Subject: A Soundless Heartbeat (1/4) Date: Tue, 11 Nov 2003 05:49:48 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU A Soundless Heartbeat The Endless Parade #1 By April French Written for Kristin’s birthday a few days ago. Any familiar dialogue is taken verbatim from the episodes “Dance by the Light of the Moon,” “Near Death,” and “Dark Knight,” with a small smidge coming from “A Fate Worse than Death.” Literary references to follow at the end of the story. No archiving, please. Comments highly desired. ~~~ "The young man with shining eyes and brown skin, A beautiful, twenty-year-old body best seen bare... "Impetuous, but with sweetness, virginal But dark, proud of his first contumacies Like young seas, tears on summer nights Which turn to diamonds in your bed; "In the face of the world's ugliness, The young man's angry heart flutters, And burdened with a wound that never heals, Begins to desire his Sister of Charity." -- Arthur Rimbaud ~~~ A Soundless Heartbeat (1/4) Janette was not one to believe in fate. She put her trust in tangible things, things she could see, smell, and crush between her hands like soft cloth. Cloth was tangible, her master was tangible, lust and darkness, all these things Janette could see and taste and touch. She did not believe in fate or destiny. Until she walked into that tavern. The establishment catered mainly to travelers, and was crammed full, but LaCroix was still able to secure accommodations for them both. As he was fond of saying, "even eternity is too long to wait for a table." The smells of sweat, ale, bread, meat, and under all, blood, pleasantly assaulted Janette's nose. Less pleasant, as always, were the drunken leers of the male patrons, and she was grateful for her master's solid, foreboding presence to ward them off. Her uneasy thoughts tremored in LaCroix's mind. "They are insects," he reminded her. "Do not concern yourself with their idiocy." She nodded, choosing to quell her nervousness with loft annoyance. "What are we doing , of all places?" "I thought we might dine here tonight. My friend the landlord tells me that a large party of travelers has engaged most of his beds and one of the private dining rooms for several days. Knight-errants, mercenaries, an ex-Crusader or two." He arched a dark eyebrow. "Amazing, what a 'friend' will tell when he sees the color of your money." "Hmm." Like LaCroix, Janette had long since discarded any notions of mortal integrity or honor. "And they are here?" "They go out everyday, but they always return for the evening meal." LaCroix looked up. "Speak of the devil..." he drawled slyly, and drew Janette closer to the wall to allow the group to pass. It was a common enough troupe of vagabonds, foolish young heirs and cadets and even a light-hearted minstrel; no doubt Janette's choice of prey would from among these tender young things. The others, soldiers-for-hire and wandering knight, were harder, more seasoned men, less inclined to foolishness and common enough sights in the rough quarters of the city. Indeed, as the landlord had said, there was even a Crusader among them, evidenced by the tone of his skin, tanned almost to leather by the desert sun. This one caught LaCroix's eye. There was an air of ravaged nobility about his face, a droop to his shoulders that told of ill-use and unjust hardships. And his eyes were positively lifeless. It was a shame, LaCroix found himself thinking dispassionately. With his handsome features and lion-like mane of gold, this Crusader might have passed for one of the gods of LaCroix's youth. He laughed quietly. The knight chose that moment to look in their direction. LaCroix backed into a convenient shadow; the knight did not see him. In fact, he fancied the knight did not even see where he was putting his feet. His dead blue eyes had flashed with sudden shock and life when they saw Janette. *** As pleasant and inviting as the smells of the kitchen and the lure of ale were, Nicholas de Brabant wanted nothing more than go to bed. he groused to himself. The earlier he got sleep, the sooner he could be rid of his troublesome compatriots. But this tavern was known for its hospitality to travelers, for its good food and plentiful ale and beer. Now that he had the coin to pay for it, there was no point in scorning such provender on the grounds that he didn't care for his dinner-mates. Besides, who knew when the chance for a fine meal might come again? Nicholas thought wryly. He chanced to look up... And all thoughts of food fled his mind. A woman, dark-haired and dressed in a green gown, with eyes of... The fairest of skins, and a face that a mere soldier like Nicholas could not hope to describe. He remembered once when he was seven or eight, when he had first been struck by the beauty of a woman. "'Is that an angel, Mama?'" he had asked. Maria de Brabant was a loving mother to her children, and indulgent, so she only laughed. "'Non, Nicolas. She is only a woman.'" <'Only a woman.' A woman like that must be *only* the wife of the richest man in the city. Alas for second sons and penniless vagabonds!> *** Encased within his group of companions, the godlike mortal turned and continued on past the woman and her hidden friend. Janette followed him with her gaze until he disappeared. A pair of hands insinuated themselves onto her shoulders. "He seems to have completely captured your attention." "He was magnificent, so handsome. LaCroix, did you see his eyes?" "Yes..." "I want him." "Then take him." "No." Janette turned to face him. "I mean, I want to bring him across." LaCroix's eyes narrowed, at first in disapproval, but then with increasing thoughtfulness and interest. "You have been saying that you wanted a companion," he admitted, stroking her smooth cheek. "All right. But," he added, "I will bring him across." LaCroix was not moved by her lovely pout of disappointment. "It won't work, you know," he smirked. "After two hundreds years of your company, Janette, I am somewhat immune to your charms. But you are only two hundred--barely. You are not ready for the responsibility of a fledgling. However... He could always use some softening up." Janette knew immediately what her master was referring to. It was a giddy idea, the thought of helping to bring a man into the long dark of the vampire. But... "Am I ready for that?" Such a level of seduction. "Can I do it?" LaCroix cupped her cheek and smiled with sinister pride. "Les anges impuissants se damneraient pour toi, ma fille."* *** Ignoring the food in front of him, Nicholas drank deeply from his tankard, and disdaining the jovial talk of his companions, turned his mind to an activity that was a recent favorite of his. He brooded. <'Victory,'> he scoffed, sneering at his companions' newly well-fed and watered exclamations. The serving wench poured him more ale, which Nicholas gladly applied himself to. "Chivalry, hide thy face," he muttered into the mug. He looked up, across the table, past the other travelers, and saw the woman again. As before, for a single, crystal-clear moment, he forgot what it was to breathe, to hear, to see anything but the raven-haired beauty in the green dress and headdress. Her full red lips moved. "How badly do you want me?" She sucked her forefinger tantalizingly, her eyes all the while locked with his. Then she turned away. His body raging, Nicholas followed. *** >From his hiding place, LaCroix chuckled silently. End Part One *”Even angels damn themselves for you, my daughter.” April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: A Soundless Heartbeat (2/4) Date: Tue, 11 Nov 2003 05:51:18 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. A Soundless Heartbeat (2/4) Nicholas had managed his own room in this wretched place, and he intended to make full and good use of it tonight. He had never been kissed as this woman was kissing him, wild and mettlesome and dangerous. He knew no good, Christian man should think such things... but he liked it. "Nicolas, brave knight. Brave Crusader. Conqueror." With an almost vicious jerk, the woman--Janette, her name was, although Nicholas was certain he wouldn't remember it in the morning--undid the clasp of his wide leather belt. "Are you ready to be conquered?" Nicholas dropped his belt to the floor. He wanted this woman... "Yes," he answered, his voice already coarsened. This talk did not satisfy her play. "But can you truly surrender," she pressed, "after all you've won?" thought Nicholas darkly. "Surrender to the darkness of the soul, the richness of the night, the weakness of desire? How badly do you want me, Nicolas? Just how strong is your weakness?" "I will be as strong or as weak or anything my lady desires," Nicholas promised, devouring her mouth. They made short work of most of their clothing, leaving only enough for decency's sake. Nicholas was no virgin--not at thirty-five, dear God, no! He'd not been a virgin since he was fourteen and discovered that kitchen wenches were good for other things besides helping him steal midnight snacks. He was not a virgin and he was not inexperienced, but Heaven help him... this woman he had taken to bed just like no other, as she straddled him, as she moved on him. "Brave Crusader. Strong... good. Defender of the cross." She laughed shakily, the reactions of her body coming faster now. "Who are you, really?" "Can you feel my darkness, Nicolas? Feel it absorbing your light? Can you feel the power and the danger of my darkness? The beautiful risk?" Beautiful... Through glazed eyes, Nicholas could see all that was beautiful--the stone of the walls, the dark beams of the ceiling, the irregular weave of the linen under his back... to say nothing of the woman he was making love to, gloriously beautiful. Risk? There was always risk. Life was risk, love-making was risk, love was full of risks... He felt his muscles begin to clench and spasm. "Say goodbye to the light, Nicolas. Now you know it will never satisfy you." Satisfaction... Sweating, Nicholas clasped her close. Her heart beat so soft and fair in her chest, he could scarcely hear it, though his ear was pressed against her skin. "Only darkness can satisfy you. Only darkness..." Darkness, darkness... the night was dark, the room, lust, heat... cold, hunger... Nicholas thrust into her as fast as he could. "No matter how shining and good a knight you were, the darkness was always there... always stronger than anything else in your heart or mind..." At that moment, she gasped, and he cried out, and there was nothing in either heart or mind, nothing but the pleasure and pain of fulfillment, and the welcome release of sleep. End Part Two April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: A Soundless Heartbeat (3/4) Date: Wed, 12 Nov 2003 05:20:19 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. A Soundless Heartbeat (3/4) Satiated and feeling more than a little playful, Nicholas helped his night's companion dress--by inching her chemise straps up her arms with his teeth. She smiled, her eyes elsewhere. Then she rose. "Where are you going?" he asked, his voice low and rough with desire. Janette said nothing. Reclining back against the divan, Nicholas rubbed at his lips and followed Janette with lusty eyes. Then he saw what she had gone to fetch, a tall, pale man clad all in black, his blue eyes hellishly cold. Nicholas sat up more fully, feeling a vague, unnamable alarm. "Who are you?" "His name is LaCroix," Janette answered, caressing the name like a prayer. "Hello, Nicholas," said LaCroix in a husky, haughty voice. "We're going to be friends." Then, to Nicholas's horror, he flew across the room! His eyes were now indeed hellish, a molten and sulfurous yellow, and in his mouth was a pair of sharp white fangs that he bared at the unarmed man. "For a long, long time." For a moment, Nicholas was too overwhelmed to react. His face was blank; his voice was strangled and dead in his throat. At last, he croaked out one disbelieving word. "Vampire..." The ice-colored man dipped his head. "Oui." Nicholas's gaze darted to Janette. "Et toi?" She nodded, still smiling so enticingly; Nicholas felt his body begin to react in spite of himself. "Oui, Nicolas." In nothing but his nightshirt, he leapt from the bed to where his sword was leaned against the wall, but LaCroix thrust him away, and with one languid blow, shattered the blade against the stones. Nicholas fell back onto the bed, cowering. "Tu es le diable!"* "Non," the vampire corrected. "Je suis le bâton des exilés. Le père adoptif de ceux qu'en sa noire colère du paradis terrestre a chassés Dieu le Père."* He arched a dark eyebrow, that contrasted so sharply with his short white hair. "People like Janette. People like you." For a single, damning, fleeting moment, Nicholas knew what it was to be among his own kind. "Wh-what do you want with me?" This demon, this vampire who called himself LaCroix, reached out a hand of white. "Child of this wretched century," he murmured, his touch light but icy against Nicholas's cheek. Nicholas pushed him away. LaCroix suppressed the urge to kill the knight then and there. "I am your deliverance." His words echoed in Nicholas's head, and in Janette's, who had memories of a similar promise... @}----- "I want you to be so much more than... mere nobility..." The fingers that brushed her cheek were cold and frighteningly gentle... @}----- LaCroix kept his gaze fixed firmly on the mortal, but in his mind he was speaking to his daughter. he instructed her. Janette melted into the background. LaCroix, with his springy, stalking gait, prowled around Nicholas in continuous circles. "I can grant you a gift that only the gods can grant, Nicholas. Give your life to me, and I will give you ten thousand lifetimes in return. Your existence will be transformed in ways that mere mortals cannot even imagine. Come to me..." His voice was alluring, rough and soft by turns, and Nicholas wanted nothing more than to capitulate, yet he held fast to his faith as a drowning man clings to a rotten branch. But LaCroix could sense his prey weakening. "Every harmonic and architectural possibility will stir within you. Unbidden, perfect creatures will present themselves for your use. As if in a dream, the curiosity of old crowds and idle luxuries will collect around you. Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity."* The life flashed in the cobalt-blue eyes, and LaCroix knew he had hit a nerve. The man had imagination; he was a seeker, a dreamer. Such people could always be enticed. "It's not so much to give up. Are you a younger son?" Nicholas's regal features twisted into a dark scowl. "Yes." "Then it wasn't really your life to begin with, was it?" He sat beside Nicholas on the bed, invadingly close, cold radiating off him. Nicholas wanted to move away, but he didn't dare. Instead, he forced himself to look directly into the vampire's eyes. "No." Lazily, LaCroix began to trace the muscles of Nicholas's shoulder, where the nightshirt had slipped off, circling the deltoid, moving up the collarbone to the throat where the carotid artery pumped furiously, and then back down. "Therein lies the choice, mon beau jeune homme. I have no sons, only a daughter here and there, of which Janette is one. And we both very much desire to have another male in the Family. So, you can decide not to join us, in which case--" "You'll kill me," finished Nicholas flatly. LaCroix continued on as if he had not heard the interruption. "In which case, you return to your own mortal doings." He stared at the knight balefully. "And for what? You're the spare, the surplus son that no one wants. You are perhaps thirty-two years of age?" "Thirty-five." "Either way, you're an old man and a bachelor, with no money, no property, no title and no prospects. Continue on as a mortal and you'll continue on as an impoverished knight, the scion of the unforgiving nobility and a martyr of primogeniture." LaCroix half-expected the boy's face to go blank with confusion at that word, but Nicholas showed only grim comprehension. That he even knew what 'primogeniture' meant brought him up a notch in LaCroix's estimation, and the vampire doubled his efforts. "Your life will be expended in tournaments and in war, in carousing and lechery. And then you will die. And who will be the wiser or better for you having been alive? Certainly not you." At that point, Nicholas did something very odd. He sighed. "And who will be the wiser or better for me to have joined you?" LaCroix spread his arms wide. "I shall. Janette shall. You shall. In ways you cannot comprehend." "And will I have all the things that mortal life denies me?" Nicholas pressed. "Money? Property? Titles? Prospects?" The boy was a bargainer, LaCroix had to give him that. "They will all be yours for the taking," he promised. And then he added, "if you still want them." Nicholas's eyes slid away, and LaCroix saw that the focal point of his vision had shifted to the half-clad woman waiting anxiously in the shadows. "And will I be permitted to have her?" "Well," the vampire drawled, "I think that's rather more her decision." He could see Janette's gaze smoldering in the darkness, even if Nicholas could not. "But it is permitted. And I think her mind was made up hours ago." He paused. "What about yours?" Nicholas was still looking past LaCroix, and past Janette, to something neither vampire could see. "A thousand lifetimes?" "And more." The knight shook his leonine blond head. "My life is a poor thing to offer in return for such a gift. But if that is the price you ask..." He trailed off, as the burn of LaCroix's eyes silenced his words. The icy pale hands of the vampires took Nicholas's head and neck in an iron grip. Nicholas heard a fearsome sound, like the rumble of a lion and the snarl of a wolf and the hiss of a snake all balled into one terrifying noise that had no business coming out of a human chest. Two sharp things punctured into his neck with a spasm of icy-hot pain, and then he was floating. And then he was falling... *** Standing over the unconscious man, LaCroix pronounced judgment. "He's dying." "He has gone to the light, hasn't he?" asked Janette. "As I did? What will you do if he decides to step into the light? To die as a mortal?" "He will return to me," said the ancient with conviction. "I have never lost a fledgling at this stage, and do not intend to begin now." It was force of personality that brought the soul back from the edge of death, and personality was something LaCroix had in spades. "You remember the light?" Hesitantly, Janette nodded. "Do you remember what I told you, that brought you back to me?" Again, she nodded, this time reassured. "It will be no different with him." "Oh, I want him," Janette half-whispered, half-moaned. In her mind, her master's voice urged patience. "I hear your heart, Nicholas," LaCroix intoned, knowing that he could make his voice heard across time and space if he so chose. "Growing weaker with each beat. I have drained all but the last of your life from you." Snarling, LaCroix tore into his own wrist. "It has become a part of my own," he said, eerily gentle. He held the wound to the knight's blue, flaccid lips. "Do not be afraid. This is the day of your death, Nicholas. And rebirth. Through . Turn away from the light, Nicholas. It is not your salvation. It is only for the weak, the defeated. Come back to us, Nicholas. Come back to me." Hungry teeth ripped into his veins, and LaCroix sensed the change from near death to pulsing new life. He was not a new master; he had made fledglings before, but this deciding moment never failed to move him. Nicholas drank voraciously until LaCroix pulled back. He licked delicately at his bleeding wrist, like a wolf would his pup, as his two children kissed with passionate abandon. "Mon semblable, mon frere," he whispered, "mon fils."* End Part Three *”You are the devil!” *”No. I am the staff of the exiles. The adoptive father of those ostracized by God and banished from His paradise.” (adapted from Charles Baudelaire) *--from “Youth” by Arthur Rimbaud *”My likeness, my brother--my son.” April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: A Soundless Heartbeat (4/4) Date: Wed, 12 Nov 2003 05:22:06 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Comments? A Soundless Heartbeat (4/4) Nicholas soon fell into the deep, death-like sleep of the newborn vampire. When he awoke, he would be completely changed, not to mention ravenous; they could not stay at the tavern. They took him to the house that they shared in Paris. With his own hands, LaCroix bathed the sleeping fledgling, clothed him, and cut his long tangled hair. Then he took his son into a chamber that had been filled with candles, lightly scented, that gave off a soft golden glow when lit, and laid him on the bed. With a quirk of the lip that might have been a sarcastic smile, or perhaps a fond one, LaCroix crossed the man's hands over his breast. Janette peaked around his shoulder. "When will he wake?" "Soon enough. Did you finish lighting the candles?" "Yes." "Good." Whenever he was able to establish a semi-permanent residence, LaCroix always made sure to keep a number of these candles on hand. He had ordered them specially made from an ancient recipe; the light they gave was gentle enough not to damage a newly-made fledgling's receptive eyes, and their subtle but pervasive smell stimulated the heightened sense of smell. They did nothing for the new one's ears, though. And LaCroix felt in need of some music. "Stay with him, Janette." The ancient vampire disappeared briefly, and returned with his rebec. *** Hazy-soft gold lights greeted his slowly opening eyes when he awoke. His nostrils twitched with the prick of unknown spices; his ears were brushed with mournful music. Slowly, bonelessly, Nicholas sat up. He noticed neither his new raiment nor his shorn hair; he saw only the woman. Janette, clothed in a full garment of white, her long dark hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders. "You are awake, my handsome one." Taking her hand, Nicholas rose from the bed, and kissed her. Immediately, his senses were flooded with feelings, with awareness of her. He gasped and leaned against her temple. Her lips and her breath were intolerably soft against his skin. "We have an endless parade of nights ahead of us." Still clasping his hand, she led him to their master. Apparently engrossed in his music, LaCroix did not look up until his children were right in front of him. He lowered his bow. The sight of the two of them pleased him so much that he indulged in another bit of poetry. "Mon Nicolas. Now you are as eternal as Paris." Lacing his fingers with Janette's, Nicholas said the first thing that came into his mind. "I'm thirsty." "Yes, I know," said LaCroix with a slight chuckle. "It's very simple." He grasped the side of Nicholas's neck with fingers that no longer felt quite so cold. "It's time to kill." ~~~ "Ceaselessly thirsting for splendor and peace, Forsaken... whimpering Tenderly for the knowledge of someone's loving arms, He arrives with a bloody brow before blossoming Nature. "But black alchemy and sacred studies Repulse this wounded soul; pride's dark scholar, He feels an unbearable solitude bearing down. No less beautifully, and with no fear of the grave. "Let him believe in open endings, Dreams Or endless Promenades through nights of Truth, And may he call you to his soul and sickly limbs, O Sister of charity, O mystery, O Death!" -- Arthur Rimbaud ~~~ ~Finis--November 7th, 2003~ References Opening Quote from "Sister of Charity," by Arthur Rimbaud Part Three: "Every harmonic and architectural possibility..." from "Youth," by Arthur Rimbaud Ending Quote from "Sister of Charity," by Arthur Rimbaud April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree