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tampered2007-05-31 12:15 am
misterblackbird.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-05-31 12:15 am
Log; Ongoing
When; May 29, afternoon-ish?
Rating; G
Characters; Lady Lailis of Lodoc (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cursedqueen) and Earl Cain Hargreaves (misterblackbird)
Summary; Lailis is as yet unaccustomed to her new wheelchair. Cain launches a "rescue" after a fall down a trapdoor. The one thing aristocrats are really good at is talking.
Log;
It had been a bit of a struggle to convince her that the wheelchair would be a useful thing. And now she'd fallen out of it, somewhere on the stage.
He walked heavily in the hallways, hoping that she might hear his footsteps at least, and came upon the main auditorium from the house entrances.
The theatre was dark. A handful of dim lights illuminated patches of the lavish gold and velvet house. The stage itself was completely in shadow, unused, probably half-cluttered with old scenery and ropes.
Perhaps the worst thing was how pathetic she'd sounded in her note. "If anyone possesses any free time" and "at anyone's convenience" to help her. Honestly.
Once he was closer he'd start calling out to her--she'd hear that, certainly.
So for the second time, Cain found himself unexpectedly, and almost unwillingly, rushing to Lailis's aid.
---
It was dark. She knew that. Lailis couldn’t see, eyes not penetrating far into the murky black beneath the stage. She supposed that had to be where she was. She’d just wanted to see the stage, thin arms trembling, pushing the thin wheels, looking about. Being able to move under her own power, even seated like that in the strange wheeled chair, was amazing to her, and she’d hardly been watching where she was going. All she knew was that she’d hit something, and then fallen.
"..." Her face raised to the small cracks of light she could barely see above her, ears straining. He was... coming, right?
"Earl Hargreaves?" The former queen called tentatively, thought she heard something coming in the musty space she occupied.
---
He heard something, faintly, like a voice. It was muffled, but it echoed just enough in the theatre for him to hear it.
Well, she had to have her Network contraption with her, since she had asked for help--even responded to him. And he'd carried his along, too, to keep up with what she said. Well, if he called out, she might hear it, but if she didn't, she'd at least know he was looking if he recorded it for her.
He balanced the thing--he'd never really gotten comfortable with this contraption, just accustomed to it--on his forearm, speaking more into the air than into the microphone.
"Can you hear me? Lord, it is dark in here. I'm at the back of the mezzanine now. You said you were on the stage? I think I can see your chair..."
---
Lailis tried to sit up further, small hands grabbing her bare feet and tucking them beneath her, at least getting the useless things out of the way.
“Earl Hargreaves?” She called again, one hand reaching up to move her heavy hair from her face and coming away sticky, wet. Confused, she gazed at the pale fingers she could only barely see, even inches away from her eyes.
Blood.
“Apparantly I hit my head...” She stated it simply, she was in no pain. “Are there prop spaces beneath the stage, or doors for tricks and such? I can't imagine I got far, though... that may be where I am?” Lodoc’s cursed queen had no idea, knew only it was dark, musty, and dry.
---
He clambored up onto the apron of the stage, still walking heavily to let her know where he was.
The curtain was down. She must have come in through the wings since that would have been an easy way with the wheelchair, he thought, so she'll be back behind the curtain. He pushed his way through the heavy, dusty fabric. There were more lights burning there than out in the house.
"There are trapdoors and the like up here, yes," he called. "So you're...you're under the stage? I should be almost above you by now then. Just hope that I don't fall down that hole too."
He paused, trying to puzzle out the half echoed, half muffled words he'd heard from under his feet.
"Did you say you hit your head? Are you hurt?"
Lailis's wheelchair stood nearby, its wheel caught on a handle and a rope--the trapdoor switch, it must be. So the trapdoor she fell through had to be nearby--one of the upstage ones, certainly. He scanned the dark floor, looking for the edges of the door.
"I hear you now. There's your chair. And there's a trapdoor. Which means...""
He leaned over the still-shut trapdoor and called, "Are you down here?"
---
Lailis tried to rise again, managing to catch her hands on… something. It felt like a crate of some kind, and she moved carefully, feeling splintered wood beneath her fingers and trying not to injure herself any further.
“It’s nothing to worry over, Earl.” She assured her injuries, though they didn’t hurt, and she didn’t want to really check how bad it was, in case it was something serious. But she doubted that.
“Ah-“ She looked up again. “I think I see a small bit of light… could you lift the door? It’s...” She smiled almost. “Rather dark.”
---
"Ah...I'm trying," Cain called back to her." It'S a bit...heavy."
The door didn't seem willing to open--well, of course not. It would lock again to keep the actors from falling in halfway through act three. Really, this whole ordeal was becoming almost more trouble than it was worth.
But how else was she going to get out? Really.
He hurried over to where the wheelchair was still entangled and dropped the switch again. Something clicked into place underfoot.
"Not much lighter out here, though, you know," he said, fingers scrabbling at the door and finally lifting it up.
"You must have tripped the switch, fallen through, and then had the trapdoor shut over you." He smiled down at her a moment before his face fell. "Are you hurt? Here. I don't know that I can lift you out, but we can get out at the back of the stage like the actors do, if we have to."
---
“I’m not that hurt.” She assured him, quick to mention it as she didn’t want to burden him. He’d already... she was already such a burden to this man who looked like Lassen. And she’d been anything but a burden to Lassen. She was his prize, his trophy, his love. His twisted, sick, and morbid love.
"...We can do that?” Lailis did not know much about stage construction. She’d seen plays, had the trumpets blared in Lodoc and everyone rise as their queen sat down, arranged herself, and watched the performance. But that was the extent of her experience.
One hand came up to shield her eyes a moment from the sudden light, a slight red visible on her pale fingers.
---
"You're bleeding," he said flatly, immediately seeing the red stains on her pale hands. "But, no, it doesn't seem that bad."
He lowered himself down the trapdoor and dropped to the floor next to her. The stage was now their roof, and well above both their heads. Clearly, she had fallen a significant distance. A bit of a wonder she wasn't more injured.
He looked back into the gloom under the stage. There seemed to be a reasonable pathway through the wooden bracings that supported the stage itself. Presumably, here was where the prima donna, the magician, even Don Giovanni would hurry to get backstage. It shouldn't be too difficult to find a way out.
"Unfortunately, Lady Lailis, it looks like I might be carrying you again."
---
Absently, her hand dabbed at the back of her head, where the blood had come from. She winced a bit and withdrew it quickly. It didn’t hurt. … Until touched, at least.
“I apologize, Earl Hargreaves.” She murmured, straining the muscles in her arms to at least get her into a sitting position on the crates. “I just… was exploring. Outside the room.” She wondered if he was upset, angry, at her. Could he be?
Her legs hung down and she brushed her dress back down over them, thin and malnourished. Eating had… well, she’d never had an appetite.
“… I could try walking against you, if that would be better for you.” She knew that may not work, but…
---
He sighed a little. "It's not exactly safe for you to go wandering about. This is the kind of thing that can happen--Lady Lailis." He added her title and name hastily, as if that would soften the edge in his voice.
"If you think you have the strength to walk, you're certainly welcome to try, my lady." He doubted she'd be able to take even a single step. But let her try at least, if she's that desperate for some freedom. And hold her so that if--or, rather, when--she falls, she won't injure herself further.
"Here," he offered his hand to her as if he were asking her for the next waltz. "Shall we?"
---
She raised her hand tentatively, gripped his firmly. She didn’t answer at first, looking down at her feet. Her mind told them to move, and all the signals worked in her hips, her knees... but when they hit the scars across the backs of her legs, everything stopped. Her brow furrowed slightly and she kept her other hand on the crate, trying to lever herself down gently, unable to feel bare feet hitting the ground, having to watch carefully.
She stood for a mere moment, balancing precariously, unable to feel her feet but quite able to feel sharp pains in her tendons, running up and down her legs. She tried to dismiss it, burdensome, she was, but it was hard to keep the expression off her face, eyes widening slightly. To be honest, this was the first time in years she’d even attempted walking. Watching Lassen slice her had been quite enough to convince her any try would be useless.
Her legs managed to support her for almost ten seconds before she began to fall.
---
Immediately, he reached out to stop her fall: one hand caught her shoulder, the other caught around her waist.
"Thought so," he said darkly. "Someone wanted to keep you right where he wanted you. Did quite a job of it too."
He'd seen that before: broken legs, burns, tricks to keep birds from flying. Odd, though, that this girl was only sad. She didn't seem to have in her any of the anger, or the madness, that some in similar situations had. She didn't seem to have it, at least. Certain mentions of vampires, though...
"Well, you can try again, or I can try to carry you. Lady's choice."
---
“Lassen always did his job effectively.” She said softly, smiling slightly. Lassen was ruthless, heartless, everything about the Vampire King that she’d loved in order to make her love him. And even then, it hadn’t been enough until the very end.
“… Once more.” She insisted quietly, weakly, not much of an insistence so much as a request. Her small hands gripped his arms, trying to support herself against him, tried to make the unfeeling feet beneath her respond with anything more than the pain that made tears spring to her eyes, but ended up unable to do much more than make sure that this time she fell against him, chest heaving from the slight effort that seemed so difficult for her.
“… I’m sorry.” The woman admitted her inability to do it meekly, long brown-red hair falling once more limply around her, sticky with red in the back of her skull.
---
He held her gently by the shoulders where she'd fallen against him, face tense and jaw set. Clearly she knew the extent of her injuries, and still she was determined to walk--and do it now?
"This isn't really the time or the place for this, you know. You're injured, you've just fallen under the stage--perhaps another time."
He held her a little away from himself, balancing her carefully. She seemed able to balance herself, if given proper support. Perhaps, with a little practice... Certainly she seemed a bit stronger than she had. She could manoeuver the wheelchair well enough to get this far, after all.
"May I carry you, then? At least back up to the stage."
---
“… You may, Earl Hargreaves, thank you.” She averted her gaze, knowing herself stupid for trying such a thing. She’d said it herself, hadn’t she? Lassen always did his job effectively, and if he’d not wanted her to walk, she wouldn’t walk. Simple as that, it was.
Her thin arms wrapped about his shoulders, clutching lightly in preparation. She supposed she was thankful she did not eat as she stood, her frame wasted away made her easier to carry, at the very least.
“I am sorry, again, that I am so troublesome for you.” Her blue eyes lowered again, demure.
---
Troublesome.
Yes, she was troublesome, but not in the way she meant it. She didn't cause him trouble, but she was troubling for him. She had all but told him that he could be the twin to the man she was looking for, this man Lassen, whom she clearly loved despite what he'd done to her. She wanted to be, what, loved? And he would not--could not--provide that for her.
"You aren't troublesome, Lady, not really."
He caught her at her knees and her back again, letting her support herself as much as she could holding his neck as she was.
She was pleasant company, if a bit melancholy. But he knew he couldn't keep rushing to her this way. He felt oddly obliged to help her, this time at least, since he had been the one who'd brought her into the Opera House in the first place. Well, in that respect, she was troublesome. Something he had to keep up with. Unfortunately.
Too close a connection already.
"You know, if you ever do find yourself able to walk again, you ought to learn how to dance."
Slowly, ducking a few low beams and some odd coils of rope, he found the way back out from under the stage.
---
“I used to.” She tucked herself as close as she could, trying to keep her grip on his neck strong enough that she wasn’t anymore difficult to bear than she was already.
“A queen must dance, really. As must Earls.” It was… somewhat nice, to talk about such a thing. “In Lodoc, there was the annual ball to mark Pheliosta’s founding…” She slipped back into the memory with surprising ease, it had been so long since she’d thought on such things.
“My general asked me to dance with him in front of several suitors. … I thought Lassen would kill him.” Her shoulders shook lightly in a silent motion, perhaps laughter, perhaps not.
“I am sure Earl Hargreaves is a very good dancer.” What did she want from him? Nothing. What did she get from him? … Comfort. Comfort, that he looked so much like Lassen did. Whether he was cruel to her or came to her as now, it was comforting.
---
"Fair enough," he said. "Really, sometimes, I felt a bit like a maypole--just something for the ladies to hold on to while they spun about. The politics of it all kept it entertaining, though."
Idle, idle chatter. Fine.
"But, I'm glad to hear you once knew. You seem to have many secrets, and you don't easily divulge them."
There was more light filtering into the gloom now. The hidden innards of the stage opened out into the back hallways, dressing rooms, and dark rooms of backstage. Above them rose the catwalks and scaffolding for the lights and scenery.
He let the pause that had lapsed between them stand for a change in the subject of their conversation. Now would serve.
"If I may be so bold, why do you have such an interest in vampires?"
---
She stiffened slightly.
Really, she’d known he would ask eventually. Knew someone would. But… she dreaded it. Perhaps… she would be asked to leave. Perhaps they would be disgusted, and once again she would be reviled, the cursed queen.
“… I told you, before, that I was twenty one years in this life.” Lailis spoke softly, nervously. For as much as she did not want to say, she also knew that this man, who looked so like him… all he would have to do was look at her severely and she would say whatever he wanted to hear.
“In my last life… I was the Vampire King’s magician, and his… one of his favorite toys.” She admitted such a thing with little shame. She could remember her life, part of the ritual she’d undergone to ensure her proper reincarnation. Rishas, one of the most powerful human sorcerers of his time, now a weak and hamstrung woman.
---
Magicians. He tried not to sneer. Every last one he'd ever encountered had been a charlatan--clever, yes, but false as well. And those who did practice the dark arts, well--
Living in the City, though, had taught him that his world was distinctly lacking in terms of magic or supernatural powers as compared to some of the worlds people seemed to come from.
"And so you returned to be with him again, and now you are looking for him here."
They had emerged from under the stage now. Nearby were the narrow stairs that led back up to wings and the stage itself. Carefully, slowly, he began to climb.
"Somehow I doubt you'll find him among the vampires in the City. They seem to come in packs from their own worlds. And if none has recognized you for who you are as yet, you may be as I was--when I first arrived at least--the lone representative of your world."
He paused, remembering what she had said about her army of sworn followers.
"Or, perhaps, you are used to having vampires under your command and you wish to have that again?"
---
“… I do not seek the Vampire King in this life any longer.” She muttered, a slight bitterness in her voice. “He found me, in Lassen’s mansion. He is… He was… no longer the man I had served so faithfully. A disappointment.”
“But, no… vampires hardly ever served humans in my world. At least, never me. Some served Lassen.” She could remember the beautiful female forms they’d taken, perched on her windowstill. No word from Lord Duzell, Lady Lailis. They’d croon. Too bad your new body is so lacking in magical power, or you could sprout wings like ours and fly to him, instead of languishing in that bed all day. She looked up, caught the twitching of the sneer on her lips, and blurted out something into his chest.
“… He Who Kills swore to serve me.”
---
He started at her the sudden force behind her words.
He-Who-Kills was an odd one, probably a dangerous one, but certainly...peculiar. And best not to cross.
"You have a strong defender then, Lady."
He decided not to press the issue of the vampires any further. Perhaps she sought the vampires for news of her world or those in it. Perhaps, since they had served this man Lassen, she sought them to find him. Lassen always seemed foremost in her thoughts, as though anything could remind her of him.
"I'm sorry to have upset you so. Look, though, we're back on the stage again. Do you feel strong enough to move yourself or would you like some assistance?"
---
She raised her head abruptly at his response. … She had thought- Wasn’t he angry? Even those who’d sworn to serve her in Lodoc… none of them truly wanted to. They all knew that they would never be free of her, she who could call them back from death itself to continue to serve her as a Once Fallen. Even her general had feared that power.
“… I-" The woman was evidently surprised, grip almost slipping but she clung tighter, refusing to let go and cause him to fall as well. "… If you could just set me by the chair.” She murmured, confused.
---
"'By the chair'?" he asked, a little puzzled. "As you wish."
Carefully he lowered her to the ground beside the wheelchair. It looked cumbersome and excessively mechanical beside her small form. He moved it carefully away from the trapdoor trigger lest it get caught again.
She had seemed surprised just then. Uncertain. Most other times she had had a slow, slightly mournful response, always perfect, always polite. But she was surprised here. Why?
He-Who-Kills was a strong defender, and he was sorry to have upset her--at least because it meant she wouldn't elaborate on her ties to the vampires and so on any further, at least not yet.
Not that vampires even mattered. She didn't seem a danger at all. But it was enjoyable to have something new to think at. Something other than the half-dozen blind alleys his questions about Joshua had led him down to puzzle over.
---
The queen of Lodoc had a small measure of pride, tattered and shredded as it may be, left to her. Chin high, she gripped the sides of the chair and managed to support herself against it, raise herself enough to clamber into the seat, though it was obviously difficult for her. She took a few steady breaths, reaching down to arrange her feet with her hands, smoothing down her dress and lifting her hair from beneath her, having to brush it over her shoulders, it hung far too long to be kept loose around anything with wheels.
“… Thank you, Earl Hargreaves.” She finally spoke, finally managing to look him in the eyes, deep, blue, and knowing.
“… You have more questions in you.”
---
He watched quietly, and in some amazement, as she pulled herself into her seat.
Her eyes caught him by surprise. She was perceptive. It felt good to be on an even playing field again, with someone who knew subtlety and aristrocratic politics again. He felt a little out of practice--trying to keep up with someone as unpredictable as Soubi had bruised his pride of late.
He could feel his usual small, proud smile, his standard mask, beginning to spread across his face. His head cocked just slightly to one side, his hands in his pockets, affecting a casual air.
"I do," he said, brightly, "but I shan't ask them now."
---
“Ah, you won’t?” Lailis found herself intrigued. It had been a long time since her throne room, since her court and her courtiers, the whirl of nobility and the whispers in the halls. She had been sheltered from some things as the child Queen, but she had played the game as she knew how, as Rishas had known how, and she had played well before Lassen had broken her. It had been a long while too, that she felt that feeling from before she’d crumbled.
“Who am I to force you ask, then.” Her expression did not waver, however, knowledgeable, something beyond the years she claimed in this life. “Though it has been said that one need only do such.”
---
"What? Force me to ask, my lady?"
Cunning trick. She'd win either way now: if he asked, she could refuse, but she would have gotten him to ask.
"You didn't seem to like answering my questions before."
Perhaps because she was being carried like an infant in arms, instead of sitting like a queen on a very strange throne.
Well, better to cut one's losses and be dull than persist in dancing about.
"I simply remain intrigued by your connections with the vampires."
He turned away from her just slightly.
"It's always interesting to see how one person knows another. One could probably create a great chain of acquaintance across the world."
---
I force nothing.” She said with a small smile, folding her hands neatly in her lap. And physically, no, she certainly could not. It was only with words could she change anything, only with that knowing look and serene gaze could she command a room, only with a small and hushed voice to make one listen, and, for those who’d sworn to her, absolute power over them should she choose to exercise it.
“I am connected to none here.” She answered, however. Even if she won, she showed no smugness, no pride, and answered simply.
“I once wished to become one. If I… If I become one, I would be able to walk. I wanted that.”
---
"But you want this no longer?" He let his smile fade just a fraction, not to suggest disappointment in her decision, but just enough to mirror her saddening expression.
It occurred to him suddenly how perfect it was that this conversation was taking place on a stage. It amused him and brought his smile back.
He pulled his face down again to look puzzled.
"So if you are unconnected, and do not seek your Vampire King, why then are you interested in them so much? Or do I misread you, my lady?"
---
“I still want it.” She said softly. “The blind man always wishes to see, the deaf man to hear, and the crippled man to walk, no matter what they say to others.” Her gaze lowered to her feet, tried to kick them but only succeeded in moving her knees, the appendages limp and numbed.
“I do not know what to think of the vampires here.” Her eyes closed a moment, contemplative, hands moving to run lightly across the slightly worn wheels of the chair. “I have spoken with several, and they serve only confuse me. One, who claims to be the most powerful, serves a human woman, which makes him weak, surely. Another claims to have mastery over an army of vampires, created with science, not the black magics. And another claims no such affiliation, but I trust him not.”
She smiled. “You see my quandary, Earl. Perhaps I realize I fool myself when I think to walk again. Princess Rue sent a healer to me, but…”
---
Perhaps this was also why she had quietly resisted the wheelchair and the healer so much in the first place, by clinging to this strange hope to walk again.
Lailis seemed to have pulled inward again, he thought, away from her queenliness of a moment ago, back to being the small, crushed thing she so often was. It had been interesting to see, if only for a moment, some flicker of what else she had been, and not just how she had been left.
"I know. I spoke to her about you, you know."
Not for any particular reason. He'd been the one taking her her meals, while the healer had suggested what might be best for her to eat. It seemed his business to know that much.
Rating; G
Characters; Lady Lailis of Lodoc (
cursedqueen) and Earl Cain Hargreaves (misterblackbird)Summary; Lailis is as yet unaccustomed to her new wheelchair. Cain launches a "rescue" after a fall down a trapdoor. The one thing aristocrats are really good at is talking.
Log;
It had been a bit of a struggle to convince her that the wheelchair would be a useful thing. And now she'd fallen out of it, somewhere on the stage.
He walked heavily in the hallways, hoping that she might hear his footsteps at least, and came upon the main auditorium from the house entrances.
The theatre was dark. A handful of dim lights illuminated patches of the lavish gold and velvet house. The stage itself was completely in shadow, unused, probably half-cluttered with old scenery and ropes.
Perhaps the worst thing was how pathetic she'd sounded in her note. "If anyone possesses any free time" and "at anyone's convenience" to help her. Honestly.
Once he was closer he'd start calling out to her--she'd hear that, certainly.
So for the second time, Cain found himself unexpectedly, and almost unwillingly, rushing to Lailis's aid.
---
It was dark. She knew that. Lailis couldn’t see, eyes not penetrating far into the murky black beneath the stage. She supposed that had to be where she was. She’d just wanted to see the stage, thin arms trembling, pushing the thin wheels, looking about. Being able to move under her own power, even seated like that in the strange wheeled chair, was amazing to her, and she’d hardly been watching where she was going. All she knew was that she’d hit something, and then fallen.
"..." Her face raised to the small cracks of light she could barely see above her, ears straining. He was... coming, right?
"Earl Hargreaves?" The former queen called tentatively, thought she heard something coming in the musty space she occupied.
---
He heard something, faintly, like a voice. It was muffled, but it echoed just enough in the theatre for him to hear it.
Well, she had to have her Network contraption with her, since she had asked for help--even responded to him. And he'd carried his along, too, to keep up with what she said. Well, if he called out, she might hear it, but if she didn't, she'd at least know he was looking if he recorded it for her.
He balanced the thing--he'd never really gotten comfortable with this contraption, just accustomed to it--on his forearm, speaking more into the air than into the microphone.
"Can you hear me? Lord, it is dark in here. I'm at the back of the mezzanine now. You said you were on the stage? I think I can see your chair..."
---
Lailis tried to sit up further, small hands grabbing her bare feet and tucking them beneath her, at least getting the useless things out of the way.
“Earl Hargreaves?” She called again, one hand reaching up to move her heavy hair from her face and coming away sticky, wet. Confused, she gazed at the pale fingers she could only barely see, even inches away from her eyes.
Blood.
“Apparantly I hit my head...” She stated it simply, she was in no pain. “Are there prop spaces beneath the stage, or doors for tricks and such? I can't imagine I got far, though... that may be where I am?” Lodoc’s cursed queen had no idea, knew only it was dark, musty, and dry.
---
He clambored up onto the apron of the stage, still walking heavily to let her know where he was.
The curtain was down. She must have come in through the wings since that would have been an easy way with the wheelchair, he thought, so she'll be back behind the curtain. He pushed his way through the heavy, dusty fabric. There were more lights burning there than out in the house.
"There are trapdoors and the like up here, yes," he called. "So you're...you're under the stage? I should be almost above you by now then. Just hope that I don't fall down that hole too."
He paused, trying to puzzle out the half echoed, half muffled words he'd heard from under his feet.
"Did you say you hit your head? Are you hurt?"
Lailis's wheelchair stood nearby, its wheel caught on a handle and a rope--the trapdoor switch, it must be. So the trapdoor she fell through had to be nearby--one of the upstage ones, certainly. He scanned the dark floor, looking for the edges of the door.
"I hear you now. There's your chair. And there's a trapdoor. Which means...""
He leaned over the still-shut trapdoor and called, "Are you down here?"
---
Lailis tried to rise again, managing to catch her hands on… something. It felt like a crate of some kind, and she moved carefully, feeling splintered wood beneath her fingers and trying not to injure herself any further.
“It’s nothing to worry over, Earl.” She assured her injuries, though they didn’t hurt, and she didn’t want to really check how bad it was, in case it was something serious. But she doubted that.
“Ah-“ She looked up again. “I think I see a small bit of light… could you lift the door? It’s...” She smiled almost. “Rather dark.”
---
"Ah...I'm trying," Cain called back to her." It'S a bit...heavy."
The door didn't seem willing to open--well, of course not. It would lock again to keep the actors from falling in halfway through act three. Really, this whole ordeal was becoming almost more trouble than it was worth.
But how else was she going to get out? Really.
He hurried over to where the wheelchair was still entangled and dropped the switch again. Something clicked into place underfoot.
"Not much lighter out here, though, you know," he said, fingers scrabbling at the door and finally lifting it up.
"You must have tripped the switch, fallen through, and then had the trapdoor shut over you." He smiled down at her a moment before his face fell. "Are you hurt? Here. I don't know that I can lift you out, but we can get out at the back of the stage like the actors do, if we have to."
---
“I’m not that hurt.” She assured him, quick to mention it as she didn’t want to burden him. He’d already... she was already such a burden to this man who looked like Lassen. And she’d been anything but a burden to Lassen. She was his prize, his trophy, his love. His twisted, sick, and morbid love.
"...We can do that?” Lailis did not know much about stage construction. She’d seen plays, had the trumpets blared in Lodoc and everyone rise as their queen sat down, arranged herself, and watched the performance. But that was the extent of her experience.
One hand came up to shield her eyes a moment from the sudden light, a slight red visible on her pale fingers.
---
"You're bleeding," he said flatly, immediately seeing the red stains on her pale hands. "But, no, it doesn't seem that bad."
He lowered himself down the trapdoor and dropped to the floor next to her. The stage was now their roof, and well above both their heads. Clearly, she had fallen a significant distance. A bit of a wonder she wasn't more injured.
He looked back into the gloom under the stage. There seemed to be a reasonable pathway through the wooden bracings that supported the stage itself. Presumably, here was where the prima donna, the magician, even Don Giovanni would hurry to get backstage. It shouldn't be too difficult to find a way out.
"Unfortunately, Lady Lailis, it looks like I might be carrying you again."
---
Absently, her hand dabbed at the back of her head, where the blood had come from. She winced a bit and withdrew it quickly. It didn’t hurt. … Until touched, at least.
“I apologize, Earl Hargreaves.” She murmured, straining the muscles in her arms to at least get her into a sitting position on the crates. “I just… was exploring. Outside the room.” She wondered if he was upset, angry, at her. Could he be?
Her legs hung down and she brushed her dress back down over them, thin and malnourished. Eating had… well, she’d never had an appetite.
“… I could try walking against you, if that would be better for you.” She knew that may not work, but…
---
He sighed a little. "It's not exactly safe for you to go wandering about. This is the kind of thing that can happen--Lady Lailis." He added her title and name hastily, as if that would soften the edge in his voice.
"If you think you have the strength to walk, you're certainly welcome to try, my lady." He doubted she'd be able to take even a single step. But let her try at least, if she's that desperate for some freedom. And hold her so that if--or, rather, when--she falls, she won't injure herself further.
"Here," he offered his hand to her as if he were asking her for the next waltz. "Shall we?"
---
She raised her hand tentatively, gripped his firmly. She didn’t answer at first, looking down at her feet. Her mind told them to move, and all the signals worked in her hips, her knees... but when they hit the scars across the backs of her legs, everything stopped. Her brow furrowed slightly and she kept her other hand on the crate, trying to lever herself down gently, unable to feel bare feet hitting the ground, having to watch carefully.
She stood for a mere moment, balancing precariously, unable to feel her feet but quite able to feel sharp pains in her tendons, running up and down her legs. She tried to dismiss it, burdensome, she was, but it was hard to keep the expression off her face, eyes widening slightly. To be honest, this was the first time in years she’d even attempted walking. Watching Lassen slice her had been quite enough to convince her any try would be useless.
Her legs managed to support her for almost ten seconds before she began to fall.
---
Immediately, he reached out to stop her fall: one hand caught her shoulder, the other caught around her waist.
"Thought so," he said darkly. "Someone wanted to keep you right where he wanted you. Did quite a job of it too."
He'd seen that before: broken legs, burns, tricks to keep birds from flying. Odd, though, that this girl was only sad. She didn't seem to have in her any of the anger, or the madness, that some in similar situations had. She didn't seem to have it, at least. Certain mentions of vampires, though...
"Well, you can try again, or I can try to carry you. Lady's choice."
---
“Lassen always did his job effectively.” She said softly, smiling slightly. Lassen was ruthless, heartless, everything about the Vampire King that she’d loved in order to make her love him. And even then, it hadn’t been enough until the very end.
“… Once more.” She insisted quietly, weakly, not much of an insistence so much as a request. Her small hands gripped his arms, trying to support herself against him, tried to make the unfeeling feet beneath her respond with anything more than the pain that made tears spring to her eyes, but ended up unable to do much more than make sure that this time she fell against him, chest heaving from the slight effort that seemed so difficult for her.
“… I’m sorry.” The woman admitted her inability to do it meekly, long brown-red hair falling once more limply around her, sticky with red in the back of her skull.
---
He held her gently by the shoulders where she'd fallen against him, face tense and jaw set. Clearly she knew the extent of her injuries, and still she was determined to walk--and do it now?
"This isn't really the time or the place for this, you know. You're injured, you've just fallen under the stage--perhaps another time."
He held her a little away from himself, balancing her carefully. She seemed able to balance herself, if given proper support. Perhaps, with a little practice... Certainly she seemed a bit stronger than she had. She could manoeuver the wheelchair well enough to get this far, after all.
"May I carry you, then? At least back up to the stage."
---
“… You may, Earl Hargreaves, thank you.” She averted her gaze, knowing herself stupid for trying such a thing. She’d said it herself, hadn’t she? Lassen always did his job effectively, and if he’d not wanted her to walk, she wouldn’t walk. Simple as that, it was.
Her thin arms wrapped about his shoulders, clutching lightly in preparation. She supposed she was thankful she did not eat as she stood, her frame wasted away made her easier to carry, at the very least.
“I am sorry, again, that I am so troublesome for you.” Her blue eyes lowered again, demure.
---
Troublesome.
Yes, she was troublesome, but not in the way she meant it. She didn't cause him trouble, but she was troubling for him. She had all but told him that he could be the twin to the man she was looking for, this man Lassen, whom she clearly loved despite what he'd done to her. She wanted to be, what, loved? And he would not--could not--provide that for her.
"You aren't troublesome, Lady, not really."
He caught her at her knees and her back again, letting her support herself as much as she could holding his neck as she was.
She was pleasant company, if a bit melancholy. But he knew he couldn't keep rushing to her this way. He felt oddly obliged to help her, this time at least, since he had been the one who'd brought her into the Opera House in the first place. Well, in that respect, she was troublesome. Something he had to keep up with. Unfortunately.
Too close a connection already.
"You know, if you ever do find yourself able to walk again, you ought to learn how to dance."
Slowly, ducking a few low beams and some odd coils of rope, he found the way back out from under the stage.
---
“I used to.” She tucked herself as close as she could, trying to keep her grip on his neck strong enough that she wasn’t anymore difficult to bear than she was already.
“A queen must dance, really. As must Earls.” It was… somewhat nice, to talk about such a thing. “In Lodoc, there was the annual ball to mark Pheliosta’s founding…” She slipped back into the memory with surprising ease, it had been so long since she’d thought on such things.
“My general asked me to dance with him in front of several suitors. … I thought Lassen would kill him.” Her shoulders shook lightly in a silent motion, perhaps laughter, perhaps not.
“I am sure Earl Hargreaves is a very good dancer.” What did she want from him? Nothing. What did she get from him? … Comfort. Comfort, that he looked so much like Lassen did. Whether he was cruel to her or came to her as now, it was comforting.
---
"Fair enough," he said. "Really, sometimes, I felt a bit like a maypole--just something for the ladies to hold on to while they spun about. The politics of it all kept it entertaining, though."
Idle, idle chatter. Fine.
"But, I'm glad to hear you once knew. You seem to have many secrets, and you don't easily divulge them."
There was more light filtering into the gloom now. The hidden innards of the stage opened out into the back hallways, dressing rooms, and dark rooms of backstage. Above them rose the catwalks and scaffolding for the lights and scenery.
He let the pause that had lapsed between them stand for a change in the subject of their conversation. Now would serve.
"If I may be so bold, why do you have such an interest in vampires?"
---
She stiffened slightly.
Really, she’d known he would ask eventually. Knew someone would. But… she dreaded it. Perhaps… she would be asked to leave. Perhaps they would be disgusted, and once again she would be reviled, the cursed queen.
“… I told you, before, that I was twenty one years in this life.” Lailis spoke softly, nervously. For as much as she did not want to say, she also knew that this man, who looked so like him… all he would have to do was look at her severely and she would say whatever he wanted to hear.
“In my last life… I was the Vampire King’s magician, and his… one of his favorite toys.” She admitted such a thing with little shame. She could remember her life, part of the ritual she’d undergone to ensure her proper reincarnation. Rishas, one of the most powerful human sorcerers of his time, now a weak and hamstrung woman.
---
Magicians. He tried not to sneer. Every last one he'd ever encountered had been a charlatan--clever, yes, but false as well. And those who did practice the dark arts, well--
Living in the City, though, had taught him that his world was distinctly lacking in terms of magic or supernatural powers as compared to some of the worlds people seemed to come from.
"And so you returned to be with him again, and now you are looking for him here."
They had emerged from under the stage now. Nearby were the narrow stairs that led back up to wings and the stage itself. Carefully, slowly, he began to climb.
"Somehow I doubt you'll find him among the vampires in the City. They seem to come in packs from their own worlds. And if none has recognized you for who you are as yet, you may be as I was--when I first arrived at least--the lone representative of your world."
He paused, remembering what she had said about her army of sworn followers.
"Or, perhaps, you are used to having vampires under your command and you wish to have that again?"
---
“… I do not seek the Vampire King in this life any longer.” She muttered, a slight bitterness in her voice. “He found me, in Lassen’s mansion. He is… He was… no longer the man I had served so faithfully. A disappointment.”
“But, no… vampires hardly ever served humans in my world. At least, never me. Some served Lassen.” She could remember the beautiful female forms they’d taken, perched on her windowstill. No word from Lord Duzell, Lady Lailis. They’d croon. Too bad your new body is so lacking in magical power, or you could sprout wings like ours and fly to him, instead of languishing in that bed all day. She looked up, caught the twitching of the sneer on her lips, and blurted out something into his chest.
“… He Who Kills swore to serve me.”
---
He started at her the sudden force behind her words.
He-Who-Kills was an odd one, probably a dangerous one, but certainly...peculiar. And best not to cross.
"You have a strong defender then, Lady."
He decided not to press the issue of the vampires any further. Perhaps she sought the vampires for news of her world or those in it. Perhaps, since they had served this man Lassen, she sought them to find him. Lassen always seemed foremost in her thoughts, as though anything could remind her of him.
"I'm sorry to have upset you so. Look, though, we're back on the stage again. Do you feel strong enough to move yourself or would you like some assistance?"
---
She raised her head abruptly at his response. … She had thought- Wasn’t he angry? Even those who’d sworn to serve her in Lodoc… none of them truly wanted to. They all knew that they would never be free of her, she who could call them back from death itself to continue to serve her as a Once Fallen. Even her general had feared that power.
“… I-" The woman was evidently surprised, grip almost slipping but she clung tighter, refusing to let go and cause him to fall as well. "… If you could just set me by the chair.” She murmured, confused.
---
"'By the chair'?" he asked, a little puzzled. "As you wish."
Carefully he lowered her to the ground beside the wheelchair. It looked cumbersome and excessively mechanical beside her small form. He moved it carefully away from the trapdoor trigger lest it get caught again.
She had seemed surprised just then. Uncertain. Most other times she had had a slow, slightly mournful response, always perfect, always polite. But she was surprised here. Why?
He-Who-Kills was a strong defender, and he was sorry to have upset her--at least because it meant she wouldn't elaborate on her ties to the vampires and so on any further, at least not yet.
Not that vampires even mattered. She didn't seem a danger at all. But it was enjoyable to have something new to think at. Something other than the half-dozen blind alleys his questions about Joshua had led him down to puzzle over.
---
The queen of Lodoc had a small measure of pride, tattered and shredded as it may be, left to her. Chin high, she gripped the sides of the chair and managed to support herself against it, raise herself enough to clamber into the seat, though it was obviously difficult for her. She took a few steady breaths, reaching down to arrange her feet with her hands, smoothing down her dress and lifting her hair from beneath her, having to brush it over her shoulders, it hung far too long to be kept loose around anything with wheels.
“… Thank you, Earl Hargreaves.” She finally spoke, finally managing to look him in the eyes, deep, blue, and knowing.
“… You have more questions in you.”
---
He watched quietly, and in some amazement, as she pulled herself into her seat.
Her eyes caught him by surprise. She was perceptive. It felt good to be on an even playing field again, with someone who knew subtlety and aristrocratic politics again. He felt a little out of practice--trying to keep up with someone as unpredictable as Soubi had bruised his pride of late.
He could feel his usual small, proud smile, his standard mask, beginning to spread across his face. His head cocked just slightly to one side, his hands in his pockets, affecting a casual air.
"I do," he said, brightly, "but I shan't ask them now."
---
“Ah, you won’t?” Lailis found herself intrigued. It had been a long time since her throne room, since her court and her courtiers, the whirl of nobility and the whispers in the halls. She had been sheltered from some things as the child Queen, but she had played the game as she knew how, as Rishas had known how, and she had played well before Lassen had broken her. It had been a long while too, that she felt that feeling from before she’d crumbled.
“Who am I to force you ask, then.” Her expression did not waver, however, knowledgeable, something beyond the years she claimed in this life. “Though it has been said that one need only do such.”
---
"What? Force me to ask, my lady?"
Cunning trick. She'd win either way now: if he asked, she could refuse, but she would have gotten him to ask.
"You didn't seem to like answering my questions before."
Perhaps because she was being carried like an infant in arms, instead of sitting like a queen on a very strange throne.
Well, better to cut one's losses and be dull than persist in dancing about.
"I simply remain intrigued by your connections with the vampires."
He turned away from her just slightly.
"It's always interesting to see how one person knows another. One could probably create a great chain of acquaintance across the world."
---
I force nothing.” She said with a small smile, folding her hands neatly in her lap. And physically, no, she certainly could not. It was only with words could she change anything, only with that knowing look and serene gaze could she command a room, only with a small and hushed voice to make one listen, and, for those who’d sworn to her, absolute power over them should she choose to exercise it.
“I am connected to none here.” She answered, however. Even if she won, she showed no smugness, no pride, and answered simply.
“I once wished to become one. If I… If I become one, I would be able to walk. I wanted that.”
---
"But you want this no longer?" He let his smile fade just a fraction, not to suggest disappointment in her decision, but just enough to mirror her saddening expression.
It occurred to him suddenly how perfect it was that this conversation was taking place on a stage. It amused him and brought his smile back.
He pulled his face down again to look puzzled.
"So if you are unconnected, and do not seek your Vampire King, why then are you interested in them so much? Or do I misread you, my lady?"
---
“I still want it.” She said softly. “The blind man always wishes to see, the deaf man to hear, and the crippled man to walk, no matter what they say to others.” Her gaze lowered to her feet, tried to kick them but only succeeded in moving her knees, the appendages limp and numbed.
“I do not know what to think of the vampires here.” Her eyes closed a moment, contemplative, hands moving to run lightly across the slightly worn wheels of the chair. “I have spoken with several, and they serve only confuse me. One, who claims to be the most powerful, serves a human woman, which makes him weak, surely. Another claims to have mastery over an army of vampires, created with science, not the black magics. And another claims no such affiliation, but I trust him not.”
She smiled. “You see my quandary, Earl. Perhaps I realize I fool myself when I think to walk again. Princess Rue sent a healer to me, but…”
---
Perhaps this was also why she had quietly resisted the wheelchair and the healer so much in the first place, by clinging to this strange hope to walk again.
Lailis seemed to have pulled inward again, he thought, away from her queenliness of a moment ago, back to being the small, crushed thing she so often was. It had been interesting to see, if only for a moment, some flicker of what else she had been, and not just how she had been left.
"I know. I spoke to her about you, you know."
Not for any particular reason. He'd been the one taking her her meals, while the healer had suggested what might be best for her to eat. It seemed his business to know that much.
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“She was a nice enough woman, she… felt dead, though.” Lailis had spent so much time around vampires, the undead, that it was easy enough to identify them when she was close enough.
“Did she divulge to you all the secrets of my conditions?” That last bit was said almost wryly, if Lailis was capable of being at all wry.
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'Conditions'--more than just her legs, perhaps? Was she leading him on to ask more or simply answering what he asked? He knew enough of her story to understand her thinness, her weakness--captivity and torment.
"She did recommend some things for you to eat to gain some strength back. I know eating isn't among your favorite activities, but rescuing ladies who have fallen down trapdoors isn't really one of mine."
He saw her wince as she touched the back of her head.
"Your injury--it all but slipped my mind. Foolish of me. Come upstairs and we'll find--"
Well, he knew who he would have called. Or Rosette perhaps, who'd helped him during that curse day, but it didn't seem right to call on her at present. So--
"--we'll see about tending to your wound. We'll call the 'dead healer' again if need be, my lady."
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She hated having to crane her neck from her bed to look up at those standing above her, hated having to ask to be carried, to be seated when other stood, to-
"A little alcohol and a wash will take care of it." She calmly wiped the blood from her fingers and tentatively gripped the wheels of the chair, beginning to push lightly, slowly, tired from her earlier explorations and hanging to the earl's neck.
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It was politeness that had made him ask. He'd rather she not bleed on him, and, really the last thing she needed was another wound or scar.
He watched her take the wheels and begin to pull at them, thin pale arms straining a little.
Since she had seemed to determined to walk before, let her move under her own power now. She seemed stronger now than she had before. If she needed help, she seemed able to ask for it.
Albeit, in her own way.
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"... Who else resides here?" Lailis asked suddenly, looking to the Earl softly.
"I've only... yourself, Princess Rue, and Lord Autor." She grew quiet a moment before continuing. "But I hear many more voices."
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"Quite a few people, actually," he said, looking into middle space and thinking. "I haven't met them all, but I know there's you, myself, Autor, Lady Rue and her prince Mytho, He-Who-Kills of course, the Maestro Erik and his wife, Professor Cat and a few of his other students whom I don't know, the Christopher siblings Rosette and Joshua, the lady called Eve, and Fakir--until recently at least."
He paused.
So many people, come to pet the black sheep...
Too many people. Perhaps he ought to leave. He was growing too familiar with them all. It wouldn't do.
"There may very well be others. But why do you ask?"
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"It won't kill me, I do not believe, I'm no cat." But at that comment she tilted her head a moment and examined the Earl, as if looking at him for the first time.
"Earl Hargreaves has rather feline eyes." She mentioned thoughtfully, admiring the color.
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He hated the color of his eyes. They reminded him of his past, of his origins, of the tutor who had implied too much saying that golden eyes were usually indicative of inbreeding. He'd sent that arrogant man away, but his words still stung and lingered, even now.
"Yes," he said, some tension still coloring his voice, "I've been told that before. Some people in London were really quite taken with them."
Of course she wouldn't understand the irony therein. He opened his eyes again, slowly, and looked at her.
"But the Lady Lailis likewise must have had admirers."
That may be dangerous ground to tread on, he thought. If she was dedicated to the king, but was found in Lassen's mansion, of course questions of love, loyalty, and admiration loomed large. He had no real intention of dredging up those memories for her, or watching her eyes turn sadly inwards, but better to deflect her comment--compliment?--than keep on.
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"The people in London-" She began, but changed her mind, shook her head with a small smile. "I like them. They're beautiful." And they were, that golden with flecked green. Fetching. It was where he and Lassen differed, for Lassen's had been dark, dark enough to always draw her in.
"Most queens do." She was content to let him change the subject, however, not wishing to play the game of twisting it back to topic. "Whether they are lovely or not."
It was... strange, to be speaking of it, but at the same time... the almost mundane nature of conversation eased her mind, it had been so long.
"But, yes. I had a few, though Lassen was my... most dedicated. General Hume, for a little while, was smitten with me. But once he was bound to me, he changed his mind." The bond between the cursed queen and her servants was more intimate than most marriages could possibly be. Not many husbands trusted their wives to be able to take over their minds.
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He'd been falling in and out of Latin when she had spoken of it before. "Non serviam," he's said: "I will not serve."
But it seemed that if one was not willing, one could not be "taken" by her.
Bit by bit he was beginning to understand her better. Finally. Since arriving in the City he felt absolutely stymied in learning anything about anyone. Having one's guard up in a place like this was understandable, but the absolute blockades most people here had were extremely trying. It was a relief to know that at least some people would actually answer when he asked something of them.
"All queens do, near as I can tell. But they often have faithful servants as well as faithful admirers. Neither one is my role to play, but if you will permit it, Lady, I could help you to move while you rest. And once you feel strong enough again, I'll turn you back over to yourself."
He rested one hand lightly on the back of her chair. He saw how she kept touching her hair and the wound hidden in it. He'd rather she go on and see to tending to it rather than make polite conversation in the wings of the stage.
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She should, perhaps, not have spoken so much. And yet she knew she could not refuse him answers, not when he looked so like Lassen. Not now, not ever, could she refuse Lassen. ... A weakness to add to her long list, she supposed.
But she was not upset, not perturbed. Her secrets were never her own, never had been, and never would be. It was no matter.
She allowed him to wheel her from the stage.