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frostsinth · 4 years

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The Bard’s Bounty - Pt. 4

Part 1|2|3

Injured and without supplies, Iara is without options. Only thing she has? One very annoying bard.

This part was fun to write. Its a bit shorter than usual, but I thought it better to end where it is then start feeding into the intro of the next part. Likes and comments for more updates! Tell me what you think so far!

“H-hey!” Came a shout, and I blinked through the fog.

The sensation of falling was abruptly cut short, replaced by warm arms that were both firm and simultaneously soft. I managed to open my eyes again, and as my swimming vision settled, I recognized the goofy, lopsided grin looking down at me.

“I always knew you would fall for me.” Balam teased.

---

I groaned, shaking my head. I quickly stopped, as the movement made my pounding headache even more vicious. I weakly shoved a hand at him, blinking slowly.

“Get off me,” I mumbled, “Put me down.”

“Damn you’re stubborn,” Grumbled the orc, shaking his head. I felt the sensation of movement dully, and tried to turn my head to see what was going on. “Can’t even accept a little help when you’re bleeding to death.”

I snorted, reaching up a hand full of numbing fingers to my ribs. “I’ve had worse.”

My side was slick and hot with blood. My hand shook as I tried to feel the extent of the damage. I groaned again, blinking, and tried unsuccessfully to look around again. It had gotten darker than the pre-dawn light it had been a moment before. And the air smelled damp.

“Where are we?”

“Cave.” Balam said with a sigh, and I felt the cool stone at my back as he slowly put me down. “Beyond that, I don’t know where.”

“Gods, can you do anything useful?” I groaned, trying to sit up.

A big, meaty hand caught my shoulder, pushing me back down. “I can keep you from bleeding out…. Hopefully…” His voice dropped off a bit at the end.

I couldn’t help but chuckle weakly. “Well that’s reassuring.”

“Would you shut up?”

“That’s my line.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “You need to lie still. Try not to make it worse.”

My lips twitched weakly. “Yes, nurse.”

“Creator’s ass, stop sassing me for two seconds you bitch.” He snarled softly.

I sensed him moving away for a moment, and blinked a few more times, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Cave seemed an accurate assessment. Rock. Rock. Stone. Rock. Something wet and dripping in the corner. It was shallow, maybe a body length or two deep. And probably just high enough to stand in. The faint morning light drew an outline around the cave, and I could just make out the forest beyond the wide entrance. A soft whicker reassured me that Goda was not far. I slowly tried to ease myself up again.

“What did I tell you?” Sighed Balam angrily, returning to the cave with an armful of branches and other assorted things I couldn’t make out.

He dropped them by the wall and dropped down next to me. Catching my good shoulder in his hand.

“Goda,” I breathed, then reached up one hand to press my palm to my forehead.

“She’s fine. There’s water and grass right outside,” He told me, pushing me back gently. “She’s earned a break.”

I nodded faintly, sighing as the back of my head touched the cool stone again. It wasn’t exactly comfortable; about as hard as a rock. I chuckled internally at my own dumb joke.

“Why’d you have to go do something stupid and get yourself stabbed?” Grumbled Balam.

I gasped slightly as he pressed something to my side. “Oh, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll just let Sigi shoot you.”

He laughed incredulously, shaking his big head. His dreads bounced about with the movement. “My life was only at risk because you kidnapped me.”

“Collected, not kidnapped.” I corrected him weakly, then tried to crane my neck down to see his hands at my side. “What are you doing?”

He sighed heavily. “Old Tlaloc trick. This moss is very porous. Works as well as cloth to staunch bleeding.”

“Goody.” I breathed, laying back and closing my eyes.

I felt his hand wrap around mine, his large, warm fingers swallowing my hand whole. They felt firm, and strong, and my hazy mind lingered on the sensation for a moment. He brought our hands to my side, and gently pressed my palm against the moss on my wound.

“Here, hold this for a second. I’m going to start a fire so I can see what I’m doing better.”

I didn’t reply, but did as I was told. My head was still pounding, so I tried to focus on some benign point in my brain that might allow my thoughts to soothe. Balam’s face drifted to the surface of my mind’s eye, irritatingly. I brushed it aside with a silent snarl. I so desperately wanted to sleep, and my eyes, even closed, ached. But the adrenaline was still coursing through me, and the anxiety of my situation left a twisting knot in my stomach.

I listened to the sounds of his shuffling, as he gathered the branches into a pile. It was muted, as the soft sound of rain slowly filled the spaces between sounds. But I heard the soft twang of stone on metal, then the sizzling of flames on wet wood. I frowned, opening my eyes.

“Is that my sword??” I demanded weakly as he bent down to blow on the tiny little embers.

“You dropped it when you fell off the horse.”

“Oh, so you know what it is?”

He snorted. “Of course I do.”

“Great. Then why the fuck are you smashing it with a rock?”

The orc shot me an irritated look. “We are a little short on supplies here, in case you didn’t notice, princess. And I’m not about to spend half an hour rubbing two wet sticks together.”

I coughed lightly. “Rubbing sticks together? Thought that was what bards were all about.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d say this, but I honestly think I preferred your cold, frigid bitch act.” He came back over to my side, tossing the sword to clatter a few feet away and dropping back to the ground.

“And I preferred you unconscious.” I mumbled, blinking blearily at him.

Sighing again, he took my hand away from the wound, inspecting it under the light. I saw the furrows on his forehead deepen, and his eyebrows pinched together.

“That bad, huh?” I asked with a soft chuckle.

He glanced up at my face. “...It’s not good.”

I closed my eyes, tilting my head back slightly. “You’re free now, you know,” I told him bitterly.

When he didn’t answer, I opened my eyes again. Found him watching me, staring at my face. I smirked a little, then lifted my arm weakly to shake my bracelet.

“You won’t be able to take it off yourself, but I don’t have the strength to use the enchantment,” I turned my head away, looking at the stone wall instead of meeting those soft brown eyes, “So you can leave anytime. The magic only works within a certain proximity.”

He snorted softly. “You seriously think you can manage on your own?”

“Always have.”

I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Tried to keep it flat. I knew what was at stake in that moment. New exactly what would happen if he did choose to leave. Darkness was eating at the edges of my vision, and my breathing was ragged. But I was ready for it, I thought. If this was my time, if I couldn’t fight it. I was ready. I would face death as I had faced life. Alone. And it was better that way.

I felt his hand squeeze mine, and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. There was a complicated look on his face. I didn’t have the energy to think it over too much. But I knew I didn’t want to see it anymore. So I closed my eyes and let out a slow, shuddering breath.

Sniffing, I felt him gently place my hand on the ground near my face.

“Nah. No thanks.” I heard more shuffling, then felt the sharp stinging pain as he pressed something against my side. “Don’t feel like having your frigid ass haunting me.”

Surprised, I opened my eyes, looking at him. He made a point not to meet my gaze, steadily working on cleaning my wound instead.

“... If I get better, I’m still taking you in,” I told him, my voice a little sharper than I meant it to be. “Nothing has changed.”

He shrugged his big shoulders, a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Not maybe. I’m a bounty hunter. And you’ve got a huge bounty on your head. A payout like that would have me set for a long time-” I narrowed my eyes a little at him- “I’m not passing up that chance.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, simply cleaning my wound. He ripped up some plant with his teeth, and began chewing it thoughtfully as we worked.

“You could’ve killed me.”

“What?”

“You could’ve killed me,” He repeated softly, still chewing, “The bounty is just as good with my severed head. But you didn’t.”

I gave an angry sigh. “I’m not a killer.” I grumbled irritatedly under my breath.

He chucked again, the sound darkly unfitting to his usual jovial nature.

“Neither am I.”

Then he spit the chewed up plant into his palm. Using two fingers, he scooped some up and began smearing it against my side.

“Oh gods! What in the nine hells are you doing?” I snapped, jerking a little.

“Hold still,” He ordered, still smearing the half masticated goop on me, “Its Threnweed. Good for healing and staving off infection.”

“It’s gross,” I shot back, scowling weakly, “I don’t want your spit on me.”

Balam’s head fell back as he laughed loudly. “Well, the last time we swapped spit, you poisoned me,” he reminded me with his now familiar lopsided grin, “Let’s just say this makes us even.”

My face burned at the memory, but my scowl merely deepened and I turned away from him again. He finished his work, wiping me up as best he could with what he had. Then I felt him pat my good shoulder.

“Get some rest now. That will help the most.”

His hand lingered for a moment, his tough fingers warm against my cold skin. It tingled beneath his touch, and for a moment, I thought he might do more. Stroke my hair back. Turn me to face him again. Strangle me. But he didn’t, and eventually the weight of his hand disappeared.

My whole body quivered from exhaustion, but after a few moments I forced myself to turn and look for him one more time. He was still sitting next to me, surprisingly close, and I blinked stupidly for a moment. I could smell his musky scent, and feel a little of the heat of his body.

“What are you going to do?” I asked suspiciously.

He shrugged. “I’ll find a way to entertain myself, don’t you worry.”

I sighed heavily, feeling the tension in my muscles. Even laying on cold stone rock, I couldn’t fight my exhaustion anymore. I blinked a few more times stubbornly, but my whole body felt like a throbbing pile of lead.

Balam was fiddling with something in his hands that I couldn’t make out. I fought against the sleep, turning my head this way and that. Shifting my legs, rubbing my hands against my face.

I realized suddenly that a soft, gentle humming had filled the air around me. It was distant, like bees in a hive somewhere hidden among the trees. But it was soothingly deep. I swore I could feel it vibrating in the ground beneath me too.

Along with the sound of the rain, it soothed my tattered nerves, and slowly, I relented. Giving in to my absolute exhaustion. I plummeted into darkness like an anchor dropped into stormy waters….

....

UPDATE: Part five HERE

#OC #orcs #orc #orc bard #orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend #enemies to lovers #slow burn #exophilia #terato #dnd #update #The bard's bounty

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

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Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend (Geralt x Reader, Part 3.)

Series description: The Butcher of Blaviken has a long and famous past, thanks to his friend Jaskier. Yet, neither of those dies easily and it still lurks behind Geralt like a shadow after all those years. History, neither unfriendly relationships, doesn't die easily.

Part summary: Two witchers in one hall can be a lot. Especially when they are not friends at all and if Jaskier and Dijkstra are present as well.

A/N: Well, here we go with miss reader being a coronated savage and badass bcs she definitely can kick Geralt's ass in ten seconds precisely and kill Jaskier with one look alone. Her song is kinda maybe New Level by A$AP Ferg I guess?

Tagging: @osgon-azure @davnwillcome @missdictatorme @nemodoren

Word count: 2.2K

Master list: H E R E

It was so boring to stand there and watch these people having... Fun. A big man huffed out ironically, taking another sip of his wine. He already hated all about that convention and may I say, he was there only for half an hour. His friend seemed to be enjoying himself and the ladies if Geralt had to say.

And these clothes. For what on earth he was fucking wearing a robe like this? With a shirt that was ironed? The fuck was going on with Geralt? And on top of that, he was drinking fancy wine in the Vegenbul residence. This whole situation was beyond laughable.

"Ya don't dance, mister Witcher? Are ya the big scary man everyone is telling us about?" - A woman appeared next to him and she was beyond drunk. From what Geralt was able to smell, it was a wonder she was still standing on her feet. All Geralt responded with was a good long hum and a stare into the middle of the dancing crowd.

"Ya not a good company. I wonder what does the bard sees on traveling along with you." - The drunkard told Geralt pretty loudly and stomped a few meters away from him. Geralt thought that maybe, she would fall flat on her smudged and sweaty face, but to his surprise, she walked to another group of guests.

The ball was just boring. Geralt was there only because it was related to business. Otherwise, he wouldn't come. When he watched everyone from the corner of the room, he wondered about his outfit. Yennefer would be happy to see him in the clothes he had on. Naturally, Geralt's attention was drawn when a guest who was running late was being introduced.

No-one dared to come late at events like these. No-one was that rude. Except for two people who were slowly walking the stairs while trumpets were telling everyone that these two have arrived. For a small while, Geralt could see only legs - one of them was limping badly. That was Sigismund. Geralt had personally fucked up that lag, he knew how bad did Dijkstra limped. The other one was female - at least according to the high heels they were wearing and a long robe studded with shiny rocks. After a fairly long observation, the rocks appeared to be diamonds - which was extremely dumb and also extremely expansive.

And when Geralt saw that hair, he didn't even need to see the rest of her face. She was dramatic as always - expansive dress, late arrival, and an emotionless face. He closed his eyes and turned away, knowing she already saw him in that fancy suit.

"Let me introduce lady Y/N of Kaedwen and sir Sigi Reuven of Novigrad as the last guests of this ball." - A man in a uniform said, bowed to these two and left. Geralt was already sick of her. No matter what, Y/N was always acting like a child and a bitch, there were no other words to describe her behavior. There was also nothing that would make Geralt sure that this time, she'll behave like an actual adult.

His eyes shot a quick look at Jaskier. That man, of course, was over his heels for her already. To be honest, there weren't many ladies who were showing their cleavage this blatantly; let alone the dress showing her leg up to her thigh.

Y/N was walking the hall, having elbow entwined with Sigi's, giving a pleasant smile to everyone. If Geralt had to say, you were the most pleasant looking and acting witcher of them all. People would choose you as the nicest, yet they never got to know what's hiding under that mask. It was a killing machine full of small numbers. It was calculating every single move and taking in everything around you.

It was too late to hide already. Dijkstra had seen Geralt and waved at him to join you and young lady Vegelbur. Jaskier almost approached you as well - but just seconds before that, someone tugged his jacket to make him play the lute.

"Geralt." - Was the first word he heard from you. - "What a... A pleasant surprise." - You grinned a bit, taking an elegant cup of wine to at least hold something in your palm. You never drank on events like that since witchers and witchresses got drunk extremely fast. Geralt never drank more than one pint of ale but this time, he was thinking about breaking the rules.

No-one noticed the short pause of disgust when you greeted him. So you two were still on the same page you ended up on the last time you saw each other, that was good to know.

"As always, the pleasure is on my side, Y/N." - Geralt said back as politely as he was capable of. Before you had the chance to say something back, Dijkstra stopped both of you.

"These are the witchers I was able to persuade to take the job, lady Vegelbud. They are the best of the best. I swear on my very own name." - The man pointed at the both of you, making you both grin a bit at lady Vegelbud.

"I've met with sir Geralt a couple of times. He saved my life when the murders in Novigrad were taking place and my gratitude for that is endless." - Lady smiled at the man, bowing to him a bit. Then she turned to you and took in your appearance with her eyes. And let's say, you were a lot to take in.

"As for lady Y/N of Kaedwen, I'm not entirely sure if I've ever heard her name. I can see that you're a witchress, fair lady, but I haven't seen you around here." - Lady Vegelbud tried to smile as nicely as she was capable of. She winked at you, staring the unnerving amount of skin you were showing off.

For an unknown reason, you were eye-catching. It was strange to see a woman who was appearing so thing yet so masculine, so beautiful and dangerously looking. Your golden eyes which were appearing as if they shone... She couldn't look away. Gently, you smiled and winked back at lady Vegelbud.

Yet again, Dijkstra jumped in so you wouldn't say anything back.

"That's because lady Y/N doesn't travel here that much. Mostly, you'd find her on Skellige or Redenia with sir Lambert. But that's how I'm sure that lady Y/N is the right choice to solve your problems." - Dijkstra told her with all of his charms, smiling a bit. You nodded gratefully, pushing your lips together.

"Is that so? So you and sir Geralt know each other from the past, have you met, slaught a monster perhaps?" - Lady Vegelbud asked with a burning passion, awaiting an answer from you. Not from Geralt, not from Dijkstra, but you. There was still the silence where only Jaskier and his band could be heard.

"I know sir Geralt for a long time. We've been raised together on the School of Wolf in my homeland, Kaedwen, but after that, out ways parted. But to answer your question, we did slay some monsters together before sir Geralt here got famous by his party in Blaviken." - You smiled sweetly and even if Geralt did his best to completely ignore you, he had to look at you. You saw Dijskra shifting his position and you knew you had already said too much, so you shut up and smiled even more.

Lady Vegelbud was way too curious. She asked you a million questions - about monsters, about being a witcher and a woman at once, about the dream of having a child which you didn't have... You finally got rid of her shortly after midnight. And that was when you saw Geralt drinking his third ale in the corner of the room. You naturally couldn't let that slip past your attention.

"What a naughty boy you are." - You winked at the man, putting your cup of warm wine aside. - "Look at you drinking the ale as a lemonade. Uh, papa Vesemir would be sooo fucking angry." - You looked around, watching the crowd dancing, talking, drinking, and dancing. They were boring.

"Better making myself drunk than trying to talk to you, eh?" - Geralt finished his third ale and then got into your wine almost immediately. You didn't tell him a word, you just rose your eyebrows.

So you were still on the same page you ended up on all those years ago.

"My approach to the situation will be as follows - we have to get there as quickly as we can, kill the monster, take its head and we need to get back. It's the start of fall now and when we get back, it will already be time to get to Kaer Morhen." - You said sincerely and Geralt nodded immediately.

"You'll be getting back to Kaer Morhen for the winter? Haven't seen you there in years." - Geralt sincerely wondered. While every normal witcher or witchress got there in the winter, you haven't shown up in the last five years. There was no need for witchers in the winter.

Everyone always gathered back in the keep to tell stories, have fun, and to share memories. No-one was hunting in the winter since most of the monsters almost disappeared. Each school always gathered in their keeps as a big family, and School of the Wolf wasn't different - yet you didn't show up for more than ten years. You were always spending the winter in warmer kingdoms than Kaedwen. That year was different. You wanted to tell goodbye to everyone before you'd disappear in the thin air. And this time, you meant to leave the witcher business for good.

"Yes, I feel like I haven't seen my family in years." - You answered with a pinch of irony. And according to swift steps behind your back and Geralt looking all terrified, you knew that soon, your party will have a new member. And it was none other than the man and bard himself, Jaskier. Or as you called him, the jester who was traveling with Geralt.

"I feel like you and I haven't spoken nor dance yet. So to be nice, I decided to join you and my friend, lady, my name’s Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you can call me..." - And that was the exact moment when your fingers caught his jaw in a fast and precise movement. You pushed his cheeks together, making him look like a fish before you slowly looked him in the eyes.

"I don't care." - You said simply, observing him. After looking at Jaskier with disgust, you let his jaw go. - "This is one cute puppy to keep you warm in the cold nights, I tell you, Geralt. Now, gentlemen, excuse me while I’ll join some enlightened company to talk about political bullshit. I expect you to be ready in the morning to look at the maps of attacks and what did the witnesses say." - You bowed so it would still appear somehow decent. When that was said and done, you turned on your heels and left the two men standing alone.

"Jesus, first of all, did she assume you and I having a secret relationship? Secondly, how dare she call me a puppy, and third of all, Geralt, what in the bloody ass is wrong with you?" - Jaskier took the half-empty cup of Geralt’s hand, drinking the rest of the alcoholic drink. Geralt didn't answer, nor cursed or hummed, he just looked at Jaskier, waiting for what Julian had to say.

"What is it with you always picking bloody psychopaths as your romantic interest? First, we had to suffer under Yennefer's reign of terror, then there was this whole bloody thing with Triss Ranuncul, and how gladly I would forget about your fling with Keira Metz?" - Jaskier looked at Geralt offendedly, making the witcher stare him down.

"This woman isn't near being my romantic interest. I'm surprised she hadn't tried killing me yet." - Geralt answered honestly, watching you talk to a local alcohol merchant. You were overreacting a serious lot, but you indeed had something Geralt was painfully lacking - charm.

"So she’s not taken yet is what my ears hear." - Jaskier whispered with a growing smile, but Geralt punched his shoulder rather harshly to get him out of the trance.

"Don't try your tricks on that woman, I beg you. I don't want to scrape you off the ceiling when she gets pissed. I'm going to bed and you should do the same." - He gave his friend one last piece of advice before he left the room to have a good rest.

#geralt of rivia x reader #Geralt of rivia x female! Witchress #Geralt z Rivie #Geralt z Rivii #geralt of rivia #julian alfred pankratz #jakier #dandelion #witcher #the world of the witcher #andrzej sapkowski #wiedzmin #zaklínač #sigismind dijsktra #lady vegelbud

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hildehammer · 5 years

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It's mid-afternoon. Bordering on just before rush hour. Sunday. Jair shows up at the funeral home, asking about 'Um.. er.. Sig- sigheild?'. He's dressed as always- car-grease jeans, comfy work boots, a big ol' swimming-in denim vest... and he's rather shamefaced. He keeps his eyes down, away from whoever answers the calling. Defeated.

The guy who answers the door is barely awake: a skinny guy best defined as ‘Eurotrash,’ with unwashed shoulder-length black hair, wearing a grey slub tank top and battered jeans. He doesn’t bother introducing himself, just waves at the couch.

Sometimes there are crying people here, though the Altman Funeral Home is kind of like Aziraphale’s bookshop: they discourage customers, and live on money that comes from... somewhere. Best not to ask.

There’s enough similarity between his facial structure and Sigi’s that it would lead a person to think they’re probably related. Wordlessly, the dark-haired guy looks up toward the landing which overlooks the funeral home’s main gathering area, and then walks back into a door which says ‘Employees Only - Office’ and shuts the door.

All that time, Ludwig never said a word.

About two minutes later, by the ticking of the grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs, Sieghilde stumbles out of one of the doors along that landing, wearing a t-shirt that’s too small for her and a pair of boxers. Probably, she just grabbed one of Sonja’s shirts and pulled it on: clearly, she was asleep a few minutes ago, and somehow, Ludwig woke her up. Remotely.

She’s not got a cigarette and she just woke up, her hair half-braided.

“Hnnngh.”

#dancingwolfstumblingfool

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thisbookisaboutmonsters · 6 years

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Sigi, pt 5

OH MY GOODNESS, WHAT IS THIS

AH YES, MM, THE FINE BOUQUET OF HISTORICAL VAMPIRE FLASHBACKS

AND A SCARY DATE WITH THE HOTTEST GUY IN SCHOOL poor, poor robert

let me know what you guys think! thank you to everyone who’s been reading so far, i love each and every one of you <3

It was such a small village it did not have any official name. Anyone who lived there merely called it ‘the village’, while on maps it was often named as ‘the village north of the river’. For a long time there was nothing particularly special about the village, nothing to distinguish it from its neighbours, and no one really gave it any thought. It just happened to be where they lived.

Only recently did this little village develop any distinguishing features. Namely, the church they all called Sainte Vierge, or more accurately, its newest priest. Père Voss was by far one of the youngest priests to join their little church in living memory, and he drew attention as soon as he arrived. He was not outspoken, or unkind, or brash, or— thank God— a drunkard, and by all accounts he was one of the best priests to stay in their village in years.

Père Voss was the most beautiful person in the entire village. Caroline, who washed laundry for the wealthier houses and who had traveled to Paris at least once in her life, insisted that Père Voss was the most beautiful person in all of France. Not everyone agreed with that, but not everyone had been outside of the village before, either.

He was very tall, even standing beside Phillipe the butcher’s son, who was known to knock his head on doorways if he wasn’t careful. Père Voss had to bend his head to step through doors in most of the village, although he never complained. Instead, he wore his astonishing size with a bit of an apology. His voice was soft and gentle; his eyes were calm; he knew every person by name within three days. He was never boisterous on any occasion; were it not for his beautiful face and his unusual size, he would go largely unnoticed at every gathering.

Although few of them would admit it, half the women in the village dreamed of Père Voss, of catching his lovely eye and of him leaving the clergy for her. Half the men dreamed much of the same, even more privately.

Most bewildering of all: Père Voss seemed unaware of his uncommon beauty. He always seemed pleasantly surprised by any cheerful greeting sent his way, as though he hadn’t dared imagine a neighbour would wish him a good morning. He spent a lot of time looking at the ground deep in thought, oblivious to the staring eyes.

The years passed. Families grew, shrank, grew again. Marriages took place, all officiated by the same Père Voss, who wore a serene smile to every blessed union and wished every one of them happiness in life. He performed baptisms for every child born since his arrival, some of whom were now old enough to be married and blessed by him once again. No one spoke of it aloud, but everyone could see that after nineteen years in their modest little village, middle age had yet to touch the priest the way one would expect.

Some believed this was a sign that their little village was favoured by God, and their priest was among His favourites. Some believed this a sign of Père Voss's pure faith, a visual manifestation of his kind soul and patient heart.

Still others, mainly strangers to the village, visiting again after several years, took this as an ill omen. Men of the cloth from larger towns, when stopping by to see the now well-known local priest, could not bear to look at his face and avoided his eyes, despite their outward courtesy and his soft words.

Parishioners from other villages and towns started to travel here for services, hoping to see Père Voss and to hear him speak. He never turned anyone away. He was always open for confession, given the number of people now wishing to hear those words of forgiveness from his lips.

Matilda’s mother once told her, in hushed tones, that the priest had looked every bit as radiant when he first arrived in the village, years before Matilda was born. She thought about that whispered admission whenever she dared catch a glimpse of his face during services. He did not look like an old man, and yet he must be by now, if he’d been here so long, already a well-established priest before they’d all met him.

She did not think his face was cause for alarm. Like her mother, and her grandmother, and most of the women in the village close to Matilda’s age, she believed Père Voss might secretly be an angel. Who else could be so beautiful, so kind, so eternally patient? She’d never met any priest like him. Perhaps one day she could ask him somehow whether he truly was an angel. Would he answer a question like that during confession?

She wished she could read or write. She might compose a secretive note if she could, asking him that question and begging him to hide his response somewhere only she would find it later on. She filled quiet afternoons with daydreams of Père Voss’s glorious smile and glittering eyes. When she could spare a moment from her work, she would sneak into the church to say her prayers, at the same time stealing glimpses of the priest. Like many in the village, she found herself much more devout with Père Voss around.

Matilda did not notice the discomfort between Père Voss and the other priests until there was an argument one bright afternoon. A disagreement. At first she did her best to shut her ears, it was none of her business, but the muffled voices continued until there was a harsh sound and the door of the library swung open abruptly. Père Jean hurried from the library, holding a hand to his face, and he looked so angry Matilda forgot to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

Inside the library, Père Voss was returning to his seat, looking weary. It occurred to Matilda very suddenly that Père Voss had struck Père Jean, although the beautiful priest didn’t seem angry the way the other had. He looked terribly sad, thought Matilda, head bowed and hands folded tight on his knee. She left the floor she’d been cleaning to approach the library.

“Forgive me…” she began softly. He looked up when he heard her voice, although it didn’t look as if he’d been startled. “Is… What happened?”

He blinked at her for a moment. He looked surprised she’d spoken to him, and she wondered whether she’d done something wrong. Perhaps she should leave. But he only said, “I’m sorry, Matilda, we must have upset you. Père Jean and I were only having a discussion.”

She felt weak-kneed to know Père Voss remembered her name. It was so pleasant to hear her name spoken by his lovely voice that it bordered on repulsive. She slowly reached to hold the doorframe, tried not to look faint with delight. “It sounded like a very heated discussion, sir.”

He hummed, then offered her a brief smile. It was a wonder she didn’t crumple to the floor at this rate. “It’s nothing for you to worry over. Truly.”

Matilda knew when someone was trying to be polite but wanted to be alone. She lingered in the door just a moment longer, before saying, “Père Jean can be a little rude sometimes. You… I’m sure no one would fault you for it…”

Père Voss watched her go. She could feel his bright eyes on her back as she walked; she hurried past the spot she’d been cleaning to go collect herself elsewhere.

For a few months longer, Père Voss continued to be the most exciting of the village’s features. Père Jean continued to visit, Matilda noticed, and there continued to be ‘discussions’ held in the library behind a locked door. She didn’t think Père Jean noticed her cleaning the same floor every time he retreated to the library to raise his voice to Père Voss, who never seemed to shout in response. She still couldn’t understand what they were discussing, although it didn’t look like Père Voss had struck the other priest since that first day she’d noticed.

Père Voss said hello to her now, whenever these discussions had ended and once Père Jean had left in a huff. He was perfectly aware that Matilda waited outside the door.

“Are you waiting to defend my good name?” he asked her on one such occasion.

Matilda felt her cheeks flush hot. “Suppose I am. I can tell when… well. Not everyone is kind to you. I don’t think it’s called for.”

“People feel however they like. It is not my job to change that for them.” Père Voss lowered his eyes to the floor, the spot she’d been cleaning so fervently whenever Père Jean visited. It reflected light better than any mirror by now. “But it is kind of you to be concerned. How is your mother?”

“She’ll be glad to hear you’ve asked after her.” More than glad. She’d beam with pride and walk a bit taller for a few days. Père Voss probably knew that.

The day after Père Voss asked about her mother, Matilda awoke to the sound of the neighbours shouting. She leaned out the window to see people gathering outside, her mother among them. Everyone was agitated, although she couldn’t see why. She hurried to dress before going to join them. Something had happened.

Caroline, away from home for the past three days, had been found dead in the river. Two children had spotted her early that morning.

The church was very busy attending to her funeral, offering comfort to her grieving husband. Père Voss spent many hours sitting with the man after the last prayers had been said over her grave.

Père Jean returned for another discussion. This one was very short. Père Voss didn’t close the door to the library this time, because there was no need for privacy when he simply refused to let the man stay. Père Jean left very upset, and this time he even noticed Matilda standing near the library, anxiously watchful as ever.

“What are you doing, foolish girl?” he barked, advancing on her suddenly. “Stay away, if you have a care for yourself!”

Matilda, shaken, hurried back outside without stopping to ask Père Voss if he was well. He’d been quieter than usual. Outside of sermons he hardly spoke to anyone. Père Jean wasn’t doing much to lift his mood, either.

Matilda hesitated to admit that she disliked the angry, older priest, but he was gruff and rude. He shouted at the kind, patient Père Voss every time he visited. He must be one of the clergy that distrusted Père Voss, envied his beauty, took it for a terrible omen of bad luck. Matilda had heard some of the rumours and scoffed at all of them. How could Père Voss be any danger to anyone? What on Earth had he done that was so wrong? Was it wrong for him to be so beautiful? She wondered whether this would upset other clergy, her pointing out that God Himself had given Père Voss his pretty face, and to hate that was to criticize His work.

Pleased with this logistical counter, Matilda was prepared to deliver it to Père Jean the next time he darkened their doorstep. She did pay attention in church from time to time.

Not a month later, Caroline’s grieving husband was also found dead. Not in the river, but in the graveyard, slumped next to her tombstone. Matilda got to see him, briefly, and the sight of his cold body turned her stomach.

They said he’d cut himself open, with the knife they found still wrapped in his fingers, although it was odd how… clean he looked. There was blood drying in the ground beneath him, but his flesh was not as stained as it should have been.

“Beasts would have eaten him, if we hadn’t found him so soon,” was what the butcher said when the children asked about it. “Must have got to taste him, anyway.”

Soon the village became preoccupied with its own safety. Caroline had been attacked, her husband had taken his own life— a sin, to be sure, but still Père Voss in his kindness had insisted upon a proper burial for him— and shortly after they said their farewells to the deceased, another corpse was found.

Four more, over the next three months.

People would not come home from the market, would not come home after a day working the fields, and then would be found miles away by a passing traveler. They were all locals, people Matilda had known for years.

The men went on hunts for rabid animals, wolves or bears or loose dogs, because these corpses had not come from self-inflicted violence. Throats open, torn by teeth and claws, not by blades. Children were practically locked indoors whenever possible, and no one went outside alone. Matilda managed to walk with Père Voss for company once or twice, a fact that caused her sisters a measure of envy, but that was the only glimmer of pleasant excitement to be had in all this.

Père Voss looked exhausted and distressed, although he avoided the subject whenever Matilda expressed concern. He was kept busy with the grieving, the worried villagers, the funerals, the grave diggers (who seemed to adore and hate him in equal measure). While he didn’t exactly look as haggard as a man would be in such conditions, he was clearly worn down.

Père Jean still visited. Père Voss merely let him, spoke not a word, and showed him the way out. Matilda stood by the door now, brazenly defending the exhausted Père Voss from the intruder in the only way she knew how. She’d given Père Jean her theological speech some time ago, and while her questioning had upset him, it hadn’t stopped him.

And then, most perplexing, for several weeks the hunting parties found animals— already dead, torn up much like the missing villagers had been. These they found in droves, abandoned carelessly and untouched by scavengers.

After a month of finding a troubling number of dead bears, wolves, cows, even birds, the death seemed to finally stop. They were all wary for some time, and no one wanted to go anyplace alone just yet, but they stopped stumbling across abandoned corpses, human or animal. Everyone slowly began to relax again.

When it all ended, Père Voss suddenly fell ill. Matilda could tell he was working too hard; he stammered during a sermon, which he’d never done before, and he looked paler than usual. When Matilda suggested quietly that he retire early to bed one evening, he agreed without argument when normally he would insist nothing was wrong.

Emboldened by his agreeing to her suggestion, Matilda accompanied him down the corridor to his room. She was a little worried he might collapse. “Shall I call for the doctor, do you think?” she asked, peering up at him in the dim light from the window. She’d never known anyone so enormous, and yet he still looked so delicate. He seemed likely to drift away in a breeze at the moment.

Père Voss was walking slowly, one hand touching the wall as he moved. “I… only need to sleep, Matilda. I promise, I will manage.” He glanced down to smile at her, although it seemed difficult for his face to contort properly into the right expression. “I regret making you worry.”

“You never sleep enough. You should—”

They paused when they noticed Père Jean at the opposite end of the corridor, waiting by the door to Père Voss’s room. Matilda had only a moment to wonder why he’d come at this hour when Père Voss was so clearly ill, before she noticed the rifle.

A hand on her shoulder. She hit the floor hard, her head bouncing off the tile. Dazed, she barely understood that Père Voss had pushed her away. The sound of the rifle echoed so loud in the little corridor that she was deafened.

In the confusion that followed, Matilda realized she’d been screaming herself hoarse. Père Voss was on his knees, bleeding from a deep hole in his chest. Père Jean was being pulled away, shouting louder than Matilda, the rifle wrestled from his grasp by the grave diggers, who must have heard the noise.

Matilda wasn’t the one who called for the doctor.

Miraculously, the wound did not kill Père Voss. He was cleaned, bandaged, confined to his bed. Once Matilda was able to stand she tried to help the doctor however she could— along with the butcher and the grave diggers who’d gone to fetch him. She held the bowl for the water while the doctor cleaned the wound, dug out the shot.

Père Voss did not shout once. Not when he was injured, not when the doctor cleaned the wound, although he was fully awake and struggled stubbornly enough that it took the butcher and all three grave diggers to hold him still. He stared at the ceiling with horror in his eyes.

Matilda didn’t sleep at all that night. Père Voss didn’t, either, which she found especially cruel.

Word traveled quickly. The entire village gathered outside the church to ask what had happened, and Matilda stood with the doctor when he finally delivered the news to everyone outside. Père Jean was to be taken to the prison in the morning; a boy had been sent as a messenger, and the magistrate would handle the rest.

“Of course I don’t wish him ill,” Père Voss said hours later, when the news was given to him. He still hadn’t fallen asleep. He continued, in a voice thinner than paper, “The man was unwell. He felt he was acting nobly.”

Matilda was there to make sure he hadn’t bled through all the bandages again, on the doctor’s suggestion. She was still trembling and her head hurt where she’d hit it on the tiles. “How was that acting nobly? He shot a rifle at a fellow priest!”

Père Voss reached to hold her hand, having noticed her voice shake. “And at you. I’m sorry for pushing you like that. Are you hurt?”

The question, coming from a man with a hole in his chest, blood blooming through his bandages like a great red lily, made Matilda laugh. “I’ve fallen before. I’ll live.”

“In answer to your question,” he said, sounding even more feeble the longer he spoke, “Père Jean believed I had something to do with the deaths in our village. I refused to entertain such a horrible thought, but I suppose I should have given him more attention sooner…”

Was that why Père Jean had been visiting? Was that the topic of their discussions? Had Père Voss been quietly suffering accusations like that the entire time? “Have you told the doctor? The magistrate should know…”

He blinked once, although his eyes were nearly shut already. Every part of him seemed too heavy to move, even his eyelids. “I imagine Père Jean has already told them as much.” He lapsed into silence for a while, and although he was lying still he was not sleeping.

His eyes were still half-open. Matilda jolted with alarm suddenly, stupidly realizing he might have— “Père? Père!”

He exhaled so suddenly it shocked her more than his stillness had. “…forgive me,” he murmured.

She let out her breath, as well.

Over the next three days Matilda assisted in watching Père Voss, hoping for some sign of recovery. He didn’t seem to sleep at all during her watch, nor did he accept any of the soup she attempted to feed him. After asking the other men and women who’d joined in to offer their help, she found this was the same with all of them. She couldn’t stop worrying.

“Please, you mustn’t give up like this,” she begged him when it was her turn to check on him again. “The others say you haven’t eaten anything yet, and you don’t sleep— you should do at least one of those! Then your wound will start to heal!”

He had always been very pale, but now he looked more washed out than the linens he rested in. His eyes were an alarming touch of blue in all that pale, sick colourlessness. Matilda could finally see red creeping around the edges of that blue, more lilies to match the garden sprouted on his chest. Even so, pale and sick, Père Voss was beautiful. She couldn’t stand it just now. It was starting to frighten her, only a little— although she knew she hadn’t been sleeping well lately, either.

He ignored the spoon she lifted to help him taste the soup. The wound in his chest prevented him lifting his arms reliably, and the doctor insisted no solid foods until he could regain some of his strength.

“Please, Père, don’t do this.”

“I cannot, Matilda. Forgive me.”

She set the soup aside and, after hesitating a moment, took a seat on the edge of his bed. She held one of his hands in both of hers, careful not to pull or lift in case that upset his wound. His hand was so much longer than hers, and still so fine… “I’m begging you, please. There must be some way I can help. I don’t want to see you waste away to nothing.”

He did not speak, although he did her the courtesy of watching her face. At least he wasn’t ignoring her the way he ignored the soup.

“You don’t need to go on suffering,” she told him. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

It surprised her to see his face twinge then. Only slightly. She worried that she’d hurt his arm so she released his hand as gently as possible so it would not drop abruptly onto the bed.

“Have you had word of Père Jean?” he asked quietly.

“No. I could ask for you?”

“Stay…”

Matilda sat with him quietly, waiting for him to tell her what he needed from her, but nothing came. Eventually, seeing she would run out of time with him before it was someone else’s turn to sit watch, she had to dig up her courage. She wanted to tell him…

“I would do anything you asked of me, Père. Anything you wanted.”

She couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. She supposed he was confused. “Anything at all, Père. I can’t bear to see you suffering like this. You’ve… You’re always so kind to me, to others, and you’re always alone. I hope you know that I care for you. A great deal.”

His eyes were stuck on her face now. Instead of fighting to keep his attention on her, now she was all he could look at. She flushed to notice this, but continued carefully, “I would gladly join the church to stay close to you, if you would not object.”

“That’s… you needn’t…”

She took his hand again, watching for any sign this hurt him. “I want to help you, Père. I love you. I want you to live. Please, let me help you.”

He suddenly moved, drawing his elbows back to lift himself off the pillow. The movement was clearly difficult, and she nearly told him to lie still, but he was stubborn. Once he found a way to sit up that wasn’t causing him pain, he gestured for her to come closer.

Feeling tears well in her eyes, Matilda let Père Voss hold her to his chest. She didn’t think it wise to rest her weight on his bandages, but his arms folded over her and she curled up beneath his chin. He was cold. She was going to add to the fireplace, just as soon as he let her. For the moment, she was content just to be held.

“I’ve done nothing to earn such kindness,” he said. His fingers stroked carefully over her hair.

“I think you deserve kindness,” she murmured, cautious not to make him uncomfortable. She could feel the bandages packed tight around his chest, the solid centre where the blood had accumulated and thickened them. “I’ll do anything for you, Père.”

“Anything,” he repeated softly.

“Yes, anything at all. Please let me help you.”

Père Voss was silent again. Matilda was about to try sitting up, to add wood to the fire, since he was still so cold she could feel his fingers over her hair, chilling through to her scalp, when he moved those fingers to her neck.

Everything turned, fast, and the world

ended

The village never knew what became of their beautiful priest. They found Matilda in the morning, lying with her neck broken in Père Voss’s bed, blood drying on her body, her clothing, the linens. The window was open, and none of the priest’s belongings had been taken.

They buried her behind the church. While Père Voss had baptized her at the start of her life, he was not present at the end to see her off.

Robert’s rib was fractured. It wasn’t enough to warrant panic, but the swelling in his side was cause for him to ice his entire torso once he got home that night, the culprit resting heavily in his pocket with the words TRY THAT AGAIN so easy to feel if he brushed his fingers over them. In the morning, having been awake for twenty-one hours straight, he drove to the hospital where he got advised not to do anything ‘strenuous’ for a few weeks. The fracture was very, very minor, but it showed up in the x-ray and the bruise was a real winner.

It only really started to hurt once he saw the x-ray, for some reason. Like the terror of Sigi himself had to make room, finally, for proof of an immediate injury. They gave him a metric tonne of painkiller prescriptions and strict orders not to go running or jumping or anything for a long while.

It wasn’t the first time he’d broken something. He was lucky, he supposed, for the window slowing the rock’s trajectory even briefly; otherwise he couldn’t have gotten back to the venue and fake being calm for another hour.

Robert took a cab home from the hospital, already sailing high on painkillers, and fell as slowly as he could into his bed for some drug-induced sleep aided by the exhaustion of too much adrenaline finally letting go. He woke up thirteen hours later, dry-mouthed, hungry, dizzy, bruised, and with one voicemail.

He nearly dropped his phone when Sigi’s voice poured from the speaker.

“Miriam was kind enough to send me your contacts. I was disappointed not to see you off last night; do hope you got home safely after your fourth cocktail. My schedule is clear next Thursday evening. I’ve made a reservation for eight o’clock at Erté. Be well, darling.”

Robert wasn’t sure he’d done anything to deserve the pet name. His stomach lurched and his rib ached; he forced down more painkillers and waited for them to kick in with his face hovering over the toilet before he dared wobble into the kitchen for a simple meal.

He’d been in plenty of tricky situations before, none of which had to do with a dinner date with a vampire. Or a very potential one. Or anyone half as sharp as Sigi, which was terrifying in its own particular way.

He had less than a week to get himself put together. For that amount of time, at least, he did his best to stick to the suggested no-strenuous-activity rule, although he spent most of that time swimming up to his ears in prescription drugs and half-conscious. Once the pain started to become bearable sober, Robert suffered through it so he could stay awake long enough to prepare.

These were the facts:

Sigi knew someone shot at him. Either dumb luck or scary-quick reflexes helped him avoid getting shot.

Someone had thrown a polished stone from inside the party through at least one window, if not two, across maybe a hundred yards, with enough momentum left over to crack a rib. If not Sigi… did he have a friend?

Robert snorted. Of course Sigi had a friend, he had hundreds of those. Just a glance at the room with Sigi present and you saw nothing but adoration.

It didn’t seem to fit that Stefan was the potential vampire, but maybe someone close to Sigi, if not Sigi himself…

The thing that threw off Robert’s certainty was the fact that he’d witnessed Sigi drink something that was definitely not blood on at least two occasions. Pink champagne and vodka; the second one Robert saw poured out by the bartender after being served to another guest. It mucked up his entire theory and left him wondering what exactly about Sigi made him fear for his life.

…Besides the fact that he’d always been anxious before a date.

God, this was going to be the worst date he’d ever been on. Definitely the scariest.

To be safe, he had to continue with the assumption that Sigi might be the only threat; he had less proof that the one he should be hunting was simply ‘a friend of Sigi’s’ and Robert couldn’t let his guard down. Sigi was a threat, nebulous, indefinable or not. Somehow.

Robert couldn’t prove it unless he caught Sigi chewing on somebody’s arteries.

Or…

There were some small things he’d kept on hand, to smoke them out while he hunted, but he hadn’t really had to use them in a while. The last few he’d hunted had been… a lot more forward. Already snapping their jaws at him. He hadn’t needed to be sneaky with those last few. But this time he could put these small traps to good use.

One of them, and possibly the most discreet at his disposal, was an alarm bell. It was very difficult for a human ear to catch; dogs and cats got nervous at the sound, and at most, a person with keen hearing would catch a faint squeal, almost like tinnitus. The woman who had given the alarm to Robert had very keen ears— she described it as ‘the sound of a television left on mute in the next room’. To a vampire, though, the tinnitus would become akin to nails on a chalkboard. Robert himself couldn’t hear it, but he’d seen dogs react to it.

He made sure to load the file properly onto his phone and set it as an alarm, then tested it out at the edge of the nearest dog park. He watched a pair of shelties abruptly find their way over to him, stare at him as though offended, then run in a loose circle around him before running much further away. Any other dogs to come near reacted instantly to the alarm, so Robert could go back home.

He rested for another day before he began cleaning his gear, preparing for a very discreet night of potential hunting. It would be smart to keep something on his person, in his coat, in case things went south. The alarm agitated some vampires; older ones kept their cool, but if Sigi was a young vampire he could lash out at the sound.

And if Sigi didn’t seem to hear it at all, then… Robert could stop hunting him. Pack up, go home, get some rest. Finish healing his busted rib.

If the alarm got a reaction, Robert had to start worrying. Really and truly. Defcon one.

No reaction, and Robert had enough proof that Sigi was just an eccentric. A very unsettling one, but human. Or at least not a vampire. Robert didn’t want to branch out beyond that.

Now with his dinner date set for the following night, Robert felt more mundane worries settle in and take precedence. He wished Sigi had told him whether there was a dress code or something. Robert suddenly realized that the place he was headed was goddamn expensive; if they didn’t just turn him away at the door for being underdressed, he’d have to pay an arm and a leg for anything off the menu.

Worry about that later, he told himself. He had emergency cash set aside. He supposed this counted as an emergency.

He made a point of taking it slow the day before the dinner. His ribs still hurt and he couldn’t inhale too deeply without feeling it, but at least there he knew what he was dealing with. He took a nap, ate well, washed up, scrubbed places that normally didn’t get scrubbed, distantly terrified of Sigi thinking him unkempt. He thought about shaving, but Sigi had said he liked the beard. He’d probably be pushing his luck if he shaved it off for the date.

And he didn’t want to go in already offending a potential threat.

…or maybe he sort of hoped Sigi meant it.

Robert really, really hated his job. He missed hunting deer. Regular old boring deer, when you didn’t worry about impressing it with your handsome beard before you shot at it.

D-Day sailed past before Robert even knew what was happening. He got ready on autopilot and found himself inside his car, parked outside Erté with ten minutes to spare.

He did one last quick check of his gear, all hidden in his jacket and pockets, then couldn’t find any reason to further delay. He set the alarm to go off in the next forty-one minutes.

At the door he felt that bowel-loosening terror he normally felt when faced with daunting social situations: he was underdressed. The foyer of the restaurant looked more expensive than everything Robert had ever owned, put together. Fuck the plan, he had to leave.

“I’m here under a friend’s reservation—” he heard himself saying, to his utter horror.

The woman by the door smiled and motioned him further in. “Ah, you must be Robert?”

Holy shit. For several reasons. Stunned by the clear implication that Sigi had described him to the staff and they were expecting him, Robert could only nod. She led him inside and he tried not to fuss with his clothes, which he’d thought earlier looked decent but now he believed too shabby to be seen in this lighting. The acoustics were the sort of discreetly muffled that made him think of banks and hotel lobbies.

She didn’t need to lead him to the table, since Sigi was immediately visible from the opposite end of the room. Robert followed her like a man being led to his execution.

Sigi stood when they approached. He wasn’t wearing the heels tonight, Robert noticed, not like that made much difference. He was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, grey silk tie fastened with a blue sapphire pin. A gold ring flashed on his hand as he offered it in greeting.

“Robert,” he purred, clasping his hand in strong fingers. “You look well.”

Robert tried not to think too much about the fact that this was indeed a date because there were absolutely no other guests sitting at this table, no extra chairs, and the surrounding tables were conspicuously empty. This entire half of the room was devoid of people.

It also struck Robert, from out of nowhere, that Sigi was exactly the sort of man to purposely reserve multiple tables in a very expensive restaurant in order to buy himself some small measure of privacy. He could tell the people at the nearest table, still far away, kept glancing sideways in Sigi’s direction.

Sitting now, Robert felt his fingers shake just for a moment as he glanced at the table setting. He was in a fancy restaurant. He wondered how good their cooks were. He wondered whether he’d be able to recreate anything off the menu at home later. If he lived through this.

“Anything to drink, sir?” the hostess asked, still hovering by their table.

Robert’s mind went blank. He knew almost nothing of drinks. “Oh, uh,” he said, glancing at Sigi for help and ready to just ask for water, to go with the glass of water already by his hand.

Sigi understood. “Two of the same, then,” he simply said, to which she nodded and left.

Robert could feel his pulse in his face now that he was technically alone with Sigi. “…so.”

Sigi smiled. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“I’m. You’re welcome. I mean.” Robert sipped his water and was impressed he didn’t dribble all over his beard. “I’m a bit shocked you invited me. In case you couldn’t tell.” Fuck it, go with what you know, he figured. He was anxious, Sigi knew he was crap at this already, he could win the guy over with his adorable terror.

It seemed to be the right idea. Sigi was still smiling. “I had an inkling. It’s not often I get to watch a ruggedly handsome individual quake in his boots over the wine menu.”

Robert had to bite his tongue to avoid shouting the words ruggedly handsome in disbelief. “Come on.”

“No, no, it’s quite entertaining. Don’t be embarrassed. Well… do be, since it’s precious, but don’t feel bad.”

“Did you ask me here tonight to watch me… do whatever this is?” Robert almost jumped when he realized their drinks had just arrived. It was either wine or champagne, he guessed, peering at the glass in front of him.

Sigi was already sipping his. Robert watched, noticed he’d swallowed. He wasn’t faking, and this— this was… “What… is this, again?”

Sigi managed not to make Robert feel like a complete idiot. “Château d’Yquem. Wine. I take it you’re not a connoisseur?”

“Not with drinks, no…” He sipped it, then figured he didn’t know what made a good wine or a bad one. It all tasted weird to him.

“What would you consider your area of expertise, then?”

“I cook a little.” That sounded pathetic. He had to elaborate. “I went to culinary school.”

“Oh? That’s a long way from freelance journalism. What happened?”

“Life sort of happened, I guess. I still cook for myself, at home… well, of course I do, everyone has to eat, but… you know. I cook.”

Sigi’s lip twitched into a hint of a smile. “I can’t cook. I think I could burn water.”

“It is technically possible to burn water, too. Salt water, anyway. Probably not in your garden variety kitchen, though…”

Sigi’s smile widened. “That sounds more my style. I was a chemist for a while.”

Robert paused. “Actually, I’ve been wondering…”

“Go on.” Sigi sipped his wine again, further mystifying Robert. Could vampires drink alcohol? Why would they want to?

“What is it that you do?” Robert felt Sigi’s eyes on him. He pressed on. “I mean, obviously, but, how do you have time for all of that? Do you really do all of that stuff?”

“All of ‘that stuff’?” Sigi repeated politely, wine glass poised near his mouth.

“Yes. All of that stuff.”

“Would you care to guess?” Sigi asked, red lips almost-smiling yet again.

Robert inhaled. “Well, I had to check Wikipedia, so you’ll forgive me if I’m missing anything? I know you hold lectures sometimes, you curate art galleries, you have a lipstick collection with your name literally on it, you narrate practically everything, and apparently now you were also a chemist once. How do you do all of that?”

“You’d like to know my secret?” Sigi asked, leaning forward. He lowered his voice. “I’m an insomniac.”

“Seriously?”

“Never a wink of sleep. Maybe a nap every twelve weeks, if I’m feeling lucky. You need a few hobbies or else you go mad.”

Robert tried to study Sigi’s flawless face and clear, steady eyes without going weak in every joint. “You do not look like a person suffering from lack of anything.”

Sigi sat back, looking playfully smug. “Flatterer.”

“It isn’t insomnia, though. I’m not that gullible.”

“Good thing you aren’t. I’m afraid I’ve no Earth-shaking secret, merely that I have too many interests and am too stubborn to give up on a project.”

“Do you really have that many doctorates?”

“I do.”

“Should I call you Doctor?”

“Is that what you like?” Sigi waited for the flush to spread over Robert’s face before he allowed himself another sip of wine. “‘Doctor’ feels petty. I don’t use it unless I need to impress someone. Usually men who don’t think I’m at all educated.”

That perplexed Robert. He frowned. “Who thinks you’re uneducated?”

Sigi laughed briefly. The sound made Robert’s insides twist in a not-entirely-unpleasant way. “You’d be shocked at what people will refuse to believe when presented with a pretty professional. I don’t often show up to play Who’s The Greater Expert In Their Field but, well, sometimes that’s the ice-breaker.”

“And I’m asking this as a guy who doesn’t follow celebrity news or… anything like that, really, but… what are you famous for?”

“I’m famous for looking the way I do. Plain and simple,” Sigi said as the server approached the table. He seemed genuinely amused by the question; Robert gathered few people bothered to ask him that. “When it’s difficult to go unnoticed, why not embrace infamy?”

Robert glanced at the menu for the first time and was shocked by how simple, and yet how interesting it looked. There weren’t very many items to choose from, but everything was a very carefully made dish. Robert was lost and confused, unable to pick one because he was curious about all of them.

He just noticed Sigi hadn’t looked at his menu at all, and handed it calmly to the server as he said, “Blue steak, thank you.” Robert looked and didn’t see that on the menu, but the server didn’t argue.

Robert picked something at random and made that his choice, blindly hoping it wouldn’t bankrupt him, and gave up his menu.

“So, Robert,” Sigi said as the server left. “What happened to make you leave culinary school so abruptly?”

Robert felt his stomach drop a little just thinking about it. “What makes you say that? Maybe it was a gradual, slow leaving.”

Sigi’s expression was potentially that of someone trying not to smile. It was hard to tell on his face. “You did your research. I did some of my own. I know who you’re working with at the moment, and it wasn’t difficult to ask Miriam about you. I was curious about your journalistic endeavours, you understand; I’ve made a point to avoid social outings with a certain type of writer, and given the places we ran into one another I wondered about your publications. Of course, I’ve also had more than my share of stalkers, so naturally I did a little… sifting.”

At the word ‘stalkers’, Robert tried not to react. Sigi had suspected, briefly, quite correctly, that Robert was specifically keeping an eye on him.

“I did notice you have a wide range of published works, but everything started within the same year. The same month. Nothing older than eleven years, and you’re not the typical sort to attend school for journalism and hit the ground running right after graduation, unless you attended school later than your peers, so I assumed a name change— in which case, well done— or a dramatic change in careers for reasons unknown.”

In the brief stunned silence that followed, Sigi added lightly, “I like learning and I’m thorough. Do indulge me.”

“Was that why you asked me to dinner?”

“No. I did this research after extending the invitation.”

“Well… thanks for the vote of confidence.” When Sigi watched him expectantly, Robert gave in. He felt queasy. “Dramatic change in careers. Big injury, had to leave school, start over after too long out of practice. Editing I can do from home, and writing articles was easy to fit in there.”

“I see. My condolences, for the injury.” Sigi finished his wine. The server was at the table again, unbidden, replacing that glass with a fresh one and filling it up. “Would you go back to culinary school if you had the chance?”

“I… wish I could. It was hard to leave; now I don’t know if I could handle getting back in. There was a lot of therapy. …Physical therapy, I mean.”

Sigi nodded. “A shame. I’d have loved to patronize your kitchen.”

For all the terror he inspired in Robert, Sigi was indeed a skilled conversationalist. He managed to get Robert talking about what he’d enjoyed most in school, which led to him explaining his favourite, more complicated recipes, and when Sigi asked— clearly very curious— what ‘braised’ technically meant, Robert had a chance to actually teach Sigi something new. It was a dizzying experience.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed when their meals arrived. Robert was enchanted by his plate, mentally cataloguing everything he could identify so he could attempt recreating it in his own kitchen sometime, and Sigi smiled serenely at the server as he cut into his steak.

Robert remembered his mission very suddenly when he watched Sigi lift a delicate piece of still-bloody meat to his lips, chew, and swallow. Without flinching. Robert was starting to despair. Sigi drank alcohol and ate steak— he must not be what Robert thought.

One in twelve, he mused glumly.

“Well,” Robert said, once he’d tasted everything on his plate, feeling slightly less jumpy now that he had sipped down half of his drink. It was going to be hard to act normal after his final realization regarding Sigi. Not a vampire. Not his problem. Definitely someone’s problem, but Robert had to accept defeat. “We’ve talked about my jobs, now I’m wondering. What was your first job?”

Sigi blinked, glanced down at his steak. “Goodness, it’s been a while.”

“A while? You look, what, thirty?”

“You really do need to stop flattering me, Robert. No, I’ve had so very, very many jobs.” With a quirk of his lips, lifting his glass again, Sigi added, “Catholic priest.”

Robert coughed on his mouthful of vegetables. That had not been a careful reaction. Now he didn’t have to think about forcing it. “What— really?”

“Yes.”

“…Really?”

“You don’t believe me,” Sigi observed, now definitely grinning, before he sipped what had to be his third glass of wine. “That was my first job. Technically I still am, depending on who you ask.”

“You aren’t exactly what I’d picture when I think of a priest.” Robert cleared his throat and wondered whether this was news to any of Sigi’s fans. “So why did you… leave it? Or focus on other things, anyway?”

“Life. Sort of happened.” Sigi’s grin was downright upsetting now. “Too many hobbies I couldn’t leave alone. I adored the arts too much, even for a devout Catholic.”

“Alright, then… what was your second job? Curator?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave some mysteries for a later meeting.”

“Oh, so you’re blackmailing me into another date? Sneaky.”

“Gracious, he’s found me out,” Sigi muttered into his glass. “I’m doomed.”

Robert was reeling from this new bit of information. Of course he’d already known that religion didn’t actually stop any vampires in their tracks, but Sigi wasn’t one, so he shouldn’t even be so stunned. It was certainly difficult to think Catholic priest while looking across the table at Sigi. At perfect, beautiful Sigi, lips painted a glimmering red, locks of shining blonde hair tumbling over his shoulder in thick curls… He tried to imagine Sigi with shorter hair, wearing robes, but he couldn’t.

He was definitely tipsy, he reflected, glancing at his glass of wine. He never really drank anything— he was a lightweight for someone his size. Meanwhile, by contrast, Sigi was serenely tasting his— what, sixth glass?— with no noticeable change in demeanour. How much of a weakling was Robert?

He was too busy puzzling over the thought of Sigi being a man of the cloth to think of much else for a minute. When Sigi spoke again, he had to apologize, ask Sigi to repeat the question.

“I was asking whether you can hear that,” Sigi said, a slight frown on his lovely face. “I didn’t want to say, after all perhaps you’re hard of hearing. I don’t want to be rude. Except…” Sigi pointed one long, beautifully immaculate nail directly at Robert’s left pocket. “Your cell phone has been… shrieking for the past eight minutes and twelve seconds.”

Robert could feel the colour drain from his face.

The alarm.

Oh, fuck almighty, the alarm.

Sigi could hear it.

#my writing #OC #sigi #vampire

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lyrics2world · 3 years

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Sharaab Lyrics - The Main Man

Sharaab Lyrics :-Latest punjabi song Sharaab Lyrics from The Main Man Movie.Song Sung by Gippy Grewal, Gurlez Akhtar & lyrics written by Happy Raikoti.Music given by Deep Jandu.This song published by Geet Mp3.

Sharaab Lyrics Details:-

Song: Sharaab Singer: Gippy Grewal, Gurlez Akhtar Lyricist,: Happy Raikoti Music: Deep Jandu Movie: The Main Man Music Label: Geet MP3

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Sharaab Lyrics

Deep jandu! Gippy grewal! Aa gaya ni ohin billo time! Saunkan ae mainu tan sharaab lagdi Peeni waise mainu vi kharaab lagdi Ve saunkan ae mainu tan sharaab lagdi Ho peeni waise mainu vi kharaab lagdi Ho lagdi kharaab tainu patt honeya Kyun dil nu machauna aggon kaalja machauna aan Peeke sharaab tera pyar aunda aan Ni ghar ja bulaunda aan Ho peg taan launa aan Peeke sharaab tera pyar aunda aan Ho ghar ja bulaunda aan Ho peg taan launa aan Kinna dukhi kitta marjaana sudharta hi nahi Na! Na! Na! Na! Aiddan reh gaya ae Ho pyar pyur nahiyon tere jhoothe aan bahane ve Mithe mithe aahi changge lagde aan taane ve Ho pyar pyur nahiyon tere jhoothe aan bahane ve Mithe mithe aahi changge lagde aan taane ve Ho sukkdi aan jaan meri jyon jogeya Ve kaaston satauna aan Tu kaaston satauna aan Ho peeke sharaab tera pyar aunda aan Ni ghar ja bulaunda aan Ho peg taan launa aan Peeke sharaab tera pyar aunda aa Ho ghar ja bulaunda aan Ho peg taan launa aan Ve kal backyard vich dekhi daru di main balti Yaar india ton aaya billo ohdi sigi party Ve kal backyard vich dekhi daru di main balti Yaar india ton aaya mera ohdi sigi party Ik saal vich ik ik jaane de Ve kinne birthday manauna aan Tu birthday manauna Ho peeke sharaab tera pyar aunda aan Ni ghar ja bulaunda aan Ho peg taan launa aan Peeke sharaab tera pyar aunda aan Ho ghar ja bulaunda aan Ho peg taan launa aan haaye haaye Banda ban ja banda Shut up! Ho 18-18 jane tu garage ch bitha ke ve Jhoothi.. 15 si oh din Ho 18-18 jane tu garage ch bitha ke ve Turr jaana kitchen tu order chala ke ve Happy raikoti wangu naal sohniye Main kaam vi karauna waan Ho kaam vi karauna waan Peeke sharaab tera pyar aunda aan Ni ghar ja bulaunda aan Ho peg taan launa aan Peeke sharaab tera pyar aunda aan Ho ghar ja bulaunda aan Ho peg taan launa aa haaye haaye Deep jandu! Gippy grewal! Aa gaya ni ohin billo time Ho peeke sharaab!

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Sharaab Lyrics Video

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#IFTTT #Blogger

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lyricsocean · 4 years

Link

Deep jandu! Gippy grewal! Aa gaya ni ohi billo time!

Saunkane aa mainu ta sharaab lagdi Peeni vaise mainu vi kharaab lagdi Ve saunkane aa mainu ta sharaab lagdi Oh peeni vaise mainu vi kharaab lagdi

Oh lagdi kharaab tainu patt honeya Kyun dil nu machauna aa Kyun kalja machauna aa Sunn ke!

Pee ke sharaab tera pyar aunda aa Ho karja balaunda aa Ho peg taan launa aa Pee ke sharaab tera pyar aunda aa Ho karja balaunda aa Ho peg taan launna aa

Burrrrh, burrrrh eh hey Enna dukhi kitta marjana sudharda hi ni Na na aa na na aida naa keh

lyricsbogie.com

Oh pyar pyur naiyo tere jhoothe aa bahane ve Mithe mithe aahi change lagde aa taane je Main keha pyar pyur naiyo tere jhoothe aa bahane ve Mithe mithe aahi change lagde aa taane je

Oh sukhdi aa jaan meri jeen jogeya ve Ve kaaston sataunda aa tu kaaston sataunda aa

Oh pee ke sharaab tera pyar aunda aa Ho karja balaunda aa Ho peg taan launa aa Pee ke sharaab tera pyar aunda aa Ho karja balaunda aa Ho peg taan launa aa

Burrrah ah Satayi payi aa main taan Tu te tere dostan ne Sharaabi kise thaan de

Ve kal backyard vich dekhi daaru di main balti Yaar india ton aaya billo ohdi sigi party Haa kal backyard vich dekhi daaru di main balti Ho yaar india ton aaya mera ohdi sigi party

Ik saal vich ek ek jane de ve kinne Birthday manauna aa tu birthday manauna aa

Oh pee ke sharaab tera pyar aunda aa Ni karja balaunda aa Ho peg taan launna aa Pee ke sharaab tera pyar aunda aa Ho karja balaunda aa Ni peg taan launna aa

Banda banja banda Shut-up!

Oh 18 – 18 janne tu garage ch baitha ke ve Jhoothi 15 si oh din 18 – 18 janne tu garage ch baithake ve Turr jana kitchen ch order chalake ve

Happy raikoti wangu naal sohniye Main kamm vi karauna wa Ho haan kamm vi karauna wa

Pee ke shraab tera pyar aunda aa Ni karja bulaunda aa Ho peg taan launa aa Pee ke shraab tera pyar aunda aa Ho karja bulaunda aa Ho peg taan launa aa

Bruuuhhh haa haa haa Khad teri taa boom haa Ve hatja hatja sharaab ne tainu kakh ni dena

Deep jandu Samajh gayi tu Gippy grewal Aa gaya ni ohi billo time Ho peeke sharaab!

The post Sharaab Lyrics – Gippy Grewal, Gurlej Akhtar – The Main Man appeared first on Lyrics Ocean.

#Lyrics #LyricsOcean

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ablogtocheck · 6 years

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Eurosport Germany/Deutschland is already annoying me with the anti Russian commentary and we have barely begun these games! So shut up, Sigi...please.

#Eurosport #Olympics #Olympic Games

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cthulhuofficial · 5 years

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Come back! Even as a shadow. Even as a dream.

Herakles, by Euripides, trans. Anne Carson

Lightsabers ignited, yellow and red. Mathildis Caron could see Ptolema's sword and shield glowing in her peripheral vision, but she knew the older Jedi wouldn't interfere unless she had to. This was Mathildis's final test before she joined the Guardians, and her success would be determined by herself alone.

They were on UR-2387, a planet within the Unknown Regions so desolate and barren that no one had yet bothered to name it more thoughtfully than a catalog number. From afar, the planet looked like it was covered in parched red soil, but in truth 98% of the planet was drowned in a boiling liquid so alkaline that the only creature that had yet found a way to survive it was the bacteria that gave it its crimson color. Pockets of grim black stone dotted the surface, and it was on one of these that Ptolema Vashti landed their small craft.

The Jedi had received intelligence that the Sith Order had discovered a cave containing kyberite on UR-2387 and dispatched someone to assess the purity of the veins. Both organizations were voracious consumers of the rare kyber crystals that grew out of the mineral; the crystals were used in the construction of lightsabers, the performance of rituals, and, if the legends were true, the ancient superweapons of the Sith. But before either moved in, the purity of the veins must be tested, and only a force-user could determine if it was true kyberite or its beautiful but worthless twin, ranite. The Jedis' nominal mission was to locate the cave; their true purpose was to locate the Sith.

The cave containing the crystals had been simple to find; both Ptolema and Mathildis had felt them resonating as soon as they'd dipped below the atmosphere of UR-2387. More difficult to pinpoint was the Sith Lord, especially over the "noise", but the crystals' power would draw him soon enough, if he was not already there. Mathildis led the way into the cave as Ptolema silently dogged her heels.

They walked in the dark, using the Force to guide their steps, following the crystals' vibrations past branching passages and yawning openings. Mathildis kept herself hidden from the greater web of the Force so the Sith would not sense their approach, but as they drew closer to the crystals, she found it more difficult to maintain her mental shield. The waves of Force rattled against her bones like a storm lashing at the windows of a house and she longed to let that power in; but she gritted her teeth and continued. A quick glance back at Ptolema revealed nothing of the Cerean's mind; she was expressionless as usual.

Miles into the cave system they found the kyberite veins. Mathildis had seen auroras before, the great ribbons of colored lights that marched across the night sky on some planets; the kyberite created a similar effect that felt almost stifling in the closeness of the cave. Crystals lined the walls like teeth in some monstrous maw, glowing green and gold, blue and amethyst. The dazzling sight was marred by one thing: the tall, thin form of a black-robed man standing in the cave. The Sith Lord was already here.

He turned at their entrance, drawing and igniting his lightsaber; the red of the blade was a bleeding wound against the dancing colors of the kyberite. Mathildis ignited hers in response, its amber light glowing brighter than ever amid its brethren. She settled into a combat stance and prepared for her test.

The Jedi had given their parents a good price for Mathildis and her brother. The pile of credits Morroc had laid on the table was far more than they would have gotten from a slaver. Then, while their mother and father looked on helplessly, she and Sigi packed their few possessions and left their childhood home. Little Sigi sobbed and dragged his feet, clinging to Mathildis as they walked down the path. He was three so he could cry; Mathildis had just had her fifth birthday, and she told herself that she was too old for tears.

As Morroc hailed a cab, he spoke to them about the Jedi temple on Coruscant where they would go to school. If they worked hard and studied, he told them, they could wield lightsabers and become great heroes like Nomi Sunrider and Yoda. He spoke casually, but Mathildis, who had always had a knack for sensing the emotions of those around her, sensed the distraction behind his words; Morroc seemed to be looking for something. She looked around as well, although the streets of Corellia were the same as they’d always been: gray thoroughfares stretched as far as the eye could see beneath the dense haze of steam and smoke, and the air resounded with the creak of metal and the shouts of the shipyard laborers.

Sigi’s cries subsided listening to Morroc’s descriptions of their future home; there was honey in the Jedi’s voice that lulled like a warm blanket draped about the shoulders, and by the time the cab dropped them off at a local spaceport, Sigi was quietly holding Mathildis' hand. Morroc guided them to a small triangular ship in a dimly-lit private berth. Both of Mathildis' parents worked for the Corellian Engineering Corporation, and Mathildis knew enough of their trade to see that the craft was built for speed.

A sound behind her tore her gaze from the ship - like the hiss of steam, but accompanied by a deep thrumming that she felt in her marrow. Mathildis whirled. In the gloom of the berth stood a hooded figure in a black robe, holding a red lightsaber.

"Sith vultures," Morroc spat. He had already ignited his lightsaber in response, and it glowed with bright green light. The warriors came together, their sabers meeting in a clash. "Hide!" Morroc yelled as he parried a series of attacks too fast for Mathilidis to follow.

She half-pulled, half-carried Sigi towards the door leading out of the private dock. He was crying again and wouldn't take his eyes off the battle behind them. They were only yards from the door when it slammed shut, cutting off their only egress. Before she could react, she and her brother were yanked off their feet as though an invisible barrier had pushed them backward.

Sprawled on her back, she noticed the second Sith. Dressed in the same flowing black robes as the first, she emerged from the darkness and swooped down on them. Morroc's head snapped towards them as hard hands grasped the childrens' arms, pulling them towards the door which reopened just as suddenly as it had closed. The children both screamed as Morroc charged to engage the new opponent, swinging his saber in a heavy overhead strike that forced the Sith to drop Mathildis and Sigi so she could ignite and raise her own blade to parry. Sabers whirled over the childrens' heads, and they crawled away to avoid being trampled in the combat.

Hidden behind a cargo crate, Mathildis covered Sigi's eyes and hugged him to her as she peeked over to watch the battle. Then several things happened at once. Morroc landed a blow, shearing the second Sith in half in a stroke. Sigi was wrenched from her. The red saber that belonged to the dead woman clattered to the ground, blade still crackling. Sigi cried "Mattie!" and she watched, paralyzed, as the surviving Sith disappeared through the door with her brother. The air smelled of cooked meat.

She howled as Morroc pulled her up from the ground and jostled her toward the ship. She howled as he buckled her into a jumpseat and she howled as the small craft took to the air. She howled until Morroc shushed her. "Come, girl, stop crying. I need to make my report," he said gently.

He flipped some switches on the dashboard and made contact over the ship's transceiver. "Morroc here. I was ambushed. Two Sith. They had to have been following me." He spoke calmly, but Mathildis could see he was gripping the ship's controls so tightly his knuckles were bloodless. "I lost the boy."

Whoever was on the other end of the communication began questioning Morroc about the attack, but the growing roar in Mathildis’ ears drowned out their voices. Her brother was lost. Her parents had told her to always take care of him, yet he had been torn from her arms. She had failed her family.

"You didn't even try to save him," she accused, interrupting Morroc's report. Morroc glanced back at her, not even pausing in his wrap-up. He bade the voice on the other end farewell and ended the communication. For a long time, he said nothing and Mathildis feared he was ignoring her. Finally, he spoke.

"No, girl, I didn't."

"Why not?"

"What was I to do with you while I was hunting down the Sith? What if there was more than one remaining? Any risk I took could mean losing you as well."

"What if I wanted to go with my brother?"

Morroc pressed a button on the dashboard display and checked something there. "There are worse things in the world than being separated from your family."

"How would you know?"

"Because I was taken away from my own family and brought to the Jedi Temple when I was no older than you. If the Jedi hadn't found me first, the Sith would have. Few survive that education. I know your pain, girl, but this is the way things are. It was done to me, and in turn, I do it to others. At least I am in a position to understand their feelings." He paused. "Two force-sensitive children in the same location is a rare prize. Little wonder the Sith turned out in force. An error on our part. I apologize."

Mathildis could feel the bone-deep ache in Morroc's voice and her grief prevented her from saying more during the long ride to Coruscant.

#a writes #i think these parts are complete #/#//#star wars

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chalk-reverie · 4 years

Conversation

Jel: I told you, not to open your shit up!

Joyce: I am sorry, I thought this time, all will be okay.

Jel: Okay? Akala mo magiging okay lang lahat when you trust too much? Nakita mo naman hindi ba? Noon nag-team up kayo, she just rephrase your words at parehas lang yung idea. Look now, she twisted your words into something na makakasama sa image mo!

Joyce: I just gave her a chance! Inintindi ko lang naman siya na baka kailangan niya ng tulong. Tingnan mo naman kalagayan niya, may tatay siyang barumbado, mga kapatid na walang pake, at mga kaibigan na walang kwenta. I tried to help and help her heal from it, kasi I know what it feels.

Jel: Yes, and I agreed to that, pero intindihin mo din naman na kailangan mo din maghilom. I am also concern for our state, 2 years pa lang naman tayo at alam mo naman na hindi pa tayo tapos lumaban sa sarili nating mga demonyo! Hindi mo kailangan magpakatanga sa kanya at intindihin pa siya palagi dahil may sarili din tayong problema. Kaya iwan mo muna sila at sa lahat ng hindi nakakaintindi sa iyo. If we need to shut them out of our life and emotions then do it.

Joyce: Ang hirap pala kapag masyado kang mabait sa kapwa mo. :( I try to understand her situation and all pero hindi din naman siya nakikinig sa akin eh. Sinubukan natin na ipaliwanag sa kanya sitwasyon natin pero tinarantado lang tayo. Nakakalungkot lang.

Jel: I told you, may karapatan tayo na magalit sa kanya. Nanghusga agad siya sa nararamdaman mo, tapos ano? Ang lakas pa niyang mangromanticise? Is it Love or Possesive shit lang siya? Gago hah.

Joyce: HEY! Watch it! Baka naman love as a friend...

Jel: DUH?! Ni hindi nga niya makuha point natin na as a platonic friend. You know what we should set limits. We will never show any emotion again, nor give any positive nor negative comment. Just be neutral to everything. Walang reklamo, or opinion. Pero siyempre kapag groupings, magparticipate ka ha, yung mga one on one conversation lang, try to avoid them and be boring. Maybe... just for a week...

Joyce: Sigi, I'll try. I'll be neutral as I can.

#Selfconvo #stories

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frostsinth · 4 years

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The Bard’s Bounty - Pt. 3

Part(s) 1 | 2

The camp is attacked, and Iara has to make a quick choice; save herself or her bounty?

Part three! Hope everyone is still enjoying. It’s fun to write their banter. The next part it pretty juicy, so please like and comment to let me know you want another update!

I stiffened suddenly, but it wasn’t at his words. Another sound had filtered to my ears; the soft snap of a branch tread underfoot. I heard Goda give a soft rumbling whicker from deep in her chest followed by a deep huff. She could smell them too.

Slowly, I slid my hand to the dagger in my boot, calculating exactly how many strides away the saddle with my sword was. And how quickly I could get there.

....

Swiftly, I sprung up, throwing my blanket off myself and slashing with my dagger at the same time. The man who had been looming over me dodged back with a yelp, barely parrying my weapon with his own. He readjusted quickly though, and thrust his sword toward where I had been.

But I was already gone.

I tucked into a roll, coming up by the saddle and deftly lifting the flap and drawing my sword in the same fluid motion. Balam gave a muffled shout, and I instinctively twisted and flicked my wrist, sending my small dagger shooting out at the other attacker making a run for the orc on the ground. She deflected the whistling dagger and fell to the side.

I had to raise my sword up to block another blow from the man, and staggered a few steps back into the firelight. My attacker followed, and the glow of the flames filled his face. My eyes narrowed and I bared my teeth.

“Varius!” I snapped, my snarl caught in my throat.

The half-elf grinned, trying to slip another blow past my defenses. I parried the attack, and lunged forward, forcing him back on his heels. Goda whinnied loudly, stamping her hooves.

I dropped low, hearing the whizzing sound before I had even registered it fully. The arrow zipped harmlessly by, and I shot a glance over my shoulder. The woman had already notched another arrow, and brought the string to her cheek.

“Iara.”

“Sigi.” My eyes glared at her through slits, then back at Varius. “This is my bounty. Back off.”

Varius twirled his sword deftly with his wrist. “It’s not yours until the gold’s in your pockets, Iara, you know that,” He shrugged his shoulders casually, “Nothing personal.”

“No honor among thieves I guess,” Grumbled Balam, his chin still plastered to the ground.

“Shut up.” I snapped at him, never taking my eyes off the pair.

Goda snorted and huffed, pacing anxiously in place, head bobbing. Sigi slowly side stepped, placing herself at a perpendicular angle to her partner, and laughed, tossing her short blonde curls back out of her face.

“You always make your life so difficult-” She kept the arrow trained on me as she moved- “The bounty is just as high if he’s dead.”

“One head is much easier to bring in than the whole body,” Agreed Varius, swaying back and forth as he tested his balance.

I watched him carefully, adjusting my stance slowly to mirror his. All the while keeping one eye on Sigi.

“Hey, I have an idea, why don’t you-”

“I said shut up!” I snapped at Balam again as he struggled to try and lift himself from his prone position on the ground.

Varius’ smirked, tapping the side of his sword teasingly against mine. “Hey, does that little enchantment of yours still hold if his head’s been severed?”

“Can’t imagine it does,” mused Sigi, her face mirroring her partner’s, “Magic doesn’t know what’s part of the body. Clothes can come off. They are not under the spell.”

“Makes sense,” Varius nodded, and pretended to lunge a little. I wasn’t fooled, and stood my ground. He grinned. “Can’t control what’s not attached.”

“I-I mean, there’s no guarantee to that-” Balam protested.

“We can also take her hand too,” Sigi proposed darkly, ignoring him, and I heard the string on her bow stretch a little further, “Then we could be sure.”

With little warning, Varius suddenly sprung forward, blade slashing. I dodged and parried, dropping to one knee. I heard the arrow whistle past my ear now, as I knew it would, and quickly moved before she could notch another. Gritting my teeth, I spun, parrying another blow and sweeping in with one of my own to force Varius around to my other side. Blocking Sigi from a clear shot.

“Let me up!” Balam growled, “Creator’s ass, girl, let me up!”

“Quiet!” I snapped, leaping up and over his legs splayed out behind me as Varius darted back in.

The half-elf was quick. I was constantly on my toes, dancing away from him and barely managing to keep the tip of his sword away from my body. I was able to get a few counter attacks in, but between his flurry of attacks and constantly having to drop out of stance to dodge arrows, I was lucky just to still be standing. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, and my mind raced with possible escapes. I could get to Goda easily. And I was certain I would be able to ride fast enough to dodge any pursuant arrows or daggers. But not with the orc. The enchantment was not strong enough to move him quickly anywhere.

I gritted my teeth stubbornly and caught the brunt of Varius’ next attack full on. The force of the blow sent a shock wave rippling through my arms. But I held my stance, pushing back. Varius grinned, baring down harder, bringing himself closer.

“So stubborn, Iara,” He hissed in my face, “Don’t you know when to just give up?”

I gave him a coy smile. “Funny, I was just going to tell you the same thing.”

“Hello! Still stuck here!” Balam called, having been ignored throughout the deadly exchange. His brow was slick with sweat from his struggling.

“Shut it, meat sack,” Sigi snarled at him, “We’ll deal with you soon enough.”

“You’re not taking him anywhere!” I shot back, finally breaking out of the struggle with Varius. I managed a few quick jabs which had him dancing backwards, laughing. “His bounty’s mine!”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“If I had a choice, I’d pick the lady who keeps my head on my shoulders.” Balam chimed in.

“Oh do you ever shut up??” Snapped Sigi, turning her bow on him.

I used her brief distraction as an opportunity, shoving forward. Slipping around Varius’ defenses, I even managed to land a glancing blow as I jumped back over the orc. The half-elf’s exclamation of surprise had his partner swinging back around, but she had to jump to the side to avoid being knocked over by him as he staggered backward. I put myself between them and Balam, sword at the ready.

“He really doesn’t.” I replied, spreading my feet to shoulder width. I managed a quick glance over my shoulder at the orc. “Get to Goda.” I told him very softly, under my breath.

I could only hope he heard me, because I didn’t wait for a response. Instead, I took the chance of my lifetime, and lifted the enchantment. Then I lunged forward, sweeping my sword back and forth. Stabbing, parrying, and counter attacking as fast as I possibly could.

Varius was still nursing the wound on his shoulder as I attacked, and so was not quite so quick as I was at dodging blows. He staggered forward with a weak thrust, and I deflected it easily, side stepping. Still he managed to turn, adjusting his feet to lunge forward again with more precision. He gave a shout as an arrow suddenly shot past, barely missing his pointed ear. I knocked the off balanced shot aside, but sacrificed my defense against the half-elf, who charged back in. I knocked back two blows, staggering backwards. But Sigi had turned her aim, and I didn’t need to hear Goda whinnying loudly behind me to figure out her new target.

I jumped, shoving back Varius and leaping into the sight line of his partner. The arrow clipped my arm as it deflected off my sword, but I didn’t have time to register the cut. Varius was already moving again.

I saw the blow coming, and knew I couldn’t dodge it. Not completely. For a moment, the world moved in slow motion, and I just couldn’t move my arm fast enough. I down thrust and swept out, knocking the blow off center. I couldn’t stifle the cry as the edge of his sword cut deep into my side.

Varius fell through the blow, falling forward with a few unbalanced steps as his body followed the course of his sword. He had put too much strength behind it, expecting it to connect with something solid. As his head passed by, I bared down with the pommel of my sword down as hard as I could. I heard a satisfying CRACK, and the man crumpled to the ground.

Sigi was shouting, screaming really, but I couldn’t hear her. A huge, thick arm had wrapped about my waist and yanked me off my feet.

For half a second, I struggled, until I saw Goda’s head, and her front legs churning towards Sigi. The woman dived to the side, clipping the huge bay mare’s flank as she fell. She went spinning, tumbling down the small hill into the roots of the tree.

The blow didn’t slow us, and with a grunt, Balam lifted me fully onto my mount’s back. His hands were half curled up in the reins, half in Goda’s black mane, and he clung to me fiercely as the mare plunged forward.

Wind whistled in my ears as we moved, and I struggled to get my bearings. Wriggling, I managed to mostly right myself on the horse, but found that I was still encased in the orc’s huge arms. His chest was hot at my back, and it was the best I could do to cling to Goda as best I could and try not to fall off. I couldn’t see anything between the bobbing head in front of me and the thick arms around me. Branches snapped and cracked around us as the bay mare charged through the forest. Her powerful legs churned beneath her, and I heard her strong breath coming in rhythmic huffs.

We rode for what felt like days, but I knew it was likely my pounding head that registered the passage of time so poorly. Finally, Goda seemed to tire, and slowed, tossing up her head and panting.

“Good girl,” breathed the orc, patting her flank in relief.

I didn’t register much of anything else. My head was beginning to swim and my eyes rolled back into my head. I struggled, fighting against the sensation, forcing my eyes open. The heat from behind me disappeared, and I heard a grunt. But I swayed, without the support behind me, and felt myself begin to fall to the side.

“H-hey!” Came a shout, and I blinked through the fog.

“I always knew you would fall for me.” Balam teased.

...

UPDATE: Part Four HERE

#orc #orcs #orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend #dnd #OC #update #The bard's bounty #enemies to lovers #slow burn #romance #exophilia #terato

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365footballorg-blog · 6 years

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LA Galaxy wary of surging Seattle Sounders ahead of Saturday's clash

USA Today Sports Images

August 17, 20186:48PM EDT

CARSON, Calif. — The LA Galaxy have taken points in 11 of their last 12 games to vault into playoff position in the Western Conference, but they’re reeling a tad, allowing leads to disappear in a loss and two draws over the last two weeks, and head into Saturday afternoon’s meeting with the Seattle Sounders (4 pm ET | ESPN — Full TV & Streaming Info) missing five starters, including all three Designated Players and star striker Zlatan Ibrahimovic.

Brian Schmetzer’s team is streaking, with five straight victories and an eight-game unbeaten streak, and they’ll be brimming with confidence in the critical Western showdown.

The Sounders are following the path that took them to the last two MLS Cups: Start slow, bring in some midseason additions, then take off on the sprint.

Galaxy head coach Sigi Schmid is well-versed in Seattle’s start-slow-finish-strong trend: He was fired as Sounders coach two years ago, just before they started on their tear toward the MLS Cup title.

He sees parallels with this year’s Sounders team.

“They’ve done a good job in terms of always bringing in pretty good reinforcements at midseason,” said Schmid, who was in charge of Seattle from their 2009 MLS debut through July 2016 and started his second stint as Galaxy coach not quite 13 months ago. “[Forward] Raul Ruidiaz is a good reinforcement, and they brought in [Brad] Smith, the fullback they signed. So they found a couple of good pieces to add to their team.”

Ruidiaz, a Peruvian standout signed as a Designated Player from Morelia in late June, has bolstered an attack that suffered from the absences of Jordan Morris and then Clint Dempsey. Smith, an Australia-born left back acquired last week on loan from Bournemouth, provides heady play on the flank but is listed as questionable for the match.

They follow in the footsteps of playmaker Nico Lodeiro, the catalyst of the championship run two years ago, and Kelvin Leerdam, who shored up the right-back post before last year’s march into the final.

Lodeiro is in strong form this summer, and he’s contributed five goals — three from the penalty spot — and three assists during the current unbeaten streak.

“With Clint Dempsey being injured, they miss, obviously, a very talented, quality player,” Schmid noted before LA flew Thursday afternoon to Seattle. “But with him being out, it simplifies their game, because their game runs through Lodeiro. Everybody knows the ball’s going to go to Lodeiro, it’s not going anywhere else, and everybody makes their movement off of that.”

That’s no secret, but slowing him down isn’t so simple.

“We’ve just got to stop their No. 10,” midfielder Sebastian Lletget said. “Lodeiro is always going to be [pivotal] man for them. He’s always been that guy they go to. So as long as we shut him down and we’re tight on him, and we have guys who can do that. I think we’ll be OK.”

That assignment will fall primarily to holding midfielder Perry Kitchen and whoever partners him — Servando Carrasco is likely — in place of injured Jonathan dos Santos in an expected 4-2-3-1 alignment.

Schmid spoke to Lodeiro on WhatsApp, he said. “I said take it easy on us.”

Stay connected: The all-new, completely redesigned, FREE official MLS app is your best mobile source for scores, news, analysis and highlights. Download: App Store | Google Play

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LA Galaxy wary of surging Seattle Sounders ahead of Saturday's clash was originally published on 365 Football

#ahead #clash #Galaxy #Saturday&039s #Seattle #Sounders #surging #wary

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im-just-a-pixel · 7 years

Text

Pixel lies awake on her bed, staring at the ceiling in another failed attempt at sleeping off a headache. It’s not like this was a new occurrence, as the pain in her head had been visiting her several times a month for as long as she can remember. Lately though, the faint throbbing in her skull has increased its appearance to several times a week and escalated from a dull background pain to something a bit less easily ignored.

Rolling out of bed, she heads downstairs for some warm tea or something else to help soothe the growing headache.

“Diane?” She calls out to the seemingly empty house, searching for her surrogate caretaker. “Hey robo-mom, I need some help!”

A figure rounds the corner into the kitchen, stopping a few feet away from where Pixel’s standing by the microwave heating up a mug of water. “You are in need of assistance?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna try asking this again, even though I know you’re just gonna give me the same answer you always do, but do you recommend anything for headaches?” She sounds like she’s repeated the same line numerous times before.

“Aspirin or Ibuprofen would-”

“We’ve been over this already, they don’t work. Got anything else?” The microwave beeps and she takes out the cup, bobbing the tea bag around in it a few times before going for the sugar.

“Please list any and all current and/or recent symptoms.” The voice is almost too robotic for the cheerful human-like image the android wears. It was Pixel’s decision to turn down the realism a while back, when she started to feel bad about her frustration towards these interactions.

“Head pain, obviously, irritability due to head pain, and um…” she thought back to her recent interaction with Sigi and the confusion it had brought, “… temporary memory loss.” She waits a moment for Diane’s usual guess of hormonal changes or something else similarly as embarrassing. Instead, the bot turns around and walks out of the kitchen without a word.

A bewildered expression crosses Pixel’s face as she watches Diane leave, figuring maybe she finally grew smart enough to grow tired of these repetitive question-and-answer sessions, before she returns a moment later with a small bottle of what seemed to be pills. “I told you already, that stuff doesn’t-”

“Dose prescribed by Admin 1.”

Pixel freezes for a moment. She lives alone. She doesn’t ever remember anyone else living in the same house, all of the belongings and tech has been here probably since before she has…

“Diane, who’s Admin 1…?”

“Classified.”

“Who’s Admin 1.”

“Classified.”

She lets out a frustrated sigh before taking the bottle and inspecting it. There is a paper label on it, the text in a smaller, messier version of her own handwriting. She takes a closer look, bringing the bottle close to her face. The label reads ‘For when the headaches get bad. -Take 1′.

The pain was growing a bit sharper now, like someone stabbing a dull knife into the base of her skull. Against her better judgement, she twists the cap open and shakes a pill out into her hand, desperately hoping this wasn’t some cruel joke someone was playing on her from afar. Her anxiety begins to flare up and she’s shaking, worried about what the headaches might mean.

Pixel downs the pill and sets the rest of the bottle down on the counter, sliding herself down onto the floor before the shaking has the chance to get worse. The possibilities of what she’s just done are racing through her head, sending her into a panic. Before she can think of anything else, the pain begins to subside, fading completely.

Slowly she calms down, uncurling from her position on the cold tile, completely exhausted by what she just put herself through. She looks pitiful, small frame lying somewhat limp, eyes drooping shut. “H-hey Diane… could you carry me to bed?” The android walks over and picks her up off the floor, carrying her like a child up the stairs. She’s sound asleep before Diane reaches the top.

#a mind forgotten #(its like 5am and im too tired to write properly)#(sorry if it sucks)

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thisbookisaboutmonsters · 7 years

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Sigi, pt 1

and here it is, the beginning of my new vampire nonsense! i am having... SO much fun, you guys. it’s been a while since i’ve been able to sit down and focus on writing enough for it to become an actual project. i have PLANS.

part 1 under the cut! i don’t have any specific content warnings apart from this story being generally for mature or non-squeamish audiences. the usual stuff you can expect from a story with vampires in it.

Their first notice of his impending visit came in the form of a technician, changing the lights in the museum.

“Dimmers?” Greta demanded, baffled. “They’re already on dimmers! What happened to the last system?”

The technician shrugged from the top rung of his ladder, with his hands inside the ceiling fixtures. “Hey, don’t ask me. Your boss says you need the highest-quality dimmers. Something about a celebrity guest.”

The boss was frantic, moving as quickly as she could without running, bouncing between galleries and exhibits as though she hadn’t slept all night. Greta nearly got trampled on her way to the locker room. No one seemed to know, or want to believe, who their guest might be. No one dared interrupt the boss for an explanation until she finally ran out of things to fuss over, admitting defeat.

“Sigi,” she said finally, when someone demanded to know, and once they’d caught her sitting still.

That sent a ripple of silence through the nearby staff. Even the technician upstairs paused when someone passed on the news. Everyone had heard of Sigi. Three of the employees were familiar with his cosmetics line. One of them was even wearing his signature shade, and immediately worried about whether she dared continue to wear it today— what if it did not flatter her as much as she hoped? What if she offended him?

Greta didn’t care much for celebrities but even she knew who Sigi was. She wondered whether this was fame or infamy. She wasn’t particularly fond of him; she assumed he must be no different from other people around her, and she was sure he must be a lovely individual, but she was sick of hearing of him.

He owned a line of cosmetics that was known in particular for its lipstick, which he himself was never seen without; he spent money as though he was more eager to be free of it than to ever have too much of it; he collected artwork and priceless artifacts in his spare time; he was never out of the public eye, always in the news.

Possibly most intimidating for the museum staff was the fact that Sigi, on top of all this, was also a fairly big name in archeology and natural sciences. He didn’t look like he’d spent any time becoming any sort of specialist, and yet he’d made several appearances in very well-researched documentaries as a guest speaker. It was never made too clear what his specialty was, exactly, but he gave lectures every few months at a certain university and was considered ‘honorary faculty’.

Everyone at the museum was nervous now, including the technician, who privately worried whether Sigi might also be a bit of an electrician in his spare time. He didn’t want to find out Sigi had found his skills wanting.

Greta asked one of her fellow guides, in an undertone, “Why do we need better dimmers for Sigi?”

The other guide, a very young woman who definitely followed entertainment news more closely than Greta did, replied in her own soft voice: “He’s paying for them. He said he wouldn’t visit if we hadn’t updated to the right system.”

That made Greta dislike him even more. What an arrogant man. Horrible, what too much money did to people.

It puzzled her how frightened people seemed once they knew who their guest would be. Greta made it her own private goal for the day to not be nearby when Sigi arrived; she’d rather avoid all the nonsense.

To her chagrin, the boss asked her personally to lead Sigi through the exhibits. “You’re more calm than Eva is today and you know more about the pieces he wants to look at.”

Greta wanted to refuse, but the boss mentioned she would receive a bonus for handling this well— ‘as you always do’— and helping the staff look their best. Greta had to humbly accept that she herself would stoop to anything for a little more money, even after her contempt for wealthy, arrogant people.

But she wasn’t going to use that extra money to force a museum to re-fit their lighting scheme, she reminded herself.

Sigi arrived promptly at noon. His personal assistant left the car first, walked to the front door and leaned inside to ask whether everything was ready. Greta, waiting inside with the boss, the curator, and the assistant curator, felt her dislike of Sigi coil up within her once more.

Sigi unfolded himself from the car and opened a black umbrella, although it was not meant to rain today. It wasn’t even very cloudy.

Greta’s first impression of him up close was how unusually tall he was. She had never really noticed it in pictures before. In person, it was a little jarring. She’d pictured him closer to average.

Inside the lobby, with the main doors shut behind him, he closed the umbrella and passed it to his personal assistant. He removed his sunglasses and handed those over, as well, without a glance at his companion.

Greta’s stomach lurched, then pinched.

She had never cared enough to really look at him in pictures. She’d never been interested in men who were too soft around the edges. These days people were different, a much greater variety was becoming commonplace, but Greta still preferred her men to be rough, with calloused fingers and bristling beards. Sigi was absolutely nothing like what Greta found most appealing, and yet she could not take her eyes away from him.

He wore his hair long and curling, almost white against his marble-pale complexion. His lips were painted the deep blue-red of arterial blood. His figure was slender and lithe, his posture as graceful and serene as a dancer’s. His eyes were a clear, calm blue framed in long, pale lashes. His fingernails were sharp and red. He was absolutely everything that Greta did not seek out in a man, all put together in a single person, and he was astounding.

Greta suddenly understood why everyone else on staff today was so petrified: Sigi’s beauty was the stuff of nightmares. He was so stunning that it filled her with terror.

The boss took a moment to find her voice. “Good afternoon, Mister Siegfried, and welcome…”

He smiled at the boss, in Greta’s general direction, and Greta’s insides clenched all at once. It was like God had singled them out, just in that moment. “Thank you for having me. I appreciate what you’ve done with the lights.”

As though he hadn’t paid for them himself.

“And please. Sigi will do.” He slipped out of his voluminous black coat and dropped it on his personal assistant’s arm. As he stepped further inside Greta suddenly noticed he wore heeled shoes, much taller than anything she found comfortable. It baffled her that anyone so tall would feel it necessary to add another six inches like this.

“Sigi, this is Greta. She would be delighted to lead you on your private tour.”

Greta thought for the most horrifying moment of her life that she might wet herself. Sigi was smiling directly at her, looking into her eyes, and she had never felt such undefined, powerful terror before. Did she want to impress him because he was beautiful? Did she feel inadequate standing so close to him? Perhaps later, once she’d gone home for the day and taken a hot bath, she could begin to figure out exactly why her stomach hurt when Sigi looked at her.

“It is a delight to meet you, Greta.” Sigi’s voice was just as beautiful as his face, with more of an accent than she herself had these days. She realized something about his accent reminded her of family she had lost when she was still young, an older generation long before hers. Sigi, of course, did not look half so old.

Greta was ashamed to hear herself stammer as she responded. “Please, follow me. I’ve been told you’re eager to see the third-floor exhibits…”

“Not entirely,” he said coolly, falling into step beside her. She shuddered when she noticed he was close enough to brush his arm against hers, however briefly. “I do have one exhibit in mind. I’ve an eye on something in your collection.”

Then Greta realized why he was here. He was going to buy something, or wave money around and expect to get his way. She felt childish triumph then, knowing how stingy her boss could be about even loaning pieces to other museums.

“Shall I lead you through our collection?” she asked, daring to glance up, way up, at that grotesquely flawless face. She expected to see hints of makeup hiding something less desirable, makeup other than the very obvious lipstick, but was dismayed to find she couldn’t tell whether he was covering his face or whether he was actually this perfect.

“If you would be so kind. I would love to hear your take on things.”

Greta led him and his personal assistant to the third floor, to one exhibit in particular. The boss and curator and assistant curator followed at a polite distance, waiting for the elevator to come back down for them rather than crowd Sigi. Greta suspected they liked the brief chance to be free of him, even if they were more openly adoring of him.

The exhibit was a carefully chosen selection of ancient scientific tools, paintings, and any sort of medical oddity preserved from the appropriate time period. The most common items in the exhibit were archaic forms of burners, tongs, magnifying glasses, and the like from early in the Age of Enlightenment. There were paintings, portraits made of scientific minds of the era. And in the centre of the exhibit, in a tasteful little semi-private nook, were nestled about ten specimens in glass jars, and one mummified eight-year-old child.

Greta led him through the exhibit as she would anyone else, taking note of when Sigi looked slightly impressed. She couldn’t help but feel intense pride when his expression altered even slightly, as though she’d won at some secret game for teaching him something. She wondered how extensive his schooling truly was.

When they approached the little nook, Sigi seemed more drawn to the specimens than the rest of the exhibit thus far. Greta told him about where the specimens had been made and when, what they were suspended in, everything. She explained more about the items than she normally would for a general tour, knowing how keen he was on them. She noticed she desperately wanted to impress him, more than ever, now that he was very visibly intrigued rather than politely curious.

With everyone presently in the exhibit watching Sigi, it was painfully clear he only had eyes for the mummified child.

Greta didn’t get very far telling him her story. She got to her age, saying she was very likely born in 1648, when Sigi interrupted.

“I must have her.”

Greta waited for the boss to step in with her usual talk of the museum pieces not being available to loan out or purchase, but was surprised when she heard nothing from that half of the room. She glanced over at the boss, standing in the far doorway, nodding beside the curator.

Sigi kept his eyes on the glass case containing the girl’s body. She was a very well-preserved mummy for her age; she still had her soft, shiny brown hair, and her face was plump enough for one to imagine she had only just gone to sleep. They had had to do extensive MRIs to confirm that she was, in fact, a preserved body, and not just a cleverly made doll.

The boss was very proud of this acquisition, and here she was, ready to sell the girl to Sigi at a moment’s notice.

Greta tried not to feel personally affronted by the fact that Sigi was going to get his way, after all. This had nothing to do with her. She was going to be paid extra for the day, anyway. It wasn’t her mummy to sell.

All of Greta’s sour feelings fled, however, when Sigi turned his delighted smile upon her. If his polite smile in the lobby had hurt to look at, this one caused her real, physical pain. This was a genuine smile of pleasure. She had never longed for a person so much before this moment. She was going to go home feeling quite shaken, but for that moment, she was awestruck. She had to be the luckiest person on earth.

Twelve minutes later, Sigi climbed back into his car, eight million dollars poorer and one mummified girl wealthier. The museum would deliver her to his home by tomorrow.

His personal assistant got behind the wheel and frowned into the rearview mirror at his employer. “This isn’t the oldest mummy you have. What makes her so special?”

“Oh, Stefan,” Sigi purred from the back seat, gazing through the heavily tinted window at the museum staff in the doorway. “We were born in the same year. It is so terribly hard to find contemporaries these days.” He turned his gaze on Stefan’s reflection. “And how could I leave her alone in that sad little place?”

Sigi’s voice seems to ooze its way through the television speakers. He rarely gives interviews, and only allows short clips of footage to be shared at a time.

“Now, you’ve claimed not to be dating anyone,” says the reporter, almost forgetting to hold the microphone to her own mouth in her eagerness to get every word from Sigi. “But you’re never seen anywhere without Stefan. You two aren’t perhaps…?”

Sigi smiles. It is a candid interview, brief, caught on the sidewalk as he leaves work that evening. He is almost too pale on camera, his lipstick and blue eyes the only landmarks that show up on screen before the cameraman tries adjusting the light. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint the rumour mill. Stefan and I will never date.”

“You have been known to keep your friends close, though.”

Sigi’s polite smile widens into something a lot less coy. “And my enemies, closer.” He speaks without caring that Stefan is two feet away, fully visible in the shot.

There were plenty of things Stefan had gotten used to, despite everything. Sigi was an odd employer, but not terrible.

He could be worse, Stefan told himself at least once a week.

Sigi slept at odd hours. He kept the house dark, too dark for Stefan, who got a scolding whenever he tried to put in extra lights. He didn’t believe in heating the house, unless they had someone staying in the one guest room— which was the only well-lit, warm, soft room in the entire building. Sigi did not even care too much about the plumbing; Stefan had to insist that yes, in fact, he was planning on using the toilets fairly often, even if Sigi wasn’t, to get Sigi’s permission to keep the plumbing functional.

Sigi also worked very, very hard. If not hard, constantly, at the very least. Stefan had his hands full managing emails and phone calls, because Sigi did not like computers and hated looking at phone screens even more than staring at a laptop. Stefan helped plan his schedule, balancing photoshoots, product launches, interviews, lectures, parties… Sigi did not need to rest the way Stefan did, and had several times in recent years lined up appointments for eighteen days straight without enough time for a normal person to sleep more than an hour at a time.

Every time Stefan thought Sigi didn’t really work so much as make appearances, any time he was about to question Sigi’s work ethic, he got reminded somehow of the fact that Sigi had gone back to school for a new doctorate nineteen times. For the hell of it. Because he was bored.

He was considering making it an even twenty, in fact, which made Stefan feel weak to imagine how he was going to schedule all of Sigi’s usual shit around classes.

People did not often think to ask how many degrees Sigi had, which was lucky, because then some of them would stop to do the math. When faced with that question, Sigi would airily claim that he’d simply ‘aged well’.

Sigi officially did not date, but he brought people home pretty frequently. Some of them never left. Thankfully, he didn’t expect Stefan to have to deal with any of that. Stefan pretended not to have noticed.

The ones that did get to leave often got a rude awakening when Stefan was the one to drag them out of bed, with Sigi already hours gone. Sigi was, understandably, good at luring someone new into his bed every other night, but he was no good at making them feel welcome to stay afterward.

Sometimes Stefan went to make the bed and found Sigi himself still in it, so deep in his sleep that he could be carved from stone. Stefan had learned not to worry if he couldn’t hear Sigi breathing; he was alert even if he looked dead.

Stefan had tried, only once, to touch Sigi while he slept. He’d had worse ideas in his life, but he couldn’t think of what they were. Sigi had snapped back to life in a millisecond, with Stefan’s broken fingers crushed in his fist.

He’d expected Stefan to work as usual with that broken hand, too.

Stefan had never been the sort of man to be afraid of anyone, but he was… wary of Sigi. Sigi could not be bullied, actually laughed at any attempts one might make to threaten him, and Stefan had learned that it was probably safer to be maybe a little bit afraid. Sigi had weird ideas about comeuppance.

It was the whole reason Stefan worked for him, after all.

At least Stefan had more money now than he ever had before. At least he lived in a nice house (even if it was a bit too dark and a bit too cold). At least he got to travel and see interesting places, mixed in with all the work. At least people gave him a lot of attention, as Sigi’s assistant.

It almost made up for the fact that he was never going to get fired, and was never going to have another job for the rest of his life. It almost made up for the fact that Sigi could find him if he tried (again) to run off with something valuable and start over somewhere far away. It almost made up for the way Sigi kept him under his thumb.

Stefan went everywhere with Sigi, not because Sigi needed him or even liked him, but because Sigi didn’t want him to go off and do anything Sigi did not approve of. Stefan didn’t delude himself: Sigi clearly disliked him. Sigi was not afraid to let Stefan know, even going so far as to tell him outright, on multiple occasions, that he disgusted him. But he kept Stefan fed and clothed and busy. His punishment was that he was stuck with Sigi until he died.

Stefan had stopped worrying that Sigi might end his life. It wasn’t Sigi’s style of punishment. He was going to watch Stefan grow old and wither away while he remained in Sigi’s employ. He was going to wear Stefan down over decades.

The best he could do was suck it up and go along with things. Sigi could make life difficult if he raised too much fuss.

Los Angeles, the fourteenth of May. Sigi is approached outside an evening gala by a meek little woman, not dressed for the occasion, wearing such drab clothing compared to Sigi’s gem-studded backless getup. Sigi waves off the security guard approaching the little woman; she is obviously terrified, but not of anything in front of her.

She looks all around herself once she’s near Sigi. Sigi has gone outside to speak with the editors of several fashion magazines, to get some air, away from the music inside the venue. He leans forward in his chair to watch the little woman.

“Miss. Have you something to tell me?” he asks her gently.

The woman’s face crinkles for a moment; she is surprised at this form of address. She is not very young, and Sigi does not look very old. But then her face melts back into that wide-eyed worry again. “I’m sorry, I… I live down the street. I’m staying with my mother. I heard you would be here tonight and I… I had to take the chance, I’m sorry.”

SIgi nods patiently. Behind him, the editors murmur amongst themselves.

She continues. “I… I had to warn you. I… know him.” She glances over Sigi’s shoulder at the editors, hesitates to say anything else.

“Wife?” The word falls heavily from his lips, his voice dropping into a more serious octave. Deep, understanding concern.

She shakes her head, very slightly. “Almost. Thank God. Don’t… you don’t know…”

“I do. Believe me.” Sigi smiles. “I’m going to keep him where he can’t cause trouble.”

She stammers a moment. Sigi stands up and reaches to hold her hand in both of his.

“I’m sorry for everything. I’m glad you came tonight.” Sigi motions for the chair he’s just vacated. “I was just about to leave. Please, make yourself comfortable.” He introduces her to the gathered editors as a friend of his, and informs the lingering security guard that she is to be left alone.

Before parting, Sigi informs her, “Give yourself ten minutes before going inside. Then you’ll be able to enjoy the party.”

The woman sobs at the table after Sigi leaves, but she takes his advice. The rest of her night is a pleasant one.

The mummy girl arrived at eight the next morning. Stefan signed the paperwork since Sigi was nowhere to be found, and he supervised the relocation of the mummy to the appropriate room.

Stefan hated that he shared a house with a room full of mummies. Among his hobbies, Sigi was a collector. He had a room of religious paraphernalia, several rooms of priceless paintings, and a room of mummies. Stefan didn’t like to think of himself as squeamish, but he didn’t like being anywhere near the dried-up corpses.

“Marvelous, isn’t she?”

Stefan jumped a foot in the air when Sigi’s voice sounded directly over his left ear. He turned around as he backed away. He hated when Sigi did that, almost as much as he hated the mummies.

Sigi ignored his reaction, staring raptly at the dead girl in her little glass case. “Eight years old when she died. Her father did well preserving her.” He tapped the glass, right above her little snub nose. “She and I might have been neighbours. She was born very near to my hometown.”

“Why don’t you kiss her if you love her so much?” Stefan couldn’t help the petulant retort, but he regretted it right away. It sounded so stupid, even coming from him.

Sigi smirked at him, then leaned in to kiss the glass as though it weren’t an odd thing to do. He lingered there just long enough before drawing back for Stefan to feel uncomfortably interested. “A kiss between siblings, hmm? Oh, Stefan, don’t you like my lovely new girl?”

“No, I don’t fucking like her. These things are creepy.”

“Hm. You like unconscious girls but not dead ones. Odd.” The remark was disdainful, although Sigi’s tone was light. Stefan rarely heard anything approaching normal anger from him; it didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.

“Aren’t you late for church?” Stefan demanded sourly.

“I’m on my way to confession, yes. I won’t be late.” Sigi was dressed plainly today, in a sweater and dress pants, although he was wearing those sharp heels again. And that red lipstick that was never mussed up, never missing; Stefan had only seen him without it twice. “You’re agitated this morning.”

Stefan didn’t see when Sigi moved in closer. Suddenly his employer was behind him, leaning down over him, smoothing his cool hands along Stefan’s arms. Stefan went rigid, from terror and something else.

Sigi did not like him. This was not a show of affection. Stefan stood as still as possible as Sigi bent closer, nestled into the crook of his neck, lips pressed into the flesh just above his shirt collar. Sigi did not like him, but he liked body heat quite a bit, and he liked it right here, just below the jaw.

“You’re wearing that foul cologne again,” Sigi murmured, making him shiver at the way his lips moved against his neck, before Stefan felt teeth digging into his skin.

#OC #writing #original writing #sigi #vampires

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