Dark Charisma

[after this]

He'd seen the news. They'd been gleefully dissecting this latest development in the Prince's relationship with the practically unknown American girl. Apparently the fact that she'd disappeared for a time had had everyone wondering what that meant, speculating that maybe the Prince hadn't really had much to do with her as they'd all thought or maybe that she'd suddenly gone into "confinement" or perhaps the rest of the royal family had paid her off to disappeare quietly or...who knew? And then, all of a sudden, there she was an invitee at the Prince's party! The gossip hounds were all over it, analyzing every detail of how she was dressed, how they stood in relation to one another, if she danced with anyone, etc etc etc ad infinitum.

David, at the first sign of this had watched for all of five minutes before rolling his eyes and clicking the television off. Enough of that. He'd also continued reading, then, in silence for a while. It wasn't until later that day, when he'd finally finished the last notebook that he'd glanced over at the phone.

He hadn't wanted to call her, he'd wanted to leave her completely alone until she came back. There, was, after all no doubt in his mind that she would. But that had been before...certain things. He could at least see how she was. And then bring up other things. So, he dialed the number he had for her currently and listened to it ring.

There was always the possibility she'd be engaged...elsewhere. But then he'd just leave a message.

[originally posted here]

---

( the thread )

David put off reading any of the journals for a few days. It was, partly, rebellion even if it was childish but it was also because it wasn't like he had much time to sit down and just read something if that something wasn't related to the law. Work had gotten busy. That tended to be what happened when you took a week off from it -- even if you did your best to stay caught up while on house arrest -- right after gaining a new -- major -- client. He could handle it, though, it just meant it was a few days before he even looked at the journals again.

He sat on his couch, glass of scotch in one hand, and the first of the notebooks lying closed in his lap. He stared at the notebook for a long while before he sighed, set his glass down, and started reading. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner it'd be over.

They began simply enough, the (more or less) day to day doings and musings of one Ned (to his friends, Edward to everyone else) Matheson. His grandfather. Talking about work, about his family, and slowly...David started to see he was referring to something else. Something cryptic. Something familiar.

He didn't stop reading all night.

[originally posted here]

[after this]

What was with them lately and all the...awkwardness? David didn't understand it. Or at least, it was probably more correct to say he didn't want to understand it so he wasn't trying. He glared around the apartment at the other flowers that were left.

Two hours later, the Oak Hill Cemetery was surprised to have an anonymous donation of a roomful of flowers arrive.

David would have just tossed the damn things in the garbage but that, knowing his luck, would have gotten out and back to the people who'd sent them to him and...well, he couldn't afford that. If this got out, well...it would be seen as admirable of him. Win win, blah blah.

He spent the rest of the day alternately working on his files and pacing around his apartment. At some point, in the middle of working, he started dozing off. Not enough sleep the night before, too much...activity. He felt himself dozing off but he couldn't really bring himself to care all that much, the warmth of sleep being far too seductive. He'd regret the awkward position of sitting slouched in his chair, head lolling back on the headrest later but for now...( he was asleep and drifting... )

[originally posted here]

Wherein David and Star continue this thread.

( [now that you know i'm trapped/sense of elation/you'll never dream of breaking this fixation] )

[originally posted here]

---

( the thread )

[after or during this. Obviously this is a few days in the future still. :)]

They hadn't allowed him back to work, yet. Upon being released from the hospital, he'd already had a rather stern-sounding message from one of the partners at his firm saying, in essence, that David would be hog-tied and tossed back into the hospital if he were seen in the office for the next week. That particular partner hailed from Texas.

David, himself, had just snorted. He was fine, physically. There was only this much fuss because of Jonah Matheson, Senator and possible presidential candidate. The other problem with being so publicly incapacitated was all the well-wishers. All the people who wanted something from him so they sent flowers, or a note, or called to see how he was doing. It was the calls that were the worst. If he wasn't there to answer them someone was likely to get it in their heads that a SWAT team would need to be called to track him down. He half wondered if he shouldn't have paid Nancy to come out there and answer his phone for him and everything else. Maybe he still would.

But, in between all of that, David had finally turned on the television to drown out the silence that filled his apartment. It had always been a fairly empty, quiet place before and he'd been quite happy with that. Only now it wasn't empty -- filled with flowers, the pollen or the smell or something was starting to give him a headache -- but it had still been quiet, except for the phone ringing. So, the television. At least he could keep up with things.

He'd actually been dozing on the couch when a the words started percolating themselves into his brain. ...quite recently it seems that all of Britain has, overnight, become rather enamored by this new American acquaintance of Prince William. Curiously enough, she seems to only go by one name... David sat up, still not entirely sure why as the personalities on the TV went on to make some joke about sounding like just 'Madonna' or whatnot. He ignored them, since the image on the screen showed the Prince indeed in the company of an American girl. One he knew quite well. Who certainly went by only one name. He couldn't, quite, believe his eyes. Not that Star wasn't fit company for royalty -- to an extent, she was intended to be -- but...something about the whole scene surprised him. Bothered him.

Of course, when that news segment ended and they cut to commercial, he found himself compelled to switch the channel until he found another one talking about the story. It was, at least, a welcome change from everything he had to hear about himself lately, or the war in the Middle East, or certain people railing against insecurity at home and such and so forth. He followed the stories from channel to channel for at least an hour until he was no longer listening to what was said about the couple and just watched them.

Finally, he clicked the television off and threw the remote away (it luckily landed on a cushion and didn't break). He was angry, he realized, or at least upset, and he wasn't entirely certain why. He had no claim to her, and certainly no other liasions of hers had bothered him before -- except for that one with his father, but honestly, wasn't that understandable? Not only did he have no claim to her, he didn't want it. He didn't want claim on anyone because if you had that sort of claim to someone, usually someone had that sort of claim to you. He definitely didn't want that.

That didn't stop him from being angry. Why? Well, it was a rather well-publicised fling, wasn't it? She was usually so discreet...but then, she didn't usually end up with princes. He wondered if it was a contract thing or if it had just happened while she was there. He realized, it didn't matter, not to him. No, what had bothered him was that the prince had practically been fawning over her. He hadn't just been attracted to her, he was infatuated. It was disgusting for David to watch. Especially since it was obvious, at least to him, that she was only playing along.

She hadn't mentioned it.

Not that she should have. But she still...it had sounded like something else when she'd spoken to him of it. Maybe he didn't have any room to throw stones for not mentioning things but at least he hadn't lied. Well, mostly.

Well....oh fuck it.

The remote hadn't been very satisfying to throw, especially since it hadn't broken, so he picked up his water glass from earlier and threw it, sure to make it hit the wall. The resulting crash and tinkle of glass was soothing, somehow. Cathartic, anyway. At least a little bit.

But that didn't help him get the way that Prince had looked at her out of his mind.

[originally posted here]

[after this]

David had no compunction about throwing the phone or not throwing it. He threw the damn thing and watched it shatter on the wall opposite him. Well, that went fucking well. he thought, sourly.

He should have told her. About the crazy bastard who'd tried to kill him, about the hospital. She was going to kill him when she heard through some other source. Though he imagined they must be keeping her quite busy over there in England if she hadn't already. It only occurred to him now that he'd been worried about the wrong thing. Or rather, worried for no good reason. He'd told a complete fucking stranger what he was -- of course, that stranger had seemed to know more than him about all of this, but what if he'd guessed wrong and the guy had sold his story to press or....David growled and scrubbed his hands through his hair, taking automatic care not to disturb the still healing suture. He should have told her. Should have said...something. Before now.

Well, assuming she didn't kill him, he'd do it later. Though he was quite studiously not thinking about why it mattered so much. It shouldn't.

And that really only left him with two problems: How to deal with whatever hell his life was about to become as a result of all the news and his father's maneuvering -- figures he'd take advantage of his son's near death for political gain, David thought with disgust. And what to do about this Seth character. If there was anything he could do.

There was indeed, David thought darkly, he could simply not hesitate to use his gun in the future. Next time. And next time, he wouldn't miss.

[originally posted here]

[after this which is after this]

He watched Star leave. Only after the door shut entirely -- with an oddly all-too-final sounding click -- did he turn away and go back to his bedroom. The bedclothes were rumpled, but that was to be expected. He'd wash the sheets himself before the cleaning lady came back. He didn't care for her to know about his sex life, even if it only involved dirty sheets. Something was off, though. At first, he thought it was the window, which he usually at least kept the curtains open on. Otherwise it tended to feel too stifling for him to deal with, but even after opening them -- and the window itself as well -- he realized that wasn't it.

He turned in a slow circle, pivoting on the balls of his feet as he did so. His gaze was drawn to the open door of the bathroom and the wastebasket, for some reason. No, not the wastebasket. Beside it. Where there had been a dark smudge in his peripheral vision that he'd been ignoring for far too long. A feather he hadn't actually thrown away. It wasn't there, anymore.

Almost as if of there own volition, his feet and legs carried him to the bathroom and he searched all around it for the missing feather, some sort of anxiety making his hands shake as he did so. Nothing. It was gone. He looked up at his reflection in the mirror, uncomprehending for a long moment until it seemed to him that his own reflection was mocking him for an idiot.

Idiot to leave it there. Idiot to go out last night as he'd done. Idiot to let her stay.

There was a strange sensation, that of walls closing in. Or worlds colliding. He didn't want that to happen. And it was only a feather. It could have blown in the open window. Or...something. The truth was too fantastic for her to believe, anyway. He didn't believe it half the time and she certainly wouldn't come up with it on her own, of that he was sure.

His reflection laughed at him and his rationalizing, his fear. Before he'd realised what had happened, his reflection was gone, the mirror shattered into too many pieces to count, and his hand was bloody. He looked down at it dispassionately before methodically and carefully cleaning the cuts and covering them with bandages.

He needed to get out of here.

So, he did, pulling on clothes more suitable for running and leaving his apartment behind. He exited the building and started walking down the block, breaking into an easy run when he came to the intersection, ignoring other pedestrians except to move around and past them. They weren't there. Neither was he.

He forced himself to not think about...anything. Just run. It wasn't quite the freedom of flight but then, well, he wasn't thinking about that either. His path carried him down the streets of DC and though anyone watching him would have thought he had no real destination in mind, he was making his way ever steadily to his office. Good thing he kept a spare suit there. Someone was likely to be in, even on a Saturday morning.

Something attracted his attention from the corner of his eye, a woman approaching, something gold and glinting on her wrist. His course must have shifted somewhere, just enough so that when their paths crossed she happened to collide with him. He apologized profusely and righted the woman as he flashed a charming, yet apologetic, grin for her benefit. She assured him it was no trouble and both of them went about their merry way.

It wasn't until he arrived at his office that he felt something in his pocket he didn't quite remember putting there and pulled out a gold bracelet, made of tiny suns all linked together and what looked like topaz glinting in their centers. He frowned and stuffed the bracelet back into his pocket, unsure of what to do with it now that he had it. Not like he could give it back to...whoever that had been. Resolving to put it out of his mind like he did so many other things, he went about changing into the extra suit he kept at the office so he was at least a little presentable. Thank God he kept deoderant there, too.

He was good. He worked until the afternoon. But sometime around two in the afternoon, he just lost the thread and the words on the document he was reviewing began to swim before his eyes. His gaze fell on the telephone. Maybe he could....

...no, that was just asking for trouble. More trouble. Something. Maybe later.

[originally posted here]

For my part I know nothing with any certainty but the sight of the stars makes me dream.
-Vincent Van Gogh

He'd left the bar in a much more even frame of mind than he'd entered it, conversation with a lovely woman almost almost managing to push out any thoughts he would have about what had happened earlier. Or any flashes of apparent images past he still saw behind his eyes if he thought about it too hard. Because he wasn't thinking about it. He was thinking about Susan, who was far more pleasant to contemplate. Especially since she'd given him her number.

Still in thought, he entered his bedroom, absently shutting the door behind him even though there was no one else in his home. As he crossed the room to his window, David slipped off his clothes, letting each article drop to the floor to be taken care of later. The sun was still out, though it would be setting soon enough. It was still bright enough outside it was unlikely anyone could see into his darker room to catch sight of him standing there at the window utterly naked. Of course, it helped he wasn't facing the street. Not that he much cared, he wouldn't be standing there for long.

All day, just about, he'd felt the itch...the urge. Maddening, just under the surface. Just something to pretened didn't exist, at least until he could do something about it. Maybe he'd hoped he would have gotten enough alcohol in him to drown it out. Except that he hadn't. He'd only wanted enough alcohol to take the edge off what was to come, but push through that and... that was what he wanted. Freedom of flight and nothing to hold him down. It was starting now, something shifting inside of him. He still tended to think of it as something that just...happened except that it wasn't that at all. This never happened, now, unless he wanted it to. Even though he'd spent plenty of time questioning it, wondering if the payoff, the later was worth what he had to go through for it, even if every time he swore it would be the last, he still wanted it. And there was no turning back now anyway, now that it'd begun. Had to see it through. David had learned to bite the inside of his cheek by now, to keep from crying out even as beads of sweat formed on his forehead and trickled down his face. Shifting inside, changing, things shrinking and merging and oh god the painagonytorture can't stand it can't do it have to stop can't stop ohgod make it stop i'm dying i'm-....free.

A large, black bird winged its way out of an open window of a flat in D.C., it's glossy feathers glinting blue-black in the now setting sun. He winged his way out of the once comfortable, now stifling room and into the open sky, reveling in the sensations he now experienced. Air rushed along his body, ruffling his feathers, tickling just a bit and something in the feeling goaded him into soaring ever higher into the darkening sky, flying for the sheer joy of flight. Gaudium. His black form is quickly lost among the oncoming night sky were anyone to be watching as the stars came out.

---

Later, much later, after a thin sliver of moon began to rise above the horizon did the raven-bird return, sliding somewhat easily through the open window and landing rather haphazardly on the bed. The change began again, this time in reverse, but still bringing with it at least as much anguish as before. Finally, a moment -- or an eternity -- later, it left and he was just David again lying naked on his bed, a stray black feather tangled in his hair and the taste of something wet and coppery in his mouth. His cheek still ached. His whole body ached. He'd done too much, tonight, gone too far. Some worried voice tried to speak up in the back of his mind, remind him of what he'd almost forgotten, that he'd almost just stayed out there forever, no coming back. He didn't listen.

Sleep engulfed him.

Behind sleep followed dreams. Dream. He was himself was the bird was a man with deep-tanned skin and long dark hair and flashing dark eyes with a knife-edge smile. He saw things that felt like memories and remembered things that had never happened to him. The world was spiraling down and he fell through it into one of the visions that had been stabbing at his mind all day and here he was a baby fussing and crying and nothing could soothe him until he was given a most precious bag. He cooed and giggled and deftly tugged on the cord holding the bag shut. A golden gleam burst forth from the bag's mouth and then he was the bird again, white feathers blackening in the heat and the glare of that shine as he took it into his mouth and carried it away high up into the sky. But he was carrying her, the woman from before Susan who was the sun was the prize that he stole was a lioness was...something.

In the dream, he spirited her away into the darkness to bring forth the light and placed her in the sky so that all might see her beauty and every day he looked upon her and smiled.

The dream slipped away, once more he slept until the golden rays of the sun streaming through his open window teased him back into wakefulness.

Slowly, David opened his eyes, still not feeling the urge to stir his limbs. For several moments, he found himself simply watching one beam of sunlight as it moved slowly across his floorboards. The stillness was shattered, then, by the jangling of his alarm reminding him he actually had to go to work that morning. With a scowl, he slapped the infernal noise machine off before dragging himself off his bed, making a face at the taste in his mouth and gingerly poking at the inside of his cheek with the tip of his tongue. Bit too hard. When he got to the bathroom, he noticed the feather still tucked into his hair and with something of an expression of disdain, he plucked it away and dropped it toward the wastebasket.

It settled on the floor, instead. He didn't notice.

[originally posted here.]