[identity profile] riksowden.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] shadow_writers



 

Chelsea Dagger – soundtrack to memories

 

The ride down to London was unpleasant; he’d been delayed in setting off and though the weather wasn’t bad it certainly wasn’t good – drizzle enough to mean he needed to wear the brass-rimmed goggles normally stowed in his saddlebags, and to mean his brakes would need some extra time to react. Even with that he was late, and when a person cancels a night out doing fun things to meet the heads of assorted Knightly Orders he doesn’t do well being late. With a sigh Dix opened the throttle of his bike – spray from his wake reflecting light in crazy patterns as others in the same colours struggled to keep pace.

 

There was an odd smell of jasmine a lingering scent in his nostrils that made him think of Eliza – in his mind she’d become different people somehow, something which he knew would resolve with time, a resolution to be enjoyed. He thought back to how she’d looked when he came up to the balcony at the Nest, to his balcony – where he could oversee his personal domain. A dress of deep purple silk, showing off her shapely calves wrapped in high heels – he’d never seen her in those before, and approved.

 

Well you must be a girl with shoes like that
She said you know me well
I seen you and little Steven and Joanna
Round the back of my hotel oh yeah

Someone said you was asking after me
But I know you best as a blagger
I said tell me your name is it sweet?
She said my boy it's dagger oh yeah

 

Over the years, decades really, he must has seen her in a dozen or more different styles – dressed as a man more often than not. Her hair, long and glorious he now knew, cut short or dyed, perhaps in a tight plait. Baggy jumpers and combats on the street, heavy jacket over the top. Long formal frock coats over thick waistcoats and with plenty of lace to disguise the shape of her body for more formal occasions. It had been a surprise when she revealed to him the thing which had been striking him as odd – mannerisms weren’t quite right, never seemed quite comfortable with a lady on the arm. Ellis was a girl – Eliza.

 

Didn’t seem to matter, but he couldn’t help but from then try to work out the shape of her – cunningly concealed as it was. Muscled he was sure, perhaps scarred, tattoos? No probably not… Still he couldn’t help but wonder why she didn’t have those coats tailored just a little tighter, more feminine – even in the First Estate there were ways and means for a lady to advance – and gender held as much meaning as one wanted it to.

 

 

Well you must be a boy with bones like that
She said you got me wrong
I would've sold them to you
If I could've just have kept the last of my clothes on
Call me up take me down with you
When you go I could be your regular belle
And I'll dance for little Steven and Joanna
Round the back of my hotel oh yeah

 

He remembered spotting her in a bar, some grotty place outside of civilisation. He’d not long been a vampire, on the road, his own creature – telling himself that at least – and avoiding others as best as he could whilst he found out who, what that creature was. A short man, unremarkable other than that, muffled up against the cold. Inside something screamed as he caught sight of him. Something cried, begged to run, to flee, to seek safety against this predator – this beast which was stronger, bigger, hungry. Flee! Run! Escape! Instead he sat shock still and watched him carefully. A safe place suddenly not.

 

When he left Dix had breathed a sigh of relief…but he knew that wouldn’t do. If he was brave, if he was a man, he had to face this other predator and force down that panicking creature inside. Crouching by an alley mouth he seemed shorter, swathed in shadows more sinister, but soon it showed that both were cautious…and they left not as friends, but not as enemies either.

 

I was good she was hot
Stealin' everything she got
I was bold she was over the worst of it
Gave me gear thank you dear bring yer sister over here
Let her dance with me just for the hell of it

 

Still again, in that plane on the way back from Athens. He’d behaved badly, he knew it, not just in letting someone, something, affect him – dangerously so perhaps – but because he’d not paid proper attention to his companion, and had perhaps let her wander into danger without him watching her back. He was distracted, lights reflecting on the clouds drawing him away, echoes of a tune in his brain still.

 

She was flirting, but then they’d flirted for years on and off, when no-one was about and the mood took. Dix did admire how she looked in a skirt, the movement suiting her – but he’d always liked his ladies in a dress or skirt. Shame she wasn’t in those boots she sometimes wore – with the scandalous breeches often as not – he thought. Their talk was light, something of nothing.

 

When she stood, saying something about making him comfortable, sweeping her skirt off was the last thing he expected. Though he had to admit that the cat suit did look well on her. The flirting stopped – became serious talk. Words he’d not expected, not from her “I've been flirting with you.  Do you want me in your bed?”.

 

I was good she was hot
Stealin’ everything she got
I was bold she was over the worst of it
Gave me gear thank you dear bring yer sister over here
Let her dance with me just for the hell of it

 

He thought of wildflowers, he thought that was it, with that strange smell of age and blood that to him is the scent of vampiric sex. Soft red hair, curls ticking his shoulder, back pressed against his belly, marks of the rod on scars of combat. He’d not been expecting her to waken before him – older than he, as martial, more so maybe with her seeking knighthood – the weight of slumber, the fog pressing against her…he’d assumed she’s sleep deep and long.

 

There was something strangely comforting about waking up with someone in his arms.

 

Chelsea, Chelsea I believe that when your dancing
Slowly sucking your sleeve
That all the boys get lonely after you leave
And it's one for the dagger and another for the one you believe

Chelsea, Chelsea I believe that when your dancing
Slowly sucking your sleeve
That all the boys get lonely after you leave
And it's one for the dagger and another for the one you believe

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