marlowemuses | If you were Dracula, I'd be letting you take that bite

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If you were Dracula, I'd be letting you take that bite

Lenore's immediately curious about their 'guest' in the dungeons from what Striga had to say: a swordswoman of exceptional skill, the most satisfying fight Striga had enjoyed in years and she only regretted that the woman was so tired out already before Striga got to her, if she'd been fresher in the fight and had vampiric advantages, she would have been a 'true opponent'.

The soldiers who had survived the battle spoke of it like something out of legend, to the point that Lenore almost had to roll her eyes at the way the story was already getting embroidered and exaggerated. (She thought it very unlikely that their captive was eight feet tall with eyes of flame.) There was little useful information from any of them--run down castle practically in ruins, aging retainers, decrepit king and queen, none of them even healthy enough to save for feeding purposes. Morana had plenty to say about that, the waste of losing forty-seven good soldiers for the gain of an ugly, crumbling castle in an ugly, barren land and if she'd known it was going to be this much bother they would have just gone around. Carmilla had already expressed her opinion in the original conversation, and the entirety of that opinion was a disgusted scoff.

Thus armed with as much information as she was going to get, Lenore dressed herself elegantly and went to the kitchens to collect a basket of freshly baked spice cakes, temptingly aromatic, before she descended to the dungeon.

Only one of the cells was filled at this time--none of the sisters were especially inclined toward taking prisoners unless they were of political value in some way, and their food captives were kept elsewhere under relatively minimal restraint.

"Well," Lenore comments, stopping in front of the dungeon cell and looking over the captive within with interest, chained on her knees. A heavy collar around her throat was chained to a ring in the floor in front of her, while her wrists were pulled out to either side and secured to more heavy iron rings and the cuffs on her ankles were attached to a ball and chain. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone in quite that many chains."

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There's the snort of Gideon's wry amusement because yes she'd been having a fucking bad week leading up to meeting Lenore, and yes that was putting it mildly. And perhaps she's now clean and fed and relatively warm, but the days since they first beheld each other have hardly been a party either. The vampire is, in part, responsible for her current situation, something she knows right down to the bones of herself. She ought to push her hand away, or crush it, or turn around and bite-- but fuck if this last stretch of time hasn't been hard. Fuck if she isn't aching for even the meanest kind of comfort.

So she leans into the pass of Lenore's thumb against the contours of her cheek, like doing so will be enough to prolong the contact. But her captor keeps talking, and she feels the sudden lurch from stomach to throat like she’s standing on a dizzyingly high precipice with nowhere to go but down. Another week of this? Hold up here in this shitty little cage amongst guards who won't so much hurl an insult at her? The one person in this place (in her whole damn life) who’s bothered to show any interest in her is heading off into danger? It all feels like too much suddenly, starved and desperately ravenous for attention as Gideon has always been. It's still there in her, the hard twist of shame. She should be standing her ground, making good on her promises, giving Lenore and her ilk sweet fuck all. But. But.

She lets out a low breath, muscles gone tense, forehead resting against the chill bars of her prison. "I mean, you could leave me here. Sitting around, taking naps, bored out of my fucking skull. But like, I killed nearly fifty of your soldiers. Obviously they're seriously inept. I might be a bit of an unknown quantity, but it's gotta be better than relying on that rabble."

She peels her face away from the bars, and looks up at Lenore.

"Seriously. I'd be a fucking good bodyguard. I'll even behave and be all stoic and scary and shit, so no-one thinks about coming near you. You'd be astounded and amazed."

Lenore laughs a little at the comment on the inept soldiers of the army, soft and breathy, a little too sorrowful in this moment to manage any stronger laughter.

"I won't be astounded," Lenore murmurs, eyes warm with affection as she keeps her hand cupped against Gideon's cheek. "I already know you're going to be perfect."

She lingers for just a moment longer, calculating how much to ask for, then nods, dropping her hand to her lap. "All right. Swear a bargain with me. I will provide you with a life of comfort and pleasure, in addition to a monthly salary adequate to feed a small family." Lenore doesn't expect Gideon to have an understanding of the numbers of money or even the names and exchange rates, so she doesn't bother naming a sum. Better to put it in terms of something that translates easily. The stated salary is piteously low for a queen's bodyguard, but Gideon already stated that she wasn't previously paid, and Lenore wants to keep the leash tight for now. All comforts come directly from Lenore. Beyond that, a little pocket money. "In exchange, you will protect and obey me, keep my secrets and aid me in achieving my goals. You will have the freedom to leave my service at any time you choose, but you will give me the opportunity to renegotiate terms if you should so desire to leave."

She holds out her hand between them in order to clasp on the terms of this vow.

She leans into it this time. Her cheek softly burns beneath Lenore's cool touch, but fuck it all to hell. She wants to have this one soft, sweet thing. Just once she'd like to feel as though she matters even a little bit. Lenore sounds so genuine. Two hundred years is plenty of time to learn the art of fakery and manipulation, but fuck if she doesn't sound like she means it.

Her captor's hand slides away, and she misses it, but she's offering her things she's furiously dreamed of her whole life. The vampire had her at 'pleasure'; that there's also money involved - money she will actually own - only acts to sweeten the deal. And she could leave whenever she wanted to; there, again, is the potential for a lie. But it's more freedom than she's ever been promised in her life before. There’s a small, spikey part of her that still feels she owes it to Drearburh to take revenge, but it’s quickly mollified by the thought that it will be easier to do from outside this shitty little cage.

"Yeah. Yes. I swear to all of that stuff," she takes Lenore's hand, firmly.

Lenore gives her hand a squeeze, pleased with their agreement, and then leans forward to plant a sweet, brief kiss on Gideon's lips. She doesn't linger in it, letting go of Gideon's hand and rising to her feet. "Finish eating, I'll be right back. Leave everything except the books. You have nicer things awaiting you in your room."

Her room, which has been waiting for her, as promised, since day one, and just the way Lenore described it.

Lenore comes back a moment later, having only gone to the guard station, but in addition to the key dangling from her finger there's ... a black leather collar and leash.

She unlocks the door and steps inside, leaving the door open this time. Stepping in front of Gideon with the collar, Lenore looks apologetic but earnest. "Will you endure this for me? It's the symbol more than anything. I trust you, but the others are still wary. You've seen how the guards keep away from you. If I'm letting you out, I need it to be seen that you're mine, and obedient."

It is a symbol, but being seen by the others is only an excuse. Lenore wants the symbol of Gideon choosing to yield to her, of obeying and accepting her role as Lenore's pet. The leash might come off once they reach Gideon's new room, but Lenore intends the collar to stay on.

Her relief is a physical thing; something hard-wound and tight in her muscles infinitesimally eases, and it feels like a breath she didn't know was being held is finally released. It's all bound up with the featherlight pressure of Lenore's lips on her lips - a hot older woman is kissing her, she is currently being kissed! - and she's left silent and burning as Lenore slips away through the bars.

She does as she's told, eager. Finishes her food faster than she should, and by the time the vampire returns she has books in hand, already on her feet. Unsubtly, she moves from one to the other to ease her pent-up expectation--

--and then Lenore holds up the collar and leash. Incredulity sweeps across her face like the spread of blood from a stab-wound, one brow darting toward her hairline, every line of her silently communicating what the actual fuck?

"You want me to walk out of here. Wearing…a collar and leash," her tone is flat, lip twitching, like she can't decide whether to laugh or scowl, "you know I could just yank it straight out of your hands, right? Like, it would do jack shit to stop me if I was feeling feisty."

Yes, she'd heard the word symbol in there. It doesn't make it feel anymore...discomforting. However, it's already playing on her mind that she hasn't outright said 'no'.

"Yes. I'm aware of all that." Lenore keeps holding the collar, expression patient but unyielding. Gideon is going to wear the collar and let Lenore lead her on a leash. Lenore can wait.

"You swore a vow to obey me," Lenore points out, collar still held delicately in her hands. The black leather is lined with blue silk. "But only if it's fun or convenient?"

Lenore knows she's going to win this. No need to yield or compromise. Gideon will obey her. These are the terms of the agreement that Lenore already got from her.

The impression she gets of Gideon's past is that it was all inevitable, and she was able to put eloquent lip service toward resistance, but there was no real choice. Days of drudgery, but what other possibility was there? Spending all her cleverness toward creative insults and expletives, because what other outlet did she have?

Now she has a choice, she has an outlet, but Lenore accepts no lip service. Gideon's insults and expletives have washed over her like the hot air that they are. She can puff all the hot air she wants, but Lenore will still make her choose to accept the yoke, still make her speak her consent. Gideon's going to have choices from now on. And Lenore's going to see to it that Gideon actively, explicitly chooses to yield to Lenore's will every single time.

She holds the collar and waits.

There's a long, painfully drawn-out moment when Gideon says nothing. She just stands there staring Lenore down, lips now sculpted into the kind of snarl which is usually followed by a barrage of her nastiest insults. By her side, the hand that is not clutching the books curls tight into a fist--

--but she wants to get the fuck out of this shitty cage. Wants to sleep in a bed, wants to do something with the endless hours that isn't pacing or counting fucking stones. The length of her silence reaches and then extends past the point of comfort, as though maybe if she stares at her for long enough Lenore will relent. She doesn't relent, though, and if this is some kind of test of her willingness to obey-- is it really that bad? The way they'd dragged her in here had been more humiliating. Her state of neglect over the first few days much worse.

With an explosive sigh and a monumental roll of her eyes, Gideon moves to kneel. An unconscious consideration for their differences in height all wrapped up with her small acts of insubordination. "Fine. Whatever."

There's a look to her face like an animal preparing to bite, but she lifts her chin anyway. Making it easier for Lenore to fasten the collar about her throat.

Lenore doesn't push her luck with any comments, knowing how tentative this all is and a couple of days before the timeline she'd preferred. But she is pleased and relieved by how Gideon chooses to kneel for her, and it shows in her expression.

She leans in close as she fastens the collar around Gideon's neck, gentle fingers skimming over her throat and making sure that the collar is loose enough on skin that's still raw and bruised from the heavier metal version. Once it's secured, her fingers linger a few moments longer, smile approving and affectionate, and then she takes the leash and steps back.

The cage door is still open, so she gives one last glance to make sure Gideon's ready, then she starts out of the dungeon. Her grip upon the leash is as light as possible, so that she's more at risk of dropping it if Gideon doesn't keep pace than at risk of any kind of tug. Just a symbol, though it's a weighty symbol.

The sky outside is growing light with dawn, so Lenore's route is careful, taking her through the corridors of the palace along a slightly more circuitous route. The palace is mostly empty at this time of the morning, with only a few guards and servants carrying out their tasks. It's a vast castle of pale stone, silvery on the exterior and varying from ivory to ochre on the inside. Tall windows of clear glass, fabulously expensive, flank nearly every corridor.

At last, they arrive at a quiet wing of white stone, a carpeted hallway with a few doors on either side. Lenore stops in front of one, then points ahead at the next. "That's my room," she says. She takes a key from her pocket and unlocks the door in front of them, then holds out the key for Gideon. It's hers now, and she can lock the door to this room whenever she pleases.

Inside is a lavish room with a huge bed, tall heavy curtains, thick rugs, soft chairs and sofas, and the large fireplace Lenore described, with dragons carved into the stone on either side. It's all decorated in shades of blue and black, offset by white stone and rich mahogany.

Turning to Gideon, Lenore reaches up to unfasten the leash, though she leaves the collar on, and steps back to let Gideon look around. "Close the curtains, please."

She isn't sure what she's expecting. Perhaps that Lenore will cinch it tight, that it'll cut against skin already abused. That she'll tug at the leash to try and force her to adhere to the vampire's pace, or to demonstrate dominance in front of the guards. This never happens; instead Lenore's touch is soft as the silk that lines the inside of the collar, and fuck knows it's probably the most expensive thing that's ever touched her skin.

She slopes after her captor - sullen, self-conscious - until their convoluted route through the palace gives time for her curiosity to overtake her concern. There's barely anyone about, no-one really pays her any mind let alone makes a big deal of the way she’s being escorted. Lenore's grasp of the leash is so feather-light that it's almost easy to forget she's attached to it. That she finds herself walking to heel to prevent the leather from slipping from between Lenore's fingers is almost an unconscious act.

The first threads of daylight stray through pristine corridors, making Gideon's breath catch in her throat to see it again after so many days shut up in a windowless cage. The palace itself is so sumptuous and well cared for and clean, nothing like the mouldering state of decay Drearburh has always - to her memory - been. It’s like nothing she’s ever beheld in her life and quietly, it stuns her. By the time they finally arrive at their destination, the worst of Gideon's black humour has passed, and as they step over the threshold - a key in her hand! - she's too surprised to maintain her anger.

It's the most lavish room she's ever seen in her entire fucking life.

So flummoxed is she that she doesn't even notice - yet - that she's still wearing the collar. Instead, she only stands there staring - a touch uncertain - until Lenore bids her close the curtains. She moves to do it without question, if only to give her something practical to do rather trying to accustom herself to something that is - to her mind - opulent beyond all reason.

"You want me to sleep here?" again there's incredulity in her tone, but for an entirely different reason.

"Sleep on the ground, if you want," Lenore says, aware enough of what the problem is. She's always lived in luxury--her miseries have never been miseries of deprivation. "This is your room."

She goes first to the wall adjoining her own room and draws aside one of the heavy tapestries to show a door hidden behind it. "This door stays unlocked. It goes through to my room. You may enter my room at any time you please, unless I specifically instruct otherwise on a particular occasion." Lenore's brand of diplomacy has often included an intimate touch. "It goes the other way around, also. I'll assume I can enter your room at any time except on occasions which you specifically request some hours of privacy."

Crossing the room, she gestures idly at the closed curtains. "There's a shared balcony outside which connects over to my room. Given how many of us can fly, I recommend keeping the balcony doors locked when not in use."

Finally, on the opposite side of the room, she opens a door into a spacious bathroom, instructing Gideon to go in and close the curtains again. The bathroom is on a corner, with views from the tub looking out across the mountains. "In that closet is a seat where you can piss and shit and then press the lever and it's all washed away. This tap," she crosses to the sink and turns the knob to show how it works, "provides cold water for washing your face and hands. The large tub is for bathing, this knob brings cold water and this knob brings hot water. It's carried around the castle in pipes."

It's not often that Gideon is quiet when she has a chance to talk, but all of this borders on overwhelm. She falls silent as she follows Lenore around, doing as she's commanded without a hint of the patter of backchat if only because she doesn't quite know what to say. The bathroom is far larger than her mean stone room back in Drearburh, where there'd been space for a hard slab of a bed and a place to hang her hand-me-down clothes. That Lenore would enter her room as and when she pleases hardly strikes her as unusual; that the vampire would allow her (almost) unrestricted access to her own room is the part that's quietly mind-blowing. She could kill her whilst she sleeps. Set fire to her bed. What's to stop her? It seems like an act of madness, or heart-breaking naivete. Unbidden, it opens up an odd softness inside of her when her eyes slide to her captor.

Keeping windows locked against flying vampires, heated water carried around in pipes, a privy that empties itself somehow, a tub in which - she's guessing - one is supposed to be submerge oneself; well, fuck if this isn't all blowing her mind just a little.

"Yeah. Yeah..." she says as this small tour culminates, and she tries to file all this information away for later use. Just a touch fearful of fucking things up. "It's...very big."

It's a situation which deserves a fucking hell, or a thank you, but she isn't sure how to get the words out.

"Mine's bigger," Lenore comments, with just a hint of a smirk, since she knows Gideon's brain probably can't at all deal with the possibility of something more luxurious than this at the moment.

For now, however, Lenore rests a hand on Gideon's arm to get her focused attention. "Take a bath and then try and get some sleep. We really are heading out first thing after sunset. I'll tell you about what we're dealing with on the ride."

Then she leaves her pet to settle in. Lenore takes the leash with her, but she doesn't say anything about the collar. There's a wardrobe in the room stocked with clothes that are all ... more or less Gideon's size. Lenore had the room made up, but she hadn't known how long it would take to win Gideon over, so she hadn't yet commissioned any proper wardrobe for her. That could wait until their return.

A part of her worries that she's being reckless, leaving Gideon unguarded like this. Gideon could walk right out of the castle and she probably wouldn't even have to be particularly sneaky. But then what? That life as a mercenary, with few comforts and no thanks? Or she could stay right here, good as her word, with luxury and pleasure, and a beautiful woman lavishing praise upon her.

Lenore was pretty sure Gideon herself would come to the same conclusion.

The comment and the playful little smirk catch hard at her imagination. Thoughts flit around her head like nervous moths, such as how much bigger? and what else might be in such a room and even how much space does one person need?? She's still uncharacteristically silent though, finds that - sometime after Lenore has departed - she's still standing there, in the middle of the room ('her' room), wondering what the fuck to do with herself. She feels a bit as though she's been left alone in a sacred space that could be despoiled by her grubby touch, and in the end it's her lingering fear of this that leads her to the bathroom.

It takes her a little while longer to work up the courage to try the taps for the tub, and she spends some time experimenting with the temperature. She's quietly amazed by the water that just springs out of them, one already heated just as Lenore had said it would be. Through all of this she can't help feeling somehow dirty and awkward and stupid. A barely socialised savage let loose in a place she's simply unfit for. Eventually though, she strips off the clothes she's been wearing for some days now, only remembering the collar at the last and removing that too. The clothes she casts upon the floor, rumpled and muskily scented, but the collar she places carefully beside the basin. Wearing it may have made her feel weird - like some wild animal Lenore was attempting to tame - but like everything else in this new space it seems too fine a thing to just chuck onto the floor.

It's with some trepidation that she soaks herself in the tub; having only ever scrubbed herself clean with cold water and washcloth it feels kind of alien to her, and she can't quite rid herself of the concern that sitting chin-deep in water will make her sick. It feels fucking good though, and she stays right where she is until the water turns cold and streaked with the dirt from her skin. By the time she's out and the water is draining away to some mysterious location, she feels almost relaxed. There's a huge cloth that she dries herself down with, hoping she hasn't fucked up by utilising it in this way, and she folds it neatly and returns it to the exact position where she'd found it, just in case.

Padding back into 'her' room - naked, with her dark skin practically glowing with new depths of cleanliness - she stares at the bed. Huge and sumptuous enough to border on the obscene, she seriously considers dragging the heavy blanket onto the floor and following Lenore's suggestion. She could make some nest in the corner of the room, trying not to touch anything. In the end though, she caves, curiosity getting the better of her. Gingerly climbs beneath the blankets and just lies there, staring at the ceiling.

"Fuuuuuuck me," it's said on a breathy exhale, finding the bedding so soft and cushiony it's like being wrapped up in a god-damned cloud. How the fuck is she meant to sleep on this? The sheer luxury and comfort of it is way too distracting. Maybe she ought to go rifling through the room to fill up the hours, discover what else it contains. Maybe she should get up and walk right out the door and creep through the sleeping castle, just vanish off into the night never to be seen again. Nothing's stopping her. She has the key to the door! She's no longer caged-- but. She wonders - vaguely, with a touch of embarrassing hopefulness that she tries hard not to acknowledge - whether Lenore would be shot through with loss to wake and find her gone.

The hot water from the bath had been more soporific than she'd given it credit for, however. As such, it's like this - indulgently imagining Lenore's bereft little face, how she'd sigh and stare at Gideon's empty room with a touch of delicate melancholia - that she drifts off into sleep. Quite without meaning to.

In the morning, there's a tap at Gideon's door, and a maid with a tray of hot breakfast. Human and unarmored, the maid curtseys as she hands over the tray, and informs Gideon that she's to dress warmly and then come to their lady's room once she's ready to depart.

Lenore's still yawning when Gideon arrives, one of her maids securing the last few tiny hooks up the back of her dress.

"Good morning, handsome," Lenore flirts, eyes playful as she glances over at her bodyguard. She's pleased (and a little relieved) to see Gideon this morning, though she quickly reaches for her tea again to pretend like it's not that big a deal.

She feels no less baffled and out of sorts the next morning. The maid wakes her, and whilst she kinda wants to try and make conversation, she comes over strangely shy to find herself waited upon. So she just says thanks in a gruff kind of voice, asks for the tray to be brought to her, and eats breakfast in her ridiculously opulent bed. It's hard not to feel somehow dislocated from herself, like all of this is happening to some other Gideon, and she's just watching it play out from the corner of the room. What the fuck...fucking hell…what the fuck is her silent litany for the morning.

Eventually though, she ventures out of bed. Rifling through the ornate closet leaves her confronted with a whole bunch of clothes, none of which are threadbare or patched up so often they’re now a mottle of different materials. All of which feel as though they won't itch or chafe against her bruise-mottled skin. Choosing between more than three pairs of the exact same kind of clothes is just one more new experience to add to the ever-increasing list, and in the end she swaddles herself all in black, yanking on a pair of of boots that are only slightly too big for her. The collar, however, remains forgotten in the bathroom.

She hopes her cheeks aren't quite so flushed with colour as they feel when Lenore - as Gideon enters her room - calls her handsome, and tries to play it cool herself. "Yep. That's me. Reporting for duty, my effervescent empress."

Nailed it. Casual and irreverent as all hell.

"We're heading out promptly," Lenore says, though she's still a bit slow-moving herself, choosing ornaments for her hair and directing her maids on how she wants it braided and pinned up, worked into a crown around her head so that it's better able to keep out of the way and she doesn't have to worry so much about the mass of it becoming covered in falling snow.

Her eye flick over Gideon, assessing her preparations and mostly approving of what she sees. "Go and fetch your collar," she instructs, since that's visibly missing and they're going to have to have a Problem if Gideon has done anything to discard it.

"You want me to keep wearing that? Like, when I'm working?" Something about the request has her insides twisting sharp. Makes her feel a mix of emotions she can't accurately identify. Confusion and annoyance sure, her usual brand of surly...but there's also something heated and squirmy that she doesn't know how to name. "I thought you wanted a bodyguard. Not like, a prize hunting hound or something."

Wearing it to appease the guards made a weird kind of sense. This? She isn't sure what this is.

"I want you," Lenore stated simply, glancing at Gideon with calm expectation. "And I want you wearing that collar. If I decide the collar has served adequate purpose, I will let you know. Until then, you will wear it."

She's not ruling out the possibility of a prize hunting hound. Really, Lenore thinks that Gideon should just be grateful that the leash isn't making a reappearance. Yet.

"Go on," Lenore says, the tiniest hint of sharpness in her tone, since she expects to be obeyed. "Hurry up."

Right now, every moment feels like a remarkably sharp learning curve. For example, it's surprisingly difficult to tell someone to go backflip off the balcony when their humiliating request is paired up with the words I want you. Particularly, as it transpires, when those words are stated with calm certainty by the most beautiful woman Gideon has ever laid eyes on. She stands for a moment, tense, poised somewhere between go fuck yourself and yes ma'am. In the end, the hint of sharpness in Lenore's tone has her settling for an eyeroll and a huffed exhale.

She turns around and stalks right out of the room. And yes she may take a deliberately extended length of time before she slopes back in again, but when she does she's wearing the collar. Lifts her chin to show where it rests against the bruises at her throat.

"Woof. Happy?"

"Yes. Good girl." Lenore's hair is just getting the final touches of diamond pins to secure it, so she rises and goes to greet Gideon properly. Her face tilts up with a smile as she draws Gideon down, giving her another sweet kiss on the lips to mollify her and continue to cement the idea that good behavior receives approval and affection.

But then they're on their way, heading off down the hall, Lenore in the lead and Gideon just a step behind while the two maids trail after carrying bundles. There's a squadron of soldiers already in the courtyard, loading horses and sleighs. Thirty soldiers altogether for a royal entourage. One of the maids climbs into the covered sleigh, while the other one just packs it and then backs away, only coming forward when it seems like Lenore needs something else.

Lenore mounts a beautiful white horse with a blue and silver harness, while a large black animal is brought for Gideon, along with the two-handed sword that had been confiscated after the battle.

"Can you ride?" Lenore asks, grimacing a little with concern that accommodations might have to be made for her bodyguard's lack of equine ability.

There's little time to dwell on how being collared like some prized pet makes her feel. Not when Lenore is swift to transfix her with a beatific smile, when she tugs her down to meet her upturned face, plants a kiss smack-bang on Gideon’s lips. Her heart pounds heavy in her ears, and a swarm of butterflies with razorblade wings take up residence in her gut. There's no time even, to dwell on why the words good girl make her quietly, happily die inside, and she's soon sloping after her owner, slightly flanking her, and just a step behind.

Any residual feelings of discomfort or unease open up onto altogether different feelings as they stalk out into the courtyard; it's a veritable hive of activity, with soldiers and horses preparing for departure, their voices a hushed murmur amidst the dampening effect of the snow. She scans the scene before her and her heart skips hard in her chest as she tries - and fails - to smother a grin. Oh fuck! This is really happening. She's doing something, being taken out into the world and put to use at last, and the horror and misery and loneliness of the last week or so sloughs off her like old skin.

She quits trying to hide her hot-metal grin altogether when her sword is brought forth, and she's quick to step in to take it. A rush of love spills through her, and it's all she can do to prevent herself from grabbing the unsuspecting made and kissing her right on the mouth. She restrains herself - barely - but is quick to swing the sword in its scabbard onto her back, and when she looks up at Lenore she's lit up with an incandescent animal joy.

"I'll manage," she says; no, she hasn't been officially taught, her technique is likely rudimentary at best, but escape attempts two, twenty-seven, and thirty had all involved her swift departure upon a horse. So they'd failed, and she'd been dragged back to Drearburh to face a disciplining, but she has given it a go before. As if to prove her point, she'll step into the stirrup. Swings herself smooth and easy into the saddle.

Lenore gives a pleased, approving smile when Gideon proves to have at least basic competence on a horse, and is so obviously settling more into her role with every minute. Lenore doubts that there are many thoughts of rebellion still lingering in Gideon's head, not when Lenore has provided so very many reasons for loyalty.

They set out into the snowy landscape, moving slowly and nearly single-file, with the lead horse regularly changed out in a comfortable drill that barely needs any spoken direction. The soldiers simply rotate their positions so that different horses take the extra fatigue of breaking the path through the snow.

Everything is quiet for the first half hour, everyone settling into the journey and the pace, but once they're out of immediate sight of the castle, the strict drill formation relaxes a little and quiet conversations spring up.

Only one of them is unarmored, a dark-haired woman with light brown skin and a craggy face that's all sharp edges. Her black eyes never seem to do anything but glare, but she watches protectively over the group and often bursts up into a cloud of bats and swirls into the sky above them (her horse endures this with a surprising lack of reaction), then returns and gives a few words of report to the general or Lenore.

The woman who rides consistently just behind the lead horse is clearly the general, and she confers frequently with Lenore, who gives her friendly smiles (though none of the flirtation she has consistently aimed at Gideon) and easy conversation. Lenore calls her Zohreh, and she's a broad woman, though not particularly tall, with bouncy dark curls. Her round face is hard as stone except for when she speaks to Lenore and softens so much that she might as well be baked from cinnamon and sugar.

Lenore knows the names of every one of the soldiers and speaks to them with casual familiarity as they rotate past her position at the heart of the procession, just behind Zohreh. The maid--the only one who isn't a vampire--stays inside the sleigh and seems disinclined to conversation. She'd been lively when she'd been beside her fellow maid, but now that she's alone, she's quiet and withdrawn.

"There are quite a few logistical challenges to being vampire rulers over a mostly-human country," Lenore says to Gideon, seemingly apropos of nothing. "Stessl is an example of them, and that's the problem we're heading to resolve. On the surface, the city's mayor has informed us that due to several hardships, including a fire in one of the mills, they won't be able to make the full tribute expected of them. So we're going to assess the situation and to see what aid they may require.

"Where it gets more complicated is that the former mayor was very corrupt, so Carmilla--one of my fellow queens--killed him to make an example of him. But she didn't set anyone in his place, leaving the city to sort itself out. It's ... not how I would have handled the situation. So the man who took over and holds power now is simply the man who had the ability to seize power, whether through charisma, scheming, or force. The details weren't anything that we were all that concerned about as long as the tributes are met and there's no sign of outright rebellion or excess corruption and cruelty.

"So they've failed at the first part and I strongly suspect that we're dealing with a man who's corrupt and thinks he can consolidate power right under our nose, possibly eventually leading to outright rebellion." Lenore's tone is cool and with a hint of annoyance, explaining the situation mostly dispassionately but with flickers of empathetic concern. "We're going to investigate the situation. I'm looking for signs that these hardships are caused by his greed or they're part of a larger plan. This could even be a trap, which means I'm probably the worst of the sisterhood to deal with this. But for investigating the situation, handling it diplomatically, and knowing whether he's lying to my face, all those are things that I'm the best one to handle."

The first flush of excitement burns out of her soon enough, transmutes instead into something more sustainable. She watches the proceedings in silence, drinking down the details the way a parched and thirsting person swallows down water. There's the feeling of strange dislocation again, like this can't possibly really be happening, she's not riding beside a vampire queen as her entourage busies themselves around them. But here she is, and it's real, all thoughts of flight or fight pushed right to the far-flung edges of herself.

She keeps close to Lenore - as she's sure is expected of any self-respecting bodyguard - and makes no effort whatsoever to try and start up conversation with anyone who strays into her orbit. There's the lingering feeling that the soldiers may despise or fear her, or think of her as some dumb appendage who isn't worth their time. The maid - the one other human in their midst - displays no inclination of wanting to befriend her. Nor of wanting to talk to anyone at all, for that matter. Lenore strikes her as a luminous in the midst of all this; seemingly on easy terms with everyone, relaxed and in her element. Gideon, in contrast, flanks her like an ominous shadow. No matter that it's uncertainty that makes her so stone-faced and still.

The physical reality of riding a horse through freezing drifts of snow is just beginning to push against her consciousness when Lenore begins talking at her. The fact that her body is still battered and bruised prickles at the edge of her awareness, muscles aching gently at each movement of the animal beneath her. Lenore's voice is a welcome distraction, and so she listens despite that half of what she's saying means so little to her.

"I mean, vamps aren't particularly popular among humans. You know, the whole drinking blood and turning into bats thing can be kiiiinda off-putting," her mind skips to the vampire Lenore has referred to as Zohreh as she says this, and there's a hot spike of feeling beneath her skin which she doesn't quite know how to articulate, "it seems legit, is all I'm saying. That this guy wants to take power for himself and strike out on his own. You think he's lying about the fire and stuff?"

Her interest sparks, and it shows in the contours of her face. Trap goes hand in hand with fight, and she can't help but feel interested.

"I expect that there is a mill and that there was a fire at the mill," Lenore says, thoughtful and a little bit distant, mind rotating all the possibilities. "But even if it is as simple as that, a tragic accident, there are other parts to this that we're not being told. At any rate, we're going first to the mill to see what we can learn. Then we go to the mayor's house and act like we believe him. No matter what we learn, I expect I'm going to want to replace him, and it may be an immediate necessity to replace him. But in order to do so, we need someone to replace him with. If we just kill him and leave, the problem recurs with some new asshole. If we kill him without having a candidate in mind, we may be at risk of having the entire city turn against us. Thirty soldiers isn't enough to hold off the populace, not even with you, not even if you're as good as they said. And slaughtering farmers and shopkeepers who are just trying to defend their home after they've no doubt had a miserable few months in one way or another... not ideal. On many levels."

Lenore grimaces. It's a wretched puzzle of a situation, and all the plans she's come up with to try to find a replacement are gambles. "The replacement has to be human. They have to be local. They have to be someone that the people already trust, to some degree. They have to be competent enough to run a small city, and they have to be willing to work with the vampires. All that, and we have to find this person under the nose of the current mayor, in a situation that may already be a trap."

So, y'know, no pressure.

Her mind snags for a moment around the logistics of thirty vampire soldiers up against an entire city. An entire city that isn't full of rotting ancients disfigured by a plague…but an entire city that she - too - would be pitted against. So many of her girlhood fantasies had orbited around similar situations - not quite so far-fetched as the position she's found herself in now, but close. Fantasies of being on the front line, of performing so magnificently (and looking totally banging whilst going it) that she'd be heralded a hero, command people's respect and adoration. Or maybe even a few hot girls fawning over her would have done the trick. Perhaps Lenore is underestimating their capabilities, perhaps if such a battle were to break out she could bring hell raining down on them--

--but her wild flight of fancy starts to bleed out and die when Lenore mentions farmers and shopkeepers. Just ordinary people, fighting to survive. There's no glory or romance in that. Just something achingly, pitifully sad. Her standoff with the vamps had been one thing, but this?

She finds herself grimacing along with her owner.

"You said it yourself that I'm no tactician. I know fuck all about diplomacy or any of that, just in case your interactions with me haven't resoundingly given that away. I try to do as little thinking as humanly possible most of the time. But like...it kinda sounds like you need human intel, or a human who's totally loyal to your Queendom on the ground floor. You know, someone other humans are more likely to trust?" which seems just as tall an order as figuring this problem out any other way. Fuck if she knows. The probability that Lenore just wanted her to sit tight and listen creeps up on her though, so she shrugs, "or I heard that vampires could read minds and straight-up compel people to do whatever they want. You could try that.”

It always struck her as an unbelievable claim, more so than ever after her little stay in the dungeon. But then so had turning into bats.

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