Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 29 November 2002
~ Twenty Two ~
Her head pounded in time with her heart, her stomach growled, her bladder complained of neglect and it felt like every muscle in her body was stiff and aching. Falling asleep had apparently been a bad call.
Fighting for control over the conflicting demands of her abused corporeal shell, Elena made her way to the washroom. When she reemerged, toweling her hair dry and wrapped in a comforting fuzzy robe, she noticed her familiar suitcases standing neatly beside the door.
She bit her lip, sternly suppressing the inevitable reaction to that sight and dressed quickly. She _was_ glad to have her own clothes again. The realization did not do much to reduce her irritation at Jerrick's presumption, however.
She left her room, following the sounds of chatter and cutlery to the kitchen. On the way there, she noticed that most of the repair work had been done. Signs warning of wet paint or drying mortar hung in some rooms and tools had been stored safely for the night. By the end of tomorrow, the Baron mansion would be as good as new.
The amount of work it must have taken and the costs incurred were mind-boggling. Before her mind could retrace the morning's train of – had it only been a day? It felt so much longer – Elena entered the kitchen.
Unlike her previous visit there, the huge area was teeming with people. Elena scanned the room automatically for familiar faces. The Turned occupied two tables, sharing a border with the witches. Elena noticed with a twinge of relief that their 'trainers' were interspersed in the group. She got the feeling that before today, the noncombatants would have been huddling in a corner by themselves, trying to go unnoticed.
Taura had a look of humiliated suffering on her face as she let one of the witches dish food into her mouth. Catching sight of Elena, the small girl jerked her chin and indicated with her eyes that Elena should help herself to the food that was laid out on the sideboard. Buffet-style was obviously the most practical way to feed a mob this size.
Her stomach demanding attention, Elena picked up a plate and joined the line moving down the table. The spread was decent, with a large selection of easily prepared components with an elaborate dish or two as highlights. Her plate was half-filled when she noticed a muscular hunter standing ahead of her in the line nudge his comrade and throw a meaningful look at her. She pretended not to have seen the exchange but was not taken by surprised when two large male bodies invaded her private space on either side.
"Hey there, lil' lady," a basso voice said from above her head. Elena looked up quickly in acknowledgement, emitted a small, impersonal expression that might have been construed as a smile and tried to step around them.
"Hey, what's the hurry?" another deep voice asked, its owner blocking her way.
"I'm famished," she said truthfully, in no mood to deal with overbearing, possibly flirtatious men who were full of themselves. Men of bulky rather than slim build, with fair hair instead of dark, whose eyes did not look like leaves in shadow. A dull ache set in where her heart was.
Once upon a time, she might have handled the two men more gracefully, flattered or teased them into complacence and then slipped away, leaving them infatuated and malleable. Now, she said, "See ya," her words empty.
A strong hand clamped on her arm, holding her in place. "What, your time's too precious? You think just 'cause you're some big-shot magical vampire-killer, you're too good for the rest of us?" one of the thugs asked, his tone turning ugly.
Elena was peripherally aware that silence was spreading over the room as more and more people noticed the scene. The group at the noncombatants' table in particular was watching tensely. Irrelevantly, Elena saw Peter, the hunter she had humiliated earlier, grinning widely.
"Eh, Ronald McDonald! Colonel Sanders! Take your paws, mouth and the rest of your offending selves somewhere else, already," a familiar voice called stridently. "Elena's trying to be polite and not actually call you two ugly and obnoxious to your faces; take a hint or don't blame anyone else if your _feelings_ get hurt."
The one holding Elena turned to glare at Taura. "No one was talking to you, you pipsqueak, so shut up before I do what that vamp should have done and break that pencil you call a neck," he roared back. At this, several people stood up. Mr Neanderthal and friend, however, were undaunted and looked ready to take on all comers.
A pity, a small part of Elena's mind commented, that neither of them had managed to get cut up the night before.
This was the second time she was being hassled that day by hunters. She wasn't even sure if it was because she was a girl, because she was not much of a fighter or if it was because she the great Enemy, this time. On top of everything else that had happened, and Elena felt her mind slipping towards despair. She closed her eyes, trying to get her mind to come up with a way out of this situation.
"Ron, Jason," a mild voice intercepted from beside her. "I'm sure Elena didn't mean to be rude; she's probably just tired. She's not used to so much excitement, you know? Now, I _do_ know that it's been a while since she had anything to eat, so if you'll excuse us. We'll catch up some other time."
Elena felt herself extricated from Ron or Jason's hold and steered away by a hand lightly cupping her elbow. She opened her eyes to see them exiting the kitchen, her plate still in hand. She didn't manage so much as a glimpse of the scene they left behind them as she was ushered into a nearby room decorated in black on dark with bits of chrome. When the door closed, Elena realized that the room was soundproofed.
She glared at Jerrick as he directed her to a comfortable leather swivel chair, dimly thinking that this must be the AV room. "'Not used to so much excitement?'" she quoted scathingly.
"Well, you wanted to get out of that position, didn't you? Does it matter how it's done?" he asked evenly, leaning against a glass-fronted cabinet containing entertainment equipment.
"Contrary to what you seem to believe, Niccolo, the method _does_ matter," Elena retorted, not the least mollified.
Jerrick raised an eyebrow at this insinuation that he was Machiavellian in his actions, but didn't bother to deny the accusation. "I can hear your stomach from here; eat," he instructed instead.
Her appetite should have been killed several times over by the events of that day, but wasn't. Elena held back her arguments and took a bite of baked potato. At least she had got the sour cream before those two goons had gotten to her. She glared at Jerrick while she ate. He merely watched her silently.
"I sent him away." No need to specify who she was talking about. "I hope you're satisfied."
The eyebrow tilted again. "It was your choice," he pointed out blandly, disavowing any involvement in the events.
"There was no choice," Elena said bitterly, remembering a too-familiar figure turning away, melting into the darkness. "How could I have let him stay and risk him?"
"You have too little faith in your ability to keep him safe," Jerrick countered relentlessly.
Elena had no answer to that. "Did they get away?" she asked, realizing that she had not managed to ask Taura or Seth.
"The hunters couldn't find them," he reported in what she guessed was an attempt to be reassuring.
She nodded, taking another bite of food. The other things she had wanted to rant at him about – not warning her about Stefan's presence, his presumption in sending the girls to collect her things – now seemed unimportant. "I'm going back to the kitchen," she said, stirring.
He made no move to stop her, continuing to lean against the cabinet casually. "Fine. We will begin your training tomorrow evening."
After she had left, closing the door behind her, Jerrick limped to a darkened corner of the room. There stood another leather swivel chair, identical to the one Elena had just vacated. This chair faced the wall, the black leather blending with the dark soundproofing material on the walls.
Jerrick gently turned the chair around and looked at the young female vampire who occupied it. The girl's hazel eyes spat daggers at him. There was a lock of black hair with a dark pink tip in her face but she could not push it aside, bound and gagged as she was.
Author's Note: Niccolo Machiavelli is best known for advocating the principle 'the ends justifies the means' in his book, The Prince.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 29 November 2002
~ Twenty Two ~
Her head pounded in time with her heart, her stomach growled, her bladder complained of neglect and it felt like every muscle in her body was stiff and aching. Falling asleep had apparently been a bad call.
Fighting for control over the conflicting demands of her abused corporeal shell, Elena made her way to the washroom. When she reemerged, toweling her hair dry and wrapped in a comforting fuzzy robe, she noticed her familiar suitcases standing neatly beside the door.
She bit her lip, sternly suppressing the inevitable reaction to that sight and dressed quickly. She _was_ glad to have her own clothes again. The realization did not do much to reduce her irritation at Jerrick's presumption, however.
She left her room, following the sounds of chatter and cutlery to the kitchen. On the way there, she noticed that most of the repair work had been done. Signs warning of wet paint or drying mortar hung in some rooms and tools had been stored safely for the night. By the end of tomorrow, the Baron mansion would be as good as new.
The amount of work it must have taken and the costs incurred were mind-boggling. Before her mind could retrace the morning's train of – had it only been a day? It felt so much longer – Elena entered the kitchen.
Unlike her previous visit there, the huge area was teeming with people. Elena scanned the room automatically for familiar faces. The Turned occupied two tables, sharing a border with the witches. Elena noticed with a twinge of relief that their 'trainers' were interspersed in the group. She got the feeling that before today, the noncombatants would have been huddling in a corner by themselves, trying to go unnoticed.
Taura had a look of humiliated suffering on her face as she let one of the witches dish food into her mouth. Catching sight of Elena, the small girl jerked her chin and indicated with her eyes that Elena should help herself to the food that was laid out on the sideboard. Buffet-style was obviously the most practical way to feed a mob this size.
Her stomach demanding attention, Elena picked up a plate and joined the line moving down the table. The spread was decent, with a large selection of easily prepared components with an elaborate dish or two as highlights. Her plate was half-filled when she noticed a muscular hunter standing ahead of her in the line nudge his comrade and throw a meaningful look at her. She pretended not to have seen the exchange but was not taken by surprised when two large male bodies invaded her private space on either side.
"Hey there, lil' lady," a basso voice said from above her head. Elena looked up quickly in acknowledgement, emitted a small, impersonal expression that might have been construed as a smile and tried to step around them.
"Hey, what's the hurry?" another deep voice asked, its owner blocking her way.
"I'm famished," she said truthfully, in no mood to deal with overbearing, possibly flirtatious men who were full of themselves. Men of bulky rather than slim build, with fair hair instead of dark, whose eyes did not look like leaves in shadow. A dull ache set in where her heart was.
Once upon a time, she might have handled the two men more gracefully, flattered or teased them into complacence and then slipped away, leaving them infatuated and malleable. Now, she said, "See ya," her words empty.
A strong hand clamped on her arm, holding her in place. "What, your time's too precious? You think just 'cause you're some big-shot magical vampire-killer, you're too good for the rest of us?" one of the thugs asked, his tone turning ugly.
Elena was peripherally aware that silence was spreading over the room as more and more people noticed the scene. The group at the noncombatants' table in particular was watching tensely. Irrelevantly, Elena saw Peter, the hunter she had humiliated earlier, grinning widely.
"Eh, Ronald McDonald! Colonel Sanders! Take your paws, mouth and the rest of your offending selves somewhere else, already," a familiar voice called stridently. "Elena's trying to be polite and not actually call you two ugly and obnoxious to your faces; take a hint or don't blame anyone else if your _feelings_ get hurt."
The one holding Elena turned to glare at Taura. "No one was talking to you, you pipsqueak, so shut up before I do what that vamp should have done and break that pencil you call a neck," he roared back. At this, several people stood up. Mr Neanderthal and friend, however, were undaunted and looked ready to take on all comers.
A pity, a small part of Elena's mind commented, that neither of them had managed to get cut up the night before.
This was the second time she was being hassled that day by hunters. She wasn't even sure if it was because she was a girl, because she was not much of a fighter or if it was because she the great Enemy, this time. On top of everything else that had happened, and Elena felt her mind slipping towards despair. She closed her eyes, trying to get her mind to come up with a way out of this situation.
"Ron, Jason," a mild voice intercepted from beside her. "I'm sure Elena didn't mean to be rude; she's probably just tired. She's not used to so much excitement, you know? Now, I _do_ know that it's been a while since she had anything to eat, so if you'll excuse us. We'll catch up some other time."
Elena felt herself extricated from Ron or Jason's hold and steered away by a hand lightly cupping her elbow. She opened her eyes to see them exiting the kitchen, her plate still in hand. She didn't manage so much as a glimpse of the scene they left behind them as she was ushered into a nearby room decorated in black on dark with bits of chrome. When the door closed, Elena realized that the room was soundproofed.
She glared at Jerrick as he directed her to a comfortable leather swivel chair, dimly thinking that this must be the AV room. "'Not used to so much excitement?'" she quoted scathingly.
"Well, you wanted to get out of that position, didn't you? Does it matter how it's done?" he asked evenly, leaning against a glass-fronted cabinet containing entertainment equipment.
"Contrary to what you seem to believe, Niccolo, the method _does_ matter," Elena retorted, not the least mollified.
Jerrick raised an eyebrow at this insinuation that he was Machiavellian in his actions, but didn't bother to deny the accusation. "I can hear your stomach from here; eat," he instructed instead.
Her appetite should have been killed several times over by the events of that day, but wasn't. Elena held back her arguments and took a bite of baked potato. At least she had got the sour cream before those two goons had gotten to her. She glared at Jerrick while she ate. He merely watched her silently.
"I sent him away." No need to specify who she was talking about. "I hope you're satisfied."
The eyebrow tilted again. "It was your choice," he pointed out blandly, disavowing any involvement in the events.
"There was no choice," Elena said bitterly, remembering a too-familiar figure turning away, melting into the darkness. "How could I have let him stay and risk him?"
"You have too little faith in your ability to keep him safe," Jerrick countered relentlessly.
Elena had no answer to that. "Did they get away?" she asked, realizing that she had not managed to ask Taura or Seth.
"The hunters couldn't find them," he reported in what she guessed was an attempt to be reassuring.
She nodded, taking another bite of food. The other things she had wanted to rant at him about – not warning her about Stefan's presence, his presumption in sending the girls to collect her things – now seemed unimportant. "I'm going back to the kitchen," she said, stirring.
He made no move to stop her, continuing to lean against the cabinet casually. "Fine. We will begin your training tomorrow evening."
After she had left, closing the door behind her, Jerrick limped to a darkened corner of the room. There stood another leather swivel chair, identical to the one Elena had just vacated. This chair faced the wall, the black leather blending with the dark soundproofing material on the walls.
Jerrick gently turned the chair around and looked at the young female vampire who occupied it. The girl's hazel eyes spat daggers at him. There was a lock of black hair with a dark pink tip in her face but she could not push it aside, bound and gagged as she was.
Author's Note: Niccolo Machiavelli is best known for advocating the principle 'the ends justifies the means' in his book, The Prince.