| Bringing Charles (Part 1) |
[Sep. 8th, 2009|08:13 pm] |
The tall, slender blond slid onto the soft black leather of the limousine seat opposite of me as the driver closed the door with the smoke-dark windows behind him.
“How was your trip?” I asked, tilting my head as I surveyed him. He was dressed perhaps more casually than I had ever observed, in khaki chinos and a white cotton dress shirt, open at the collar, a tweed jacket neatly folded over his arm.
“Uneventful, as I prefer, sir,” he replied in his soft, clipped, impeccable British accent after glancing around the massive, elegant interior, bringing his gaze to rest upon me. He gave a small, polite smile. “This is . . . most unusual, sir, if I may be so bold.”
I nodded at the forty-something-year-old mortal, observing his close-cropped ash-blond hair, every one of which was exactly in place. “Yes, Charles. Do forgive me for calling you away from Talbot Manor. I fear that I have temporary need of you here. I do appreciate your coming on such short notice.”
Charles was my butler at Talbot Manor, managing my estate in my absence. He had been in my employ since before I had acquired my second mortal body, when he was merely one of my manservants in his twenties. He had proven himself invaluable in his abilities. Not only did he have excellent skills at budgeting and getting the very best price for any services or goods that the estate required, he also had almost uncanny “people skills” when it came to managing the staff. He was 100 percent professional, yet he also weighed each man and each situation separately, using the wisdom of Solomon in working out any disputes that arose.
Perhaps most importantly, however, he recognized me for the original “Lord of the Manor” when I first arrived, presenting myself as my own distant cousin. He never blinked an eye, though his thoughts freely gave his incredible beliefs away to me. Then, after Lestat’s dastardly deed, when I finally had the courage to return to Talbot Manor, he again knew me for what I was. I had never had to offer the slightest explanation. He merely accepted it in the proud stride as an Englishman, his only and greatest ambition nothing more than to serve me as he had done since he had been a lad, polishing Talbot silver under old Robert‘s tutelage.
“I am at your service, sir. I have left Masterly in charge at Talbot Manor. I’m sure you will find his stewardship acceptable,” Charles replied in his usual quiet manner. He glanced down at his clothing before again meeting my gaze. “Do forgive my attire, sir. I thought it more practical . . . .”
“Absolutely more practical, Charles. Particularly for traveling, and particularly for this climate. In fact, if you would prefer to find more suitable accoutrements, you are welcome to spend the day tomorrow shopping. I hardly think your black woolen slacks would be suitable here. You may wear whatever you find comfortable and acceptable. You will find the Yanks to be far less formal than the English.” Here, he smiled politely, his thoughts revealing that this was knowledge he had already possessed.
“Thank you, sir,” he replied quietly. We gazed at each other for a moment before he ventured, “If I may inquire, why did you request my presence here?” His curiosity was far less understated in his thoughts, and I had to smile.
“I am setting up a new household here in the New Orleans area, and I need you to help me. Nothing so large as Talbot Manor. You’ll not need to manage a staff so much as simply being my daytime eyes and ears.”
Though he said nothing, he continued to gaze at me intently. Silently, he wanted to know if there had been some sort of trouble, considering that I have set up housekeeping numerous places around the world, yet this was the first time I had called upon him to assist me with any other than Talbot Manor.
I shrugged nonchalantly. “No trouble, per se. I have just decided that I needed a smaller venue. I think it best that the mortal companions whose living quarters I've shared for the last, oh, decade or so, have a chance to lead their lives, free from the supernatural aspect that I bring to them.”
Charles dropped his gaze, rather abashed at his unspoken curiosity being addressed with such candor. “Certainly, sir. Forgive my . . . ,” but I interrupted his unnecessary apology.
“For the time being, I am staying in a suite at The Hotel Monteleone, so you will have precious little to do until we move into the townhouse I've purchased, which is in process of being refurbished.”
“Thank you, sir. I shall. However, I believe I would be more at ease if you will allow me to serve you while you are in your quarters.” His mind silently wondered if I were spending my days at the hotel.
I nodded to his silent query. “The suite actually belongs to Lestat. He has taken care to secure a room against sunlight and intrusion.” I paused, then continued with a smile, “And you certainly may attend me if it suits you.”
Lestat. We rode a bit in silence while I gazed out the window, contemplating the tremendous argument I had had with Lestat. After my last encounter with young master McIntyre, I had determined to confront my maker about his reckless ways with the mortals he took to his bed. After all, he was “married” now. Shouldn’t that mean he had accepted some semblance of responsibility for his actions? He could begin by straightening out this mess with Lucas and Armand. Ah, but it had turned out so wrong.
I sighed, and Charles, who had been scrutinizing me, murmured, “Is something wrong, sir?”
I glanced back at him and gave him a light smile. “Nothing that anyone can remedy at this point, Charles.”
He returned my smile politely, speaking to my thoughts, If you were your former self, I would bring you a tall scotch, neat.
I chuckled and answered him, “And that would be the very thing to do.” My smile turned indulgent. “See why I needed you here? To remind me of all I have forgotten.”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir. I’m sure that you have forgotten far more than I shall ever know in my lifetime,” he responded, his meaning clear between us.
I nodded again. “Perhaps, perhaps.” But for now, I’m afraid you must leave me to my thoughts, dear boy.
It was his turn to nod, though he continued to gaze at me intently as my thoughts returned to the last encounter I had had with my maker.
(To be continued . . . ) |
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| A brief thank you |
[Jul. 3rd, 2009|10:57 pm] |
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To all who remembered my mortal birthday in June, please accept my apologies for not acknowledging your kind wishes earlier. I have been occupied and pre-occupied recently. However, I hope to be around more often in the coming months. At any rate, I do appreciate the well-wishes. Perhaps, though, I have finally transcended my mortal life (for those who are curious, this was my 91st birthday), as I would not have considered it if it had not been brought to my attention. |
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| The night of the wedding |
[Jul. 3rd, 2009|10:42 pm] |
I am not, nor have I ever been, the marrying type. As a young mortal man in the 1930’s, my mistress was adventure. One could find me on safari in Africa or exploring the jungles of South America. My relationship with a young Brazilian man whose mother was a Candomble priestess resulted in my initiation into the Talamasca. After that, one could have accurately said that I was married to my work. My loves as a mortal man were limited to a very few, though my dabbling in the bedroom arts was not unknown. Then I met Lestat. And my world was forever changed.
( Read more... ) |
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| A brief summary of meeting with Lestat |
[May. 4th, 2009|11:59 pm] |
Leave it to Lestat to assume that I am sulking when the truth is that I've been taking care of some of my more pressing business adventures. First, as I assured Lestat, I was not mourning or fretting over my "mortal family." Indeed, I have had no contact with them since I returned to New Orleans. I'm certain that Brent, at least, is aware of my return. However, he respects my privacy and has not attempted to call me.
For everyone's information (though, as I chided Lestat, it is hardly a matter that should concern anyone other than myself and those in question), I do not own the house on Fourth Street that I call "home" here. It was deeded over to Brent and Kyle several years ago. I do not have to return there. What draws me back to New Orleans has nothing whatsoever to do with those mortals with whom I have resided. I would be well content to leave them to their own devices. I have it on good authority that all is as well with Brent, Kyle, Joey, and Remy as can be expected. I'm fairly certain I shall see them all again, but not at this time. Again I assure my dear reader (as I assured my dear maker) that I do not have emotional ties to young Joseph McIntyre. Indeed, it is my belief that he is far better off without emotional ties to vampires. (Note Lucas to reinforce my point.)
As for my preoccupation since my return, I cannot reveal my exact business due to the necessity of my remaining the "silent partner," so to speak. Suffice it to say that it has to do with the reconstruction of a number of houses in the Ninth Ward. The "front man" decided to go quite public with the endeavor, getting himself featured prominently on the cover of a magazine. I was floored! It is all well and good that the eleven houses that have been constructed to date are elegant, secure from the possibility of future flooding, and environmentally sound (using solar panels to provide up to 80 percent of the energy necessary to run the house). However, there are only eleven. Eleven houses after two-and-a-half years, when so many tens of thousands are either without housing or are housed very poorly at this point. I hardly consider that a heroic effort.
I explained all of this to Lestat last week when I went to visit him. I'm not sure where Louis was, but he was not present. Lestat offered to visit the "front man"--his typical godfather-like response when he perceives that one of his own is not being treated fairly. I declined his dubiously kind offer with haste. As it was, our conversation shifted pleasantly onto other topics, specifically my time in Africa.
I have sworn to Lestat that I shall write it all out for him, and for anyone else who wishes to read of it. I only beg a bit more time. Perhaps by the time Louis and Lestat go on their honeymoon, my business will be back on track and I shall have procured a new laptop. In the meantime, know that I am around. |
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| I am returning. |
[Mar. 21st, 2009|12:45 pm] |
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For all who have expressed concern, I should be returning to New Orleans sometime Tuesday evening. |
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| Home again |
[Dec. 1st, 2008|12:19 am] |
“Why must you always do this to me, David?” Lestat was pacing again, one hand gesturing wildly, the other perched on his hip. I sighed and glanced to Louis, seated comfortably in the Queen Anne chair with a book. Louis met my gaze briefly with a small smile, but otherwise ignored our maker’s rant, pretending to be immersed in the small volume of which he had not turned one page in the last ten minutes.
I turned my attention back to the gorgeous blond vampire before me. “What, exactly, am I doing to you, love?” I asked patiently, leaning back against the new, surprisingly comfortable sofa. Louis must have chosen this, I thought as I ran my hand against the rich buttery leather. Another secret smile from my brother, still hiding himself behind the book as he slowly turned a page at last.
“What you always do, David! You disappear on me for months at a time, and when I finally get in contact with you, you never give me any real answer as to your whereabouts!” I cocked my head as I continued to watch him, waiting for that unseen-but-sensed signal that he was finished with his chastisement and ready to listen reasonably. “That’s what they make cell phones for, you know! E-mail! What a novel idea!”
My lips twitched to hear him parrot Maharet’s admonition to him about E-mail, but I merely replied, “I told you already, love . . . my phone was destroyed and it was simply not convenient for me to replace it as promptly as you obviously would have liked.” I paused to watch him turn again in his pacing. “And E-mail was out of the question. I’m truly sorry I . . . distressed you, so.” Again, I had to fight to keep a smile from my lips, which would only have aggravated him further and prolonged his harangue.
He huffed, but I could tell his annoyance was already beginning to bore him. That’s one of the joys about dealing with Lestat’s moods: if one can wait him out, his moods will change. Sometimes violently, sometimes abruptly. However, more often than not, he gets impatient with extended negativity, even within himself. At last, he stopped his pacing to gaze upon me imperiously. “I suppose you did nothing more or less than I’ve done myself.” Behind his back, Louis smiled again broadly, turning another page. I called upon many mortal years of self-discipline to keep my face smooth as I met his eyes evenly.
“Well, I am here now. What can I do to appease you, my love?” I asked sincerely.
To my surprise, he knelt on the couch, straddling me, taking my face in his cold marble hands. “Write, David. Be here for me. Write for me. For Louis. Promise me you’ll write.” His face came nearer and nearer with his words until his lips touched mine almost tenderly. Ah, he knew just how to break me completely! My lips moved against his with hungry restraint, my hands rising to his waist.
“You . . . are a devil, Lestat!” I gasped when the kiss broke, licking my lips and smiling in spite of myself. “How could I possibly resist you?”
He smiled, still holding my face in his hands. “You aren’t supposed to resist me, cher. Didn’t I already teach you that?”
At that, I laughed. “I’ve always been a slow learner when it comes to curbing my rebellious ways, love. I thought that was what attracted you to me in the first place.” I grinned. “Peas in a pod, and all that.”
“Bah!” he frowned dismissively and climbed from my lap. “You’ll never hold a candle to me in that department.” He walked back to Louis, who put his book away in obedience to Lestat’s unspoken demand for his attention. “Will he, cher?”
Louis’s emerald eyes flashed at me as he smiled. “I don’t think he is foolish enough to challenge you, my love. David is far too intelligent.” He took Lestat’s hand and kissed it sweetly.
I met Louis’ knowing smile, but took a deep breath. “Yes, yes, all right. I will post by the end of the week.” I surveyed Lestat’s crystalline gaze of adoration mixed with a healthy dose of lust toward Louis. “Not only that, but I will try to chronicle for you what occupied my time while I was away. However, do keep in mind that I had not even a journal with me. As such, my account might be a bit sketchy here and there. I truly did lose track of time, you know.”
Louis looked up at Lestat as he kissed his knuckles again, registering the import of that particular expression on our maker’s face with a lift of his fine brows. At last Lestat tore his eyes from my older brother to respond to me. “All right. And I expect you on the tag regularly.”
I cocked my head, “Is that a command? I prefer to be asked nicely, you know. I balk at commands . . . much like my maker.”
He narrowed his eyes but smiled lightly. “I would like to see you on the tag more regularly. Do you want me to say, ‘Please’?”
I met his light smile with a shake of my head. “No, no. That word doesn’t become you. Indeed, I can hardly imagine ‘Sil vous plaît’ on those lips. Must be your aristocratic background.”
Thus it is that I make my first post in, lo, many months. Ah, but where to begin? I suppose I should begin at the beginning, hmmm?
In 2005, I spent several months in Africa, traveling down the Nile, tracking rumors and local legends of blood-drinking creatures which I felt sure must have descended from the original vampires of Enkil and Akasha. What I found were mostly superstitions and ancient legends which may well have once been founded in truth, but which were quite obviously related to modern vampires by the thinnest of historical threads.
However, when I reached Zimbabwe and Mozambique, I began to encounter tribesmen who knew me for what I was. To make a long and rather tedious tale concise, it became all but impossible to find those who were willing to work for whatever wealth I could bestow upon them, so fearful were they of me. As such, working alone, I located a cave of sorts in the Drakensberg Mountains in South Africa that was perhaps the last burial ground of ancient remains of the fabled blood-drinkers. There were perhaps two dozen apparently human skulls with our trademark canines intact, along with other skulls, both animal and human, in all array of conditions.
I did not find anything to suggest that these were burned; and so, I returned to America with a bit of a mystery on my hands. After all, burning is the only way I know of to destroy my kind. If these ancient ones were not burned, then how were they destroyed? I was truly at a loss. Before I left, I hired my own brand of mercenaries to excavate the cave and the surrounding area.
For months after my return, I half-expected a call that one of my hired men had suffered some sort of violence or had disappeared entirely. I left adamant instructions that I was to be contacted immediately. After all, I reasoned that it was likely that at least a few of these ancients had gone to ground and survived. When I heard nothing for a year, for two years, I rather forgot about the matter.
Then, the fateful phone call came. And I had to leave immediately. |
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| A brief explanation |
[Jan. 28th, 2008|01:03 am] |
Those of you who have kept up on the tag know that my holidays did not turn out as planned. Indeed, I felt so out-of-place and lost so much of the time, I scarcely resembled the decisive scholar, the Superior General, that I once was. Feeling pulled from all directions, I contemplated taking the capricious route of merely removing myself from the entire situation and not returning until the warmer weather. However, perhaps I am still too human to abandon what I perceive as my duties and responsibilities.
At any rate, I have managed to disappoint both my brother and my maker with my preoccupation with my mortal household. I know not where either Lestat or Louis are right now (though we did not part badly). I have spoken to Lestat by phone, and recently. However, he has little patience with my circumstances. As such, he is off doing whatever suits his whims. Lestat is, as always, ever and only Lestat.
To cut to the chase, Ronald McIntyre, father of Kyle and Joey, died December 23. He apparently had a stroke and was found dead on his bedroom floor by his wife and two youngest daughters when they came home from Sunday night mass. Obviously, it was a shock for the entire McIntyre clan. Nine children, ranging in ages from nearly 30 to 14, have been bereaved of their father. Mrs. McIntyre is still almost catatonic. As such, Kyle has been caring for the two youngest, who are still in secondary school and were, as such, still living at home.
Kyle broke down and cried like a small child when the call came, clinging to Brent as if to a life vest. Joey was in Missouri, visiting his “Granny Mac,” Ronald’s mother. When I spoke with him by phone, he was in a state of shock at the news. I have since heard him cry only twice. He continues to be withdrawn and generally quiet. We have made love only once since his father died (but that, perhaps, is a story for another time).
Kyle has stepped into the role of head-of-household for his mother and siblings. He helped to make the arrangements and continues to manage his mother’s affairs. Keep in mind that Mrs. McIntyre was a housewife, perhaps straight out of the “Ozzie and Harriet” days. Her name is not on any of the bank accounts, credit cards, mortgage, etc. She has no earthly idea how to manage the money end of her household. One would consider it rather incredible in this day and age, I would think. Even my own mother (and she has been dead probably longer than Mrs. McIntyre has been alive) had her investments and her financial enterprises that were separate from my father’s.
Someone on the tag asked me what I did for New Year’s Eve. I spent the evening watching the children (Brent, Kyle, Joey, and their two younger sisters) playing board games. At midnight, no one kissed. Brent has been downright sacrificial of his time and intimacy with Kyle. Kyle has decreed that his family is not to witness homoerotic affection, out of deference for his father’s wishes. I had originally made plans to be out and about with Lestat and Louis (and Lucas) that evening. At Joey’s sincere request, I remained home. This, even though he knew that there could be nothing more than glances exchanged between us. I simply could not refuse him.
I will write again soon. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 23rd, 2007|01:56 am] |
No, no. Lest you are wondering, I have not fallen from the face of the planet, gone into the sun, nor gone to ground. I have only been dealing with an adolescent drama queen of late, in addition to having to leave town frequently on business matters. I will post an update of my more exciting activities within the week.
Meanwhile, I trust all is well with everyone else.
Lestat, call me. I have missed you.
Louis, call me, as well. I have misplaced your new cell number.
~D |
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| Brent's Story (Follow-Up to Fireworks on the Fourth) |
[Aug. 2nd, 2007|02:41 am] |
Herein is the continuation of what happened between Brent and Kyle. I am posting all of it behind an LJ-cut both for language and for rather graphic details of Brent's past. At one point, I tell the reader about perhaps the only part of Brent's life of which he is deeply ashamed. After I had written it, the thought occurred to me that I needed to get a clearance from Brent and Remy to include it. Their very sardonic, almost bitter responses were virtually the same: The entirety of the story has already been posted on the internet in lurid detail for Armand's amusement. Hence, my abreviated explanation of it could hardly do any further damage.
And so, dear reader, the saga continues . . . .
( Read more... ) |
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| Fireworks on the Fourth |
[Jul. 17th, 2007|12:23 am] |
I heard his heartbeat outside my bedroom door even before I could physically rise. It was not entirely unusual for Joey to be waiting for me; but I would normally find him in the library, either reading or playing his hand-held video game. I frowned as I pulled on my clothing, wondering at the reason he would be parked in the back hallway, immediately outside my bedroom door. I automatically assumed it was Joey, as I knew of no other who would be anticipating my rising. My thoughts did brush up against my old companion, for that very evening was his birthday. However, I dismissed that fearful hope at once, reminding myself that 1) he rose even later than I did, even if he were in the vicinity and 2) the heartbeat most decidedly did not belong to a vampire.
( Read more... ) |
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| Deflowering Joey, Part 2 |
[Jul. 2nd, 2007|02:04 am] |
Again, I feel it imperative to stress that this is of a graphically sexual nature. It involves a homoerotic situation and descriptions that are not suitable to those who are underage. By clicking behind the LJ cut, the reader is assuming all responsibility and liability for his or her exposure to this material. I shall not be held accountable.
( Read more... ) |
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| Just a quick note |
[Jun. 28th, 2007|01:56 pm] |
I spoke with Lestat for perhaps an hour last night. It seems that several have inquired about me. I wanted to assure anyone concerned that I am alive (in a manner of speaking) and well. For the next three evenings, I will be at Talbot Manor. However, either Saturday evening or Sunday evening, I will have returned to New Orleans.
For those who have wondered about the reason for my absence, I have been doing research into language acquistion. It's a fascinating subject for those who are interested in it, and an incredibly dull one for those who aren't.
Rest assured that I have written the lion's share of "Part 2," and I will try to post it when I return. |
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| Deflowering Joey, Part I |
[Jun. 11th, 2007|10:24 pm] |
Although I had wanted to filter this post, it seems that filtering it for the more mature would be more problematic than worthwhile. Lestat told me to write it and post it and let the chips fall where they might. However, I feel it imperative to stress that this is of a graphically sexual nature. It involves a homoerotic situation and descriptions that are not suitable to those who are underage. By clicking behind the LJ cut, the reader is assuming all responsibility and liability for his or her exposure to this material. I shall not be held accountable.
That being said, I must also state that this was written with Joey’s approval. Indeed, he had posted of it (less descriptively) in his own personal blog several weeks ago. When he read what I intended to post, he agreed to the necessity of posting certain details. And, to be frank, he exhibited a sort of fierce pride in what I had written.
Therefore, for better or for worse, here is the story of Joey’s coming of age.
( Read more... ) |
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| Picking up where Lestat left off. |
[May. 28th, 2007|09:12 pm] |
“But then again since you’ve already popped Joey’s cherry, I suppose on at least one front I have nothing more to say, do I?” the arrogant blond vampire announced to the room. My three mortal companions simply dropped their jaws at his blatant declaration, having tiptoed around the dead elephant in our midst for the last week or so.
“Crude as always, Lestat,” I murmured, giving my maker a light smile as I went to take a seat in the little parlor off the front foyer.
( Read more... )
************
And here, I will break this entry. For those who are not subscribers to IR community, the next entry will be filtered. Suffice it for everyone else to say that it will speak of the loss of Joey’s virginity. |
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| First Date with Joey |
[May. 20th, 2007|11:07 pm] |
My, how time flies when one is struggling to maintain one’s sanity! So much has transpired in these last two weeks that I fear I will have to summarize the majority of it. Else, I will never catch up and my poor readers will be hopelessly confused.
To pick things up from my last post, the next item on my agenda was to speak with Kyle. In many ways, I think I had made more progress with the younger brother than I had with the older brother. To say that Kyle was angry would be to say that the bomb dropped on Hiroshima was a firecracker. I shan’t go into the horrible confrontation I had with this usually quiet and good-natured young man. Suffice it to say that late Thursday evening (this would be two weeks ago now), I literally carried him away to Blackwood Farm to spend some quiet time in thought. I left him with two questions: Do you love Brent? How do you want to spend the rest of your life?
Joey. Ah, yes, Joey. ( Read more... ) |
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| Joey, the Next Night |
[May. 15th, 2007|10:22 pm] |
Upon rising the next evening, when I rounded the corner from the back hallway, I found Joey in my desk chair, using it as a vehicle to propel himself from one side of the hardwood library to the other, kicking off from one wall of shelves and gliding in pinball-machine fashion to the opposite wall or one of the several standing tables in the center of the room. I frowned and murmured, “That is hardly acceptable treatment either of my books or my furniture.”
( Read more... ) |
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| Brent |
[May. 6th, 2007|09:40 pm] |
When Brent came upstairs, I was outside on the veranda, leaning on the railing, looking down into the lush and aromatic garden which Kyle’s talents had transformed into a veritable Eden. “What did you want to talk about, David?” He stood by the door, his arms crossed over his chest, somehow seeming to crumple in on himself. This was not like Brent in the least.
( Read more... )
(Just a note that I have not proof-read this. Therefore, there may be glaring errors. However, I shall correct them in time.) |
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| Joey, continued. |
[May. 4th, 2007|12:29 am] |
Sometime a little later, Lestat paid me a visit, finding me still in the library, trying to locate a particular reference book that was eluding me. After niceties (I hadn’t really spoken to him since the one conversation after the armoire incident), Lestat immediately launched into his sermonette, admonishing me about these latest developments.
( Read more... )
**********
Around 11:30, my work was once again disturbed by raised voices in the house, and I left to attend the cause of the commotion. Joey and Kyle had faced off in the laundry room downstairs and were screaming obscenities at each other, Joey’s clothing scattered over the floor.
( Read more... ) |
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| Joey |
[May. 1st, 2007|10:21 pm] |
I had only recently emerged from my bedroom. Indeed, I had just rounded the door from the back hall into the library when I heard the commotion with mortal ears.
“Wait! Dammit! Don’t go back there! Are you trying to get yourself killed? He’ll be out in a minute!”
( Read more... ) |
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| The Situation with Joey |
[Apr. 29th, 2007|10:18 pm] |
I realize that I haven’t posted any updates on the situation with Joey, but that has been due in part to there being nothing to report. To make about two weeks of non-action fit into a couple or three paragraphs will not be difficult.
( Read more... ) |
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