OOM - Russell Edgington's Mansion

[onceaviking]

Bedrooms. Huge, opulent bedrooms filled with tables with lion's paws holding up sickeningly sweet smelling bouquets of roses. With massive four poster beds hung with velvet, heavily laden with duvets and pillows.
So many pillows.

It is like a surprisingly convincing trip back to the days of the Sun King.
Cloying and too much.

He'd been informed on his way to the bedroom he has been invited to spend the day in, that there are countless such rooms on the mansion. Somehow, he does not doubt this.
Far too much.

But he is in, and the King is favorable to dealing with The Magister, so he can stomach roses, velvet, and thick carpeting for a little while.

After showering, he gets dressed. In slacks and the light blue v-neck sweater Pam said brought out his eyes.
And his chest.

He makes his way to the hall, very aware that he is being watched by the seemingly never ending stream of youngish looking male vampires.

And then the King descends.
"Sir," Eric says. Respectfully.

Russell has dressed with care as well. The floral shirt is an especially nice touch. "Sheriff," he says to Eric as he walks down the last few steps of the stairs. "Please accept my apologies. There is a matter to which I must attend."

A certain waitress that needs catching.

"Trouble?" Eric asks, because it is both a reasonable assumption and perhaps a way in which he can elevate the Kings opinion of him further.
He towers next to Russell who seems amused, but pleasantly so, at this.

"Not really," he says, a smile in his voice. "More of an experiment."

"Perhaps I can be of service?" Eric suggests, looking down at Russell. Choosing his words with much deliberation.
Anything that might speed up matters.

"Oh," Russell says, "Indulge my boy, Talbott, will you? Let him give you the full tour." He sounds fond and a little exasperated. And conspiratorial. Surely Eric knows what it is like. Got to keep them happy.
"It makes him positively blithe," he continues, ignoring the look on Eric's face.

This is not what he wanted to hear. This is not what he wants to do.

"Sir," he says, lowering his voice, "I have a child of my own in the Magister's bony hands. If you could help as soon as poss-"

But the King cuts him off with a dismissive, "All in good time, Eric."

And then he leaves.

Eric takes a breath (he can do this, it is just a minor setback, they still have time) and looks up as someone from the stairs say, "You?"

It's Loreena. Bill Compton's insane Maker.

"You?" He replies, lifting an eyebrow.

It's not that great of a surprise really. Seeing as how Compton is here.

Comments

[onceaviking]

Eric forces down his emotions.
And smiles.

"What was the conclusion to that? What do you want out of life?"

The dance steps are well known. He can do it almost no matter what state he is in.
Even this.

[dobadthings]

Talbot smirks, meeting Eric's eyes.

"Russell happened," he says simply. "And he gave me everything I wanted."

He brushes closely past him, casually heading for the door.

"Would you care for a little something to tide you over until dinner? I can give you a preview of tonight's menu."

[onceaviking]

Russell Edgington doesn't give. He takes.

Eric catches up with Talbot with a few steps and walks beside him down the hall.
"That sounds - tempting," he says, looking down at him.

Tall. Muscular. Interested.

"I was quite impressed by the aperitif last night. A very sophisticated bouquet."
Because he likes that, Talbot. Being thought special and sophisticated. Well-breed and lusted after.

And Russell Edgington clearly holds him very dear. Very, very dear.

[dobadthings]

Talbot flicks his eyes up at him at the word tempting. And he smiles, pleased that Eric is showing appreciation for his household handiwork. He evidently has impeccable taste.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. The blood we dine on here is cruelty-free, all of it from willing donors. They have their own quarters here and are kept comfortable and fed, usually according to what flavors we want to bring out. They don't mind. They're very well taken care of. It's a much more civilized way of doing things, don't you think?"

[onceaviking]

"Quite," Eric agrees with a small smile.
"Though I must admit - sometimes, I miss the chase."
His smile turns crooked and he shrugs.
"What can I say? I was like that even before I was turned."

Viking.

[dobadthings]

He slants him a sly smile.

"Old habits die hard, hm?"

He does look like someone who would give good chase.

Walking with him down the hall and through the foyer, he then leads him into another adjoining room that's not as formal as the dining room, but there is a table set with a fine cloth and candlesticks and a floral centerpiece. A black-clad security guard appears at the doorway and stands there as silent as a marble statue.

[onceaviking]

"They do," Eric says with a chuckle, as they enter yet a room filled with art and flowers and pointless fabric.

He spares the security guard a glance and settles down in a chair.
He really does have long legs.

"So," he says. "The staff is mainly vampire?"

And wolves? Are there wolves here, Talbot?
Evil, fucking, branded wolves.

[dobadthings]

Talbot eyes Eric as he sits down with a smooth, long-limbed elegance that's difficult not to find sexy. It takes him a moment to respond to his question, a little distracted as he is.

"Oh, yes. All vampire -- the nighttime staff, at least."

He pauses to call out, "Marcel?"

A servant comes through another door.

"Will you please bring out a sampling of tonight's menu for Mr. Northman and myself?"

The servant bows and ducks out the door, before Talbot takes a seat opposite Eric.

[onceaviking]

"... I thought I detected a hint of - werewolf?" Eric asks. Casually. Running a finger along the tablecloth. Apparently enjoying the texture.

He wouldn't mind ripping a few of those to pieces.

[dobadthings]

"Oh, do forgive me," Talbot sighs with exasperation.

"It seems that no matter what I do to get rid of the smell, it always seems to linger. But yes, we do employ werewolves as part of the daytime staff. They mostly patrol the grounds and do Russell's bidding where he sees fit. Dirty, uncouth things, really, always tracking mud on my rugs."

[onceaviking]

Eric smiles. Politely.
"I am sure the King has good reasons for choosing to employ weres," he says.
It's pretty obvious that he doesn't hold with weres personally.

(He couldn't have hidden that, even if he tried).

"I myself have had some business transactions with them in the last two decades or so."

[dobadthings]

Talbot shrugs.

"I don't care much for them, but Russell finds them useful. They're obedient, for the most part -- if you show them who's master."

[onceaviking]

Eric can feel his smile hurt.

Perhaps, this is what little girl Sunshine meant when she talked about him having to do things he didn't want todo. Things that burned.

"I can imagine," he says. "They do say the work if the regents are never done."
And how does the trophy wife feel about that, he wonders.

[dobadthings]

He snorts softly and glances away, a wry smirk twisting his lips.

"It never is," he says with a slight roll of his eyes. "He's been so busy with one thing or another lately that I hardly see him until he comes to bed at dawn. But, what can I do? He's the King. And of course, he does do his best to...keep me happy when it matters."

With a knowing flash in his eyes, he leans forward, closer toward Eric.

"Besides, why else do you think I have such a large staff at my beck and call?"

[onceaviking]

Eric mirrors the movement, leaning in. letting one eyebrow move up, letting his lips curl into a small smile.
"Yes, I can see how that might prove - convenient," he says. A hint of a purr in his voice.

"And as long as one's - happy."

[dobadthings]

"For what is the point of everything without happiness, hm?" he purrs in return, leaning back.

Marcel then comes through the staff door, carrying a tray with six small, cut-crystal sherry glasses filled with blood. He goes about setting three in front of Talbot and then Eric, before quietly disappearing back from whence he came.

Talbot picks the first glass and passes it under his nose. It has a tangy, fruity scent that makes him hum with pleasure.

"For starters, a taste of apricots." He raises the glass toward Eric in a small toast before taking a sip. "Isn't it delightful?"

[onceaviking]

He wants to crush the glass. Crush it and drag Talbot's face through the broken shards.

He takes a sip. "Mmm. Delightful. I must admit the fare in my own part of Louisiana is not quite as refined."
Running his upper lip along the rim of the glass.

Caressingly.

[dobadthings]

Talbot reads something else entirely in the desirous look in Eric's eyes.

He chuckles, low and sensuous, before taking another sip.

"I must be spoiling you, then. I assure you, Eric, a bottle of TruBlood will never cross the threshold of this house."

[onceaviking]

His lips twists. Amused it seems.

"That is a sentiment, I can get behind," he says. "Would that I were so lucky. But part of my responsibilities is overseeing a nightclub, so - "
He shrugs with one shoulder. A 'what can you do' gesture.

"Of course, there are other options there as well. At people's own discretion of course."

A less tame version of what is taking place here, one might say.

[dobadthings]

"Mmm, sounds rather sordid," he murmurs, pursing his lips around the edge of his glass and draining it.

With the taste of blood on his tongue, he's reminded of his younger days when he would bring Russell pretty young things and they would feed off of them together.

[onceaviking]

"Terribly sordid, I'm afraid," Eric replies, draining his glass as well.
"Of course, the Southern Gothic style does draw in certain segments but still - every once in a while ..."

He smiles slowly and predatorily.

"We have the entrance area here," he says, drawing an outline with his finger on the tablecloth. Barely touching it.
"A bar along here. The dance floor. With cages and podiums here and here. And the dais off course." Looking up from his invisible drawing, catching Talbot's eyes.
Completely focused on him it seems.
Telling him about things that matter to Eric. Sharing.

And caressing him with his gaze.

[dobadthings]

Talbot follows the motions of Eric's finger with his eyes. His hands are large, but deceptively graceful, as if they were capable of acts of strength and gentleness alike.

It takes a second or two before he realizes that Eric's hand has stopped moving and that he's paused speaking. And he flicks his gaze up to meet his. And he blinks rapidly, smiling.

"Perhaps someday, I can pay you a visit."

Russell never takes him anywhere anymore.

[onceaviking]

"I think I should like that," Eric murmurs.
"Very much."

Where the fuck is Edgington?

He carries Pam within him, her pain, her fear, her anger.
And the weight of his own rage. At The Magister. at Edgington.

And yet he manages to keep the fire from his eyes. Or at least banked to a point where it might be seen as a different sort of fire entirely.

[dobadthings]

"Then it's a date," he says with a coy little smirk.

Talbot won't make any advances tonight. He isn't sure what Russell has in store for Eric, so he wouldn't want to overstep his boundaries by fucking him first. Then again, Russell is well aware how new playthings can capture his attention.

He is the Royal Consort, Progeny of the King of Mississippi. He can do what he wants.

But now, he'll bide his time.