Subject: Futures (1/1)
Date: Sun, 14 Nov 1999 17:04:06 -0500
From: Paige Barnes <pbarnes@MINDSPRING.COM>
To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu

This is a snippet of a larger piece, but I've decided to post it on its
own.  Look at like a small glimpse into a possible future. Hope you like
it!  Archiving it would definitely be an honor to the writer, so archive
away!

Since I'm new, please please please send your reactions to me at
pbarnes@mindspring.com

Futures

The music held as smoky a quality as the air and, like the smoke, drifted
in eddies as it competed with the tinkling of glasses and the rumble of
voices.  <The Crimson Chevalier> pulsed with noise and activity and with an
almost disorienting contrast of light and shadow.  On first entering the
club, the tumult could be exciting or overwhelming, depending on the
character of the visitor.  Nevertheless, whatever might be anticipated,
those seeking adventure were sure to be overwhelmed and the timid were sure
to find excitement.

        For all of the frenetic, feral atmosphere, two islands of stillness
were
discernable to the observant.  The first centered itself at the middle of
the bar in the form of an elegant, opalescent brunette.  She sat on the
tall barstool, calmly sipping from a delicate wineglass, her back to the
bar as she watched the activity swirling around her. Her manner peaceful,
she embodied cool self-confidence and complete ease. Though every eye
touched upon her frequently throughout the night, very few felt drawn to
approach her.  The regal bearing of a queen and the respect afforded her by
the servers imposed a large degree of deference on the common crowd.  The
"uncommon" crowd knew better than to underestimate her power.

        The other zone of stillness emanated from the booth in the back left
corner.  Though the lighting was equally distributed throughout the club,
that corner always seemed to be darker, colder, and the silence one of
brooding menace.  None were ever tempted to invade its solitude, rarely
even with a glance, and the servers who waited on its occupant had a
tendency to almost scurry in their tasks.  Where <she> brought mystery and
allure and admiration, <he> brought unease and fear, and had done so for
the year since his arrival.

        <Five hundred years,> thought Janette, <five hundred years it's
taken for
me to forgive him and for him to seek me out.  So long apart and yet how
right it feels to have him here with me.  No longer Master, yet still
family...still of the same blood.>

        Leaning back slightly, she gracefully tilted her head in attention
to the
bartender who leaned across the bar to murmur in her ear.  "Mimi just gave
her notice and stormed out.  She accidentally sloshed some of his drink on
the table and, before she could say anything, he broke her hand."  His tone
was disapproving.

        Janette's lips curved up in a rueful yet amused smile.  "Yet the
hand must
have healed before she'd crossed the room.  Really, Korba, I think we are
better off without one of such delicate sensibilities!"

        "I don't know why you tolerate him, Janette!  Since his arrival, the
tone
of the whole club has changed - I know you have a penchant for taking in
strays - "

        Before he could say another word, she turned to him sharply with a
steel
look in her eye.  "Watch carefully what you say about him, Korba!"  As the
bartender drew back hurriedly in alarm, Janette took a small breath and
reclaimed her serenity and good humor, "What a tendency you have to
exaggerate - did you not somberly warn me when he first arrived that his
presence would drive off the customers and ruin trade?  Nothing of the sort
has happened."  Again he was pinned by a sharpened gaze, "But understand
this - even if such a thing had happened, wherever I hold sway, LaCroix
<will> be welcome."  At his nod of understanding and lowered gaze, she
turned back to her drink and her casual perusal of the crowd.

        <Five hundred years....Enough time to become a legend of terror in
our
community and a barely whispered rumor of fear in the mortal world.  Three
hundred years of shunning contact with any, of ruthlessly striking out at
any who dared to disturb his solitude - Mortal and Vampire alike.  Now he
has come to me, but still no one else is allowed to get close.>  It didn't
matter.  She knew LaCroix would not forever shun his rightful place in
their community.  So very, very few of the truly ancient ones still
survived, hardly any were older than LaCroix, although that had not been
the case when she was young.  With every century, the world became more
alien and only the truly adaptable could make the adjustment - LaCroix was
such a one, she knew.  Grief and regret had left terrible wounds, but he
would heal.  He always healed.  Glancing over her right shoulder, she
smiled and raised her glass in a friendly toast before bringing it to her
lips.

The End

Paige

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