Beau, part 2
Aug. 6th, 2012 10:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
helbling[Previous entry here.]
After an hour or so, and feeling a stiffness that had to be entirely mental, Beau uncurled from her position and dropped to the ground, landing with a grace she really didn't feel.
The pain was still there. Gnawing. But now it was a single ball inside her head, rather than some seeping liquid throughout her being, and she could poke at it when she wanted to; it no longer invaded every thought and breath she had.
She checked her watch.
45 minutes until Bill - no, Treads, he was Treads now - arrived.
Provided he wasn't late. Provided he came. Provided-
The fear welled up, and for the first time since Johnny died, she felt an answering growl, a surge of anger coming with it.
The beast had woken, and she had never been so glad of it.
It was like she was seeing the scene from a new angle. Watching a remake of a movie. Suddenly, new facets of the situation came to light.
Suddenly, she was furious. And in pain. It was all one and the same, but it was new, and it was different to that fucking numbness, so she welcomed it.
Who the fuck did he think he was to hurt her like this?
Well, she knew that. What she wanted to know was how could he claim to care and not warn her. To drop that information on her. To not even spare her a glance while he did it.
The pain threatened to swap her for a second before it turned out anger was a fantastic method to beat it back with.
Angry she could do. Anger was good. Anything that didn't involve sinking back into being a sobbing ball of uselessness.
The humiliation of her conversation with Casper fuelled it, beat it back further. A year of service she'd given this court, she'd stayed out of political squabbles, she'd pitched into every mission, she'd come damn near death on multiple occasions, and now - for daring, daring to have the wool pulled over her eyes by one of the most powerful Garou in the country and hold a court position at the same time - she still required sponsorship of a clan.
It was galling in a way she hadn't felt in a while.
What was worse was that she knew this was actually the best possible outcome. This was Casper being nice.
She was dependant on a Tremere being nice.
The Subtle status just made it more galling. He could praise her in private, but in public she had to stay shackled to some other clan?!
She was moving before she realised it, pacing around the clearing with her head down and her hands clenched in fists, bare feet on the floor, her legs so tense she was walking half on tiptoe.
It was humiliating in a way she had never experienced before. Beau didn't do dignity. When one had little pride, humiliation wasn't a worry, so for it to hit her so hard....
And when she thought about what he had told her, it made it worse.
That he was kin.
500 years old.
'Power hungry vampire'.
Keeping up appearences.
A sudden moment of realisation came like a slap in the face.
Her first ever request to him had been to learn how to hunt werewolves.
It took the heated edge off her anger like an ice bath, and made her stomach drop.
How much of an idiot did he think her?!
She gave a small groan and scrubbed her hand through her hair.
What the hell was real here? Was the clan information he'd passed her real? All she'd read suggested it was. What about the other races? About Xander? She'd known that wasn't his real name - common sense told her that - but what about everything else?
She needed to talk to him. She needed to know - as much as they might want to pretend all this was was a name change, it wasn-
She stopped. And then with slow disbelieving eyes, turned towards her hip.
His name.
Her knife was in her hand, and harshly she yanked her jeans down enough that the marking was exposed before she even finished thinking.
The pain made her grit her teeth, but it was still less than the sun. Less than the fire, and the werewolf and the fucking cyborg.
The skin, thankfully, came away in one piece, the edges ragged and blood smeared, but it was clear and off her.
Taking a moment, she closed her eyes and felt the wound heal at her bidding.
And then, as hard as she could, she pinned the scrap of flesh to the trunk of her normal tree with the knife.
"Fuck that shit," she muttered, glaring at it. "Ah decide ah want it, y'all say it would still be valid, ah want yer fuckin' real one on me."
She checked her watch - 2 minutes.
She loved him. She knew it - with the same certainty that she knew the sky was above her and the moon above that, as the earth beneath her feet, like the fact she had two hands and a temper her Momma could never decide whether to be proud or ashamed of. Nothing would ever change any of those facts, and she didn't want them to change. It was simply how her life was, and she'd learn to live around or with those things.
But, she conceded, turning to glare into the clearing to await his arrival - and he'd better arrive, or she was going to go track him down and then probably do something undignified like cry at him - that didn't mean she couldn't be pissed as fuck at him.
After an hour or so, and feeling a stiffness that had to be entirely mental, Beau uncurled from her position and dropped to the ground, landing with a grace she really didn't feel.
The pain was still there. Gnawing. But now it was a single ball inside her head, rather than some seeping liquid throughout her being, and she could poke at it when she wanted to; it no longer invaded every thought and breath she had.
She checked her watch.
45 minutes until Bill - no, Treads, he was Treads now - arrived.
Provided he wasn't late. Provided he came. Provided-
The fear welled up, and for the first time since Johnny died, she felt an answering growl, a surge of anger coming with it.
The beast had woken, and she had never been so glad of it.
It was like she was seeing the scene from a new angle. Watching a remake of a movie. Suddenly, new facets of the situation came to light.
Suddenly, she was furious. And in pain. It was all one and the same, but it was new, and it was different to that fucking numbness, so she welcomed it.
Who the fuck did he think he was to hurt her like this?
Well, she knew that. What she wanted to know was how could he claim to care and not warn her. To drop that information on her. To not even spare her a glance while he did it.
The pain threatened to swap her for a second before it turned out anger was a fantastic method to beat it back with.
Angry she could do. Anger was good. Anything that didn't involve sinking back into being a sobbing ball of uselessness.
The humiliation of her conversation with Casper fuelled it, beat it back further. A year of service she'd given this court, she'd stayed out of political squabbles, she'd pitched into every mission, she'd come damn near death on multiple occasions, and now - for daring, daring to have the wool pulled over her eyes by one of the most powerful Garou in the country and hold a court position at the same time - she still required sponsorship of a clan.
It was galling in a way she hadn't felt in a while.
What was worse was that she knew this was actually the best possible outcome. This was Casper being nice.
She was dependant on a Tremere being nice.
The Subtle status just made it more galling. He could praise her in private, but in public she had to stay shackled to some other clan?!
She was moving before she realised it, pacing around the clearing with her head down and her hands clenched in fists, bare feet on the floor, her legs so tense she was walking half on tiptoe.
It was humiliating in a way she had never experienced before. Beau didn't do dignity. When one had little pride, humiliation wasn't a worry, so for it to hit her so hard....
And when she thought about what he had told her, it made it worse.
That he was kin.
500 years old.
'Power hungry vampire'.
Keeping up appearences.
A sudden moment of realisation came like a slap in the face.
Her first ever request to him had been to learn how to hunt werewolves.
It took the heated edge off her anger like an ice bath, and made her stomach drop.
How much of an idiot did he think her?!
She gave a small groan and scrubbed her hand through her hair.
What the hell was real here? Was the clan information he'd passed her real? All she'd read suggested it was. What about the other races? About Xander? She'd known that wasn't his real name - common sense told her that - but what about everything else?
She needed to talk to him. She needed to know - as much as they might want to pretend all this was was a name change, it wasn-
She stopped. And then with slow disbelieving eyes, turned towards her hip.
His name.
Her knife was in her hand, and harshly she yanked her jeans down enough that the marking was exposed before she even finished thinking.
The pain made her grit her teeth, but it was still less than the sun. Less than the fire, and the werewolf and the fucking cyborg.
The skin, thankfully, came away in one piece, the edges ragged and blood smeared, but it was clear and off her.
Taking a moment, she closed her eyes and felt the wound heal at her bidding.
And then, as hard as she could, she pinned the scrap of flesh to the trunk of her normal tree with the knife.
"Fuck that shit," she muttered, glaring at it. "Ah decide ah want it, y'all say it would still be valid, ah want yer fuckin' real one on me."
She checked her watch - 2 minutes.
She loved him. She knew it - with the same certainty that she knew the sky was above her and the moon above that, as the earth beneath her feet, like the fact she had two hands and a temper her Momma could never decide whether to be proud or ashamed of. Nothing would ever change any of those facts, and she didn't want them to change. It was simply how her life was, and she'd learn to live around or with those things.
But, she conceded, turning to glare into the clearing to await his arrival - and he'd better arrive, or she was going to go track him down and then probably do something undignified like cry at him - that didn't mean she couldn't be pissed as fuck at him.
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no subject
Date: 2012-08-07 09:51 am (UTC)PJW