| Fan Fiction |
| By Lidia: |
| Just Another Blonde |
| Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, not even the guy who the main focus is about. I just gave him a name because he didn't have one. They are owned by Anne Rice origionally, I just gave this guy a small bit of history. Rating: R for graphic descriptions, or something **Note: This takes place before Magnus meets Lestat. A short version of Magnus' hunt for the perfect heir and what it was like for one of the blonde boys left in his tower to die.** Title: Just Another Blonde I was never very wealthy, never really was anything special about me. I was always the center of attention, yes, but more often than not, for mistakes I had made. I grew up around les Innocents in Paris, having to live with the noxious gas of decomposing bodies for nearly my entire life. Learning to live with it, and walk by without vomiting as most did, adding to the stench of the area. But I suppose, in the end, it was a good thing I could handle that smell as well as I did� My only past time was frequenting theatre's, such as Renaud's, the little place close by. Once or twice I had the honor of going to the official Com�die-Fran�aise, but I had gone as a little child and could hardly remember. Now my time was taken all by my sick mother. I coveted the nights, for then, she would finally rest, and I could take the time to wander the streets of Paris, dangerous as it was. Watching with fascination the whores that weaved along the streets, enticing new customers with their make-up caked faces; running from sweat, their lipstick smeared. I often indulged myself in the young beauties, for I never had a love of my own, and the quick love of one of these prostitutes was better than none at all. Of course they loved to come with me into the alley's, taking less money from me than their other customers, for more often than not, they found me bewitchingly handsome. I enjoyed and reveled in this trait about myself. I was blonde, my golden hair straight, but waves would form if the air had too much moisture. My eyes were blue, my mother said they made me look honest and innocent, but I doubted that. I was lithe of build, and quite narcissistic, but it isn't entirely my fault. My mother constantly commenting on my looks, and giving me a mirror for my twelfth birthday, which I continued to look in for hours at a time, complementing myself. As shallow as that sounds, it was the only thing I could do in between listening to my mother's wails. I hadn't any idea what could be wrong with her. She had been sick for nearly seven years now, and all I heard every day, was the same thing. "Michel, bring me water�water�" or she would scream for me to bring her some food. We couldn't afford medicines, or a doctor to diagnose her, we could barely keep the hovel we lived in. We were still living off of the few franks my sister earned us here and there. I don't really want to go into what my sister does for a living, but I am quite sure you can guess. It makes my skin crawl with livid anger, yet my mother takes her money and says nothing of it. She doesn't thank her or even look at her face. I had once or twice tried to get a job for myself, but no experience held me back. And as much as I wanted to earn money, I would not lower myself to the little duties that most performed nightly. I just couldn't do that. I had finally calmed my mother down tonight, and staggered out of the house, my ears ringing from her caterwauling. I walked down the uneven make-shift road down the back-roads by my little shack, watching the swaying of the small plants springing up everywhere. I had only been walking for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes when I glimpsed a man. Now let me just say, he didn't look normal from all my standards. I hadn't even realized I had seen him until my consciousness rose and all but said "Hey stupid, stranger dead ahead." His face, so white, at first glimpse it had looked like a mask, yet it was so animated, the way his lips looked as they curled into a malicious smile�it couldn't have been a mask. I couldn't quite make out all of his features, my poor sight in the dark night couldn't see through the shadows cast on his face by the hooded cloak he was wearing. The one thing I do remember is that�there were only two teeth in his mouth while he smiled at me�two pointed teeth. He came at me swiftly, and all I could think was that this was the end. Killed by some stranger in the back alley way. Oh how I wish it had just happened like that, had he just murdered me like one of his victims. But he didn't, and as I felt the prick of his teeth in my neck, I began to shake with uncontrollable, unstoppable�fear. *~*~*~*~*~* I know that perhaps I passed out slightly, nearly out cold as he moved at a pace too quick back to this old tower. I knew after I had awoken early afternoon, that I was lying in a high tower room several miles from Paris. I lay on a bed, no more than stone covered in straw. My back ached from the hard stone and the angle at which I had been laying, but I made not complaint other than the low moan when I sat up. It was early evening, and I could smell the thick scent of grass covered in dew. The smell seemed to have wafted up in the window from the miles of country below. I didn't look around much, panic had long since overtaken me and I was quite afraid of what I may see. My curiosity soon outweighed my self-control and I began to examine the room. Rough cut, and made of old stone. There was a crude wooden table to my right side, the stone bed back against the wall. I glanced among the shadowy corners to my left, but didn't take into consideration that something could easily be resting there�blending in. I lay back again, my stomach churning from hunger. I was starving, not have eaten since I suppose early yesterday morning, for it looked as if I had spent the day here, being earlier in the evening than when he had captured me. I was absently glancing around until I saw him. The white painted face among the shadows. All I could think was I was going to die, and he was the one to commit the act. And as I thought this, I began to scream, tears coming to the corners of my eyes. I was nineteen, a man now, and all I could do was scream like a child. He advanced on me, clamping his monstrous white hand over my mouth, silencing my cries. "You disappoint me." he stated simply. He grabbed my sides, heaving me up and over his shoulder. I flailed, kicking at his chest, while I used my hands to punch at his back, amazed at his strength as he merely ignored my hits. They seemed little more than slight pushes to him, and he just continued to walk. My horror only seemed to grow as I began to smell the unmistakable stench of the thing I had grown up around�decomposing bodies. *~*~*~*~*~* He walked down sets of stairs, ignoring my pleas, my begging. When we had made it to the lower floor of the tower, just outside of one of the dungeon stairs, he took a resin torch down from a sconce, and lit it with the tinderbox in the niche beside it. He carried me past the first level, where I glimpsed three stone sarcophagi, but my panic had taken my reason, and I could hardly think. Cobwebs and dust overlay everything, thickening my sinus' as I still fought the overpowering smell of new, reeking corpses. Within moments, we were in a deep prison cell, the smell of decaying bodies so thick, every time I took a breath, I felt as if I were swimming in them. I heard the creaking of a barred door before I was tossed inside of the cell, breathing hard. The wind was knocked out of me as I fell backward against something soft and wet�moving. I turned my face to view what I was leaning on and quickly covered my mouth with my hand to keep from either screaming or vomiting, I did not yet know. The man who had taken me here viewed this with a cold eye, and within a few moments, he had gone, taking the only light with him. I moved in the opposite direction of the young, dead man crawling with insects. I went in search of a wall, finally coming in contact with the crude stones, mortar holding them together. *~*~*~*~*~* I do not know how long exactly I was down here. Days it felt like, but it couldn't have been. The full assault of the corpses had long since faded away from me and I sat in a stupor like state as I concentrated on the fluttering knats and the sickening sound of the worms, sliding through blood or over skin. Denied my sight, I could hear things so well. I hadn't slept at all. The reality that I would soon be one of these men, probably accompanied by another live friend to suffer as I did hit me hard. So hard that I couldn't react, couldn't even pray. I believe I had been down here no less than three days when the door to the room opened, the harsh light of a torch glaring in my eyes. I shielded them, hissing between my teeth. The strange man regarded me with fierce eyes, setting down a pitcher and a plate at the entrance of the room. Before he could leave, I began to beg him. To let me go, I had a family, I needed to take care of my mother, I had a sister who needed me. I told him I would pay him, I could earn the money for him, just let me go�he had to let me go. That was the last time I saw him. Even through the sickening smell, I could catch the scent of milk and a kind of meat stew. I rattled the bars, seeking to open them if I could, go in the direction of the food. I had no nourishment, and I was sooner going to starve to death if I didn't make it to the rations he had left by the door�to torment me. *~*~*~*~*~* I think I knew that I wasn't going to get the food. It had been perhaps two to three days now since he had last come. My stomach churned with hunger, my senses overcome and all but shut down as I lay stretched on the floor, my arms outstretched through the bars. My mouth was incredibly dry, and I would have drunk the curdled milk had I been able to reach it. I didn�t pray. My belief in god had long since disappeared as I realized he wasn't going to help me out of this, and very soon, I was going to be another dead body down here. Add more noxious gas to the already thick scent. *~*~*~*~*~* I cried before I died. Aware of my situation, the hopelessness, the pain. Starved, thirsting for water, feeling the insects start to bite and scratch at my skin. I still did not sleep. My death was slow and painful, my ribs heaving, but eventually, after a few hours, I stopped breathing, and my heart ceased to beat. I lowered my head to the stones on the floor, my eyes remaining open as I took my last breath. And I still didn't understand why he had done this to me. To all the other young, blonde men in here� To him, I had been�just another blonde� The End *~*~*~*~*~* Sequel coming tonight or tomorrow morning: The One I Chose--Magnus' view of the blonde men and why he chose Lestat Boredom sucks. Hope it makes at least one person feel like they read a good spec, but I doubt it. Does it bother anyone that I end all my specs with the title? lol Hope you enjoyed it! Oh yes, and if the sequel takes me a day or two, sorry!--Lidia Vans "I was trembling before I stepped on the stage thinking, This is like waiting to be executed or something." Lestat de Lioncourt Fan Fiction Home |