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All That Glitters [Closed] - Printable Version

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All That Glitters [Closed] - Tindome - 03-23-2017

[Image: glitter.png]

Four Years Ago



RE: All That Glitters - Tindome - 03-23-2017

    Damien had not left his house in… six weeks?

    Something like six weeks.

    Hermitage was easy when a man had no need to eat. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. No food in his fridge or his pantry, though he had plenty of wine… somewhere. And scotch, always scotch, single-malt scotch whisky as had so long been his favorite.

    He slept, mostly. It was very akin to hibernation, what he was doing, not getting enough energy to be bothered staying awake for long periods. Occasionally someone would walk by the house in some kind of distress, and it was enough to rouse him, prompt him into pretending to be human for some little while.

    It was hard to muster the enthusiasm when the only things he could think of worth doing made his leg ache.

    He didn't dream. If he dreamed, he might have dreamt of a certain white-haired wretch crawling back to apologize for what he'd done. He'd get on his knees and he'd plead for the right to fix his foul leg.

    The front parlor, once such a wonderful space for entertaining, was becoming overwhelmed with books. Stacks upon stacks of them. It had started with the history books, entirely for practical reasons. But he'd soon discovered that books had far more residual emotional energy than most inanimate objects, and they'd become a safe way to ensure he didn't starve to death without risking the safety of anyone else.

    Because he was being good.

    Because he was more than capable of being good, if he really wanted.

    Not if he actually left the house, or interacted with people on an extended basis. But. Generally. This could count as being good. If he wanted to be good. And someday some sheep-buggering moron was going to feel horribly for having ever doubted him, and his vast capacity for goodness.

    He yawned, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. His breath smelled like scotch. Once so precise about his appearance, now his hair fell in black whorls all down his back, his stubble halfway to a beard, disguising the unnatural marble perfection of his skin. He was barefoot, in rumpled black trousers and a half-unbuttoned white shirt, sleeves rolled up off of his forearms. He hadn't been trimming his nails, and so they'd grown out to points on both hands. His eyes were so dark a blue as to be almost black.

    Good. Utterly, unimpeachably good.

    He yawned again, and draped an inaccurate book about the religions of Ancient Greece over his face.



RE: All That Glitters - SolitareLee - 03-23-2017

She'd lost the scholarship.

It wasn't a terrible surprise. She'd never gotten the hang of high school after ten years of "home schooling" by her great-grandparents, whose idea of education had quickly been smashed by the fact she knew more about any subject than they did within the first few years. It had mostly consisted of them going to the library every three days and having a used-book budget in the hundreds.

They had never taken her to the library. Or any of the bookstores. She hadn't been allowed a laptop or a phone, because she might be tempted to take pictures of herself.

It wasn't that they were bad parents. They just had... priorities. And her safety had been at the top of them, far above her happiness.

She was free of them now, but only so free. Their shadows were still over her, in the form of her complete and utter inability to function in human society. And she'd lost most of her books. She'd only been able to take one backpack with her when she ran away to show up on her mother's doorstep three years ago. But three years was a very, very long time at her age, and she'd acquired a whole new collection.

She was sour at the concept of parting with them, because the ones she had left were all ones she had at least some attachment to. But not that much, and some of them were pretty rare. If she could get enough from selling them, and land a part time job over the summer, then maybe... maybe, just maybe, there'd be hope for her to go to college yet. Not just end up a waitress for the rest of her life, like her mother. She was better than her mother; she was 18 and she'd managed not to get knocked up at all. Or anything even tangentially close to behavior that might eventually lead to a situation that could knock one up. College would just be one more insurance that she'd never be... that.

Bridget stared blankly at the very old-looking townhouse in front of her. She checked the address she'd been given, then looked at the numbers on the door. They matched.

Well... they had said he was a bit of a shut in. And his name was "LeStrange" which meant he was probably a vampire, and she was here during the day, because she had to be. He might not even answer. She almost didn't want him to; she felt out-of-place on this side of town. It was the middle of the day, but she still felt like she was being watched. The water smelled funny. Her ears were twitching under the hat that hid them.

She hated that hat, a thick, wooly thing despite the fact it was late spring. It made her head sweat and her dirty blonde hair itch. But it had to stay on. Always. Forever. She spent more on hats than any other kind of clothing, and it showed in her ratty jeans with holes in the knee, and over sized white men's undershirt she was wearing as a T. It was vaguely see-through. She didn't care, because anyone who made a pass at her only made that mistake once.

She shifted the heavy box of books in her arms and sighed. She had an engraved Dante's Inferno here. It was worth a few hundred by itself. She'd done Jason Thomas' homework for three months for it. There were other books of similar value... if this guy really was a book collector, like she'd been told...

Well. Hope sprung eternal, despite how weird and old and frankly already stinky this house was. She climbed the steps to the door and knocked, loudly. She could get louder. She could raise the dead. She might have to. His name was LeStrange for fuck's sake.


RE: All That Glitters - Tindome - 03-23-2017

    Oversteeped tea, oaked wine.

    Irritated, uncomfortable, anxious, hopeful. A young thing, younger than he liked. Girl, not quite human. White pepper. Werewolf? Not quite.

    Barely anything at all, really. More than a book, but that wasn't saying much.

    The knock came as some surprise. He'd hoped the roses would have started to overtake the door by now. They'd gone wild once he'd stopped caring for them.

    The knocking persisted. How strange. What on Earth could a young girl want with him.

    He really shouldn't. For her own good. He didn't mix well with young women, but particularly not at that age. They were so volatile. Every little thing was the end of the world, they were just so full of pain.

    He'd ask her to leave. That was all. He didn't need her pestering him when he was busy trying to wallow.

    He smelled like scotch and the musk of old books. He had to grab his cane, because just the thought of being anywhere near a young girl was making his thigh throb awfully. The pain of it made him more irritable as he headed for the door.

    He opened it only a crack, leaning against the frame. His eyes flitted over her in a quick assessment, dark eyes under thick lashes. Filthy, unfashionable little thing. No obvious shows of disdain, just the careful arch of one always-perfect eyebrow.

    "Non," he said simply, moving to shut the door in her face.



RE: All That Glitters - SolitareLee - 03-23-2017

She knocked. She knocked louder. She knocked louder still, and was mid-knock when the door finally opened a few inches, startling her.

There was a reek as it opened, assaulting her sensitive nose. She crinkled it without wanting to. She smelled alcohol. They had said a shut in, nothing about an alcoholic.

...And certainly not a FRENCH alcoholic! That was an important detail!

She slammed her foot into the crack of the door as he moved to shut it, wincing in pain. "A-attendez!" Her accent was atrocious, because she'd never actually spoken French to another person, only read it. She'd taken Spanish in high school! "Le bouquin?" she guessed desperately, holding up the box. "Allez-vous les acheter?"

Yeah, this was going to work. She was going to kick the guy who'd given her this tip right in the crotch. Asshole. Probably just sent her across town on a lark, to the house of some random French alcoholic! She probably looked like a fucking idiot. So like her to fall for something this stupid and obvious.


RE: All That Glitters - Tindome - 03-23-2017

    His second eyebrow joined the first, face in ideal symmetry. He opened the door wider, just enough that he could gesture pointedly with each syllable.

    "Ah. Tahn. Day. Attendez. Oui? Yes? Do not foul fine words with such a poor tongue as yours."

    His accent was not quite French, not quite anything, a jumble of things and all of them old.

    "I am sorry, little girl, but you have nothing that could interest me. There is, ah. A shop on Fifth, I believe, which may purchase your..." He gestured vaguely at her box of books.

    He could be good. He was being good. He was asking her to leave, and he wasn't calling her or any of her possessions trash.

    "Leave now. I do not wish to be rude, but mine is not a house for children."



RE: All That Glitters - SolitareLee - 03-23-2017

"Attendez," she repeated automatically, wrapping her tongue around the word, before she flushed angrily, realizing what she'd just done. She wasn't here for a fucking French lesson! Not from some... stupid French alcoholic or whatever! Not even anyone who bought books, probably. Just some dude, whose house she'd been sent to as a prank. Face burning with humiliation and anger, she pulled her foot out of his door.

"Sorry," she grumbled. "Some asshole told me you collected books. But I'm not a child!" she added with a snap, in the way of most people who either are still, or have only barely ceased being, children. "Not like anyone would want to go in your rank-ass house," she added sourly under her breath.

Shop on Fifth. Ugh. She'd never get a good price for these at a regular shop. They'd give her a fraction of their worth. At that point, might as well not even bother.

A... job then, maybe... and if she... saved for a few years... Her fingers tightened on the box. She didn't know how to fix her problem, but she knew how she could feel better; she was going to find and beat the ever-living snot out of fucking Jason Thomas.


RE: All That Glitters - Tindome - 03-23-2017

    Pickled peppers, spiced tea. He was already feeling more energetic than he had in months.

    Good. Being good. Sending her away.

    "I collect books," he said. "I have no interest in the favored chew toys of stray puppies."

    This was all a vital part of chasing her off into safety.

    "Neither do I take responsibility for the sensitivity of your nose, little girl, though I think there are better insults to be had if your pride is so easily wounded. If your desperation to be rid of these books is so great, send them back to me with a better salesman. Perhaps you have an older sister, or a mother? I will gladly have either. Else come back when you have more charms to recommend you, and are less quick to blame me for your own rotten mouth."

    She would leave in a huff, now, and he would go back inside feeling sated and satisfied with a job well done.

    His eyes, still dark, were a lighter shade of blue.



RE: All That Glitters - SolitareLee - 03-23-2017

"Hey!" was about all she managed to get in edgewise before words failed her altogether. She was scared, for a brief moment, by the dog jab, before she realized it was probably just some stray insult nestled amongst the dozens he was unloading on her.

And then she just turned darker red. Her teeth clenched as she struggled for something--anything--to say.

"Sensitive nose?" she landed on finally. "They can smell you across the river! Have you bathed in anything other than scotch this year?" It wasn't good, but she her hands were full and she tried really hard not to throw things at strangers. Any more. She was trying to be good. Because college. "I'll be sure to pass your regards on to my mum, though. She's definitely a whore; she might just have sunk low enough to for... what are you going for, hobo-chic, right? Unshaven, hair hasn't seen a comb in a few years... If she can hold her breath long enough to get in the door, maybe you'll get lucky! If it'd improve your shitty mood, she'd be doing us all a damn favor!"

And, after a moment's indignation, "And these are some damn good books!"


RE: All That Glitters - Tindome - 03-23-2017

    So much fury, and that lovely little hint of fear to offset it.

    "Are there not leash laws in this neighborhood?" he wondered. He let the door open wider, his cane leaning against the wall. His elbow slid higher on the door frame so he could rub his hand suggestively over the top of his hair, where he was sure her ears were hiding on her own head.

    Unless there was some other reason she tasted like white pepper and wore such an awful hat. He doubted it.

    "I used to bathe in Chardonnay, maisnon. Come back when you are old enough for tits, and I will tell you why I stopped. We are not all so lucky as to have someone to brush us, are we? I would suggest your whore mother – if she is, as you say, available for hire – but I do not think that I would trust such cheap hands with such a fine thing." He raked his nails through his hair; dissipated he may have been, but his crowning glory was still just that. "I think however I would invite her only for the pleasure of my company, as a kindness to her, for she surely deserves better than this." He gestured to the whole of her. "Better a whore than a bitch, non?"

    "Feh." Without warning, he reached out to tug the box – and the rest of her – closer. He slid books around carelessly to see the covers. "Trash, trash, all of it worthless to me." Her own emotions overwhelmed whatever dull reflections these pages held, and that was all the value they held for him. Unless she had some very specific non-fiction about some very specific years, they were useless.

    Except. At the bottom of the box, he thought there might be something. Enough of something that he'd have snatched it up immediately from most stores. He pulled the hardcover out from under the other books, turning it around to examine it closer.



RE: All That Glitters - SolitareLee - 03-23-2017

Horror struck her like a bolt of lightning. That had been no side comment or lucky jab! She could feel her ears plaster down against her head under the hat. How the fuck could he tell?! Her ears were still safely under her hat, she knew they were! What possible other giveaway could she have?

"I-- You-- How--" She struggled to find words with some sense, face deep crimson and fear gripping her heart. Forget vampire. This had to be something else. Had to be, had to be, because if it wasn't, that meant anyone could tell what she was, and her great-grandparents had been right.

Of course, that meant that she'd been sent to the house of some strange thing that was also a stinky drunk asshole that wasn't going to buy her books, which meant Jason was definitely still getting his ass kicked. Someone was for this. It would have been the dick in front of her, but despite being eighteen, she did have a few licks of good sense in her. She wanted to shove him through the door, close it, demand how he knew, but suddenly she wasn't so sure she wanted to slam the door behind her and someone who could tell she spent half her day as a puppy just by looking at her. Her mom had been a stupid cunt to some random asshole, once, and now Bree was the one with dog ears.

She was just deciding to maybe take her lashes and leave to take her rage out on someone a little safer--no matter how much that was a face that deserved punching--when the man unexpectedly gripped the box and pulled it closer. And her with it, because she wasn't letting go of the box with all of her most valuable possessions in it; period.

She was no slouch; she'd spent all of her free time reading or working out, and as a result had gotten very, very good at both. But he had her pulled halfway through the door before she even realized what was happening. She went no further mostly just because he didn't pull her any further.

"Hey, if you're not going to buy them, don't--" she began, but then he pulled something out. Something that should not have been in there.

"That one's not for sale!" she yelped, one hand dropping support of the box so she could grab at it. That was probably the oldest book she owned, not in a technical, age-of-the-book sense, but just in terms of how long she'd had it. She'd had very few visits with her mother as a child, mostly because her mother was a scant 16 years older than her, and also because Bree was basically a mistake that ruined everyone's life and traumatized her mother by existing.

On the first of those visits she could clearly remember, her mother, barely old enough to drink, had given her that book, an illustrated storybook designed for much older children. It had kickstarted her enjoyment of reading. She'd read it so much that it was barely intact anymore, pages threatening to fall out of the binding. How it had gotten into this box, she'd never know. Thank god he'd seen it before she'd just up and sold the whole box for a lump sum or something horrible like that.


RE: All That Glitters - Tindome - 03-24-2017

    Fear, utter indignant terror right to the core of her.

    Hmm.

    Immediately he held the book up high above his head, out of her reach. The points of his nails did not touch the cover, but they easily could if he curled his fingers just a little. "I would like this one," he decided, grabbing his cane, still holding the book aloft. "I will accept no other." He nudged the door open wider, backing further into his house. "What is your price, mademoiselle? Name it, and it is yours."

    He did not keep so much cash around as he used to, but he was sure he had something. More than enough to tempt a little hellion desperate enough to go knocking door to door.

    He could find other books, books just as strongly imprinted whose owners had died and could put up no struggle. That wasn't the point. The point was the way her heart had leapt into her throat when she'd seen this book, the point was her absolute panic.

    The point was the moment she realized she'd give up anything, no matter how precious or beloved, if he offered her the right price.

    Whore, indeed.

    There was a spasm of pain in his leg, and he gripped his cane tighter, but otherwise ignored it. His eyes were sapphire, now.



RE: All That Glitters - SolitareLee - 03-24-2017

"It's not for sale!" she exclaimed again, stumbling a bit under the now mostly-unsupported weight of her box as she trailed him into his house, visions of him slamming the door in her face dancing through her head. "Why would you even want that! It's just an old storybook!"

She reached up for it, hand outstretched, and he held it out of her reach. She wasn't exactly short, but he was far taller. She set down her box of other books, more valuable by far, inside the door and continued following him in, arm outstretched to try and snatch the book back. She would be indignantly furious at the humiliating game of keep-away later. Right now her focus was on getting the book back and getting out of the house of the strange not human man she'd been sent off to because this was a shitty town full of shitty people.

"It's almost falling apart, you can't even read it!" she protested, nervous at the haphazard way he was holding it. "Be careful!"


RE: All That Glitters [Closed] - Tindome - 03-24-2017

    "Ah, ah," he warned. "You must shut the door behind you, if you are pretending to be civilized. Perhaps you are accustomed to a flap?" He waved the book he held a little, in a manner suggestive of a dog door. "These big doors, they do not close on their own."

    "What a kindness I have offered you, then, to take such a useless book from you!" he said. "A book you cannot read – and so many other books, now, which you may keep!" He could tell, after all, that those books he'd labeled trash had their own value. Maybe even her most valuable possessions. There was no way she could have predicted his own unique valuation system. "It is ideal for you, I think, that you may return home with so many books, paid so handsomely for just this dreadful one."

    He lowered it a little to get a better look at it, perfectly prepared to trip her up with his cane if she tried to snatch it back. His weight was balanced entirely on his good leg.

    "What do you think? A thousand dollars, n'est-ce pas?" He grinned wide, revealing teeth white as porcelain, perfect except for the way each one came to a point.



RE: All That Glitters [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-24-2017

Oh, right, that's where she'd left the indignation, humiliation, and rage. Right around Dog Pun Avenue. So glad she'd found it. She came about three seconds from slamming it shut behind them, hard enough to jar half the wall, let alone the door. She even kicked it hard enough to do so. But her eyes were on the haphazard wiggling of her book. A lot of those pages were holding on by literal threads. She caught the door before it could slam shut, pausing long enough to close it, nicely, eyes never leaving the man and her book.

"It's not useless!" she snapped. Wait, wrong message. "I mean, it is to you, but..." Fuck, she was terrible at this. No wonder she had hundreds of dollars worth of books and no one to sell them to.

She did, in fact, lunge for it when he lowered it to look better, and did, in fact, get tripped by his cane. She hadn't been expecting him to move it so quickly, or at all. She'd sort of been operating under the assumption that he used it, y'know, to walk or something. She stumbled as it caught in her ankles, tripping sort of sideways against the wall before catching her balance. Meanwhile, he was continuing backwards away from her.

She began to follow again immediately, this time keeping an eye on where he had the cane.

"It's-- a thousand dollars?"

That book was not, objectively speaking, worth one thousand dollars. If she got good market value for all the books in her box, she could maybe net one to two thousand dollars. That would be if she sold all of them. At good value.

Even a single semester of school was a lot more than that. Hence her borderline despair at not having gotten the scholarship. A thousand dollars was a lot of money. Especially for a very old, very worn book that wasn't quite worthless, but would have to be completely rebound to be even vaguely sellable. She stared in bewilderment.

A thousand dollars...

Still wasn't enough to go to college with, so all she'd be was out her most valuable possession and up a thousand that would wind up going to bills and food and her mother's drugs.

"I-it's not for sale," she repeated, with slightly less confidence. When he smiled, he had the teeth of a shark. There was a zero percent change he was human. She was alone in his house. He probably didn't actually need that cane to walk.

Ahhhh, fuck. Fuuuuck.

She reached for it again. "I-if you're interested in any of the other books, you can look through... If not I'll just, uh..." Leave. Skeedaddle. Fucking run, because she didn't know if you could be double-cursed but a witch's curse didn't protect you from being, like, eaten. Actually, if anything, it spoke to her desperation that she was still willing to let him peruse through the box while she, presumably, stood nervously to the side wondering what he ate with teeth like that. "Be on my way," she decided on, which made her sound like an old lady from a 1950s movie. Ugh.