Niall.
Posted: Mon Aug 31, 2009 9:22 am
"Move."
The felhound moved all right, but not exactly how he wanted it to. It sprawled its legs akimbo so it covered twice as much space as it had before, its spiky tail thudding against the floor as it wagged. Niall poked it in the hindquarters with his cane, sighing wearily.
"I've had a long night, Dog."
There was a snort and a groan as the enormous creature rolled onto its side, tentacles twitching. It lifted one of its hind legs and exposed an expanse of softly furred belly, the tail swishing twice as fast now. A plaintive whine completed the picture of the perfect wheedling canine, but the young man with pitch hair and skin as pale as new fallen snow remained unmoved.
"You don't act like a pissant and then get a rub. It doesn't work like that."
Huffing sounds and the tail went dormant.
"It's your own damned fault, Sir."
Somehow, he managed to get around the petulant creature and into the twisting hallway that led downstairs. He could hear the felhound shufflng along somewhere behind him, clearly deciding that sulking in the doorway wasn't nearly as fun as nosing about The Black Library. Twin stone doors, a foot taller than Niall and nearly as thick too, were sealed shut, the edges engraved with dusky purple glass that would, if you brushed over them, scream in agony. His mother's sigil work had grown adept over the years, but she still hadn't figured out how to shut the wailing up on the soul glass. Flesh on their icy surfaces burned them, or so she claimed, and the best she could do was advise against touching them if he didn't like the shrieking.
"In'kar'liwan."
As the word left his tongue, the sigils blazed to life and the doors opened themselves, allowing him entrance. His foot crossed the threshold and the torches along the walls blazed to life. Even though the library itself was beneath the ground, there was no damp, mildewy smell here. The air was crisp and cool and dry - perfect conditions for his tomes. Some of them were as old as the sundering, kept in tact by magic and magic alone. He'd not put them in harm's way by being irresponsible with the climate.
There was a small pile of books next to the chair by the fireplace, a true tell sign that his father had been here recently, and he scanned the titles, smirking a little at the choices.
"Father," he said, running his finger along the leatherbound spine. "Is back to his history, Dog. Let's act surprised, shall we?"
He craned his neck to grin at the lumbering beast snuffing at his shelves. Every once in a while its tentacle would touch a book, and a small shower of sparks would rain onto the floor. The hound grunted again before making its way over to the fire, spinning in a circle three times, pawing at the rug like it was nesting, and then collapsing into a lazy heap.
"You know." Niall leaned the silver tipped cane against the wall, returning his father's abandoned books to their proper homes on the shelves. One of them belonged in the top row, and as he climbed the wall ladder, he got a good peek at the layer of dust that had formed along the edge. He frowned at it, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket so he could dust. "I don't believe the old dog bit. Not for one moment. Nether creatures don't age."
The felhound groaned in response.
"And . . . you're intelligent creatures. Quite, actually, more so than most people. So I suppose that means you're faking it. For whose benefit? Mum's?"
The tentacles swayed in his direction, but Flaadhun was mutinously unresponsive otherwise.
"You utter /shit/." There was a grin in Niall's voice, and he shook his head, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve to stop the barrage of sneezes threatening to splinter his sinuses apart. There was quite a bit more dust than he'd anticipated, and a single swath of mageweave wasn't going to remedy that. He'd need a featherduster and polish.
He teetered down the latter and onto the floor. "So for what, twenty . . . something years, you've played the part of the oversized puppy. What an awful ruse, taking advantage of my mother that way. I should tell her." He paused and eyed the door, his lips pursing into a thin line. "Of course, Father might throw you through a wall for it. Aren't you allowed to sleep at the foot of the bed?"
The threat of an angry Jakob Balthasar elicited a response; the enormous daemon sighed and stood, waddling over with its snout whisking over the marble floor tiles. It peered up at Niall and then gently headbutted him in the leg, a pathetic moan warbling in it scaly throat.
"Oh stop it."
There was another, harder headbutt, enough to send Niall stuttering backwards. He reached for his cane to steady himself, and quickly brought it around, his wrist twisting, forcing the metal cane tip into Flaadhun's well padded flanks. The felhound skittered away, far faster than any of his previous movements, which meant he'd been forcing the labored old dog movements too.
The realization made the boy laugh.
"All right, all right. Stop tantruming. I'll keep it to myself. But I'm onto you, Dog."
Flaadhun flopped onto his side, and then his back, sticking his clawed paws straight into the air. He wriggled about like a worm, tail once again thunking.
"Dear gods, have some pride, Man."
The word was faint, but it was clear, and it seemed to telegraph itself right into his mind.
"No."
The felhound moved all right, but not exactly how he wanted it to. It sprawled its legs akimbo so it covered twice as much space as it had before, its spiky tail thudding against the floor as it wagged. Niall poked it in the hindquarters with his cane, sighing wearily.
"I've had a long night, Dog."
There was a snort and a groan as the enormous creature rolled onto its side, tentacles twitching. It lifted one of its hind legs and exposed an expanse of softly furred belly, the tail swishing twice as fast now. A plaintive whine completed the picture of the perfect wheedling canine, but the young man with pitch hair and skin as pale as new fallen snow remained unmoved.
"You don't act like a pissant and then get a rub. It doesn't work like that."
Huffing sounds and the tail went dormant.
"It's your own damned fault, Sir."
Somehow, he managed to get around the petulant creature and into the twisting hallway that led downstairs. He could hear the felhound shufflng along somewhere behind him, clearly deciding that sulking in the doorway wasn't nearly as fun as nosing about The Black Library. Twin stone doors, a foot taller than Niall and nearly as thick too, were sealed shut, the edges engraved with dusky purple glass that would, if you brushed over them, scream in agony. His mother's sigil work had grown adept over the years, but she still hadn't figured out how to shut the wailing up on the soul glass. Flesh on their icy surfaces burned them, or so she claimed, and the best she could do was advise against touching them if he didn't like the shrieking.
"In'kar'liwan."
As the word left his tongue, the sigils blazed to life and the doors opened themselves, allowing him entrance. His foot crossed the threshold and the torches along the walls blazed to life. Even though the library itself was beneath the ground, there was no damp, mildewy smell here. The air was crisp and cool and dry - perfect conditions for his tomes. Some of them were as old as the sundering, kept in tact by magic and magic alone. He'd not put them in harm's way by being irresponsible with the climate.
There was a small pile of books next to the chair by the fireplace, a true tell sign that his father had been here recently, and he scanned the titles, smirking a little at the choices.
"Father," he said, running his finger along the leatherbound spine. "Is back to his history, Dog. Let's act surprised, shall we?"
He craned his neck to grin at the lumbering beast snuffing at his shelves. Every once in a while its tentacle would touch a book, and a small shower of sparks would rain onto the floor. The hound grunted again before making its way over to the fire, spinning in a circle three times, pawing at the rug like it was nesting, and then collapsing into a lazy heap.
"You know." Niall leaned the silver tipped cane against the wall, returning his father's abandoned books to their proper homes on the shelves. One of them belonged in the top row, and as he climbed the wall ladder, he got a good peek at the layer of dust that had formed along the edge. He frowned at it, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket so he could dust. "I don't believe the old dog bit. Not for one moment. Nether creatures don't age."
The felhound groaned in response.
"And . . . you're intelligent creatures. Quite, actually, more so than most people. So I suppose that means you're faking it. For whose benefit? Mum's?"
The tentacles swayed in his direction, but Flaadhun was mutinously unresponsive otherwise.
"You utter /shit/." There was a grin in Niall's voice, and he shook his head, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve to stop the barrage of sneezes threatening to splinter his sinuses apart. There was quite a bit more dust than he'd anticipated, and a single swath of mageweave wasn't going to remedy that. He'd need a featherduster and polish.
He teetered down the latter and onto the floor. "So for what, twenty . . . something years, you've played the part of the oversized puppy. What an awful ruse, taking advantage of my mother that way. I should tell her." He paused and eyed the door, his lips pursing into a thin line. "Of course, Father might throw you through a wall for it. Aren't you allowed to sleep at the foot of the bed?"
The threat of an angry Jakob Balthasar elicited a response; the enormous daemon sighed and stood, waddling over with its snout whisking over the marble floor tiles. It peered up at Niall and then gently headbutted him in the leg, a pathetic moan warbling in it scaly throat.
"Oh stop it."
There was another, harder headbutt, enough to send Niall stuttering backwards. He reached for his cane to steady himself, and quickly brought it around, his wrist twisting, forcing the metal cane tip into Flaadhun's well padded flanks. The felhound skittered away, far faster than any of his previous movements, which meant he'd been forcing the labored old dog movements too.
The realization made the boy laugh.
"All right, all right. Stop tantruming. I'll keep it to myself. But I'm onto you, Dog."
Flaadhun flopped onto his side, and then his back, sticking his clawed paws straight into the air. He wriggled about like a worm, tail once again thunking.
"Dear gods, have some pride, Man."
The word was faint, but it was clear, and it seemed to telegraph itself right into his mind.
"No."