zg_shadows | Because no good deed goes unpunished - I mean

For

wildrogue

A small fire burnt in the grate of the impressive yet cosy looking study. Book cases lined most of the walls and in one corner were two dark wooden filing cabinets, their handles and name plates of polished brass. Long heavy velvet drapes hung at the window and the polished floor was covered with two oriental carpets.

Curios sparsely cluttered the mantelpiece around a carriage clock which seemed to keep irregular time. A large mahogany desk dominated the room, along with a matching wingbacked chair upholstered – like the desk was topped - in oxblood leather. A large crystal ship's decanter sat on the desk along with a hefty port glass.

Piles of paper, some thick and creamy white, others yellowing with age were bundled up in stacks about the desk.

In the chair sat a slight and pale figure dressed in a white coat. The coat in question was several sizes too large for its occupant, and so had been cinched at the waist and arms with strips of gold silk. The young lady was writing laboriously in an accounting ledger with marbled pages, the monstrous size and weight of which is nowadays known only to museums.

Having completed her columns of sums and signed them off, she lay down her pen, licked her thumb and pressed it down firmly at the bottom of the page, much as one would stamp or seal a document. There was a quiet hiss and a small spark of golden light. Satisfied her job was complete for the evening, the pale-haired girl leant across the desk and poured herself a glass of port.

The shadows in the room lengthened considerably and the fire huddled closer to its grate. The carriage clock inexplicably struck three, despite its hands pointing to quite a different time.

Something hideous coalesced and pulled itself up out of the shadows at the foot of the desk.

Its flesh – if flesh it was – glistened an obsidian black; except for its eyes which glowed like phosphor. No part of its being was lighter in colour than the darkest pewter. It had wild, windswept hair and a cadaverously thin body, limbs held in place by muscle as lean and taught as catgut. Its head split open into a grin, revealing a mouth crammed impossibly full of large, pointed teeth.

The girl, intent upon pouring her drink, had not seen it. It reached out its arm towards her, the shears it had in place of hands edging closer to her skin and its smile stretching wider all the while.

The girl re-stoppered the port, lifted her glass and looked up, straight into the face of the dark abomination.

She sighed, handed it her glass and got up to find another. The nightmare thing cradled the port between its shears, flicking out its tongue to taste the liquid and snickering happily to itself.

"So," the white-coated girl enquired as she returned with a second goblet and began the task of pouring once again. "How are the Lower Wards?" An almost imperceptible pause. "How's my sire?"

The creature tensed its shears and drew them across the stem of the glass, scoring the crystal with an ear-bleeding screech.

She pursed her lips. "I see. Well, I shall visit him at the end of the month I suppose."

The shadow thing snarled and gabbled incomprehensibly, its voice like sandpaper over snakeskin.

"I’ve told you before – I visit him because I must visit everyone at least once a season, without exception..."

More shouting and gesticulating. The girl listened for several moments and finally seemed to hear something that broke her patience.

"You damn well will not! If you cannot treat them with some modicum of humanity then I will relieve you of your duties and I will walk the Lower Wards myself every week. Is that what you want?"

The nightmare glowered, baring its teeth in frustration and defeat. It wanted to keep the pale girl safe above all else in the world. It didn't want her walking the Lower Wards where her Sire and others of his kind were kept, not once a season or once a year or ever at all. It was her protector – her daemon – her kiabit. Its eyes smouldered hatefully and it forced words out through gritted teeth.

The girl caught her breath and let it out slowly. "Yes," she said quietly. "I remember. I did ask you to cut it off and choke him with it. But that was a long time ago." Her composure seemed to return. "And now I am Bedlam and he is not and that is an end to it."

The psychotic shadow sulked, knocking back the port in a single mouthful before thumping the glass back onto the desk, grumbling to itself.

She looked up. "What girl?"

The thing told her.

"What silly, scaredy, red-haired girl?"

It waved its shears decisively.

"No, I don't know. What girl? You don't mean Eva do you?"

The nightmare demonstrated exactly what it thought of that assumption.

"Well there are several red-haired girls in the wards, and at least three who could be described as silly. But no one in their right mind would call Mary Kelly or Elsie Marsten 'scaredy', so that leaves Eva."

It shook its head and snikked.

The pale girl in the white coat scowled. "What bar?"

The shadow shrugged and jabbered a swift and lengthy explanation which obviously started with, 'You know, that bar...' and then reluctantly went into more detail.

She frowned at her kiabit. "She didn't believe in monsters? Not even with you standing there?"

The monster skritched and snickered in his dead-gravel voice, explaining that he'd set her straight and shown her that the world was dangerous but all was well - provided that you had your own personal CheeseApple to look after you.

Cinnamon couldn't quite hide her smile at that. "Every girl should have a CheeseApple." Only not if they want to have a boyfriend, she amended silently to herself. "Yes, I see. So you can't be her guardian daemon, but you'd like to check up on her and see how she's doing?"

The thing nodded its head, its eyes narrowing in full expectation of being forbidden to do any such thing.

She sipped her port and considered. "All right. You can go and find her on the weekend."

CheeseApple's eyes widened and then narrowed again; it snikked its shears suspiciously.

"Of course you can go, why shouldn't I let you?" The Malkavian grinned over the rim of her glass. "Besides, there's a television crew arriving on Saturday being lead by an idiot, and I don't want you playing with them."

CheeseApple swore.