a-sporking-rat (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
a_sporking_rat) wrote2014-05-26 01:56 pm
a_sporking_rat) wrote2014-05-26 01:56 pm
Entry tags:
Lucretia fic
The golden tigers are still nibbling at my brain something fierce, along with a half dozen other shifter-related things because they're my faves, but until I actually get anything grown from these seedlets, here's something that I wrote while writing SUE VS SUE and then forgot to post. It's a bit of backstory from the past of Lucretia and Ruthven, back before the latter gained that name and still carried his human moniker of Richard Thorne.
The Great Inferno is a canon event in AB-verse history. Dottie has pointed out why it doesn't really make much sense history-wise in terms of "all countries in Europe totally cooperated!" and stuff, so I decided to *make* it make sense in my headcanon by explaining it as ultimately being engineered by Mr. Oliver (meaning that mind-control by his vampire agents against the people in charge of all those countries can account for them doing things they ordinarily wouldn't). Why? The same reason he wanted to make vampires illegal again in CotD---there's getting to be too many and that causes numerous problems (riff raff in the ranks, consuming resources, etc.) So what better way to purge the unworthy predators than turn their prey on them?
This isn't mentioned in the fic itself, though, which is why I'm saying it here (though I'd like to explore this sort of thing further later, since I figure it's neither the first nor last time Oliver has stepped in to kill his people in order to save them---I see that sort of as his "role" in the Council) and the focus is instead on the aftermath concerning Lucretia's reaction to it. I wanted to get into how her mind works, since she's supposed to think in very non-human ways, and that's of course difficult for me to work out, being a human myself and all. What I pretty much get is that she approves utterly of Oliver's decision, if she feels anything at all, but at the same time, humans killed her brood and therefore must also be punished for it. Both are right. Both are just. This is contradictory to us because Oliver's decision is the same thing as what she's punishing (innocent) humans for, but to her it makes sense. The predators have to be reminded to stay in their place and neither over-populate nor grow stupid, and once the prey have weeded out those that deserved it, they must too be reminded not to get outside their own place
That's what I figure, anyway. You draw your own conclusions. Also, this was inspired by "Jeannette, Isabella" by Tori Amos. Because Christmas carols somehow translate into "flaming death and baby-eating vampires" for me, I guess.
1798. The year of the Great Inferno, in which all of Europe, save France, united to burn every single vampire and any suspected sympathizers of their kind in a single day. It was a great success, resulting in, as a certain someday would centuries later put it, “ a lot fewer vampires in Europe”.
Including all those that had been made by Lucretia. All but one, her most recent creation, Richard Thorne. He was a Master now, and over a hundred years old, powerful enough to have left the Kiss she’d made him for, but he was her youngest, and so she had thought he would have most need of her in this time of crisis. She had come to his side on his moor, his home when he was a mortal that he had returned to at first opportunity, and stayed there in case of danger. She had no fear for herself; fire could hurt her, yes, perhaps, but no mortal being could hope to hold her helpless enough to burn. Her voice, or her mind, or her ability to fly, all these would be her saviors should she need them, and if they came in day, both she and her spawn slept deep beneath the dirt anywhere that was wild, not in conspicuous coffins above ground in plain sight or in predictable places like crypts and graveyards and caverns.
But that had not saved them. They had all died. She had felt it. And it had all been in one day, all done while she slept within the earth, so when she had awoken and felt the stab of their loss, their dying thoughts, their final pain, the very moment she gained consciousness that night, there was by then nothing she could do, for they were already ash. All of them except this last, her great moor child, the hulking and silent Richard Thorne.
Perhaps Lucretia felt as a mother would about her children being taken. Perhaps she instead considered them simply hers, and was affronted by someone destroying what she owned. Perhaps she wanted vengeance not for their loss, but over having to feel the pain through her connection to them. Perhaps she thought humans needed to be reminded of their place, to not get too cocky, and it had nothing to do with the fact her descendents in particular had been among those slain. All these would be understandable, and thus might well not be the answer, as Lucretia’s emotions and motivations are, often, not understandable by a human viewpoint. Though this could be the exception. Whatever the reason, vengeance was indeed what she took, what she enacted upon all of Europe that year, from the night after the Day of Cleansing to its first anniversary. For that entire year, she and her last remaining child traveled from village to village, city to city, home to home, across the continent, in every country that had partaken in the burnings, and there they had massacred, there they had killed, there they had left everything in flames as her children had been.
It would happen at night, of course. For one village, it was on the advent of what had looked like a storm. But instead, what emerged from the dark sky was a woman floating in descent from the black clouds, ethereal and alien, pale as marble, yellow hair impossibly long, blue eyes impossibly huge, long thin body clad in a black shroud, her face placid, serene, with perhaps even a hint of kindness. Then, on the ground beneath her, the destruction began, her huge earthbound companion grabbing anyone unfortunate enough to be in his path, using his vampire strength to dismember them in moments, and to knock apart homes, structures, anything that could protect or hide villagers from them. There was no anger in him either, despite his great violence. His face was blank of expression, his motions mechanical. no rage, no bloodlust, nothing, like a soulless stone golem that only looked like he was made of flesh and blood, only looked as if he should have a heart within his massive chest. Lucretia landed before him as he continued, walking calmly through the chaos and carnage, to what she sought behind the ruined walls of a village house: A woman, cowering with her children in the corner. She was scared so that she was nearly as pale as Lucretia herself but still she tried to shield her offspring with her arms. Lucretia dispatched her with one hand, ripping her head off, and tossed it aside. She caught the little ones before they could even begin to flee.
She held them fast, and looked down at them, her expression kind and soft and gentle. She ran her hand over the head of one of them, as if to stroke the hair, but then her fingers plunged through the back of his head, through his very skull, and into the brain. The child fell dead at her feet, and his sister began to scream and cry, which she had held back before out of terror. Lucretia gently shh-ed her, putting a finger to the little girl’s lips, the same fingers stained with the brain fluid of her brother, picked her up, held her in her arms, not seeming to notice how she was fighting with all she had to get away, bouncing her, even cooing a little. Her hand came to the back of the girls head, and she did not crush it like she had with her brother. Instead, she pressed it against her shoulder, exposing the girl’s neck, and with a spurt of arterial blood sank her teeth into the girls’ flesh there, then dropped her to the dirt floor.
She walked out calmly to the sight of Richard hurling a wagon with the horse still attached into a crowd that had brought out their torches in hopes of stopping them. Lucretia smiled angelically, put her arms out in a gesture of peace, and moved towards them, and her power moved towards them as well, around them, into them, clouding their minds, making them drop their weapons, forget their prayers, and only gaze fixed on her as she and her son killed them where they stood, or until they caught fire from their own dropped torches and were shocked by pain into their senses, though too late to help themselves. She and her Thorne moved on through the village, setting fire to many parts of it themselves with the flaming torches that the crowd had meant for them. Lucretia stopped at several other homes, mostly with infants or young children. It was easy for Lucretia with her psychic powers, her empathic voice manipulation to gain an invitation from anyone inside. They came at last to one house at the far end of the village from where they had started, and it was clearly of someone important, bigger and more fortified, but empty, most everyone having already fled. If they had abandoned it, then it was no longer their home, and so vampires no longer needed their say-so to enter.
Lucretia glided through it until she came to the room that held the cradle. She picked up the swaddled baby carefully, and looked down at it, smiling, her face as-ever full of ethereal sweetness. As she rocked it slightly like she had the girl, she made a telepathic call to Richard Thorne, and soon he had joined her in the room. She showed the baby to him, pointing out the fair skin, the rosy cheeks, all like anyone else would when speaking of a baby fondly, showing it off. A woman then appeared in the doorway, bedraggled, barefooted, having fought her way back into the house against her family that had tried to hold her back from returning to it. Screaming, she flung herself towards them. Richard caught her by arm, breaking it, and still she struggled, trying to get to Lucretia and the baby. Lucretia walked towards her, standing over her, smiling gently down at her, babe in arms, “Such a lovely mother.”
Then Richard brought a foot down on the woman from behind, breaking her back, crushing her innards to pulp, killing her. Lucretia turned to him, her expression unchanged, holding out the baby to him, “Such a lovely son.” as Richard ripped it to shreds with his great fangs
All this, and its like, every night, until the year had passed.
The Great Inferno is a canon event in AB-verse history. Dottie has pointed out why it doesn't really make much sense history-wise in terms of "all countries in Europe totally cooperated!" and stuff, so I decided to *make* it make sense in my headcanon by explaining it as ultimately being engineered by Mr. Oliver (meaning that mind-control by his vampire agents against the people in charge of all those countries can account for them doing things they ordinarily wouldn't). Why? The same reason he wanted to make vampires illegal again in CotD---there's getting to be too many and that causes numerous problems (riff raff in the ranks, consuming resources, etc.) So what better way to purge the unworthy predators than turn their prey on them?
This isn't mentioned in the fic itself, though, which is why I'm saying it here (though I'd like to explore this sort of thing further later, since I figure it's neither the first nor last time Oliver has stepped in to kill his people in order to save them---I see that sort of as his "role" in the Council) and the focus is instead on the aftermath concerning Lucretia's reaction to it. I wanted to get into how her mind works, since she's supposed to think in very non-human ways, and that's of course difficult for me to work out, being a human myself and all. What I pretty much get is that she approves utterly of Oliver's decision, if she feels anything at all, but at the same time, humans killed her brood and therefore must also be punished for it. Both are right. Both are just. This is contradictory to us because Oliver's decision is the same thing as what she's punishing (innocent) humans for, but to her it makes sense. The predators have to be reminded to stay in their place and neither over-populate nor grow stupid, and once the prey have weeded out those that deserved it, they must too be reminded not to get outside their own place
That's what I figure, anyway. You draw your own conclusions. Also, this was inspired by "Jeannette, Isabella" by Tori Amos. Because Christmas carols somehow translate into "flaming death and baby-eating vampires" for me, I guess.
1798. The year of the Great Inferno, in which all of Europe, save France, united to burn every single vampire and any suspected sympathizers of their kind in a single day. It was a great success, resulting in, as a certain someday would centuries later put it, “ a lot fewer vampires in Europe”.
Including all those that had been made by Lucretia. All but one, her most recent creation, Richard Thorne. He was a Master now, and over a hundred years old, powerful enough to have left the Kiss she’d made him for, but he was her youngest, and so she had thought he would have most need of her in this time of crisis. She had come to his side on his moor, his home when he was a mortal that he had returned to at first opportunity, and stayed there in case of danger. She had no fear for herself; fire could hurt her, yes, perhaps, but no mortal being could hope to hold her helpless enough to burn. Her voice, or her mind, or her ability to fly, all these would be her saviors should she need them, and if they came in day, both she and her spawn slept deep beneath the dirt anywhere that was wild, not in conspicuous coffins above ground in plain sight or in predictable places like crypts and graveyards and caverns.
But that had not saved them. They had all died. She had felt it. And it had all been in one day, all done while she slept within the earth, so when she had awoken and felt the stab of their loss, their dying thoughts, their final pain, the very moment she gained consciousness that night, there was by then nothing she could do, for they were already ash. All of them except this last, her great moor child, the hulking and silent Richard Thorne.
Perhaps Lucretia felt as a mother would about her children being taken. Perhaps she instead considered them simply hers, and was affronted by someone destroying what she owned. Perhaps she wanted vengeance not for their loss, but over having to feel the pain through her connection to them. Perhaps she thought humans needed to be reminded of their place, to not get too cocky, and it had nothing to do with the fact her descendents in particular had been among those slain. All these would be understandable, and thus might well not be the answer, as Lucretia’s emotions and motivations are, often, not understandable by a human viewpoint. Though this could be the exception. Whatever the reason, vengeance was indeed what she took, what she enacted upon all of Europe that year, from the night after the Day of Cleansing to its first anniversary. For that entire year, she and her last remaining child traveled from village to village, city to city, home to home, across the continent, in every country that had partaken in the burnings, and there they had massacred, there they had killed, there they had left everything in flames as her children had been.
It would happen at night, of course. For one village, it was on the advent of what had looked like a storm. But instead, what emerged from the dark sky was a woman floating in descent from the black clouds, ethereal and alien, pale as marble, yellow hair impossibly long, blue eyes impossibly huge, long thin body clad in a black shroud, her face placid, serene, with perhaps even a hint of kindness. Then, on the ground beneath her, the destruction began, her huge earthbound companion grabbing anyone unfortunate enough to be in his path, using his vampire strength to dismember them in moments, and to knock apart homes, structures, anything that could protect or hide villagers from them. There was no anger in him either, despite his great violence. His face was blank of expression, his motions mechanical. no rage, no bloodlust, nothing, like a soulless stone golem that only looked like he was made of flesh and blood, only looked as if he should have a heart within his massive chest. Lucretia landed before him as he continued, walking calmly through the chaos and carnage, to what she sought behind the ruined walls of a village house: A woman, cowering with her children in the corner. She was scared so that she was nearly as pale as Lucretia herself but still she tried to shield her offspring with her arms. Lucretia dispatched her with one hand, ripping her head off, and tossed it aside. She caught the little ones before they could even begin to flee.
She held them fast, and looked down at them, her expression kind and soft and gentle. She ran her hand over the head of one of them, as if to stroke the hair, but then her fingers plunged through the back of his head, through his very skull, and into the brain. The child fell dead at her feet, and his sister began to scream and cry, which she had held back before out of terror. Lucretia gently shh-ed her, putting a finger to the little girl’s lips, the same fingers stained with the brain fluid of her brother, picked her up, held her in her arms, not seeming to notice how she was fighting with all she had to get away, bouncing her, even cooing a little. Her hand came to the back of the girls head, and she did not crush it like she had with her brother. Instead, she pressed it against her shoulder, exposing the girl’s neck, and with a spurt of arterial blood sank her teeth into the girls’ flesh there, then dropped her to the dirt floor.
She walked out calmly to the sight of Richard hurling a wagon with the horse still attached into a crowd that had brought out their torches in hopes of stopping them. Lucretia smiled angelically, put her arms out in a gesture of peace, and moved towards them, and her power moved towards them as well, around them, into them, clouding their minds, making them drop their weapons, forget their prayers, and only gaze fixed on her as she and her son killed them where they stood, or until they caught fire from their own dropped torches and were shocked by pain into their senses, though too late to help themselves. She and her Thorne moved on through the village, setting fire to many parts of it themselves with the flaming torches that the crowd had meant for them. Lucretia stopped at several other homes, mostly with infants or young children. It was easy for Lucretia with her psychic powers, her empathic voice manipulation to gain an invitation from anyone inside. They came at last to one house at the far end of the village from where they had started, and it was clearly of someone important, bigger and more fortified, but empty, most everyone having already fled. If they had abandoned it, then it was no longer their home, and so vampires no longer needed their say-so to enter.
Lucretia glided through it until she came to the room that held the cradle. She picked up the swaddled baby carefully, and looked down at it, smiling, her face as-ever full of ethereal sweetness. As she rocked it slightly like she had the girl, she made a telepathic call to Richard Thorne, and soon he had joined her in the room. She showed the baby to him, pointing out the fair skin, the rosy cheeks, all like anyone else would when speaking of a baby fondly, showing it off. A woman then appeared in the doorway, bedraggled, barefooted, having fought her way back into the house against her family that had tried to hold her back from returning to it. Screaming, she flung herself towards them. Richard caught her by arm, breaking it, and still she struggled, trying to get to Lucretia and the baby. Lucretia walked towards her, standing over her, smiling gently down at her, babe in arms, “Such a lovely mother.”
Then Richard brought a foot down on the woman from behind, breaking her back, crushing her innards to pulp, killing her. Lucretia turned to him, her expression unchanged, holding out the baby to him, “Such a lovely son.” as Richard ripped it to shreds with his great fangs
All this, and its like, every night, until the year had passed.