More old Firinne stuff
Sep. 24th, 2009 10:32 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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"Jimmy Pin wasn't a nice man," Matana said. He was sprawled out across the sofa, with a leg thrown carelessly over Firinne's lap.
Firinne stared at the window pane. Rainwater ran down it, like tears.
"He wasn't all bad," she said. She wanted to cry, but a harpy does not cry in front of her prince. Even when her prince has devoured her lover from within. "He was quick, and clever," she said, "he was passionate, and honest with himself about what he was, and with those around him. He..."
She paused for a minute. "He made me feel alive," she said at length.
Matana's hands were cold on her skin, and his expression unreadable, but he pulled Firinne closer to him.
"The Matana you've created is just a Ventrue," Firinne said, and wrapped her arms around him. "What makes you impressive is not that you're a Prince of the Camarilla. I've known a lot of those. It's that you're the son of a whore who's clawed his way up from being a Giovanni street thug to be a Prince of the Camarilla. Don't forget that."
********************************
"What do you want?" Matana asked, much much later when the sky was growing grey with the onset of dawn. He ran his fingers lazily through Firinne's hair, much like he had when he still called himself Jimmy Pin. Firinne tilted her head upwards, receiving his touch like a cat.
He pulled at her hair lightly to get her attention, grinning in sharp toothed pleasure at the slight squeak of suprise, and repeated his question. Firinne wrinkled her nose.
"I try not to want," she said. "If you want something, you can lose it. I have ambitions, but they aren't real. I suppose there are things I want at court, but that's..."
"...not relevent here," Matana finished.
He tilted his head and looked at the pale skinned girl in his bed. She was decades older than him, but still looked twenty one. Her body had been frozen in time for ninety years. He wasn't sure what else had been frozen as well.
Firinne pulled Matana's arm more tightly around her and clung to him a little. Away from court she didn't have her script, her carefully taught mannerisms and cues and as such these conversations scared her a little.
"Do you want me?" Matana asked.
Firinne kissed the palm of his hand, and stared at it for a while, committing every line, every whorl to memory. Matana's face changed daily. His hand did not. No matter what else shifted, she wanted to be able to recognise a single part of her lover.
"I don't want you," she said after a while. "I need you. There's a difference."
**************************************
Firinne's studio was bright - bright with the colour on the paintings on her easals, bright with light from the gleaming sunlamps which provided the closest approximation to the proper daylight that any vampire would see, and bright with noise and chatter. Firinne Devon, almost unrecognisable in a scruffy artist's smock and leggings, and Matana bari Hadad, with his features unaltered for once, were arguing in a fast paced and animated fashion. Mat squeaked slightly as a splash of oil paint, flicked from Firinne's paint brush in a moment of exasperation, sprayed across his face.
"It's simple," he said, with his expression as gleefully malicious as it ever had been when wielding a rocket launcher as Jimmy Pin. "If you want to run away, and have doomed Toreador love affairs and try and make me jealous, you can. It's just a matter of equality. For every affair you have, I'll have one..."
"That's not the way it works," Firinne exclaimed. "You can't plan these things like that!"
"Why not?" Mat asked. "You are. We'll have rules - only social revenge is allowed, no killing of anyone..."
He giggled as a paint brush was launched into the air.
"I think I can seduce Jade Allen," he said, and cheerfully caught Firinne by the wrists to stop her pinning him against the wall.
"Why won't you be jealous?" Firinne exclaimed in frustration. "I'm not blood bound. I could leave any time."
"But you don't," Mat said, his expression shifting to something more serious. "You're mine. You come back without any blood bond. Without any controls. And that is power..."
*****************************************
Firinne Devon sat curled up in a large wicker chair in the conservatory, staring out across the floodlit garden. The evening was still young and Mat had not woken up yet. The cat, on the other hand, was wide awake and curled up in Firinne's lap, purring.
"I do love him," she said to the cat, and chewed on her lip, thoughtfully. "I fell in love with him when he was a psychotic in a 'Team Satan' football shirt who could make me feel alive every single time I was with him. I fell in love with the guy who would summon a pirate ship out of the shadowlands, to play war games on the Thames, and could then turn around and tumble a prince with this kind of irresistable force that I'd never seen before. I loved him then, and I love him still.
"I'm just afraid. I'm afraid that everything I loved will get eaten up by the Camarilla, and that I'll end up with nothing but this Camarilla match, a harpy standing next to a prince. I'm scared that that's all that there will be left."
She scratched the cat under the chin.
"And I will be damned if I'll be taken for granted. I'm not a puppy dog that will always come crawling back to him,"
The bright gleam of Firinne's teeth showed at the corner of her mouth when she smiled and she buried her face for a moment in the cat's fur.
"I am not anyone's pet Toreador," she said, and smiled a secret smile to herself as she stared out into the glowing night.
Firinne stared at the window pane. Rainwater ran down it, like tears.
"He wasn't all bad," she said. She wanted to cry, but a harpy does not cry in front of her prince. Even when her prince has devoured her lover from within. "He was quick, and clever," she said, "he was passionate, and honest with himself about what he was, and with those around him. He..."
She paused for a minute. "He made me feel alive," she said at length.
Matana's hands were cold on her skin, and his expression unreadable, but he pulled Firinne closer to him.
"The Matana you've created is just a Ventrue," Firinne said, and wrapped her arms around him. "What makes you impressive is not that you're a Prince of the Camarilla. I've known a lot of those. It's that you're the son of a whore who's clawed his way up from being a Giovanni street thug to be a Prince of the Camarilla. Don't forget that."
"What do you want?" Matana asked, much much later when the sky was growing grey with the onset of dawn. He ran his fingers lazily through Firinne's hair, much like he had when he still called himself Jimmy Pin. Firinne tilted her head upwards, receiving his touch like a cat.
He pulled at her hair lightly to get her attention, grinning in sharp toothed pleasure at the slight squeak of suprise, and repeated his question. Firinne wrinkled her nose.
"I try not to want," she said. "If you want something, you can lose it. I have ambitions, but they aren't real. I suppose there are things I want at court, but that's..."
"...not relevent here," Matana finished.
He tilted his head and looked at the pale skinned girl in his bed. She was decades older than him, but still looked twenty one. Her body had been frozen in time for ninety years. He wasn't sure what else had been frozen as well.
Firinne pulled Matana's arm more tightly around her and clung to him a little. Away from court she didn't have her script, her carefully taught mannerisms and cues and as such these conversations scared her a little.
"Do you want me?" Matana asked.
Firinne kissed the palm of his hand, and stared at it for a while, committing every line, every whorl to memory. Matana's face changed daily. His hand did not. No matter what else shifted, she wanted to be able to recognise a single part of her lover.
"I don't want you," she said after a while. "I need you. There's a difference."
Firinne's studio was bright - bright with the colour on the paintings on her easals, bright with light from the gleaming sunlamps which provided the closest approximation to the proper daylight that any vampire would see, and bright with noise and chatter. Firinne Devon, almost unrecognisable in a scruffy artist's smock and leggings, and Matana bari Hadad, with his features unaltered for once, were arguing in a fast paced and animated fashion. Mat squeaked slightly as a splash of oil paint, flicked from Firinne's paint brush in a moment of exasperation, sprayed across his face.
"It's simple," he said, with his expression as gleefully malicious as it ever had been when wielding a rocket launcher as Jimmy Pin. "If you want to run away, and have doomed Toreador love affairs and try and make me jealous, you can. It's just a matter of equality. For every affair you have, I'll have one..."
"That's not the way it works," Firinne exclaimed. "You can't plan these things like that!"
"Why not?" Mat asked. "You are. We'll have rules - only social revenge is allowed, no killing of anyone..."
He giggled as a paint brush was launched into the air.
"I think I can seduce Jade Allen," he said, and cheerfully caught Firinne by the wrists to stop her pinning him against the wall.
"Why won't you be jealous?" Firinne exclaimed in frustration. "I'm not blood bound. I could leave any time."
"But you don't," Mat said, his expression shifting to something more serious. "You're mine. You come back without any blood bond. Without any controls. And that is power..."
Firinne Devon sat curled up in a large wicker chair in the conservatory, staring out across the floodlit garden. The evening was still young and Mat had not woken up yet. The cat, on the other hand, was wide awake and curled up in Firinne's lap, purring.
"I do love him," she said to the cat, and chewed on her lip, thoughtfully. "I fell in love with him when he was a psychotic in a 'Team Satan' football shirt who could make me feel alive every single time I was with him. I fell in love with the guy who would summon a pirate ship out of the shadowlands, to play war games on the Thames, and could then turn around and tumble a prince with this kind of irresistable force that I'd never seen before. I loved him then, and I love him still.
"I'm just afraid. I'm afraid that everything I loved will get eaten up by the Camarilla, and that I'll end up with nothing but this Camarilla match, a harpy standing next to a prince. I'm scared that that's all that there will be left."
She scratched the cat under the chin.
"And I will be damned if I'll be taken for granted. I'm not a puppy dog that will always come crawling back to him,"
The bright gleam of Firinne's teeth showed at the corner of her mouth when she smiled and she buried her face for a moment in the cat's fur.
"I am not anyone's pet Toreador," she said, and smiled a secret smile to herself as she stared out into the glowing night.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-24 09:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-24 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-24 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-24 10:18 pm (UTC)It was just incredibly bad timing. I'd just managed to crack the facade a little, and given even just another month, could maybe have made things go differently.
Instead, it all happened too fast, and the stuff I could have used - I just didn't think it was quite enough to bring her back.
I possibly should have tried, though, and still might.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-24 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-24 10:27 pm (UTC)Nice piece, and there is still a human side to her, as evidenced by her activities during the apocalypse!
no subject
Date: 2009-09-24 10:33 pm (UTC)