Post by glamorousgnome on Mar 16, 2008 19:02:20 GMT -8
a random andrew/sera clip inspired by the following quote from sera (I tried to write with sera, i don't know how well i wrote her, but shes fun to write with).
“Hunting must come as easily as breathing to him”
“So I promise,” Andrew stated softly, his eyes boring straight into hers like a wild animal staring down its prey. He never meant his expression that way, but the darkness he wallowed in stained his smile these days. “-that tonight it will be just you and I. We never have much time off to ourselves to talk, do we? And the lovers have all gone to their lovemaking, and Winter is dare I ask where. So I thought that you and I would have a chat. We hardly know each other.”
Sera swallowed the little saliva left in her dry mouth.
“Just a chat, and nothing more.” He flashed a cheap smirk across his face that screamed deceit, and then he climbed legs first from off a high wine shelf into an armed chair facing her, his eyes never leaving her face. “Two glasses, and the finest Italian red I could find in these parts. Mmm, do you smell it?” He uncorked it eagerly and, without the loss of a drop, poured it neatly into each glass. “Italian red-”
Sera let the scent waft to her nostrils, and she nearly vomited. Slamming down her glass, more than glad she did not taste before she smelled it, she found the courage to protest. “Sir, I- you know I’m mortal.”
“Ah, of course,” and Andrew acted as if he hadn’t made the mistake of pouring blood for her instead of wine on purpose. “Let me fetch you a bottle of brandy, then. It’s so easy to forget you’re not one of us.”
You’re not one of us.
Sera’s color drained from her face, and she felt a serious urge to run to the door, up the stone cellar stairs, and far away from this strange and threatening man. The phrase he spoke frightened her, as if Andrew would at any minute reach for her neck to drain her. Wouldn’t a glass of Sera, her mind mocked her with Andrew’s voice, taste so proper with a rack of lamb?
“Don’t look so discouraged,” he approached lightly with a wave of his hand. Then he gave the subtle, but horrifying hint- “You’ll fit in soon enough.”
She moved to stand from his presence and turned to the door, but the keys that normally sat in the door handle now dangled from Andrew’s pocket, and she instead tried to keep her composure by sitting back down again. “A-Andrew, this isn’t your first time in Venice, as you’ve said.” She tried desperately to make clean, gentle conversation, anything to drive the thought of her arteries from the man’s mind. “Is it to your liking-”
“Lord Andrew,” Andrew corrected, his eyes smoldering in the light of the flickering lantern on the table. They focused not just on Sera’s eyes, but the very centers of them. Her soul cowered behind her pupils, but he penetrated deep into her vision. There was no place to hide. He laughed, and his voice hit the stone wall and died, crushed away by the darkness and the thick, impenetrable stone. “You’ve called me that before. And I rather like the title.”
“Fine, then.” Quite frankly, she could care less what he wanted to be called. His antics were far from funny. They frightened her, and her eyes darted fearfully every few moments to the keyless door. “Lord Andrew.” But her throbbing heart told her how obviously nervous she looked, so she tried to cover herself by cracking a brave joke. “Then you should call me Lady Sera. It’s only proper.”
But as he spoke next, her blood froze inside of her, and she wondered if he smelled it: “That could oh so easily be arranged.”
This time, his eyes left hers and trailed down her body, pausing rather ungentlemanly at her breasts and continuing to her ankles and back up again, until his eyes focused back on her face. There, they rested, still dark, still chilling, narrowing at the thought of making love to her.
Sera’s eyes doubled in size and her heart rate might as well have tripled. Like the wicked spiders that spend so much time catching prey in dusty webbed corners, Andrew did not only eat his prey, but mate them. She feared he would molest her, force himself on her, and she would be able to do nothing about it.
He made a sudden movement, his arm reaching out too quickly for his glass maybe, or perhaps it was him uncrossing his leg at a supernatural speed, or maybe he just felt uncomfortable and wanted to shift positions. Whatever it was, it made Sera bolt.
Her glass she never bothered to drink from splattered blood across the plain wooden table and the stone floor, staining them supernaturally with murder. She pounded her fists against the door, tried the door handle several times, and began to cry when she realized Andrew had the only key. She slid with her back against the splintery, heavy wood door and slumped to the floor, her face in her hands, feeling completely helpless.
But when she realized he did not chase her, she peeled apart her fingers to peer through them. Andrew still sat in the chair, his eyes less dark and his expression less hardened. He gazed at her once more, but not with the power he commanded moments before. Now he seemed weaker, almost as if she hurt his feelings-
“I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
She blinked, not bothering to wipe away the tears that streaked against her cheeks. His words did little to comfort her, but the change in his expression gave her some hope of escaping this.
“How many times do I have to tell you that?”
And he strode away from his chair, causing her to shrink into a shaking ball before the dungeon looking door. Without removing the keys from his pocket, he twisted the lock from the inside and pushed the door open. “You were holding the handle wrong.”
“O-Oh- I’m sorry-” Now she felt embarrassed, but the light from the upper rooms to the manor flooded onto her face and she gathered herself with a bit more strength to her feet. “Lord Andrew-”
And now his eyes darkened, and she sensed the rage building up inside of him.
“I wasn’t mocking you, I-I promise-” she gathered her skirts with her fists and readied herself to run from his wrath. One. Two-
“Just get out,” he ordered with darkened eyes. “You’re hardly amusing me. I’d rather drink by myself.”
Order obeyed. She darted up the cellar stairs as quickly as her ankles could carry her, only turning at the top of the curving steps to see if he pursued her. He did not. He leaned lithely in the doorframe with his loathsome eyes, still lusting for her form.
I hate him, she thought to herself as she caught her breath on the balcony two flights above him. He plays with me like a cat does a dying bird, and I hate him for it.
“Hunting must come as easily as breathing to him”
“So I promise,” Andrew stated softly, his eyes boring straight into hers like a wild animal staring down its prey. He never meant his expression that way, but the darkness he wallowed in stained his smile these days. “-that tonight it will be just you and I. We never have much time off to ourselves to talk, do we? And the lovers have all gone to their lovemaking, and Winter is dare I ask where. So I thought that you and I would have a chat. We hardly know each other.”
Sera swallowed the little saliva left in her dry mouth.
“Just a chat, and nothing more.” He flashed a cheap smirk across his face that screamed deceit, and then he climbed legs first from off a high wine shelf into an armed chair facing her, his eyes never leaving her face. “Two glasses, and the finest Italian red I could find in these parts. Mmm, do you smell it?” He uncorked it eagerly and, without the loss of a drop, poured it neatly into each glass. “Italian red-”
Sera let the scent waft to her nostrils, and she nearly vomited. Slamming down her glass, more than glad she did not taste before she smelled it, she found the courage to protest. “Sir, I- you know I’m mortal.”
“Ah, of course,” and Andrew acted as if he hadn’t made the mistake of pouring blood for her instead of wine on purpose. “Let me fetch you a bottle of brandy, then. It’s so easy to forget you’re not one of us.”
You’re not one of us.
Sera’s color drained from her face, and she felt a serious urge to run to the door, up the stone cellar stairs, and far away from this strange and threatening man. The phrase he spoke frightened her, as if Andrew would at any minute reach for her neck to drain her. Wouldn’t a glass of Sera, her mind mocked her with Andrew’s voice, taste so proper with a rack of lamb?
“Don’t look so discouraged,” he approached lightly with a wave of his hand. Then he gave the subtle, but horrifying hint- “You’ll fit in soon enough.”
She moved to stand from his presence and turned to the door, but the keys that normally sat in the door handle now dangled from Andrew’s pocket, and she instead tried to keep her composure by sitting back down again. “A-Andrew, this isn’t your first time in Venice, as you’ve said.” She tried desperately to make clean, gentle conversation, anything to drive the thought of her arteries from the man’s mind. “Is it to your liking-”
“Lord Andrew,” Andrew corrected, his eyes smoldering in the light of the flickering lantern on the table. They focused not just on Sera’s eyes, but the very centers of them. Her soul cowered behind her pupils, but he penetrated deep into her vision. There was no place to hide. He laughed, and his voice hit the stone wall and died, crushed away by the darkness and the thick, impenetrable stone. “You’ve called me that before. And I rather like the title.”
“Fine, then.” Quite frankly, she could care less what he wanted to be called. His antics were far from funny. They frightened her, and her eyes darted fearfully every few moments to the keyless door. “Lord Andrew.” But her throbbing heart told her how obviously nervous she looked, so she tried to cover herself by cracking a brave joke. “Then you should call me Lady Sera. It’s only proper.”
But as he spoke next, her blood froze inside of her, and she wondered if he smelled it: “That could oh so easily be arranged.”
This time, his eyes left hers and trailed down her body, pausing rather ungentlemanly at her breasts and continuing to her ankles and back up again, until his eyes focused back on her face. There, they rested, still dark, still chilling, narrowing at the thought of making love to her.
Sera’s eyes doubled in size and her heart rate might as well have tripled. Like the wicked spiders that spend so much time catching prey in dusty webbed corners, Andrew did not only eat his prey, but mate them. She feared he would molest her, force himself on her, and she would be able to do nothing about it.
He made a sudden movement, his arm reaching out too quickly for his glass maybe, or perhaps it was him uncrossing his leg at a supernatural speed, or maybe he just felt uncomfortable and wanted to shift positions. Whatever it was, it made Sera bolt.
Her glass she never bothered to drink from splattered blood across the plain wooden table and the stone floor, staining them supernaturally with murder. She pounded her fists against the door, tried the door handle several times, and began to cry when she realized Andrew had the only key. She slid with her back against the splintery, heavy wood door and slumped to the floor, her face in her hands, feeling completely helpless.
But when she realized he did not chase her, she peeled apart her fingers to peer through them. Andrew still sat in the chair, his eyes less dark and his expression less hardened. He gazed at her once more, but not with the power he commanded moments before. Now he seemed weaker, almost as if she hurt his feelings-
“I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
She blinked, not bothering to wipe away the tears that streaked against her cheeks. His words did little to comfort her, but the change in his expression gave her some hope of escaping this.
“How many times do I have to tell you that?”
And he strode away from his chair, causing her to shrink into a shaking ball before the dungeon looking door. Without removing the keys from his pocket, he twisted the lock from the inside and pushed the door open. “You were holding the handle wrong.”
“O-Oh- I’m sorry-” Now she felt embarrassed, but the light from the upper rooms to the manor flooded onto her face and she gathered herself with a bit more strength to her feet. “Lord Andrew-”
And now his eyes darkened, and she sensed the rage building up inside of him.
“I wasn’t mocking you, I-I promise-” she gathered her skirts with her fists and readied herself to run from his wrath. One. Two-
“Just get out,” he ordered with darkened eyes. “You’re hardly amusing me. I’d rather drink by myself.”
Order obeyed. She darted up the cellar stairs as quickly as her ankles could carry her, only turning at the top of the curving steps to see if he pursued her. He did not. He leaned lithely in the doorframe with his loathsome eyes, still lusting for her form.
I hate him, she thought to herself as she caught her breath on the balcony two flights above him. He plays with me like a cat does a dying bird, and I hate him for it.