The prompt is pretty vague, but I want a Harlequin romance. Really. If you want, you can take the plot summary off the back of a Harlequin book and try to match - or use one of their one-line "buy me!" sayings as inspiration.
City boy meets hot, in-control cowboy? Nervous, virgin office clerk bumps into his boss, and gets mysteriously promoted? Power goes out and Harry's not afraid to go next door and ask his neighbor for some fuel for the fire - although John isn't really the sort of neighbor he should be visiting...
Okay, so that last one is maybe more of a Gothic romance, but that works too! :) Gothic Harlequin, Schmoopy Harlequin, Fluffy Romance, whatever. Go with it, anons!
continued from here, this is a sequel to my impromptu vampire!John fluff.
The power outage resolved itself eventually. Chicago lit up again by the next evening and the phone lines ended up tied up for hours as people called each other to confirm safety. The TV talked about the scattered looting, the cops who'd run themselves ragged trying to keep order, and the mayor making a statement explaining how the blackout occurred and the steps being taken to prevent another such event.
It was like coming out of a long sleep. People left in the morning to go to work, blinking up at the winter sun as if it had gone out during the blackout too.
Harry went to work, settled back into routine. Opening the shop, dealing with a few customers, reading a magazine behind the counter in the long stretches of time when the shop was empty, pointing a few people towards Bock's shop when he didn't have what they needed.
He went home, fed the pets, fed himself, and slept.
Or tried to. Buried under blankets with Mister laying on his back, purring loudly, Harry just stared at the wall. Tired, but unable to fall asleep, he lifted his arm in the pale light of the moon and looked at the two dark pink marks on his forearm.
John was next door. Harry wondered if John slept, if he could sleep. Did vampires need rest? Was he awake in the next apartment, alone and...
And these were dangerous thoughts. Harry courted trouble, he knew that, but this was something else altogether.
If he could just sleep.
Harry was collecting his mail the next time he saw John.
It was late in the afternoon and Harry hadn't been sleeping well. He was tired and nearly stumbled into the apartment building, feet shuffling along the floor. He shook out the key to his mailbox, but shook too hard. The keys slipped out of his hands and hit the floor.
Harry groaned and leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes with the cool, paint-coated plaster against his face.
He heard a sound and opened his eyes; John the friendly next-door vampire, was bending down, picking up Harry's dropped keys. He straightened and offered them to Harry, open palmed. "Mr. Dresden."
Harry caught a glimpse at the edge of a sharp canine as John spoke and couldn't stop the sharp inhale. He had a vivid sensual flashback to the physical feelings of being bitten. The initial panicked rush from being bitten, the slow, sweet lulling pushing into his skin by John's tongue, the weird, alien suction... He was flushing, neck burning red, he could feel it. "John, hi, how's... how are you?"
John smiled, teeth on clear display as he retrieved his own mail. "Nominal. And you, Mr. Dresden? You look quite peaky. Are you all right?"
Harry nodded quickly, then stopped when that made his head hurt. "Fine. S'fine, just..." He shrugged and grabbed his mail. "I'm fine."
John arched an eyebrow at him. "Did you think saying it three times would make it true?"
"I'm... tired. That's all. Haven't been sleeping well."
John nodded thoughtfully. "Are you headed upstairs?"
"Yeah."
"Let me walk you. You look ready to fall over." He beckoned Harry along, calling the elevator and ushering him inside before hitting their floor number. "I dealt with insomnia at times. Try some chamomile tea. It might help."
"Chamomile?"
"Not a tea drinker, I assume? I'll loan you some. I don't drink as much as I used to."
"I can imagine." Harry winced. "Or... no, I can't, not really. Hey, do you... sleep?"
John tipped his head to the side, eyeing Harry speculatively. "Sometimes. Why?"
He looked away sharply. "Nothin'. Just wondering."
Harry thankfully kept his mouth quiet as John walked him to his door, fetched him a box of tea, and bade him goodnight, eyes glinting green and gold in the hallway's artificial light.
OP might make a fool of herself begging for more. :)
I just love your Harry in this. Yes, he has issues, but he's sort of cute as he goes about them. It makes the inner fangirl squee with joy - because, hey, vampire next door. :D
Of course, my brain went somewhere to:
H:"Will you let me lay on your couch again?" J:...."of course." H:"I'll come over, then." J:"Right." a few minutes later: H:zzzzzzz....
The chamomile helped somewhat. It was a soothing taste and did a good job at mellowing Harry out, making him long for his bed.
But once he'd stretched out under the covers, he was stuck being incredibly tired but unable to actually sleep. His thoughts were lazy loops, no significant connections or process, just idle contemplation that pettered out before it could get anywhere.
After a while, he closed his eyes and listened, trying to hear anything. Sirens in the distance, the hum of cars going by ten floors down. Nothing next door.
He wished there was something. Footsteps, the sound of water in the pipes, a dropped object. Anything to betray whether John was awake or not.
God, what was wrong with him? So he got a bit too friendly with his neighbor during the blackout. It was one night. It shouldn't have been haunting him like this. He was a grown man, not... whatever it was that got so caught up with vampires. Teenage girls, probably. He'd seen trailers for that terrible vampire movie saga. They weren't anything like the real thing. John's skin was pale, but not so much his Italian background didn't show in the olive texture. He didn't act like an angst-filled idiot about being a vampire either. He seemed more adjusted to his life than Harry was, for god's sake. John was the very model of a responsible adult.
Just one that sometimes needed to set his mouth against someone's skin, push his teeth through, and drink long and deep--
"No, I didn't think that was a good idea for your first bite."
"Wait, so vampires do that?"
These were not calming, sleep-inducing thoughts. Harry groaned and turned over in bed, pushing his face into his pillow, trying not to think about that anymore.
He returned the box of tea to John before work the next day. "Did it help?" John asked, politely solicitous.
Harry shrugged. "Yeah?"
John's eyes were sharp on his face, on the way Harry was leaning on the door jamb. "Yes. Clearly," he said, tone lightly sarcastic.
"I'll be fine," Harry muttered, feeling oddly like he was being scolded or something.
"Yesterday you were fine. You seem to be regressing."
John, as... deeply engaging and interesting as Harry found him, was kind of a dick. "What do you want from me?"
"To sleep. Obviously." His gaze dropped down. Harry followed it to his own arm, which Harry was rubbing absentmindedly, right over the fading bite mark. He stopped as John looked at him, face blank. "Mr. Dresden..."
"I... got to open the shop," Harry blurted, backing away. "See you later. Thanks for the tea." He didn't run away, per se, but it was a close thing. Oh well, discretion was the better part of valor or whatever.
He took his lunch as the cafe across the street from his shop, a triple shot latte with a pumpernickle sandwich piled up with deli meats. He ate his sandwich, savoring the sweet and savory taste mix, then nursed his coffee with one hand, a book held open in his other. The words on the page kept jumping around though, blurring and shifting, hurting his eyes. Harry sighed, shut his eyes for just a moment.
He opened them again later when the waitress shook his shoulder and told him in a regretful voice that they were closing and that he should go home and get some sleep, you poor dear, do you need a taxi called for you?
This was getting ridiculous.
Harry stomped home, radiating surly annoyance as he walked, as he rode the Red Line, as he waited for the elevator, all of it.
He'd slept through most of his work. And he still felt exhausted, like his knees were going to buckle at any moment and spill him onto the floor. He couldn't keep going like this. He needed... something.
He fed the animals and took a shower, letting the hot water beat onto him until the tension was forced out of him. It felt good, invigorating. But when he stumbled out of the bathroom, the heat, the tiredness, it made his head spin and he fell down, down...
all the pairings you list are m/m -- how would you feel about het? Because I have a bunny for Heyeresque poor foundling Harry meets brave veteran peace officer Lieutenant Murphy. Het, then, but genderswap convention?
[n.b. Your humble author begs to remind her gentle readers that the illustrious Ms. Heyer didn't worry particularly about historical accuracy, so neither shall this most grateful of copyists.]
March 1808
Lieutenant Karrin Murphy, eldest daughter of the Marquess of Donegal, lately of the Royal Squadron of Special Investigators, was accompanied by Viscount Stallings as she approached the front entrance of White's.
"'Pon rep', Karrin," declared Stallings. "The Season will be starting up soon. If these demmed cases ever let up, perhaps we can high ourselves to Almack's. Pick a pair of primrose beauties to woo, the kind that don't mind being decoration on a stalwart officer's arm, eh?"
"Not interested, and you know why," said Karrin. A hypothetical bystander, noticing Stallings' longer legs (while admiring Lieutenant Murphy's own muscular thighs), would have been rather surprised to notice the Lieutenant's brisk pace was fast enough to force the Viscount to hurry.
"Your marriage with Rich was annulled years ago, Karrin." Stallings blanched in the face of Murphy's steely glare, but brazened forth nonetheless. "It's time to move on."
"Anyone who would have me with my current reputation..." Murphy paused, her lip curling in a delicate sneer. "Would be a fortune hunter of the worst sort. Besides, I'm done with the dewy lads and lasses and their greedy mammas. I'm done with love altogether, as you perfectly well know." Her thoughts slipped back to that last disastrous fight with Rich.
"I married a Royal Hussar," Rich yelled, his usually handsome face purpling. "Not a member of his Majesty's laughingstock corps."
"You married a woman with integrity," she said tearfully. Karrin held her hands open in front of her, asking wordlessly for the support of his closeness. Back then she'd still been capable of both weeping and hope. "You can't ask me to withdraw my accusations against Rudolph! He colluded with murderers."
Rich stalked to the door, turning at the last moment to throw a parting shot over his shoulder. "I shan't ask you for anything ever again. Except to have my things sent round to my father's."
Karrin stood empty, heedless of the servants doubtless listening at the parlour door. She could bear her disgrace and the withdrawal of her commission; she could bear that it was nothing but the power of her father's name that had her transferred to this nonsensical spiritualist brigade; she could bear being sent away from France and the honor of fighting Boney. But she'd thought Rich loved her, not her rank and position. She didn't think she could bear the feel of her heart breaking.
The only solution was to stop having a heart altogether.
Karrin was harshly knocked from her unpleasant reverie when a gangling scarecrow of a man hurtled into her, sending her to the sidewalk. She looked up, one eyebrow raised sardonically, while Stallings babbled concern.
"Oh!" The man -- more of a boy, really -- looked flustered and appalled at himself. "Ma'am! I beg your pardon!" He reached down one ridiculously large hand to help her up.
Karrin ignored the ramshackle lad's importuning grasp, and rolled easily to her feet. "Watch where you're going, lad."
The youth flushed hotly, the flush providing an unexpected appealing tinge to his starvling cheeks. "I would have, if you weren't too tiny for me to see."
"I say!" Stallings cried, appalled, but Karrin merely laughed. Most people were excruciatingly polite to her face in a way that was just shy of inexcusably rude; a disgraced viscount had that effect on people. This impertinent rascal in his ridiculous coat was refreshing, after a fashion. Stallings, however, was not quelled. "This is the Viscount Antrim you just cheeked, rascal!"
The boy flushed even brighter. "Stars. I'm sorry, m'lady. Though you are pretty short, but I'm still sorry. Oh, hell's bells." And with that bizarre oath, he scurried off down the street in a flurry of black canvas. She watched him run, absently admiring his steady pace -- or perhaps she was admiring the musculature of his lanky calves.
"Impudent fool," said Stallings.
Karrin blinked. That had been a refreshing break from her usual off-duty entertainments: embittered cynicism and cool ennui. She felt... energized. "I've changed my mind, Stallings." She turned away from White's. "I'm going to Gentleman Jackson's."
"Again?" Stallings frowned. "You spend half your waking hours at that blasted aikido saloon."
She shrugged. "And if you spent a few more there yourself, you might not have been knocked down by that cracksman outside Whitehall last month." She smiled at his discomfiture, feeling more energized than she had in days. "Don't wait up for me."
As a loyal Heyer-ist I do need to point out that the woman was obsessed with making her stories accurate. That being said my only other quibble is that this part was too short and I stand cap in hand saying please can I have so more?
authornon here: mea culpa! I had read that she made up a lot of her awesome language, and I extrapolated from that. Right before I posted this story I double checked something on Wikipedia and talked about her obsession with accuracy. But I left the note in place anyway, silly me. Thank you for the correction!
As for length, there is more coming. In fact, I am a little bit worried that I don't know how to make a Heyer arc without making it Heyer length! Hopefully I can pull off a little more "Pursuit" and a little less A Civil Contract.
As the OP, I declare that I don't mind historical inaccuracies whether it is true to the original author or not, and thus - THIS IS AWESOME.
I love how Harry just barges in and changes people's moods without even realizing it. And how, even when he's just being him, he manages to be a cheeky, bizarre creature who just attracts attention (and trouble, I'm thinking?) to himself.
Of course the person he crashes into is a Viscount, and Murphy. (Of course his neighbor is a vampire. Of course the flowers are dangerous. Of course the bullet just happened to hit him.) He's Harry Dresden.
Heyer-ite anon again. I wasn't saying it had to be accurate. Just that Heyer was OCD about accuracy. I quite like slightly inaccurate stuff especially if it means gender and LGBT equality.
To be sure, overwhelmed with embarrassment and self-loathing was somewhat of a refreshing change from overwhelmed with hunger and cold. The hunger and cold were still there, but were hardly his most pressing concern. What kind of barbarian was he? He'd just barreled into that tiny gentlewoman without looking -- and then hadn't properly apologized until he realized she had rank. To cap it all off, he'd been rude again. It was as if he were combining the worst bumpkin behavior that people expected of a country boy with the gauche classism of London herself. Ebenezar would be ashamed of him.
Of course, Ebenezar was already ashamed of him. After two years of grooming Harry to make his debut in wizard society, off the apprentice had run to London to make his fortune, like a magical Dick Whittington with far less chance of success. At least, like Dick Whittington, Harry had a cat -- though it seemed unlikely that the folkloric Lord Mayor of London had ever been quite this cold or quite this hungry. At this very moment, Harry could happily eat a pork pie or five, after which he'd be just about ready for luncheon.
Hunger was no excuse for rudeness to anyone, commoner or lady. Nonetheless, he needed to earn some scratch, fast -- not only was hunger making him behave poorly, but any day now Mistress Spunkelcrief would evict him from the boarding house. He could starve with a roof over his head or without, but it would be far more comfortable to die of hunger without the added complaints of mud, cold, and fighting for space amongst the previous occupants of London's alleyways.
He'd never imagined how difficult it would be to convince the ton to engage his services. It wasn’t as if The London Gazette was overwhelmed with wizards advertising their services at reasonable rates. But Harry was a single young man, unprotected by an older sister or a blustering uncle. He wasn’t in the clergy or a veteran of the army. As far as the ton were concerened, Harry was no better than he should be. A wizard was only one step above "actor”, even among believers. For the rest, he was a disreputable mountebank.
Harry realized he was standing outside Poole’s tailor and draper shop. In his confusion, he'd come to Cork Street again, as he had every day for the last week. He sighed, looking up to gaze upon the object of his desire: the triple-caped leather greatcoat in the shop window. It didn't hurt to dream, he supposed, though he would never be able to purchase such a thing. Every scant penny Harry scraped up went into buying magical supplies: pawned copper jewelry, spent gunpowder, a battered copy of Venus in the Cloister or The Nun in her Smock to bribe his lab assistant. At least holy water was free, for all that it didn't help his reputation among the ton to be on such close terms with Father Forthill, the Catholic priest.
"La, Mr. Dresden," said a voice at his shoulder, and Harry spun around, supplies and sartorial woes both forgotten. A wealthy dandy stood behind him, handsome in a way Harry had never seen before. The young man wore his dark hair à la Brutus, highlighting his luminous features. His pure white waistcoat was covered in equally white seals and fobs. Harry cared not a whit for fashion, and he had a vague idea that a gentleman with unpowdered hair should be wearing a dark coat, not – Stars -- untouched white from cravat to boots. But instead of seeming a town clown, the gentleman was stunning, drawing dreamy sighs from no small number of the passersby. The young woman on the dandy’s arm would have been the highlight of gorgeousness among other company; here, she was merely accompaniment.
Vampire, Harry thought. Thank goodness Ebenezar had given him a basic introduction to the supernatural elements of London's upper crust.
"I beg your forbearance, but I must introduce myself," said the White Court vampire. He bowed from the waist. "Thomas Raith, at your service."
Harry was shocked. "Lord Raith is a vampire?"
The vampire laughed. "The stories do you justice, sir. Your blunt nature is refreshing."
"What do you want?" Harry had no desire for truck with vampires, though he had to admit a prurient curiosity about the methods used by the Whites in particular. He assumed he was strong enough to resist their blandishments.
"I want to be your friend," said the vampire. "If you'll allow me."
Harry pulled back. This temptation he had not been expecting. "I'm no friend of the White Court."
The vampire's face twisted as if he had bitten something sour; Harry noted that the expression in the way marred his beauty. "Neither am I, particularly." The young woman on Raith's arm leaned her cheek against the vampire's shoulder, a sad smile on her face.
"So what do you want?"
"Later, perhaps your assistance with a minor problem," said the vampire, and Harry breathed out, relieved. A job he could assess on its merits; inexplicable friendship from a White Court vampire was certainly a hostile overture. "But for now, would you care to join me for a beefsteak at MacAnally's Pub?" He held up his hand as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "A nuncheon as retainer for your willingness to listen, shall we call it?"
Harry hesitated. A business arrangement with this strange vampire who sought him out and claimed to be on the outs with the Court was arguably not business with which he should become involved. But his mouth had begun watering automatically at the mention of one of Mac's luscious beefsteaks, and, well, besides. If there was something political going on in the supernatural community, wouldn't it be best if he knew about it? You keep rationalizing, there, he told himself. Nothing to do with the uncomfortable feeling of your belly meeting your spine from emptiness. "All right," he said. "Just a conversation."
I'm wondering if that girl on Thomas's arm is Justine, and just what Thomas wants to ask Harry for... hmmm... and does he really need something, or is he just asking for help so he can pay Harry and keep Harry fed/sheltered? Of course, that thought makes me wonder if he did that in canon and Harry didn't know it - subtly pushed clients towards Harry so Harry could stay in business, pay rent, feed himself (and Mister)...
And, yes, Harry does need to be fed!
Can't wait for more - and am looking forward to more Harry/Murphy interaction! :)
(Sorry for the late reply; I've been away for the weekend and didn't see it right away in my quick checks!)
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Harlequin
(Anonymous) 2011-03-06 03:41 am (UTC)(link)...but I'll take anything. Really.
The prompt is pretty vague, but I want a Harlequin romance. Really. If you want, you can take the plot summary off the back of a Harlequin book and try to match - or use one of their one-line "buy me!" sayings as inspiration.
City boy meets hot, in-control cowboy? Nervous, virgin office clerk bumps into his boss, and gets mysteriously promoted? Power goes out and Harry's not afraid to go next door and ask his neighbor for some fuel for the fire - although John isn't really the sort of neighbor he should be visiting...
Okay, so that last one is maybe more of a Gothic romance, but that works too! :) Gothic Harlequin, Schmoopy Harlequin, Fluffy Romance, whatever. Go with it, anons!
Re: Harlequin
♪ I never should have rented this apartment in the mortal city... ♪
Re: Harlequin
(Anonymous) 2011-03-06 03:55 am (UTC)(link)"Hey, I need to borrow some batteries if you have some. You wouldn't happen to have any sugar, too, would you?"
"Uh, John, why don't you have any food in your kitchen?"
"Oh. Right. I see. I'm the food. In your kitchen."
YES, YES I WANT! :)
-OP
Re: Harlequin
Re: Harlequin
(Anonymous) 2011-03-06 04:07 am (UTC)(link)Because John as a vampire is not-so-surprisingly very hot. Especially when Harry's the one being feasted on. :)
H:"Stars, I hadn't meant 'Bite me' to be so literal."
J:"You complaining?"
H:"No."
J:"Hmmm."
H:"Do it again?"
J:*grins*
definitely not a fill
Re: definitely not a fill
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-06 04:29 (UTC) - Expandthis is still not a fill
Re: this is still not a fill
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-06 04:53 (UTC) - Expandyeah yeah, Fill 3/?
Fill 4/?
fill 5/?
Re: fill 5/?
Re: fill 5/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-06 13:59 (UTC) - ExpandRe: fill 5/?
Re: fill 5/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-06 15:36 (UTC) - ExpandRe: fill 5/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-06 16:04 (UTC) - ExpandRe: fill 5/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-06 16:08 (UTC) - ExpandRe: fill 5/?
Fill 6/7 probably
Fill 7/7
Re: Fill 7/7
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-06 09:34 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Fill 7/7
Re: Fill 7/7
Re: Fill 7/7
Re: Fill 7/7
Re: Fill 7/7
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-06 13:37 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Fill 7/7
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(Anonymous) - 2011-03-06 18:42 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Fill 7/7
More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 1/?
The power outage resolved itself eventually. Chicago lit up again by the next evening and the phone lines ended up tied up for hours as people called each other to confirm safety. The TV talked about the scattered looting, the cops who'd run themselves ragged trying to keep order, and the mayor making a statement explaining how the blackout occurred and the steps being taken to prevent another such event.
It was like coming out of a long sleep. People left in the morning to go to work, blinking up at the winter sun as if it had gone out during the blackout too.
Harry went to work, settled back into routine. Opening the shop, dealing with a few customers, reading a magazine behind the counter in the long stretches of time when the shop was empty, pointing a few people towards Bock's shop when he didn't have what they needed.
He went home, fed the pets, fed himself, and slept.
Or tried to. Buried under blankets with Mister laying on his back, purring loudly, Harry just stared at the wall. Tired, but unable to fall asleep, he lifted his arm in the pale light of the moon and looked at the two dark pink marks on his forearm.
John was next door. Harry wondered if John slept, if he could sleep. Did vampires need rest? Was he awake in the next apartment, alone and...
And these were dangerous thoughts. Harry courted trouble, he knew that, but this was something else altogether.
If he could just sleep.
Harry was collecting his mail the next time he saw John.
It was late in the afternoon and Harry hadn't been sleeping well. He was tired and nearly stumbled into the apartment building, feet shuffling along the floor. He shook out the key to his mailbox, but shook too hard. The keys slipped out of his hands and hit the floor.
Harry groaned and leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes with the cool, paint-coated plaster against his face.
He heard a sound and opened his eyes; John the friendly next-door vampire, was bending down, picking up Harry's dropped keys. He straightened and offered them to Harry, open palmed. "Mr. Dresden."
Harry caught a glimpse at the edge of a sharp canine as John spoke and couldn't stop the sharp inhale. He had a vivid sensual flashback to the physical feelings of being bitten. The initial panicked rush from being bitten, the slow, sweet lulling pushing into his skin by John's tongue, the weird, alien suction... He was flushing, neck burning red, he could feel it. "John, hi, how's... how are you?"
John smiled, teeth on clear display as he retrieved his own mail. "Nominal. And you, Mr. Dresden? You look quite peaky. Are you all right?"
Harry nodded quickly, then stopped when that made his head hurt. "Fine. S'fine, just..." He shrugged and grabbed his mail. "I'm fine."
John arched an eyebrow at him. "Did you think saying it three times would make it true?"
"I'm... tired. That's all. Haven't been sleeping well."
John nodded thoughtfully. "Are you headed upstairs?"
"Yeah."
"Let me walk you. You look ready to fall over." He beckoned Harry along, calling the elevator and ushering him inside before hitting their floor number. "I dealt with insomnia at times. Try some chamomile tea. It might help."
"Chamomile?"
"Not a tea drinker, I assume? I'll loan you some. I don't drink as much as I used to."
"I can imagine." Harry winced. "Or... no, I can't, not really. Hey, do you... sleep?"
John tipped his head to the side, eyeing Harry speculatively. "Sometimes. Why?"
He looked away sharply. "Nothin'. Just wondering."
Harry thankfully kept his mouth quiet as John walked him to his door, fetched him a box of tea, and bade him goodnight, eyes glinting green and gold in the hallway's artificial light.
Re: More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-18 04:30 am (UTC)(link)I just love your Harry in this. Yes, he has issues, but he's sort of cute as he goes about them. It makes the inner fangirl squee with joy - because, hey, vampire next door. :D
Of course, my brain went somewhere to:
H:"Will you let me lay on your couch again?"
J:...."of course."
H:"I'll come over, then."
J:"Right."
a few minutes later:
H:zzzzzzz....
Re: More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 1/?
More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 2/?
But once he'd stretched out under the covers, he was stuck being incredibly tired but unable to actually sleep. His thoughts were lazy loops, no significant connections or process, just idle contemplation that pettered out before it could get anywhere.
After a while, he closed his eyes and listened, trying to hear anything. Sirens in the distance, the hum of cars going by ten floors down. Nothing next door.
He wished there was something. Footsteps, the sound of water in the pipes, a dropped object. Anything to betray whether John was awake or not.
God, what was wrong with him? So he got a bit too friendly with his neighbor during the blackout. It was one night. It shouldn't have been haunting him like this. He was a grown man, not... whatever it was that got so caught up with vampires. Teenage girls, probably. He'd seen trailers for that terrible vampire movie saga. They weren't anything like the real thing. John's skin was pale, but not so much his Italian background didn't show in the olive texture. He didn't act like an angst-filled idiot about being a vampire either. He seemed more adjusted to his life than Harry was, for god's sake. John was the very model of a responsible adult.
Just one that sometimes needed to set his mouth against someone's skin, push his teeth through, and drink long and deep--
"No, I didn't think that was a good idea for your first bite."
"Wait, so vampires do that?"
These were not calming, sleep-inducing thoughts. Harry groaned and turned over in bed, pushing his face into his pillow, trying not to think about that anymore.
He returned the box of tea to John before work the next day. "Did it help?" John asked, politely solicitous.
Harry shrugged. "Yeah?"
John's eyes were sharp on his face, on the way Harry was leaning on the door jamb. "Yes. Clearly," he said, tone lightly sarcastic.
"I'll be fine," Harry muttered, feeling oddly like he was being scolded or something.
"Yesterday you were fine. You seem to be regressing."
John, as... deeply engaging and interesting as Harry found him, was kind of a dick. "What do you want from me?"
"To sleep. Obviously." His gaze dropped down. Harry followed it to his own arm, which Harry was rubbing absentmindedly, right over the fading bite mark. He stopped as John looked at him, face blank. "Mr. Dresden..."
"I... got to open the shop," Harry blurted, backing away. "See you later. Thanks for the tea." He didn't run away, per se, but it was a close thing. Oh well, discretion was the better part of valor or whatever.
He took his lunch as the cafe across the street from his shop, a triple shot latte with a pumpernickle sandwich piled up with deli meats. He ate his sandwich, savoring the sweet and savory taste mix, then nursed his coffee with one hand, a book held open in his other. The words on the page kept jumping around though, blurring and shifting, hurting his eyes. Harry sighed, shut his eyes for just a moment.
He opened them again later when the waitress shook his shoulder and told him in a regretful voice that they were closing and that he should go home and get some sleep, you poor dear, do you need a taxi called for you?
This was getting ridiculous.
Harry stomped home, radiating surly annoyance as he walked, as he rode the Red Line, as he waited for the elevator, all of it.
He'd slept through most of his work. And he still felt exhausted, like his knees were going to buckle at any moment and spill him onto the floor. He couldn't keep going like this. He needed... something.
He fed the animals and took a shower, letting the hot water beat onto him until the tension was forced out of him. It felt good, invigorating. But when he stumbled out of the bathroom, the heat, the tiredness, it made his head spin and he fell down, down...
[this stereotypical Harlequin enough? OH FAINTING OH! :swoon:]
Re: More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 2/?
Re: More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 2/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-18 18:25 (UTC) - ExpandRe: More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 2/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-18 19:57 (UTC) - ExpandRe: More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 2/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-18 21:27 (UTC) - ExpandRe: More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 2/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-19 01:18 (UTC) - ExpandRe: More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 2/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-28 12:06 (UTC) - ExpandRe: More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 2/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-05-08 14:01 (UTC) - ExpandRe: More silly vampire Harlequin fluff 2/?
Re: Harlequin
(Anonymous) 2011-03-06 03:57 am (UTC)(link)Re: Harlequin
(Anonymous) 2011-03-06 04:04 am (UTC)(link)Also, there is not enough Harry/Murphy in my world. Why is this?
Re: Harlequin
(Anonymous) 2011-03-06 04:52 am (UTC)(link)As soon as I finish my other two pending fills, I'll do this. Anyone else should go in the meantime, though. The more the merrier.
Re: Harlequin
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-06 04:54 (UTC) - ExpandWizard Cotillion, 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-09 10:41 pm (UTC)(link)[n.b. Your humble author begs to remind her gentle readers that the illustrious Ms. Heyer didn't worry particularly about historical accuracy, so neither shall this most grateful of copyists.]
March 1808
Lieutenant Karrin Murphy, eldest daughter of the Marquess of Donegal, lately of the Royal Squadron of Special Investigators, was accompanied by Viscount Stallings as she approached the front entrance of White's.
"'Pon rep', Karrin," declared Stallings. "The Season will be starting up soon. If these demmed cases ever let up, perhaps we can high ourselves to Almack's. Pick a pair of primrose beauties to woo, the kind that don't mind being decoration on a stalwart officer's arm, eh?"
"Not interested, and you know why," said Karrin. A hypothetical bystander, noticing Stallings' longer legs (while admiring Lieutenant Murphy's own muscular thighs), would have been rather surprised to notice the Lieutenant's brisk pace was fast enough to force the Viscount to hurry.
"Your marriage with Rich was annulled years ago, Karrin." Stallings blanched in the face of Murphy's steely glare, but brazened forth nonetheless. "It's time to move on."
"Anyone who would have me with my current reputation..." Murphy paused, her lip curling in a delicate sneer. "Would be a fortune hunter of the worst sort. Besides, I'm done with the dewy lads and lasses and their greedy mammas. I'm done with love altogether, as you perfectly well know." Her thoughts slipped back to that last disastrous fight with Rich.
"I married a Royal Hussar," Rich yelled, his usually handsome face purpling. "Not a member of his Majesty's laughingstock corps."
"You married a woman with integrity," she said tearfully. Karrin held her hands open in front of her, asking wordlessly for the support of his closeness. Back then she'd still been capable of both weeping and hope. "You can't ask me to withdraw my accusations against Rudolph! He colluded with murderers."
Rich stalked to the door, turning at the last moment to throw a parting shot over his shoulder. "I shan't ask you for anything ever again. Except to have my things sent round to my father's."
Karrin stood empty, heedless of the servants doubtless listening at the parlour door. She could bear her disgrace and the withdrawal of her commission; she could bear that it was nothing but the power of her father's name that had her transferred to this nonsensical spiritualist brigade; she could bear being sent away from France and the honor of fighting Boney. But she'd thought Rich loved her, not her rank and position. She didn't think she could bear the feel of her heart breaking.
The only solution was to stop having a heart altogether.
Karrin was harshly knocked from her unpleasant reverie when a gangling scarecrow of a man hurtled into her, sending her to the sidewalk. She looked up, one eyebrow raised sardonically, while Stallings babbled concern.
"Oh!" The man -- more of a boy, really -- looked flustered and appalled at himself. "Ma'am! I beg your pardon!" He reached down one ridiculously large hand to help her up.
Karrin ignored the ramshackle lad's importuning grasp, and rolled easily to her feet. "Watch where you're going, lad."
The youth flushed hotly, the flush providing an unexpected appealing tinge to his starvling cheeks. "I would have, if you weren't too tiny for me to see."
"I say!" Stallings cried, appalled, but Karrin merely laughed. Most people were excruciatingly polite to her face in a way that was just shy of inexcusably rude; a disgraced viscount had that effect on people. This impertinent rascal in his ridiculous coat was refreshing, after a fashion. Stallings, however, was not quelled. "This is the Viscount Antrim you just cheeked, rascal!"
The boy flushed even brighter. "Stars. I'm sorry, m'lady. Though you are pretty short, but I'm still sorry. Oh, hell's bells." And with that bizarre oath, he scurried off down the street in a flurry of black canvas. She watched him run, absently admiring his steady pace -- or perhaps she was admiring the musculature of his lanky calves.
"Impudent fool," said Stallings.
Karrin blinked. That had been a refreshing break from her usual off-duty entertainments: embittered cynicism and cool ennui. She felt... energized. "I've changed my mind, Stallings." She turned away from White's. "I'm going to Gentleman Jackson's."
"Again?" Stallings frowned. "You spend half your waking hours at that blasted aikido saloon."
She shrugged. "And if you spent a few more there yourself, you might not have been knocked down by that cracksman outside Whitehall last month." She smiled at his discomfiture, feeling more energized than she had in days. "Don't wait up for me."
Re: Wizard Cotillion, 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-09 11:05 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Wizard Cotillion, 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-10 02:27 pm (UTC)(link)As for length, there is more coming. In fact, I am a little bit worried that I don't know how to make a Heyer arc without making it Heyer length! Hopefully I can pull off a little more "Pursuit" and a little less A Civil Contract.
Re: Wizard Cotillion, 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-09 11:07 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Wizard Cotillion, 1/? -OP
(Anonymous) 2011-03-10 04:08 am (UTC)(link)I love how Harry just barges in and changes people's moods without even realizing it. And how, even when he's just being him, he manages to be a cheeky, bizarre creature who just attracts attention (and trouble, I'm thinking?) to himself.
Of course the person he crashes into is a Viscount, and Murphy. (Of course his neighbor is a vampire. Of course the flowers are dangerous. Of course the bullet just happened to hit him.) He's Harry Dresden.
Re: Wizard Cotillion, 1/? -OP
(Anonymous) 2011-03-10 11:58 am (UTC)(link)Re: Wizard Cotillion, 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-05-08 02:04 pm (UTC)(link)-OP
Re: Wizard Cotillion, 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-05-08 02:06 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Wizard Cotillion, 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-05-31 02:49 am (UTC)(link)Re: Wizard Cotillion, 1/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-05-31 22:35 (UTC) - ExpandWizard Cotillion, 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-12 09:52 pm (UTC)(link)To be sure, overwhelmed with embarrassment and self-loathing was somewhat of a refreshing change from overwhelmed with hunger and cold. The hunger and cold were still there, but were hardly his most pressing concern. What kind of barbarian was he? He'd just barreled into that tiny gentlewoman without looking -- and then hadn't properly apologized until he realized she had rank. To cap it all off, he'd been rude again. It was as if he were combining the worst bumpkin behavior that people expected of a country boy with the gauche classism of London herself. Ebenezar would be ashamed of him.
Of course, Ebenezar was already ashamed of him. After two years of grooming Harry to make his debut in wizard society, off the apprentice had run to London to make his fortune, like a magical Dick Whittington with far less chance of success. At least, like Dick Whittington, Harry had a cat -- though it seemed unlikely that the folkloric Lord Mayor of London had ever been quite this cold or quite this hungry. At this very moment, Harry could happily eat a pork pie or five, after which he'd be just about ready for luncheon.
Hunger was no excuse for rudeness to anyone, commoner or lady. Nonetheless, he needed to earn some scratch, fast -- not only was hunger making him behave poorly, but any day now Mistress Spunkelcrief would evict him from the boarding house. He could starve with a roof over his head or without, but it would be far more comfortable to die of hunger without the added complaints of mud, cold, and fighting for space amongst the previous occupants of London's alleyways.
He'd never imagined how difficult it would be to convince the ton to engage his services. It wasn’t as if The London Gazette was overwhelmed with wizards advertising their services at reasonable rates. But Harry was a single young man, unprotected by an older sister or a blustering uncle. He wasn’t in the clergy or a veteran of the army. As far as the ton were concerened, Harry was no better than he should be. A wizard was only one step above "actor”, even among believers. For the rest, he was a disreputable mountebank.
Harry realized he was standing outside Poole’s tailor and draper shop. In his confusion, he'd come to Cork Street again, as he had every day for the last week. He sighed, looking up to gaze upon the object of his desire: the triple-caped leather greatcoat in the shop window. It didn't hurt to dream, he supposed, though he would never be able to purchase such a thing. Every scant penny Harry scraped up went into buying magical supplies: pawned copper jewelry, spent gunpowder, a battered copy of Venus in the Cloister or The Nun in her Smock to bribe his lab assistant. At least holy water was free, for all that it didn't help his reputation among the ton to be on such close terms with Father Forthill, the Catholic priest.
"La, Mr. Dresden," said a voice at his shoulder, and Harry spun around, supplies and sartorial woes both forgotten. A wealthy dandy stood behind him, handsome in a way Harry had never seen before. The young man wore his dark hair à la Brutus, highlighting his luminous features. His pure white waistcoat was covered in equally white seals and fobs. Harry cared not a whit for fashion, and he had a vague idea that a gentleman with unpowdered hair should be wearing a dark coat, not – Stars -- untouched white from cravat to boots. But instead of seeming a town clown, the gentleman was stunning, drawing dreamy sighs from no small number of the passersby. The young woman on the dandy’s arm would have been the highlight of gorgeousness among other company; here, she was merely accompaniment.
Vampire, Harry thought. Thank goodness Ebenezar had given him a basic introduction to the supernatural elements of London's upper crust.
"I beg your forbearance, but I must introduce myself," said the White Court vampire. He bowed from the waist. "Thomas Raith, at your service."
Harry was shocked. "Lord Raith is a vampire?"
The vampire laughed. "The stories do you justice, sir. Your blunt nature is refreshing."
"What do you want?" Harry had no desire for truck with vampires, though he had to admit a prurient curiosity about the methods used by the Whites in particular. He assumed he was strong enough to resist their blandishments.
"I want to be your friend," said the vampire. "If you'll allow me."
Harry pulled back. This temptation he had not been expecting. "I'm no friend of the White Court."
The vampire's face twisted as if he had bitten something sour; Harry noted that the expression in the way marred his beauty. "Neither am I, particularly." The young woman on Raith's arm leaned her cheek against the vampire's shoulder, a sad smile on her face.
"So what do you want?"
"Later, perhaps your assistance with a minor problem," said the vampire, and Harry breathed out, relieved. A job he could assess on its merits; inexplicable friendship from a White Court vampire was certainly a hostile overture. "But for now, would you care to join me for a beefsteak at MacAnally's Pub?" He held up his hand as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "A nuncheon as retainer for your willingness to listen, shall we call it?"
Harry hesitated. A business arrangement with this strange vampire who sought him out and claimed to be on the outs with the Court was arguably not business with which he should become involved. But his mouth had begun watering automatically at the mention of one of Mac's luscious beefsteaks, and, well, besides. If there was something political going on in the supernatural community, wouldn't it be best if he knew about it? You keep rationalizing, there, he told himself. Nothing to do with the uncomfortable feeling of your belly meeting your spine from emptiness. "All right," he said. "Just a conversation."
The vampire smiled.
Re: Wizard Cotillion, 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-12 09:56 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Wizard Cotillion, 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-12 10:44 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Wizard Cotillion, 2/? -OP
(Anonymous) 2011-03-14 03:21 am (UTC)(link)I'm wondering if that girl on Thomas's arm is Justine, and just what Thomas wants to ask Harry for... hmmm... and does he really need something, or is he just asking for help so he can pay Harry and keep Harry fed/sheltered? Of course, that thought makes me wonder if he did that in canon and Harry didn't know it - subtly pushed clients towards Harry so Harry could stay in business, pay rent, feed himself (and Mister)...
And, yes, Harry does need to be fed!
Can't wait for more - and am looking forward to more Harry/Murphy interaction! :)
(Sorry for the late reply; I've been away for the weekend and didn't see it right away in my quick checks!)