a shamanistic powerhouse. Not to mention pretty."
After permitting himself the luxury of staring at his son in just one more moment of blankness than was really necessary, Gaav asked, "Zelas. Do you have the front page?"
"I try to take Sundays off, when possible," Zelas said without moving her eyes from the page.
Discipline clearly being called for, Gaav stated, "That reminds me. I want to you to stay in the situation room until dawn from now on."
Now her eyes jerked up. "But there's nothing for me to do after two- thirty."
"You'll find something."
"But--You can't expect me to make work like a mere--"
"Did you understand me?"
Growling in her throat, Zelas subsided, and retreated haughtily behind her newspaper.
Impatient again, Val demanded, "What did that Rodimus man say?"
With a nearly undetectable sigh, Gaav grudged, "A fair report."
"Poor Father," Xellos mocked from under a very thin veneer of sympathy.
Continuing to ignore his middle child, Gaav went on, "He has behaved well in some few skirmishes, and seems to have some organizational ability. He has an expedition out to the Kataart Mountains which was by all accounts well planned out."
"The Kataarts?" Zelas asked, surfacing for a moment. "Poor man."
"Smart man, perhaps," Gaav judged cautiously. "His envoy, being an idealistic young human female, may well succeed with the dragons where our minions and hirelings have failed. The prospects for a recovered Manuscript are less abysmal than usual. It might be worth a small investment. See to it in the morning, Zelas. But the first thing is to know something about this Mr. Blackbeard's background."
"Greyweir, Daddy," Val corrected.
"No, no, Vally," Xellos hastened to chide him, "if Father wants to remember him as Blackbeard, by all means, let us paint the stones on his chinny-chin- chin jetty onyx. Blackbeard has such a traditional, rascally sound, after all."
Val rolled his eyes and said, "He's from Atlas City, Daddy."
"I'm sure there was some mad scientist Greyw--mph!"
Eyeing the couch, where his son had innocently and implacably plastered a pearly-gloved hand over his daughter's impeccable lipstick, Gaav ponderously declared, "Knowing merely a name and a hometown is worthless. Let him find me alone when he comes. I will conduct the interrogation along my own lines. I will not, of course, allow the subject of an engagement to come up in our first talk."
Earnestly, Xellos asked, "Wouldn't you like me to hide in the moose and take shorthand notes?"
Gaav was so pleased to see his son actually trying to be helpful for once that his snapped, "Unnecessary," was almost indulgent.
"Well," Xellos tutted, "I do think the poor man should see one friendly face under fire."
The boy was impossible.
^w^ ^w^ ^w^ ^w^
[end part eight]
Thanks to SilverThorn the Thoughtful, ChaosDaughter the Very Encouraging, and Fragile Reflection the Extremely Enthusiastic for reviewing. Special thanks to Kaeru Shisho, who not only reviews but does it in detail! Glad you're enjoying Val--there's more of him in this section.
I'll post two chapters today, as an apology for taking forever. It's just that I'm doing less Slayers in general lately. First of all, Saiyuki and FAKE are eating my brain, and secondly, there seems to be such a huge amount of canon-pairing and het being posted on ffnet that I'm feeling discouraged. Maybe I need to join a mailing list or something. Any civilized lists around?
Please review!
^w^ ^w^ ^w^ ^w^
Holiday
by Nightfall Rising
part eight
^w^ ^w^ ^w^ ^w^
Gaav's 'study' had thirty-six torches and five roaring fireplaces, one of which was campfire shaped and in the center of the enormous room. The furs on the floor were all walked out, and were due to be changed soon. In an effort at civilization, the ears and shrunken heads had been neatly arranged and labeled on a curiosity shelf against one wall, in the only place where the very masculine tapestries weren't.
The hundreds of larger heads on the walls (mostly animal) all had little placards under them (in handwriting and spelling that got better about halfway from the door and even eventually stopped being in crayon). These said things like, "i Kilded ths Ellyfint All bi miself and Cuk sedd she can Yuz the boddy and Zely wnned the Skinn for a jakket but I wanned YU to hav .the Hedd, Dady!"
The throne was seated in resplendent glory between two of the fireplaces. It was solid gold and studded with rubies, with plush, blood-red cushions. It also had a red pad down the back for lumbar support, with a discrete control panel on it that plugged into the wall and had three settings each for heat and vibration.
On one side of it was a bloody enormous globe with a lapis lazuli ocean, sapphire lakes and rivers, and land masses in precious metals and semiprecious stones, with raised mountains capped by diamond where necessary. There were little post-it notes all over it, saying things like 'Zephilia--Knight. Avoid 10 yrs? 90?' and 'slums--recruit?' It lacked, however, lines of any sort defining political demarcations.
On the other side was a table with a head-sized tankard of something brown and frothy, a ruby and citrine-encrusted notebook, a neatly ironed newspaper, and two photo albums. The three booklike things all had orangey- yellow leather covers.
There was a couch in front of the throne, less comfortably upholstered in a slightly scaly black leather that glistened like an oil slick. Nobody but Val would sit on it directly, and Gaav had told him once, in exasperation, to go buy a throw to put over it for his pansy siblings. The throw had been in stripes of violent aqua and scarlet until Xellos had sneaked away with it on the sly and thrown it to the wolves. Now it was more or less tattered, but the stripes were infinitely more tolerable in the weary new browns.
It was Val's favorite room in the entire manse.
"Morning, Daddy," he said, draping his elbows over the arm of the throne so as to provide his father with access to his forehead (the horn went up, not out).
Gaav only grunted, but did bend to plant a noncommittal kiss on the offered area.
Ignoring the offered message (that he was not out of favor but would do well not to bring up the subject which was currently irritating his father), Val pressed, "Did you see Mr. Rodimus?"
"We had a chat," Gaav rumbled. "But before I look at the boy's work record, his background must be taken into consideration."
"What did he say?" Val asked impatiently. "I wanna get married next Wednesday."
Scowling down at his son instead of choking, Gaav censured him, "What I say is not to be impulsive. I see that your brother is having a bad influence on you."
"Usually," Xellos said cheerfully, and hopped lightly down from the moose head nobody had noticed him sitting on. Zelas took the opportunity to separate herself from the shadows of Gaav's throne while everyone was gaping and/or snarling at her little brother. Unrepentant, they moved with a similar casual lack of shame to sit on the ratty brown throw and smile, Zelas modestly and Xellos like a cheeky urchin, at their father.
Having learned long ago not to bother twitching at the antics of his older children, Gaav ignored them and repeated his position. "Next Wednesday is out of the question."
"Why?" Xellos asked. Bored, Zelas snapped her fingers, and the newspaper blinked off the table and appeared in her lap. She turned to the sports section and settled into the couch, crossing her legs elegantly above the knee.
"I hate those engagements that just drag on and on," Val put in.
"He steals brownies," Xellos offered in triumph, as though it were a closing argument.
Gaav looked at him, and didn't pinch the bridge of his nose. "You know this boy?"
"I've heard of him," Xellos covered quickly. "Something of a rational rogue, they say. But I suppose it's strength you're after. I understand he's got that too. Twenty stone and ruthless, and something of a shamanistic powerhouse. Not to mention pretty."
After permitting himself the luxury of staring at his son in just one more moment of blankness than was really necessary, Gaav asked, "Zelas. Do you have the front page?"
"I try to take Sundays off, when possible," Zelas said without moving her eyes from the page.
Discipline clearly being called for, Gaav stated, "That reminds me. I want to you to stay in the situation room until dawn from now on."
Now her eyes jerked up. "But there's nothing for me to do after two- thirty."
"You'll find something."
"But--You can't expect me to make work like a mere--"
"Did you understand me?"
Growling in her throat, Zelas subsided, and retreated haughtily behind her newspaper.
Impatient again, Val demanded, "What did that Rodimus man say?"
With a nearly undetectable sigh, Gaav grudged, "A fair report."
"Poor Father," Xellos mocked from under a very thin veneer of sympathy.
Continuing to ignore his middle child, Gaav went on, "He has behaved well in some few skirmishes, and seems to have some organizational ability. He has an expedition out to the Kataart Mountains which was by all accounts well planned out."
"The Kataarts?" Zelas asked, surfacing for a moment. "Poor man."
"Smart man, perhaps," Gaav judged cautiously. "His envoy, being an idealistic young human female, may well succeed with the dragons where our minions and hirelings have failed. The prospects for a recovered Manuscript are less abysmal than usual. It might be worth a small investment. See to it in the morning, Zelas. But the first thing is to know something about this Mr. Blackbeard's background."
"Greyweir, Daddy," Val corrected.
"No, no, Vally," Xellos hastened to chide him, "if Father wants to remember him as Blackbeard, by all means, let us paint the stones on his chinny-chin- chin jetty onyx. Blackbeard has such a traditional, rascally sound, after all."
Val rolled his eyes and said, "He's from Atlas City, Daddy."
"I'm sure there was some mad scientist Greyw--mph!"
Eyeing the couch, where his son had innocently and implacably plastered a pearly-gloved hand over his daughter's impeccable lipstick, Gaav ponderously declared, "Knowing merely a name and a hometown is worthless. Let him find me alone when he comes. I will conduct the interrogation along my own lines. I will not, of course, allow the subject of an engagement to come up in our first talk."
Earnestly, Xellos asked, "Wouldn't you like me to hide in the moose and take shorthand notes?"
Gaav was so pleased to see his son actually trying to be helpful for once that his snapped, "Unnecessary," was almost indulgent.
"Well," Xellos tutted, "I do think the poor man should see one friendly face under fire."
The boy was impossible.
^w^ ^w^ ^w^ ^w^
[end part eight]