[fic][vagrant story] Open Vision
Oct. 6th, 2006 11:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonsheenLJ tells me that today is ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sarisa's birthday. So have some creepy kid!Sydney fic, sarisa! No zombies yet, as these are the Early Years. But there's ghosts! That should count for something, I think.
Bardorba was in his study reading a letter from an agent he’d sent across the country when he was interrupted by a noise that sounded approximately like someone scraping the curved surface of a spoon against his door. Not one to tolerate the violation of his silverware, the duke locked the letter safely in a desk drawer and made his way to see what was about. No spoon, as it turned out: just the boy, testing out his new fingers by scraping them over the knob.
“Oh lord, Sydney,” sighed Bardorba, when the boy’s response to the open door was just to look up at him gravely. “Make some pretense of sleep, will you? The servants are spooked enough when you go clattering down the hall past the hour.”
The child did not seem to hear him; he was staring off into the room. There was a glassy, unfocused cast to his eyes. It might have unnerved a lesser man. The duke was well used to it. “There is a ghost in the cellar.”
“We are on the second storey. That is a poor scapegoat, Sydney.”
“Sometimes he sings. At night. He was a bard. He likes to sing,” babbled Sydney, and then shook his head, not unlike a dog bothered by a fly. He rested one of his toy hands loosely on the doorframe. They were quite large proportionally. They had been purchased with the expectation of providing for a few years of growth before needing replacement. The child had taken off the gloves again, leaving them visible in all of their pale silver and engraved glory. Their falseness was very clear. He had already discovered the game of twisting them backwards to show the maids. A serious discussion was needed about this. “But not tonight. Someone’s called.”
“Called?”
“Yes.” Sydney nodded, seriously. “I heard mother calling from the study. I came to find her. But I do not see her. Is she here?” He went back to staring past Bardorba, as though attempting to summon a presence from behind a bookcase.
The duke gave a long and heavy sigh. “No,” he said, “She left to visit her family on the coast. You know that. I’ve heard nothing except your scratching at the door. You’ve been dreaming again.”
“I haven’t slept.”
Bardorba rested a hand on his son’s head. “You dream nonetheless.” The duke allowed a slight ruffling of his hair. The boy stayed amazingly still under it, as though he only barely tolerated the awkwardness of the gesture. However, when he drew his hand away Sydney was looking at least a little less troubled. “Go to bed. Do it proper.”
“Yes,” he mumbled, and went on his way.
Bardorba closed the door and went back to work.
It was not an hour later that the scratching on his door was heard again. At first, it was duly ignored. The child could not expect to be rewarded for such petulance, but when the scratching persisted he dumped his letters over the desk and rose again. Sydney had not yet grown accustomed to the little nuances of his empty fingers. They remained curved and laid against one another, their tips aligned and still raised when the door opened for him again.
“What is this,” said the duke, in no small amount of disapproval.
“Mother did not call?"
“No,” snapped Bardorba. The winters had grown too hard for the duchess and her poor health. The coastal air would do her good. She was not due to return for another month. Remembering this, and feeling a slight bit of regret for his harshness, he amended: “I have heard nothing.”
“Did you…?”
“Nor have I said anything.” He nudged Sydney’s shoulder. “Back to bed. I’ll make that an order.”
Sydney frowned and went.
When the scratching came again, Bardorba lost his patience. He got up immediately and went to the door. He opened it with a deep scowl. Sydney just stared back at him, darkly.
“You didn’t hear…?”
“Go to your room,” said his father sternly. “And if you hear her calling again, tell her you’re there and that she can say whatever she likes.”
He closed the door. He heard the little metallic trot of the boy making his way back down the hall on his large, ungainly feet. The duke spent the remainder of the night undisturbed.
The next morning Sydney came down to dine with him. The boy didn’t touch his food. He had very little appetite as a rule, but at least he knew how to make the effort when eyes were on him. Bardorba was feeling better now that a reply had been penned and sent off at the break of dawn. There was already another letter for him presented at breakfast; he ordered that to be taken to his study. He would examine it properly after he ate.
“The seal’s from the Lenora house,” said Bardorba. “It’s probably from your mother. By and by, what did she have to say last night? I assume she answered, when you asked.”
Sydney drummed his gloved hands against the silverware. The cloth muffled the click. He’d figured out how to move his thumb and his index finger on their own now. He was getting better at it. “Yes.” He spread both over the table, on either side of his plate.
“Well?”
Black eyes lifted across the length of a table meant to seat at least twelve more. They were searingly clear. “Mother says that you should stop lying, the first letter came three days ago, and that she wants to be buried with the locket you gave her in the winter two years before I was born.”
sarisa's birthday. So have some creepy kid!Sydney fic, sarisa! No zombies yet, as these are the Early Years. But there's ghosts! That should count for something, I think. Bardorba was in his study reading a letter from an agent he’d sent across the country when he was interrupted by a noise that sounded approximately like someone scraping the curved surface of a spoon against his door. Not one to tolerate the violation of his silverware, the duke locked the letter safely in a desk drawer and made his way to see what was about. No spoon, as it turned out: just the boy, testing out his new fingers by scraping them over the knob.
“Oh lord, Sydney,” sighed Bardorba, when the boy’s response to the open door was just to look up at him gravely. “Make some pretense of sleep, will you? The servants are spooked enough when you go clattering down the hall past the hour.”
The child did not seem to hear him; he was staring off into the room. There was a glassy, unfocused cast to his eyes. It might have unnerved a lesser man. The duke was well used to it. “There is a ghost in the cellar.”
“We are on the second storey. That is a poor scapegoat, Sydney.”
“Sometimes he sings. At night. He was a bard. He likes to sing,” babbled Sydney, and then shook his head, not unlike a dog bothered by a fly. He rested one of his toy hands loosely on the doorframe. They were quite large proportionally. They had been purchased with the expectation of providing for a few years of growth before needing replacement. The child had taken off the gloves again, leaving them visible in all of their pale silver and engraved glory. Their falseness was very clear. He had already discovered the game of twisting them backwards to show the maids. A serious discussion was needed about this. “But not tonight. Someone’s called.”
“Called?”
“Yes.” Sydney nodded, seriously. “I heard mother calling from the study. I came to find her. But I do not see her. Is she here?” He went back to staring past Bardorba, as though attempting to summon a presence from behind a bookcase.
The duke gave a long and heavy sigh. “No,” he said, “She left to visit her family on the coast. You know that. I’ve heard nothing except your scratching at the door. You’ve been dreaming again.”
“I haven’t slept.”
Bardorba rested a hand on his son’s head. “You dream nonetheless.” The duke allowed a slight ruffling of his hair. The boy stayed amazingly still under it, as though he only barely tolerated the awkwardness of the gesture. However, when he drew his hand away Sydney was looking at least a little less troubled. “Go to bed. Do it proper.”
“Yes,” he mumbled, and went on his way.
Bardorba closed the door and went back to work.
It was not an hour later that the scratching on his door was heard again. At first, it was duly ignored. The child could not expect to be rewarded for such petulance, but when the scratching persisted he dumped his letters over the desk and rose again. Sydney had not yet grown accustomed to the little nuances of his empty fingers. They remained curved and laid against one another, their tips aligned and still raised when the door opened for him again.
“What is this,” said the duke, in no small amount of disapproval.
“Mother did not call?"
“No,” snapped Bardorba. The winters had grown too hard for the duchess and her poor health. The coastal air would do her good. She was not due to return for another month. Remembering this, and feeling a slight bit of regret for his harshness, he amended: “I have heard nothing.”
“Did you…?”
“Nor have I said anything.” He nudged Sydney’s shoulder. “Back to bed. I’ll make that an order.”
Sydney frowned and went.
When the scratching came again, Bardorba lost his patience. He got up immediately and went to the door. He opened it with a deep scowl. Sydney just stared back at him, darkly.
“You didn’t hear…?”
“Go to your room,” said his father sternly. “And if you hear her calling again, tell her you’re there and that she can say whatever she likes.”
He closed the door. He heard the little metallic trot of the boy making his way back down the hall on his large, ungainly feet. The duke spent the remainder of the night undisturbed.
The next morning Sydney came down to dine with him. The boy didn’t touch his food. He had very little appetite as a rule, but at least he knew how to make the effort when eyes were on him. Bardorba was feeling better now that a reply had been penned and sent off at the break of dawn. There was already another letter for him presented at breakfast; he ordered that to be taken to his study. He would examine it properly after he ate.
“The seal’s from the Lenora house,” said Bardorba. “It’s probably from your mother. By and by, what did she have to say last night? I assume she answered, when you asked.”
Sydney drummed his gloved hands against the silverware. The cloth muffled the click. He’d figured out how to move his thumb and his index finger on their own now. He was getting better at it. “Yes.” He spread both over the table, on either side of his plate.
“Well?”
Black eyes lifted across the length of a table meant to seat at least twelve more. They were searingly clear. “Mother says that you should stop lying, the first letter came three days ago, and that she wants to be buried with the locket you gave her in the winter two years before I was born.”
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Date: 2006-10-07 04:32 am (UTC)fanart itch(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-07 06:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2006-10-07 12:58 pm (UTC)M, now has Ashley Riot stirring back to life in the back of her head.
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Date: 2006-10-08 03:20 am (UTC)news just in: you are awesome, and i love you! <3
Date: 2006-10-08 05:32 am (UTC)