Post by Doctor on Jun 1, 2010 23:52:21 GMT -8
Small talk among the judges was interrupted by the jangle of necklaces and the short clips of boots walking with purpose. All eyes, some disparaging and some alight in interest, fell upon the man in tight leather trousers and a sport coat making his arrival.
One set just seemed more affronted than the rest.
“Well, well, well… if it isn’t Lucifer’s favorite fair-haired boy slave. Were you caught in traffic or did the Dark Lord have you on special assignment? Picking up his coffee?” The judge in his periphery sneered.
“Lydia, still a cunt I see.”
She cried out in offense, flipping her salt and peppered hair over her shoulder.
“I can present myself,” he continued. “Anshel Lochem of Sodom, requesting consent to take my seat.”
“I move to question the validity of his appointment!” Lydia demanded, fire in her eyes. “Mr. Lochem has consistently proven to be ill-suited to take on the responsibility required by a member of the council. He is disrespectful and, if I am being completely honest, depraved!”
Faces turned from the older woman back to him, awaiting his reaction.
Anshel had the decency to hide his smile at what he considered a compliment and settled on an expression of annoyance.
“Is this because I fucked your ward, Lydia?”
The council-woman cried out again and clutched her shawl close.
“So you admit to seducing my charge without consent! And with no remorse!”
“I had his consent. Did you expect me to attempt the impossible task of getting yours? When you’re obviously grooming him to be your intimate companion? I’m not the one taking advantage here.” He accused.
“You have no place scrutinizing my personal dealings. Your job is to hunt and occasionally show up for council hearings. Nowhere in your privileges does it state you are allowed to corrupt our students!”
“Corrupt?!” He scoffed. “You are reaching here, sweetheart.”
Anshel gestured to the pretty-mouthed young man sitting, elevated, two rows behind her. All heads in the chamber room, which had been turning to and fro to follow the heated exchange, now craned to follow his hand.
“On the very unlikely chance that Leon is interested in lady-parts,” he said, hinting to their past couplings and Leon’s perfectly manicured appearance, “What would make you even consider he would be interested in your scary, dried-up ones?”
“Ohs” and disbelieving gasps filled the room. A few brave giggles tickled the suddenly heavy air.
Lydia’s eyes shot open wide. A resounding “SMACK” cut through the noise as she moved from her once languid seated position up to her knees. A crimson nail was now aimed at his face.
“I will have your head!”
“Try it. It’ll find its way back on somehow!”
“I will personally see to your complete obliteration! My family has served this court for four generations and I will happily tear you apart limb from limb to preserve my honor and the SANCTITY of this council!”
“Your threats are as hollow as your old-lady bones and your bravado is as fake as your designer eyelashes.” He snipped.
“Call this disgrace to order!” She beseeched.
“The disgrace is you thinking those things are fooling anyone, Lydia! They look ridiculous!”
The High Judge raised a hand, demanding and receiving silence from the feuding parties and the commenting audience.
Anshel had held Lydia’s eyes throughout the entire exchange and bore through them now with wicked intensity as he silently mouthed a final insult: ”I fucked him on your cushion.”
Her looks of shock, nausea, and fury succeeded each other and, as a whole, lasted only a moment. A second and a flurry of movement later, said cushion was empty and the table was down a single judge.
One could not see the yellow of the High Judge’s eyes as he had them closed, his head hanged while a thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his regal nose. A smirk ghosted his lips, or at least Anshel thought so.
“The court recognizes Anshel Lochem. You may take your seat.”
Anshel weighed the situation and opted to dial down his eccentricity for the time. He did, after all, just cause a scene and verbally “maneuvere” a judge – despite being a horrendous bitch, still, a judge – into a frenzy and out of her station.
He bowed respectfully, a hand behind him and the other placed reverently over his heart. Taking the long route to one side of the chamber and around the long table to his place, he seated himself directly to the left-side of his friend, the High Judge.
“The court will take a recess while I speak privately to Anshel Lochem. All scheduled appointments will be deferred ten minutes. Adjourned.”
The assembly filed out. The snickers and hushed tones were assurances that a generous flow of gossip would fill the hallways for days. Leon’s flush only deepened as he received a few admiring claps on the back.
“She had a point, Anshel.” The court was empty but for the two of them.
Anshel turned to him, hurt showing on the creases of his face. Mathematically, he was far older than this man, maybe thirty times over. But that did not stop the councilor’s jaw-line, his warm eyes, and his judicious gaze from reminding Anshel of his father.
“Bartholomew, you know me! I would never--!” he began, but was cut off as Bartholomew assured him his shift in demeanor was unwarranted.
“I meant about being late.”
“Oh.” Relief visibly washed over the youthful face of an ancient man.
“You missed Ms. Belikov’s* appointment.”
Anshel smirked and chuckled low.
“No, actually, I didn’t. I was in the back, in the archway. Just arrived from a personal job that took longer than I expected.”
“What job? Do you often take ‘personal’ assignments, or is this a new thing?”
“Nothing involving the vampires or weres, I assure you. And I take them when they present themselves.”
He leaned back into the pillows, seamlessly shifting them into a more casual atmosphere, and changed the subject.
“Do you often kiss the ass of Hunters you send on suicide missions, or is this a new thing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bartholomew exhaled loudly through his nose and shook his head, very much knowing what Anshel was talking about.
“You send the little принцесса to work her wiles on Azura of all people! Really, now.”
Anshel leaned forward with his elbows on the High Judge’s armrest with his chin resting on the platform of his hands. He batted his eyelashes with fervor at his friend and hitched his voice up an octave higher, adding a girlish lisp.
“Oh, most esteemed judge, am I young and beautiful and famous?”
Bartholomew’s lip quirked up almost imperceptibly.
“Do I absolutely shine? Shine like the loveliest shimmering jewel of the Banglaire?” He continued, voice reaching ever higher peaks.
The Judge’s grin grew ever more pronounced, although he attempted to hide it, as Anshel now squeaked the words out.
“Will I perhaps one day sit beside you on the council so the glory of my being can shine out of each and every of my orifices to brighten the dreary halls?!”
Bartholomew was clearly shaking now.
“Oh! You’ve actually condensed these astonishing words of praise into a balm so I may rub the council’s appraisal into my skin? Thank youuu!”
A loud resounding “Ha” erupted from the Judge’s chest before he clamped his mouth shut and, with his palm firmly on the boy’s forehead, pushed Anshel over onto his back.
“How I choose to fortify the confidence of my clan is not to be questioned by you.” Bartholomew’s words were lost on Anshel, who was still on his back on the floor, caught in a fit of giggles. “Get a hold of yourself old man!”
Anshel held his breath until the fit ceased and sat upright, both delighted and annoyed at the rarely used nickname. He was delighted because it held such affection, harkening back to a time when Bartholomew was a much younger man; he was annoyed because it was rarely used unless Bart was hoping to hand off a particularly distasteful job to him and wanted to bank on their friendship to acquire his compliance.
“What do you want me to do, High Judge?”
“Don’t ‘High Judge’ me you smart-ass. I’m asking you to do one little job and, in return, you’ll get two things you desperately want.”
“You have intrigued me, Bart. What’s the assignment?”
“It’s in an envelope in your Houston accommodations.”
“Really? You’re going to pull the envelope shit on me?”
“Yes.” He returned Anshel’s affronted stare with a stern one. “Yes.”
Anshel huffed.
“What are my two things? It better be fucking good.”
“Lydia’s council appointment will be revoked and she is put on probation. Do you think I’m not capable of taking care of my own?” He asked his friend. “Leon came to us with his concerns and an investigation was launched four months ago.”
“That is a good one,” he admitted. “What’s the second?”
“You’ve always wanted to redecorate this place. You get to replace Lydia’s hand-embroidered Turkish cushion.”
“You saw that part, huh?” Anshel made an ‘oops’ face. “I’m sorry, it was unprofessional of me. If I coerced Leon in any way, it was only the location.” He didn’t regret it, but as much as he loved those little trysts, he hated disappointing Bart.
“Just replace the cushion and we’ll forget it ever happened. Honestly, in this line of work, Hunters become stressed and often traumatized or, in councilors’ cases, a bit power hungry. Odd kinks develop. You aren’t going to be the last.” He assured his friend with a pat on the back. Leaning closer to his ear, he added, “And you definitely weren’t the first.”
Anshel turned to look at him. He returned Bart’s rare mischievous smile with an impressed one.
“Now get out. I have a council to run and you have an assignment.”
Anshel took his leave for Houston.
* Read “(opening post) Sitting Before the Council” in Banglaire Court
One set just seemed more affronted than the rest.
“Well, well, well… if it isn’t Lucifer’s favorite fair-haired boy slave. Were you caught in traffic or did the Dark Lord have you on special assignment? Picking up his coffee?” The judge in his periphery sneered.
“Lydia, still a cunt I see.”
She cried out in offense, flipping her salt and peppered hair over her shoulder.
“I can present myself,” he continued. “Anshel Lochem of Sodom, requesting consent to take my seat.”
“I move to question the validity of his appointment!” Lydia demanded, fire in her eyes. “Mr. Lochem has consistently proven to be ill-suited to take on the responsibility required by a member of the council. He is disrespectful and, if I am being completely honest, depraved!”
Faces turned from the older woman back to him, awaiting his reaction.
Anshel had the decency to hide his smile at what he considered a compliment and settled on an expression of annoyance.
“Is this because I fucked your ward, Lydia?”
The council-woman cried out again and clutched her shawl close.
“So you admit to seducing my charge without consent! And with no remorse!”
“I had his consent. Did you expect me to attempt the impossible task of getting yours? When you’re obviously grooming him to be your intimate companion? I’m not the one taking advantage here.” He accused.
“You have no place scrutinizing my personal dealings. Your job is to hunt and occasionally show up for council hearings. Nowhere in your privileges does it state you are allowed to corrupt our students!”
“Corrupt?!” He scoffed. “You are reaching here, sweetheart.”
Anshel gestured to the pretty-mouthed young man sitting, elevated, two rows behind her. All heads in the chamber room, which had been turning to and fro to follow the heated exchange, now craned to follow his hand.
“On the very unlikely chance that Leon is interested in lady-parts,” he said, hinting to their past couplings and Leon’s perfectly manicured appearance, “What would make you even consider he would be interested in your scary, dried-up ones?”
“Ohs” and disbelieving gasps filled the room. A few brave giggles tickled the suddenly heavy air.
Lydia’s eyes shot open wide. A resounding “SMACK” cut through the noise as she moved from her once languid seated position up to her knees. A crimson nail was now aimed at his face.
“I will have your head!”
“Try it. It’ll find its way back on somehow!”
“I will personally see to your complete obliteration! My family has served this court for four generations and I will happily tear you apart limb from limb to preserve my honor and the SANCTITY of this council!”
“Your threats are as hollow as your old-lady bones and your bravado is as fake as your designer eyelashes.” He snipped.
“Call this disgrace to order!” She beseeched.
“The disgrace is you thinking those things are fooling anyone, Lydia! They look ridiculous!”
The High Judge raised a hand, demanding and receiving silence from the feuding parties and the commenting audience.
Anshel had held Lydia’s eyes throughout the entire exchange and bore through them now with wicked intensity as he silently mouthed a final insult: ”I fucked him on your cushion.”
Her looks of shock, nausea, and fury succeeded each other and, as a whole, lasted only a moment. A second and a flurry of movement later, said cushion was empty and the table was down a single judge.
One could not see the yellow of the High Judge’s eyes as he had them closed, his head hanged while a thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his regal nose. A smirk ghosted his lips, or at least Anshel thought so.
“The court recognizes Anshel Lochem. You may take your seat.”
Anshel weighed the situation and opted to dial down his eccentricity for the time. He did, after all, just cause a scene and verbally “maneuvere” a judge – despite being a horrendous bitch, still, a judge – into a frenzy and out of her station.
He bowed respectfully, a hand behind him and the other placed reverently over his heart. Taking the long route to one side of the chamber and around the long table to his place, he seated himself directly to the left-side of his friend, the High Judge.
“The court will take a recess while I speak privately to Anshel Lochem. All scheduled appointments will be deferred ten minutes. Adjourned.”
The assembly filed out. The snickers and hushed tones were assurances that a generous flow of gossip would fill the hallways for days. Leon’s flush only deepened as he received a few admiring claps on the back.
“She had a point, Anshel.” The court was empty but for the two of them.
Anshel turned to him, hurt showing on the creases of his face. Mathematically, he was far older than this man, maybe thirty times over. But that did not stop the councilor’s jaw-line, his warm eyes, and his judicious gaze from reminding Anshel of his father.
“Bartholomew, you know me! I would never--!” he began, but was cut off as Bartholomew assured him his shift in demeanor was unwarranted.
“I meant about being late.”
“Oh.” Relief visibly washed over the youthful face of an ancient man.
“You missed Ms. Belikov’s* appointment.”
Anshel smirked and chuckled low.
“No, actually, I didn’t. I was in the back, in the archway. Just arrived from a personal job that took longer than I expected.”
“What job? Do you often take ‘personal’ assignments, or is this a new thing?”
“Nothing involving the vampires or weres, I assure you. And I take them when they present themselves.”
He leaned back into the pillows, seamlessly shifting them into a more casual atmosphere, and changed the subject.
“Do you often kiss the ass of Hunters you send on suicide missions, or is this a new thing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bartholomew exhaled loudly through his nose and shook his head, very much knowing what Anshel was talking about.
“You send the little принцесса to work her wiles on Azura of all people! Really, now.”
Anshel leaned forward with his elbows on the High Judge’s armrest with his chin resting on the platform of his hands. He batted his eyelashes with fervor at his friend and hitched his voice up an octave higher, adding a girlish lisp.
“Oh, most esteemed judge, am I young and beautiful and famous?”
Bartholomew’s lip quirked up almost imperceptibly.
“Do I absolutely shine? Shine like the loveliest shimmering jewel of the Banglaire?” He continued, voice reaching ever higher peaks.
The Judge’s grin grew ever more pronounced, although he attempted to hide it, as Anshel now squeaked the words out.
“Will I perhaps one day sit beside you on the council so the glory of my being can shine out of each and every of my orifices to brighten the dreary halls?!”
Bartholomew was clearly shaking now.
“Oh! You’ve actually condensed these astonishing words of praise into a balm so I may rub the council’s appraisal into my skin? Thank youuu!”
A loud resounding “Ha” erupted from the Judge’s chest before he clamped his mouth shut and, with his palm firmly on the boy’s forehead, pushed Anshel over onto his back.
“How I choose to fortify the confidence of my clan is not to be questioned by you.” Bartholomew’s words were lost on Anshel, who was still on his back on the floor, caught in a fit of giggles. “Get a hold of yourself old man!”
Anshel held his breath until the fit ceased and sat upright, both delighted and annoyed at the rarely used nickname. He was delighted because it held such affection, harkening back to a time when Bartholomew was a much younger man; he was annoyed because it was rarely used unless Bart was hoping to hand off a particularly distasteful job to him and wanted to bank on their friendship to acquire his compliance.
“What do you want me to do, High Judge?”
“Don’t ‘High Judge’ me you smart-ass. I’m asking you to do one little job and, in return, you’ll get two things you desperately want.”
“You have intrigued me, Bart. What’s the assignment?”
“It’s in an envelope in your Houston accommodations.”
“Really? You’re going to pull the envelope shit on me?”
“Yes.” He returned Anshel’s affronted stare with a stern one. “Yes.”
Anshel huffed.
“What are my two things? It better be fucking good.”
“Lydia’s council appointment will be revoked and she is put on probation. Do you think I’m not capable of taking care of my own?” He asked his friend. “Leon came to us with his concerns and an investigation was launched four months ago.”
“That is a good one,” he admitted. “What’s the second?”
“You’ve always wanted to redecorate this place. You get to replace Lydia’s hand-embroidered Turkish cushion.”
“You saw that part, huh?” Anshel made an ‘oops’ face. “I’m sorry, it was unprofessional of me. If I coerced Leon in any way, it was only the location.” He didn’t regret it, but as much as he loved those little trysts, he hated disappointing Bart.
“Just replace the cushion and we’ll forget it ever happened. Honestly, in this line of work, Hunters become stressed and often traumatized or, in councilors’ cases, a bit power hungry. Odd kinks develop. You aren’t going to be the last.” He assured his friend with a pat on the back. Leaning closer to his ear, he added, “And you definitely weren’t the first.”
Anshel turned to look at him. He returned Bart’s rare mischievous smile with an impressed one.
“Now get out. I have a council to run and you have an assignment.”
Anshel took his leave for Houston.
* Read “(opening post) Sitting Before the Council” in Banglaire Court