wintersday (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wintersday) wrote2020-10-04 09:45 pm
wintersday) wrote2020-10-04 09:45 pm
Fic: Bright Creatures Of The Day
Title: Bright Creatures of the Day
Fandom: Homestuck, Friendsim
Major Characters/Pairings: Tagora, Kanaya, mentioned Tagora/Galekh
Wordcount: 856
Rating: PG
POV: Third Person
Summary: In which Countess Maryam expresses polite but emphatic dissatisfaction with Tagora Gorjek’s services as a solicitor. (Inexplicable Dracula fusion)
Notes: Written for the prompt Vampires with perfectly ordinary hobbies
Countess Maryam was imposing, impeccably dressed, and furious enough, as she loomed over Tagora and everything else in his small but finely decorated office, that he had already inched as far back as his chair would allow him and he was beginning to consider the utility of the window as a possible escape route.
“So you’re telling me,” he said, as soothingly as possible, “that you want a refund for the...”
“The dirt, Mister Gorjek,” the Countess said, enunciating every word. She leaned across the desk, crumpling contracts and legal documents between her elegant claws, and said, “There are certain very delicate plants that I am fond of, which will grow only in my native soil. I recently imported several boxes of said soil for my garden at great personal expense, only to find that they have been tampered with in transit and outright destroyed by your employees. I expected better from a solicitor who came as highly recommended as yourself, and I should hope it is obvious that I mean to be reimbursed in full.”
“For your garden,” Tagora said weakly. Of course she had a garden. Why wouldn’t a foul creature of the day have a garden? And gardens needed soil – and expensive soil, at that, though he could hardly fault a lady for having refined taste in dirt – which meant that out of all the stupid miscalculations he and his comrades could have made, they had to choose the one which would cost him.
“Is there an echo in here?” the Countess said coldly.
“My apologies,” Tagora said hastily. He didn’t enjoy sycophancy, but he was not too proud to acknowledge that he enjoyed exsanguination even less. “It’s merely that... to be entirely honest, which is not to imply that I am ever less than entirely honest, we all thought you were planning to sleep in it.”
It was the Countess’s turn to look nonplussed, which at least gave Tagora a moment to gather his wits. There might well be be no weaseling his way out of dirt-related expenses, and this business relationship was probably unsalvageable, but if he held his ground, he might at least manage to get something out of it – for Galekh’s sake if not his own.
“That would be exceedingly strange and probably not very hygienic,” she said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I sleep in slime like a normal person.”
“Right. Very well. Let’s make a deal. You release my kismesis from your unholy influence, and I will – ” Tagora winced, braced himself for the loss, and said through gritted teeth, “reimburse you for the dirt.”
Tagora was expecting many things. Anger, perhaps, at being caught and called out so openly on her fiendish machinations. Hypnotic, silver-tongued denial. He had considered the possibility that he would be attacked. He was not expecting the Countess to stare at him like he’d just started babbling nonsense.
“I’m sorry, you want me to release your kismesis from my what?”
“Look,” Tagora said, “I will not deny that I might have made certain unfortunate assumptions regarding the native soil, and I do regret that, but I’m not stupid and I’m not blind. I’ve seen what’s been happening to Galekh. He’s pale and restless. Enervated. He hasn’t been sleeping, and he walks through the world as if in a dream. It’s obvious he’s been enthralled by some bright power, and that, Countess, is completely unacceptable, because he might be an arrogant, officious, eminently hateable know-it-all, but there is nobody better at research and organization.”
“Oh, for the love of....” The Countess sighed with an irritation that was, if Tagora’s finely-honed instinct for deception could be trusted, entirely genuine.
“Mr. Xigisi is fine,” she said. “All he needs is to eat a few iron-rich meals, stop overworking himself, and – I cannot believe that I of all people am saying this – set aside the Gothic novels long enough to take a nap. A few good days’ sleep, and I promise you he will be back to full annotative capacity in no time.”
“Er.”
“Quite.”
“So I’ll just...”
“You will just await the bill for the multiple crates of soil along with transport costs, time delays, and emotional damages relating to the loss of exotic plant life, which will be delivered to your office shortly. Good night to you, solicitor.”
She swept from the office in a flurry of silks, leaving the door to swing shut behind her, and Tagora rested his head in his hands, staring down at the surface of his desk. She had left claw marks in it. At least he could probably recoup some damages by charging her for that, and for the crumpled documents she had left behind. Oh, and – consultation at short notice without appointment. Fee for cancellation of services. Emotional damages... she was the one who had miscalculated this time, going there first. He grabbed the nearest sheet of paper and began jotting down notes, smiling as he racked up charges in his head. He might not have been particularly practiced in rainbow drinker hunting, but the game wasn’t over yet, and this time, the playing field was his.
Fandom: Homestuck, Friendsim
Major Characters/Pairings: Tagora, Kanaya, mentioned Tagora/Galekh
Wordcount: 856
Rating: PG
POV: Third Person
Summary: In which Countess Maryam expresses polite but emphatic dissatisfaction with Tagora Gorjek’s services as a solicitor. (Inexplicable Dracula fusion)
Notes: Written for the prompt Vampires with perfectly ordinary hobbies
Countess Maryam was imposing, impeccably dressed, and furious enough, as she loomed over Tagora and everything else in his small but finely decorated office, that he had already inched as far back as his chair would allow him and he was beginning to consider the utility of the window as a possible escape route.
“So you’re telling me,” he said, as soothingly as possible, “that you want a refund for the...”
“The dirt, Mister Gorjek,” the Countess said, enunciating every word. She leaned across the desk, crumpling contracts and legal documents between her elegant claws, and said, “There are certain very delicate plants that I am fond of, which will grow only in my native soil. I recently imported several boxes of said soil for my garden at great personal expense, only to find that they have been tampered with in transit and outright destroyed by your employees. I expected better from a solicitor who came as highly recommended as yourself, and I should hope it is obvious that I mean to be reimbursed in full.”
“For your garden,” Tagora said weakly. Of course she had a garden. Why wouldn’t a foul creature of the day have a garden? And gardens needed soil – and expensive soil, at that, though he could hardly fault a lady for having refined taste in dirt – which meant that out of all the stupid miscalculations he and his comrades could have made, they had to choose the one which would cost him.
“Is there an echo in here?” the Countess said coldly.
“My apologies,” Tagora said hastily. He didn’t enjoy sycophancy, but he was not too proud to acknowledge that he enjoyed exsanguination even less. “It’s merely that... to be entirely honest, which is not to imply that I am ever less than entirely honest, we all thought you were planning to sleep in it.”
It was the Countess’s turn to look nonplussed, which at least gave Tagora a moment to gather his wits. There might well be be no weaseling his way out of dirt-related expenses, and this business relationship was probably unsalvageable, but if he held his ground, he might at least manage to get something out of it – for Galekh’s sake if not his own.
“That would be exceedingly strange and probably not very hygienic,” she said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I sleep in slime like a normal person.”
“Right. Very well. Let’s make a deal. You release my kismesis from your unholy influence, and I will – ” Tagora winced, braced himself for the loss, and said through gritted teeth, “reimburse you for the dirt.”
Tagora was expecting many things. Anger, perhaps, at being caught and called out so openly on her fiendish machinations. Hypnotic, silver-tongued denial. He had considered the possibility that he would be attacked. He was not expecting the Countess to stare at him like he’d just started babbling nonsense.
“I’m sorry, you want me to release your kismesis from my what?”
“Look,” Tagora said, “I will not deny that I might have made certain unfortunate assumptions regarding the native soil, and I do regret that, but I’m not stupid and I’m not blind. I’ve seen what’s been happening to Galekh. He’s pale and restless. Enervated. He hasn’t been sleeping, and he walks through the world as if in a dream. It’s obvious he’s been enthralled by some bright power, and that, Countess, is completely unacceptable, because he might be an arrogant, officious, eminently hateable know-it-all, but there is nobody better at research and organization.”
“Oh, for the love of....” The Countess sighed with an irritation that was, if Tagora’s finely-honed instinct for deception could be trusted, entirely genuine.
“Mr. Xigisi is fine,” she said. “All he needs is to eat a few iron-rich meals, stop overworking himself, and – I cannot believe that I of all people am saying this – set aside the Gothic novels long enough to take a nap. A few good days’ sleep, and I promise you he will be back to full annotative capacity in no time.”
“Er.”
“Quite.”
“So I’ll just...”
“You will just await the bill for the multiple crates of soil along with transport costs, time delays, and emotional damages relating to the loss of exotic plant life, which will be delivered to your office shortly. Good night to you, solicitor.”
She swept from the office in a flurry of silks, leaving the door to swing shut behind her, and Tagora rested his head in his hands, staring down at the surface of his desk. She had left claw marks in it. At least he could probably recoup some damages by charging her for that, and for the crumpled documents she had left behind. Oh, and – consultation at short notice without appointment. Fee for cancellation of services. Emotional damages... she was the one who had miscalculated this time, going there first. He grabbed the nearest sheet of paper and began jotting down notes, smiling as he racked up charges in his head. He might not have been particularly practiced in rainbow drinker hunting, but the game wasn’t over yet, and this time, the playing field was his.