Post by Aleksei Trevelyan on Jun 17, 2007 12:11:24 GMT -5
This was originally written to be supplemental fiction/backstory for another RP site that was very loosely based in the Redwall universe.
Title: Umbra
Summary: The tumultuous history and relationships of the Dol’Arden family.
Author: Chatvert
Genre(s): Mystery, Thriller, Action, Sci-Fi
Rating: T
Warning(s): Violence, language, drug and alcohol usage
Author’s Note: Expect this to be very political and full of scheming and such. I love those kinds of stories. xD If there’s anything that needs correcting, grammar, canon, whatever, please, don’t hesitate to point it out. Thanks muchly! *bows* We’ll also be playing “Spot The Terry Pratchett Reference” probably about once per chapter. xD
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Chapter 1: Chance Meeting (4061)
Dorian Dol’Arden stared into his soup and took a deep breath. The soup was green; split pea with ham, his father’s favorite. Of course it would be: he was having dinner with his father, in the Dol’Arden mansion, after all.
“Something on your mind, son?” Morech Dol’Arden asked from across the table. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”
“Nothing, father,” Dorian said, stirring the soup absently.
“Won any cases recently?” The question was rhetorical. Morech kept up with any news regarding his son.
“Yes, the Koyama case,” Dorian replied.
“Mmm. Spousal abuse. Nasty business, that.”
“Yes.”
“From what I hear, the closing was brilliant.”
“Father.” Dorian blushed. “It was nothing.”
“You’re too modest, my boy,” Morech chuckled.
“It keeps me underestimated.” He continued to toy with the spoon, watching the lazy patterns it made in the thick, opaque liquid. A chunk of ham bobbed to the surface. “Father,” he said at length, “it’s been a year now. Don’t you think you should talk to her?”
Morech put his sthingy down. “Talk to who?”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“Can’t imagine,” Morech said in the brittle, polite voice that people use when they want you to change the subject.
Dorian knew he was pushing the envelope, but he couldn’t stop now. “Terias, father. Your daughter, no matter how much you want to deny her.”
Slam. Morech’s heavy paws slammed down upon the table, rattling the spoons in the soup bowls. “I have no daughter!” he roared.
Dorian put his paws together and bowed slightly. “Of course not, father. No disrespect.”
Morech grunted. “None taken.” His voice dropped to a cold whisper. “She is dead, you hear, dead! That very *friendly* person died a long time ago.”
In the long and extensive list of Terias’s many offenses against her father, Dorian didn’t recall hearing prostitution. Unwilling to invoke the wrath of his father again, he nodded and said nothing.
The dinner progressed from there, slowly regaining its genial tone. It was late when Dorian left, having politely declined his father’s offer of a nightcap. He was afraid of regressing into his drinking habits again.
Lost in thought, the fox didn’t realize that he had gotten lost in reality until he looked at his surroundings. Oh, bugger, he thought. Section 1? How did I end up here? I’d better get home. He knew his sleek hovercar was a prime target for carjacking and scrapping.
Too late. A rat brandishing a chain came from the shadows, a squirrel and an otter behind him. All three looked pretty fierce, and they didn’t look like they’d take “I was lost” for an answer.
“Well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” the rat asked, twirling the chain. “Nice ‘overcar.”
What could you say to that? “Thank you,” Dorian said awkwardly.
“But, see, ye ‘ave to ‘ave a permit for such a vehicle in this section, innat right, boys?”
The squirrel chuckled. “Sure thing, boss.”
The rat turned back to Dorian. “Well, ye see that we ‘ave a liddle problem ‘ere. Looks like we’ll ‘ave to confiscate that.”
Shit. The car was worth more than most beasts made in a year. Dorian couldn’t just…give it up. His father would never let him hear the end of it. But if he didn’t…well, he wouldn’t be around to hear the start of it, to put it delicately. Cowed and humiliated, Dorian opened the door and exited the hovercar. The otter and squirrel sblack personed.
“Ain’t so tough when yore outta yer home turf, huh, nob?”
The fox merely adjusted his tie, sweating like the thingyens on the inside. The otter jumped back. “Did yew see that? ‘E threatened me!”
“I did not!” Dorian scowled.
“’E looked like ‘e wos reachin’ for a weapon!”
The rat considered this. “Well, if’n ‘e threatened yer, I s’pose we’d be well within our rights t’ teach ‘im a liddle lesson.”
Dorian was onto their game. They had just got a rather sweet ride and some entertainment into the bargain. He started reaching for the taser in his pocket. If they wanted a fight, well…
Almost faster than he could move, the rat had come over and decked him solidly on the nose. Dorian went back and down. He didn’t even have to touch his nose to know that it was probably broken. Blood was dripping down it freely. The squirrel walked over and kicked him in the ribs.
“Get up, nob.” The squirrel kicked him again. Dorian struggled to his feet. No sooner than he had gotten up did the otter punch him in the chest, with brass knuckles, from the feel of it. He collapsed again, wheezing. They weren’t going to use their weapons on him; no, they were just going to beat him to a bloody pulp, and maybe, if they felt merciful, shoot him in the end. If not…they’d dump him off the city into the crater, and that would be the end of Dorian Dol’Arden.
A stab of pain blooming in his ribs was another kick from the squirrel; this time, it had cracked a rib, if not broken it. He had never been beaten up in school. Everyone was afraid to. Whispers had always permeated the halls behind him. “Isn’t that the Dol’Arden kid?” “Yeah, I heard his dad had a couple people killed.” “No way.” “Aw, man, you have to get out more. Anything goes in corporate land!” Dorian couldn’t move in time, and braced himself for yet another kick.
And then, very suddenly, the squirrel wasn’t there anymore. Dorian risked a glance up to see a shadowy figure in a hooded sweatshirt whacking out indiscriminately with a sword, hitting footpaws and arms and what have you. A chain wrapped around it, and the figure yanked the sword back quickly, sending the rat topping forwards. The figure kicked him.
“Get up,” he said gruffly. The rat did, agonizingly getting to his feet.
“Ow, wossat for? We was just ‘avin’ a little fun!”
“I’ll have fun with you if you don’t shut up,” the mysterious stranger snapped. “Now get the hell out of here or I swear on Yamiyo’s name I won’t stop kicking your gods-damned tails from here to Quadrant 4, got it?” Now that Dorian thought about it, the voice was kind of familiar.
The rat nodded and gestured to his fellows to leave. The stranger turned his back, and they rushed him. Expertly he turned and struck out with the sword at the three assailants, and they all collapsed. He went over to the otter, who was out cold, and sighed.
“Bloody idiots,” he muttered, leaning over to help Dorian up. “Here, are you okay?” A shaft of moonlight fell across the black fox’s face, and the stranger winced. “Guess not.”
“Why’d you do that?” Dorian asked when he was able to talk. “Save me from them, I mean.”
The stranger swept his hood back to reveal another black fox with short, choppy headfur. “What, you don’t recognize your own sister, Dorian?” Terias Dol’Arden asked. “I’m hurt.”
“Terias! Gods above, what are you doing here?” Dorian asked.
“Uh, I live here,” Terias said bemusedly.
“And you have a sword! Why do you have a sword, of all things? It’s not safe!”
“It’s a sword. It’s not meant to be safe,” she said, waving it around. “And anyway, I’m pretty good with it, aren’t I?” She held it out to him. “Look. It’s not even sharp. I just use it to hit people.” Terias looked over at the car. “Nice ride.”
“Thank you,” he said breathlessly.
“So. Anything broken?”
“Probably a rib or two,” Dorian said, grimacing. “I should be all right, though.”
“Yeah. Come on back to my place, I’ll get you fixed up.” She glanced at the car. “You might want to take that home first, though.”
Title: Umbra
Summary: The tumultuous history and relationships of the Dol’Arden family.
Author: Chatvert
Genre(s): Mystery, Thriller, Action, Sci-Fi
Rating: T
Warning(s): Violence, language, drug and alcohol usage
Author’s Note: Expect this to be very political and full of scheming and such. I love those kinds of stories. xD If there’s anything that needs correcting, grammar, canon, whatever, please, don’t hesitate to point it out. Thanks muchly! *bows* We’ll also be playing “Spot The Terry Pratchett Reference” probably about once per chapter. xD
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Chapter 1: Chance Meeting (4061)
Dorian Dol’Arden stared into his soup and took a deep breath. The soup was green; split pea with ham, his father’s favorite. Of course it would be: he was having dinner with his father, in the Dol’Arden mansion, after all.
“Something on your mind, son?” Morech Dol’Arden asked from across the table. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”
“Nothing, father,” Dorian said, stirring the soup absently.
“Won any cases recently?” The question was rhetorical. Morech kept up with any news regarding his son.
“Yes, the Koyama case,” Dorian replied.
“Mmm. Spousal abuse. Nasty business, that.”
“Yes.”
“From what I hear, the closing was brilliant.”
“Father.” Dorian blushed. “It was nothing.”
“You’re too modest, my boy,” Morech chuckled.
“It keeps me underestimated.” He continued to toy with the spoon, watching the lazy patterns it made in the thick, opaque liquid. A chunk of ham bobbed to the surface. “Father,” he said at length, “it’s been a year now. Don’t you think you should talk to her?”
Morech put his sthingy down. “Talk to who?”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“Can’t imagine,” Morech said in the brittle, polite voice that people use when they want you to change the subject.
Dorian knew he was pushing the envelope, but he couldn’t stop now. “Terias, father. Your daughter, no matter how much you want to deny her.”
Slam. Morech’s heavy paws slammed down upon the table, rattling the spoons in the soup bowls. “I have no daughter!” he roared.
Dorian put his paws together and bowed slightly. “Of course not, father. No disrespect.”
Morech grunted. “None taken.” His voice dropped to a cold whisper. “She is dead, you hear, dead! That very *friendly* person died a long time ago.”
In the long and extensive list of Terias’s many offenses against her father, Dorian didn’t recall hearing prostitution. Unwilling to invoke the wrath of his father again, he nodded and said nothing.
*
The dinner progressed from there, slowly regaining its genial tone. It was late when Dorian left, having politely declined his father’s offer of a nightcap. He was afraid of regressing into his drinking habits again.
Lost in thought, the fox didn’t realize that he had gotten lost in reality until he looked at his surroundings. Oh, bugger, he thought. Section 1? How did I end up here? I’d better get home. He knew his sleek hovercar was a prime target for carjacking and scrapping.
Too late. A rat brandishing a chain came from the shadows, a squirrel and an otter behind him. All three looked pretty fierce, and they didn’t look like they’d take “I was lost” for an answer.
“Well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” the rat asked, twirling the chain. “Nice ‘overcar.”
What could you say to that? “Thank you,” Dorian said awkwardly.
“But, see, ye ‘ave to ‘ave a permit for such a vehicle in this section, innat right, boys?”
The squirrel chuckled. “Sure thing, boss.”
The rat turned back to Dorian. “Well, ye see that we ‘ave a liddle problem ‘ere. Looks like we’ll ‘ave to confiscate that.”
Shit. The car was worth more than most beasts made in a year. Dorian couldn’t just…give it up. His father would never let him hear the end of it. But if he didn’t…well, he wouldn’t be around to hear the start of it, to put it delicately. Cowed and humiliated, Dorian opened the door and exited the hovercar. The otter and squirrel sblack personed.
“Ain’t so tough when yore outta yer home turf, huh, nob?”
The fox merely adjusted his tie, sweating like the thingyens on the inside. The otter jumped back. “Did yew see that? ‘E threatened me!”
“I did not!” Dorian scowled.
“’E looked like ‘e wos reachin’ for a weapon!”
The rat considered this. “Well, if’n ‘e threatened yer, I s’pose we’d be well within our rights t’ teach ‘im a liddle lesson.”
Dorian was onto their game. They had just got a rather sweet ride and some entertainment into the bargain. He started reaching for the taser in his pocket. If they wanted a fight, well…
Almost faster than he could move, the rat had come over and decked him solidly on the nose. Dorian went back and down. He didn’t even have to touch his nose to know that it was probably broken. Blood was dripping down it freely. The squirrel walked over and kicked him in the ribs.
“Get up, nob.” The squirrel kicked him again. Dorian struggled to his feet. No sooner than he had gotten up did the otter punch him in the chest, with brass knuckles, from the feel of it. He collapsed again, wheezing. They weren’t going to use their weapons on him; no, they were just going to beat him to a bloody pulp, and maybe, if they felt merciful, shoot him in the end. If not…they’d dump him off the city into the crater, and that would be the end of Dorian Dol’Arden.
A stab of pain blooming in his ribs was another kick from the squirrel; this time, it had cracked a rib, if not broken it. He had never been beaten up in school. Everyone was afraid to. Whispers had always permeated the halls behind him. “Isn’t that the Dol’Arden kid?” “Yeah, I heard his dad had a couple people killed.” “No way.” “Aw, man, you have to get out more. Anything goes in corporate land!” Dorian couldn’t move in time, and braced himself for yet another kick.
And then, very suddenly, the squirrel wasn’t there anymore. Dorian risked a glance up to see a shadowy figure in a hooded sweatshirt whacking out indiscriminately with a sword, hitting footpaws and arms and what have you. A chain wrapped around it, and the figure yanked the sword back quickly, sending the rat topping forwards. The figure kicked him.
“Get up,” he said gruffly. The rat did, agonizingly getting to his feet.
“Ow, wossat for? We was just ‘avin’ a little fun!”
“I’ll have fun with you if you don’t shut up,” the mysterious stranger snapped. “Now get the hell out of here or I swear on Yamiyo’s name I won’t stop kicking your gods-damned tails from here to Quadrant 4, got it?” Now that Dorian thought about it, the voice was kind of familiar.
The rat nodded and gestured to his fellows to leave. The stranger turned his back, and they rushed him. Expertly he turned and struck out with the sword at the three assailants, and they all collapsed. He went over to the otter, who was out cold, and sighed.
“Bloody idiots,” he muttered, leaning over to help Dorian up. “Here, are you okay?” A shaft of moonlight fell across the black fox’s face, and the stranger winced. “Guess not.”
“Why’d you do that?” Dorian asked when he was able to talk. “Save me from them, I mean.”
The stranger swept his hood back to reveal another black fox with short, choppy headfur. “What, you don’t recognize your own sister, Dorian?” Terias Dol’Arden asked. “I’m hurt.”
“Terias! Gods above, what are you doing here?” Dorian asked.
“Uh, I live here,” Terias said bemusedly.
“And you have a sword! Why do you have a sword, of all things? It’s not safe!”
“It’s a sword. It’s not meant to be safe,” she said, waving it around. “And anyway, I’m pretty good with it, aren’t I?” She held it out to him. “Look. It’s not even sharp. I just use it to hit people.” Terias looked over at the car. “Nice ride.”
“Thank you,” he said breathlessly.
“So. Anything broken?”
“Probably a rib or two,” Dorian said, grimacing. “I should be all right, though.”
“Yeah. Come on back to my place, I’ll get you fixed up.” She glanced at the car. “You might want to take that home first, though.”