Post by Rhiannon on Jun 11, 2007 21:39:15 GMT -5
She watched through the window of her own quarters as the soft firelight danced through the windows of Amelia’s private Villa. Her eyes were an icy blue glow as they remained on the silhouette that appeared and disappeared countless times throughout the rows of windows that glowed across the distance. For a moment, Rupert stirred in the sheets of her bed, but she paid him no more attention than the footsteps on the other side of her door. It was early into the evening; most of the coven hadn’t even risen yet. Though for some, the recent attack on the coven had given their undead existence more meaning than ever before.
Samora was usually more punctual than most, rising just after the last arc of the sun had passed over the horizon, giving her plenty of time to sneak off to the archives before the others awoke. After 300 years of solitude, she had become quite eccentric in the presence of others, leaving idle chit-chat in the bitterness of her past.
It wasn’t as if she never had contact with other vampires of the coven. In fact, she most often spoke with the elders, required to be at every council meeting and event. Many nights she was requested to be present to listen to the ramblings of these ancient creatures to add more than just facts to the history books. And her dearest and oldest friend, Rhiannon, often asked Samora to be around for advice, or just simple company. But most others ignored the eccentric historian, mistaking her occupation to be a futile pointless one. An existence that could merely be ignored like the chipping wallpapers of the Manor.
With a deep sigh, the historian brought the chalice of bloodmead to her lips, taking a calm, long pull from the crystal glass. Although the alcoholic blood dulled her senses little to none, the simple buzzing of the liquor attempting to take effect on her immortal body was comfort enough. You could not teach an old dog new tricks, and for her old soul, she could not tear her tongue away from the drink.
“He will be off into the wind again…” She thought dully to herself as she heard Rupert sit up in bed a relaxed yawn escaping his lungs. “If I am to get any use from him, tonight I must act.”
“Come back to bed, Sam.” Rupert’s masculine voice clouded the silence of the room, causing not a single noticeable reaction from the historian. “It’s still light out.”
“The night is young for the youth.” She mumbled, looking down into the gapping hole of her glass. Sloshing the red liquid around for a moment she brought the glass to her lips again and finished the drink in one gulp.
“Now what does that mean?” He asked, confusion apparent on his voice.
“It means you have about a minute to gather your clothes and get out of my room.” Rising to her full height of 4’8, Samora calmly made her way towards the door. Rupert’s complaints fell on deaf ears as the door slammed closed behind her.
Exiting the large mannor, she walked with purposeful steps towards that lonely Villa on the opposite end of the Coven grounds. Once along the small path leading up to the front doors, Samora slowed down her steps, least the vampire known as Pollux heard her quick approach.
Knocking three times, she waited for the ignorant vampire to answer. She knew that he would be confused, and perhaps even slightly upbeat about seeing one of the only vampires who had lived as long as he. But once she had brought him the news of her knowledge and the price he would pay in exchange for her silence, he would most certainly have wished that he had left the night before.
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With an orchestra setting the mood to the beginning of yet another evening, Pollux walked from one end of the bedroom to the other, finding appropriate articles of clothing along the way. He did not own more than a few outfits himself, so he had grown accustomed to wearing any of the many different things that Amelia once enjoyed dressing her partners in. Amelia… Pollux didn’t think he’d miss Amelia so much. Many centuries passed between past meetings, and now, only separated for such a short time, and it was as though he had lost her for the first time. Their last kiss had been close to 300 years earlier, and still he longed for her the same way he did on that old boat that was the vessel of eternal change for his life.
Taking in a deep breath, the Vampire shook off the thought and went about getting ready. It was rare for Pollux to prepare for the night so early, though he always awoke at least an hour before dusk (A behavior picked up from numerous marriages to Humans who had to be kept in the dark about Pollux’s nighttime necessity). It was while buttoning the third button from the top of his black, polyester-blend shirt that Pollux heard three loud knocks over Tchaikovsky’s Symphony #6 in B Minor. Pollux turned his head in the direction of the other room, but did not rush himself to complete the job he had set out on. He finished the last button, tucked the shirt into his dark gray slacks, and finally buckled his belt. Deciding to address his company rather than complete the last few pieces, Pollux moved into the Atrium of the small villa, where the music was considerably louder, though probably still less than a whisper to anyone on the outside of the main door.
“Volume 2.” The entire villa was voice controlled, and despite the mild irritation of conversations initiating odd happenings from time to time, Pollux had gotten used to the new technology that Amelia had woven into the neo-antiquated building. A small eight-inch, flat-screen monitor that was posted on the wall to the upper, right-hand side of the door notified Pollux of a vaguely familiar presence on the outside. He had expected his guest to be the only Vampire he had any sort of relationship with, if you could even call it that, Rhiannon… but instead his eyes stared upon the Historian, Samora. Odd.
Having only made the woman wait a couple of minutes, Pollux punched in a code to unlock the door, then swung the heavy aperture open as though the steel inside weighed the same as a wooden one. Puzzled by the visitor standing before him, Pollux ponied up a fake smile. “Good Evening, Madame…” The Vampire paused, unsure of proper etiquette in such a meeting, but quickly tried to make up for his ill-timed fumble. ”Would you like to come in?”
Taking a step back, Pollux cleared the doorway so the woman could enter, never releasing the smile from his face. For whatever reason she had chosen to visit, something in his stomach told him that the dynamic of his situation was about to change.
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"Would you like to come in?"
Samora brushed past him somewhere in between 'like' and 'to'. Without even offering the hopeless vampire a second glance she looked around the villa, wondering the last time she had been in the room. It had been a little over 9 months ago. She was present for a conversation between Rhiannon and Amelia. She couldn't remember the conversation entirely, but if it had been that important to her, she could have just checked the archives.
"I wouldn't quite pack just yet..." She said in her usual commanding tone, demanding the attention of the person she was speaking to. On this evening, it just happened to be the vampire who would be resenting her very shortly.
She had that gift. Samora looked at it as confidence, but most mistakened it for Arrogance. If only they could see the storm brewing behind her eyes at all times, then they would know that the tone she carried was to try to convince herself that the turmoil within her thoughts could be controlled.
"I know you. I know the real reason why you return every 3 years. Why you had even left at all... Many, many years ago." She said, her eyes finally meeting his and revealing that she was very serious, and very cold.
She was no friend of his.
"I have known for centuries, Pollux. Amelia told me, in confidence." She said, keeping her steady steel gaze on his. "I have kept it, even from you. Although, now it isn't so terribly important-- with her deceased and all."
It was then, that she cracked her first smile of the evening. A calm, collected grin of simple entertainment. A sickening reminder that Samora was not as friendly as one could predict she had the capabilities to be. Although, most disliked her anyway. It was a wonder why Rhiannon adored her as a best friend, but this was Samora a few notches below her finest.
"My proposition is... serve me for a duration equal to that which you served Amelia. And no one has to know of this."
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"I wouldn't quite pack just yet..." As the woman walked into the room, Pollux shut the door and turned even as he heard the bolts lock into place, a security measure well with the exorbitant amount of money it surely cost. He wasn’t actually packing to leave for several days, but her next statement clarified her motives as mentioning it. "I know you. I know the real reason why you return every 300 years. Why you had even left at all... Many, many years ago."
She wanted something. Even as her eyes came up to his, he realized that blackmail was the cause for the Historian’s visit. It was funny how so many stereotypes that humans had made about fictitious Vampires were actually true. Many were very dark, evil beings… a product of immortality and a thirst for blood, he supposed. Of course, few Vampires were evil in the diabolical, super villain sense… just sinful and overly morbid in most cases. This was why Pollux had never cared for Coven life. The more time he spent with his own kind, the less and less he felt like he was Human. In the end, he resented all vampires for taking that feeling away from him.
As she continued, Pollux crossed the room manually fingered the off-button of the stereo, reducing the background noise to silence. "I have known for centuries, Pollux. Amelia told me, in confidence. I have kept it, even from you. Although, now it isn't so terribly important-- with her deceased and all. My proposition is... serve me for a duration equal to that which you served Amelia. And no one has to know of this."
As she smiled, Pollux couldn’t help but allow a feeling of disgust to grow in his stomach. She had made it very clear that either Amelia had lied about her relationship with Pollux to Samora, or Samora was lying about being told anything at all. Either way, the proposition was unexpected and unwelcome. Pollux had no way of knowing what was motivating the Vampire Historian to make such a suggestion, but it didn’t matter; Pollux served no one.
“I must say… you are brave for coming here alone with your threats.” Pollux spoke with a thick Scottish accent despite the fact that he had not visited his homeland for a century or more. It seemed not to matter how far he traveled, or who he held company with; the accent never seemed to fade. “Brave, but very foolish, and worse than that, extremely misguided.”
Pollux walked across the room again, though an archway into the bedroom where his suit jacket was neatly set on the bed. Never leaving Samora’s available line of site, he stepped into the Italian, leather shoes and donned the expensive Armani piece. Turning back toward the woman, he straightened his lapels, adjusting himself in the suit that fit him perfectly. Stopping himself maybe two feet from the Vampiress, Pollux looked down at the much shorter female with a look of pure and honest sadness in his face. “As you said, Samora… Amelia is dead. Who am I to fear?”
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“I must say… you are brave for coming here alone with your threats. Brave, but very foolish, and worse than that, extremely misguided.”
Samora nodded in slight amusement, that same malicious grin stapled onto her youthful features. Not once did she break her eyes from Pollux, indicating that she possibly agreed wholeheartedly with his words. Then again, Samora almost doubled Pollux's age, what vampire that old even had to concern herself with dying? Death to Samora, was a welcomed guest sometime's knocking on her door, but never showing her it's face when she answered.
When Pollux exited the room, Samora remained with her shoes planted on the ground. She wanted to sit down on the couch, but that wouldn't have quite been an eye-to-eye talk. Not that she ever had those with anybody anyhow. When Pollux entered the room again and stopped himself a few feet from Samora, she took a moment of looking around the room calmly before looking up to his face and listening to his words. “As you said, Samora… Amelia is dead. Who am I to fear?”
Pursing her lips in deep thought and shrugging slightly, Samora reached out to press down Pollux's left collar that was slightly off from the right one. Then, she let her hand fall down the seam of the suit, her eyes following her hands every movement.
"No one." She answered honestly, stopping to look up at him for a moment before turning and walking slowly towards the couch. "But yourself... What kind of torture you may have put yourself through over Amelia's existance, you will now find was a comforting sigh in comparison to what you will put yourself through in her death."
Stopping behind the backrest of the couch, Samora leaned both hands on it and looked Pollux in the eyes. "You have the choice of walking out that door and never coming back. Wallow in your self-pity and loneliness until it drives you to madness. Or, you can stay in the Coven, your secret safe with me. And if I were the betting type.... curiosity will get the best of you, I think."
She offered him a lopsided grin, much unlike the smile that had accentuated her blackmail proposition. "We have known each other for just under a millenia, yet we still know absolutely nothing about one another."
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