Necessity - Sellica/Aubin

[Sellica]

=Summer had a habit of imposing itself for longer than it ought, in the minds of those who were self-proclaimed ‘winter’ dwellers. There was little joy to be derived from the lengthy blistering days and even the night was importuned by the sultry sway of heat waves as they ran rampant over the city of Valir. Not everyone shared the same views however, and the whole of the South Quadrant became even more alive, if such a thing were possible, over the heated months between spring and the fall. People bustled this way and that like fireflies and moths irrespective of species, each seeking their next indulgence no matter which way it drove them. Regardless of her distaste for the summer a slender blonde Aurillian had joined them, a sour look ingrained on her square features as she left the comfort of the Queen’s Palace and began the trek through the park.

What felt like an eternity was in reality but five minutes, and she had hardly no sooner stepped from her comfort zone before she had entered the hospital district. Anyone who knew the serious looking young woman would have been surprised had they incorrectly assumed her destination to be the Sacred Heart Hospital. Indeed most who knew Sellica well enough would also know that the last thing she would wish to inflict on a human being was the lifestyle that she now faced herself for eternity. More purpose-driven steps encouraged her to a nondescript but otherwise expensive apartment building, and she scaled the two flights of stairs to the second floor apartment with exceptional ease, her boots more of an announcement of her presence than a hindrance in her arriving at her destination.

The artist Aubin was a strange creature. Sellica had decided this immediately upon meeting him, and her opinion was steadfastly unchanged and in fact was reinforced whenever she had come into his company since. This was not to say that she disliked him but there was a certain air about him that made the strong young Aurillian feel uncomfortable even though she knew herself to be in no immediate danger. And Sellica, whose own personal background was so steeped in abuse, loathed the idea of feeling uncomfortable just so some prick could lord his years over her, even if that wasn’t his true intention. Despite her inner prejudices, Sellica raised a hand to knock on the door that she knew instinctively he would answer, the black nail polish she wore glinting in the bright, fashionable light the buzzed around her from above.

[Aubin]

The ringing of Sellica’s boots on the stairs had alerted the Vampyr Aubin of an uninvited presence on his stairwell but, as he was not expecting company and the tread was distinctly not that of Illiam, he automatically assumed the visitor was in search of someone else and did not leave his place before a wide and half-painted canvas upon registering the sound. His attention was likewise too focused on the work before him, specifically on the careful intermingling of an overlapping patch of gold and maroon, to catch the intent of the visitor, even in part. The knock on his door thus caught him by surprise and he froze in the silence of his apartment, suddenly as still as the canvas, easels, brushes, paints, and vast, paint-splattered cloths that littered the studio that dominated most of his apartment.

A combination of smell and instinct immediately informed Aubin that his visitor was not of the mortal variety, a fact that did very little to lessen the tension that had suddenly manifested itself in Aubin’s back and shoulders. Slowly, his movements careful and deliberate, Aubin set aside the brush he had been holding and padded to the door, his feet, which were bare and as speckled with paint as his drop cloth, completely silent throughout the exercise. The first sound that resulted from any actions of Aubin was the tumble of the lock which seemed shockingly loud although even that was not half as loud as the sound the door made when Aubin slammed it shut after cracking it open just enough to realize that the person on his stoop was a member of the Queen’s guard. The lock tumbled shut again and through the door the sounds of running could be easily heard, followed by the grating noise of several heavy somethings being dragged and then, much softer, the rustle of movement and something like the snap of a newly unfurled bed sheet. Then, for a few seconds, silence reigned again before the lock turned for a third time and the door was opened fully.

“What?” asked Aubin, his expression impassive to the point of seeming bored despite the fact that he had, only moments before, performed the least convincing portrayal of innocence ever. He frowned down at Sellica, his body positioned in such a way that she could not easily see behind him which, much like his earlier panic and rapid racing about, did very little to forward his attempt at appearing ‘natural.’

“Can I help you?”

[Sellica]

“Mind if I come in?” Sellica replied, slipping through the open space between the broad shouldered Aurillian before her and the door frame that had already suffered enough of his ministrations. The apartment swallowed her slight frame whole and she suddenly found herself enveloped in a world of art; Not something that she particularly enjoyed but that was purely because she had a different view on what ‘art’ was. Her eyes eventually found the newly lain sheet in the corner, it’s various humps and limbs obviously hiding something that were just as plainly of no interest to the Guard. She spun to face the older Vampyr after her initial habitual survey of the room, her steely blue eyes finding his unreadable face.

Sellica lacked the talent and inclination to bother wasting his time and hers with idle conversation and attempting to bluff. She knew enough of Aubin to know that he would either help her or not deciding on his own whim and how full his stomach was likely to be that week, and she plucked a small leather purse from her bustier and held it out to him, the Queen’s Mark flashing conveniently. She then decided it time to answer his question, a blonde brow quirking before falling back into stony resolve.

“I suspect you can,” she announced. “It might be best to close the door first, though. You wouldn’t want the neighbours to overhear.”

[Aubin]

Aubin was, perhaps understandably, less than thrilled when Sellica (for he knew her name well enough) pushed past him, her body slipping between his and the edge of the door like an eel through craggy rocks. His displeasure was displayed in a frown and a faint flash of fangs that, though they were shown in response to her, were decidedly not shown to her as Aubin had enough respect for Sellica both individually and as the Queen’s guard to know that it would take very little effort on her part to put him into a great deal of pain.

The irritation vanished, however, at the flash of the Queen’s seal. For reasons that were his own, Aubin was deeply devoted to the Queen and any affair she had with him was, he felt, his first priority. An expression of surprise ghosted over Aubin’s features as, now completely compliant, he nodded, shut the door, and flicked the lock shut yet again. Two fingers arched backwards, beckoning Sellica to follow as Aublin led the way out of the well-lit world of colour and texture that was his studio into the cool, semi-darkness of the kitchen. A flick of a switch added light from the fixtures to the moody, dusky light provided by the moon and streetlamps outside which filtered in through the massive windows that made up most of the street-facing wall. Aubin pulled out a chair for Sellica but chose to remain standing himself, arms crossed over his chest, his shoulder leaning heavily on the cabinets behind him.

“Go ahead,” he said simply.

As he waited for an explanation of Sellica’s unwanted appearance and the bag bearing the Queen’s seal, Aubin wondered what the Queen’s guard could possibly want with him. It had been painfully obvious that Sellica had seen the goods Aubin had less-than-discretely attempted to hide, and just as obvious that the other Vampyr had absolutely no interest in them. She was not, then, invading his home to arrest him or otherwise warn him off his less than legal disputes. She had likewise not shown enough interest in the studio to have come to him on a manner of art, either by her own inclination or as someone else’s proxy. So what, then, did the Brudjan-half breed want? What interest could she possibly have in him?

[Sellica]

Calmly watching his mood change as one might watch the sun rise, the dawning of his comprehension as it were, Sellica remained with her offering in her outstretched hand until he motioned for her to follow him. His living quarters were much different to his working ones, and even though it took barely a second for her Vampyric eyes to adjust to the dimly lit confines of the kitchen the added light provided by her company was welcomed. The blonde ignored the provided chair and instead strode towards the counter, her defiant boots providing an accompanying rhythm to the jingle of the purse as it was set on the smooth bench top.

“A Brudjan scout managed to infiltrate the Palace last week, posing as a merchant,” she announced in a flat, dead tone. The implications of this revelation alone were startling; This would mean that Bruis was not only taking this ‘war’ more seriously but also that he was willing to take more drastic steps to facilitate it. “We managed to isolate him and organise damage control, but not before I wrung his mission out of him.” Her hand dipped into her bodice once more in that same perfunctory manner, this time withdrawing a small slip of material. Upon closer observation it would be obvious to a practiced eye that the material was skin, and human skin at that, dried to a leather-like quality. On the material tattooed in a dark blue ink were a series of complex diagrams, each more puzzling than the last.

“He was carrying this. Obviously we have used the Palace resources in an attempt to uncover it’s meaning, but to no effect. I would be,” she paused, back pedalling, “That is to say Her Majesty would be very grateful if you are able to aid us in recovering the message.” She fells silent, her eyes plastered to his face like a wet shirt clings to its model. “Bruis must be stopped, Aubin.”

[Aubin]

The dangers of an Aurillian-Brujan war was not a subject on which Aubin needed any lecturing. He knew the peril the Brujan’s could embody when they took and mind to and had, moreover, experienced their threat and violence as both a Vampyr and a Human. A single raised brow was the only sign, however, that Aubin gave to demonstrate the ridiculousness of this child of a Vampyre (comparatively speaking) warning him against the dangers of his species life and death long enemies. The brow remained up as Aubin reached out and took the fleshy parchment although, again, he offered no verbal reply.

Rather than actually looking at the parchment, Aubin folded the thick swatch in half and, his eyes fluttering closed, pressed it between his two open palms. All things, like people, carried memories and had a history and slowly, like the first sap of spring, the history of the parchment unfolded before Aubin, starting with its most recent experiences. The smell of spy’s fear, then pain, warred with the salty scent of Sellica’s own anxiety (and, Aubin thought with a smirk, her breast) before giving way to something darker, more flashes of memory than anything else, a sense of shocking, white-light pain. Aubin’s brow knit as he tried to force some meaning out of the agonized jumble but very little could be eked out of the chaos of the material’s memory. Grimacing slightly, his fangs showing without his having purposely bared them, Aubin opened his eyes and released the flesh from his tight grip.

The question of what Sellica had done to the spy to get this material warred with questions that were far more relevant and decidedly more his business. He opted at last, for a question that straddled either type of inquiry.

“The Queen is considering killing her own son?” he asked, opening the swatch to examine the symbols and text for the first time, “Or are you considering that possibility?”

[Sellica]

The older Vampyr’s antics did nothing to quell Sellica’s anxiety, and she glared at him impatiently while he performed his pseudo-psychic mumbo-jumbo. She allowed herself a slight scowl, the first expression she had shown that day in general, as she suspected what was going through Aubin’s mind. Was he smirking at her? Was he seeing something she didn’t want him to see? Her steel-trap sense of duty snapped shut on her apprehensions as quickly as they were voiced. She wasn’t here for selfish reasons, she reminded herself as her hand itched to slap the smirk off of his aged face. She was here to serve her Queen, and she had devoted her life (and whatever came after it) to that purpose.

And so Sellica relaxed. A tiny bit.

She refused to let the scowl intrude on her features once more, but she did managed a nasty sneer at her fellow Aurillians questions. How dare he question either the motive of the Guard or her Queen? Did he think he was the only person in the city capable of deciphering Brudjan riddles? In a smooth, feline like motion Sellica had stooped to retrieve the skin from the clean floor, slipping it into her bodice once again. She was just as quick in taking back the coin pouch, and she offered a tight but oddly alluring smile to Aubin over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

“Thanks for your time, Aubin,” she tossed in answer to his question. "The Queen will be very interested to know you decided to waste mine."

[Aubin]

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Aubin, his voice steady as ever but suddenly loud and imposing in a way that it rarely was, a tone that demanded not only an answer, but also complete and total arrest of all other movements and thoughts. Aubin was certainly not the strongest of Vampyrs but he was among the oldest, and with that age came an authority that was only half social construct. It took no effort to use even his minimal powers of telepathy to remind Sellica of how far she had transgressed against the authority that was decidedly his due.

Swiftly but without running, Aubin was upon the Queen’s guard. A single forceful shove was all it took to pinion the younger Vampyr against the wall, Aubin’s body pressed close against hers. His fangs had descended once more and this time he had no problem with Sellica seeing them. He knew, of course, that his momentary dominance was just that, momentary, but he wasn’t about to allow a whelp of a changeling threaten him in his own home, nor would he allow her to simply ignore him either.

“I will do what has been asked of me,” growled Aubin, fangs glinting in the light of the recessed fixtures, “but you will answer my question as well. Is this project by the Queen’s command, or is it vengeance for this?”

At the word “this” Aubin’s free hand snaked into Sellica’s bodice, hand brushing past skin in and effort to find not the parchment nor the money but, rather, the scar that Aubin well knew she bore. The touch was an invasion of privacy to be sure, and the movement of his fingers over her scar was a caress that seemed somehow far more intimate than if he had stroked her genitals. It was a touch, moreover, that Aubin knew he would likely suffer greatly for, but any fear of the repercussions he clearly knew he would invoke, indeed would deserve, were absent from his blue eyes which themselves never wavered from their heated lock with Sellica’s.

[Sellica]

Most people have a reaction period somewhere between five and ten seconds, depending on whether or not shock could set in quick enough to debilitate natural reflexes before they had a chance to make themselves a nuisance. Under normal circumstances, a person could lash out at another and claim to have done it without even thinking about it, providing the lashing out occurred within that small window of opportunity. For a trained soldier like Sellica, whose reaction time was decidedly less than a normal person because she was trained and because she wasn’t human, the reaction period was about 2 seconds and the time it took to realize what had been done to her was used effectively to determine what punishment would befit the crime.

As she connected with the wall her mind had ticked into action, first planning her escape from the embrace of the older but not necessarily wiser Vampyr. She knew him enough to know that should he choose to he would be able to pluck her thoughts out of her mind as easily as picking a ripe apple off a tree and so she kept her plans to within that two-second bracket lest he discover what they were. His assertion that he would assist was generous indeed and Sellica growled low in her throat even as his last words piled on top of her. Moving as much as she could under Aubin’s broad weight the blonde wrenched her right knee as high as she could into his groin. As soon as she was able, the Guard pushed the artist away from his insinuating position, watching as he tumbled backwards before she crunched a boot to his chest, holding him in place.

“I don’t answer to you, Aubin,” she spat, her blue eyes suddenly alive and blazing. “But you most certainly would be answering to me if I decided to look at what you’re hiding under that sheet in your studio. Now cut the fucking bullshit and play nice, or I’ll have to report an assault on the Queen’s Guard.” Respect for elders aside, Aubin needed to learn his place under authority. As far as Sellica could tell he was a bottom feeder, and she would waste no time in bringing him back down a few pegs. She made no mention of the scar he had tantalized nor her Brudjan beginnings, and she released him from her boot even as she threw the money and skin at his head in disgust.

“We’ll be waiting to hear from you. Don’t make me come back here personally.”

[Aubin]

During the tussle between the two strong-willed Vampyrs the lock to Aubin’s door sounded once more, although this time both of the combatants were suitably distracted and did not notice it. The visitor was none other than Illiam, Aubin’s agent who had a tendency to appear and disappear at the older Vampyr’s side like smoke, somehow always appearing just when Aubin most needed him. It was this ability that made Illiam so very good at his job, and this same ability that had helped him gain a small but elite clientele during the three hundred and some years since his own changing.

Illiam arrived at the kitchen just as Sellica removed her boot from Aubin, freeing the elder Vampyr to curl into the fetal position on the floor, his hands clutching his groin. The younger looking Vampyr (he, like Sellica, had been only 20 at the time of his Embrace) at first said nothing, one dark brow rising towards a dark hairline in an expression of perplexed confusion. He hadn’t any clue what had started the fight although instinct told him it was the Guard, who was, as far as he was concerned, dangerous in all the most delicious ways.

“Is there a reason,” he asked at last, his strangely antiquated accent stronger under the force of the formal tone he took with the Queen’s Guard, “that you are abusing my client?” He stared at her silently, waiting for a response, then decided that it would be easier to get one from Aubin who was sucking down great, gasping lungfuls of air despite the fact that he didn’t need, technically speaking, to breathe at all. Easily stepping past Sellica, Illiam crossed to Aubin’s downed form and knelt beside him. His fingers deftly undid the topmost buttons of Aubin’s shirt, making the unnecessary exercise in breathing that much easier. His fingers then ghosted along Aubin’s brow, affectionate caresses joining with the unneeded breathing to soothe the obviously suffering Vampyr.

Somewhere amid the ministrations, Illiam looked up, catching Sellica in a keen gaze. “He says to take the money,” he said simply, translating the telepathic conversation he had been having with Aubin ever since he had knelt to tend to him, “he doesn’t require payment from the Queen – he is at her service always. And,” added Illiam as he tossed the aforementioned bag at Sellica, trusting her sharp reflexes to catch it no matter how indifferent his aim was, “he also says you’re a bitch.”

As if confirming this Aubin, who was breathing almost normally now again minus, of course, the fact that he needn’t breathe all, raised a hand and offered Sellica an unobstructed view of his middle finger.

[Sellica]

The arrival of the artist’s agent and undoubtedly his lover in the bargain had little if any effect on Sellica’s guilt. She didn’t bother to speak in order to answer the newcomer’s question, if she wasn’t going to give Aubin unnecessary information she sure as hell wasn’t going to part with any for Illiam’s sake. She smirked as the two male Vampyr minds interlinked and she crossed her arms over the front of the bodice that had so recently been violated. She wondered if anything Aubin’s mind regurgitated for Illiam recounted his slipping his hand where it hadn’t belonged, and judging by the now contrite manner in which Illiam spoke she guessed it had.

At least the so-called artist wasn’t a lying prick.

She deftly caught the pouch as it was flicked in her direction, his touch still too hot and unwanted on her skin for her to risk putting it back where it had come from. She tucked it instead into the lip of her knee-length boot, her cold eyes glazing over as she took in the comment passed on by Illiam and the finger delivered by Aubin himself. Smiling stiffly, the blonde sauntered over to the door, looking over her shoulder before she disappeared.

“Thanks for the compliment.”