HighVoltage
Active member
The ship had grown still, all her occupants set asleep in their hammocks and beds, the lanterns dim, a gentle creak passing through as whoever was on watch adjusted to keep them on course. Lucien had finished the requested charts hours ago, delivering them to the quartermaster’s cabin before returning to his chambers once more. There he sat, and brooded. Something had not sat correctly within him since he learned of her death. No, since her comment about killing her first. Not even then, earlier still, to his first order before their raid on Fen Manor. Perhaps he had taken it too lightly, simply believing it an aspect of her paranoia. Perhaps if Lucien had taken his role more seriously, dogged her steps, haunted her shadow, his Captain would still grace the helm with her touch.
These thoughts sat with him, festering, brooding, as the light faded from his cabin. Not that the vampire required light to guide his steps. THe lanterns went unlit as he continued brooding, mulling over O’Cain’s recent comments, his recent decisions. There was no love lost between the two, and their disdain for each other was clear. But he would not simply give up his role on the ship because an opportunity fell into the quartermaster’s lap. A new agreement would simply have to be wrought, and Lucien had much experience with negotiation.
The gloom-soaked halls of the Hard Nox gained another shadow that evening, the very boards seeming to hold their breath, not wishing to disturb the shadow’s movements. Once, Lucien had preferred to smash doors open, to let the residents fill with fear, to let them try and run. The chase always made the hunt more thrilling. But as the years drew long, he found that fear tainted the blood, made it bitter and acrid. He had adopted a more subtle approach, and while the fledgeling had honed the craft to a razor’s edge, Lucien still retained some of his old skill.
The door silently shifted, just enough for Lucien to slip in and close it behind him, quietly turning the lock. This was a conversation best had privately, and Lucien scanned the moon-dappled room to ensure they are alone, noting the sole winged form sprawled upon the bed. Lucien loomed over him, watching for a moment as the quartermaster slept. After a few moments, a clawed hand lashed out, fingers wrapping around the dark skin of the fairy’s neck, claws pressing lightly, not enough to pierce, but certainly enough to be aware of their presence. Lucien’s fangs glinted in the moonlight as he offered the quartermaster a smile.
“Good evening, Caleb O’Cain.”
These thoughts sat with him, festering, brooding, as the light faded from his cabin. Not that the vampire required light to guide his steps. THe lanterns went unlit as he continued brooding, mulling over O’Cain’s recent comments, his recent decisions. There was no love lost between the two, and their disdain for each other was clear. But he would not simply give up his role on the ship because an opportunity fell into the quartermaster’s lap. A new agreement would simply have to be wrought, and Lucien had much experience with negotiation.
The gloom-soaked halls of the Hard Nox gained another shadow that evening, the very boards seeming to hold their breath, not wishing to disturb the shadow’s movements. Once, Lucien had preferred to smash doors open, to let the residents fill with fear, to let them try and run. The chase always made the hunt more thrilling. But as the years drew long, he found that fear tainted the blood, made it bitter and acrid. He had adopted a more subtle approach, and while the fledgeling had honed the craft to a razor’s edge, Lucien still retained some of his old skill.
The door silently shifted, just enough for Lucien to slip in and close it behind him, quietly turning the lock. This was a conversation best had privately, and Lucien scanned the moon-dappled room to ensure they are alone, noting the sole winged form sprawled upon the bed. Lucien loomed over him, watching for a moment as the quartermaster slept. After a few moments, a clawed hand lashed out, fingers wrapping around the dark skin of the fairy’s neck, claws pressing lightly, not enough to pierce, but certainly enough to be aware of their presence. Lucien’s fangs glinted in the moonlight as he offered the quartermaster a smile.
“Good evening, Caleb O’Cain.”
