Tag: McFassy Fortnight

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David Aesthetic

 

(Note: If you haven’t seen the Alien series – I would highly recommend you do – it will scare the shit out of you.  Watch in Sequence: Alien, Aliens, Alien 3 (Do NOT Repeat Do NOT – watch Alien: Resurrection) instead go straight to: Prometheus and Covenant.)

The next snippet and these Aesthetic will make more sense.

(Second Note: This is way in the Sylum Future … just sayin’)

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Dr. Charles Evan Aesthetic

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Dr. Charles Evan stepped off the plane into a wall of humidity.  He should be used to it as much as he travelled, but there were moments his Scottish blood cringed at the heat.  Plus the humidity did odd things to his hair. Though after a clump got pulled out by a curious monkey, he started keeping it short.  

When he told Paul, that he was heading out to South America to look into a study at the world famed Sloth Sanctuary, his only response was not to bring a sloth home.  Which is why he ordered a stuffed sloth and had it shipped to the house, just waiting for his friend to come back home from one of his missions.

He still wasn’t sure how he ended up best friends with a Double O, seriously he thought that was only in the movies.   He had been eighteen and desperate for a place to stay after the one he organized for university fell through. He saw the tiny add on the back page, in the smallest newspaper, and ran out of the coffee shop.

Luckily Paul took one look at his big blue eyes, the sad state of patheticness, and not only let him in, but rented him the room.  For months he was suspicious, who the hell rented a room in an old Victorian house for 200 pounds, including utilities. He didn’t even complain about the random animals.

Even after he graduated, he stayed in his upstairs room, paying the same rent.  It gave him the opportunity to travel, and study abroad. The two of them had become best friends, and for a moment he wondered if it would go further, but Paul was never interested.

His life changed when he was hunting Reginald, the snake.   It had snuck into Paul’s front bedroom. Normally he wouldn’t invade his friends privacy, but he didn’t think he wouldn’t want to come home to a snake in his bed.

Charles had found the snake, wrapped around a grenade.  A grenade that was in a kit under the bed filled with weapons.  He sat there for a few moments, wondering why there was a kit of weapons under Paul’s bed, and how was he going to grab the snake without setting off said grenades.  

The door opened, startling him, he turned to see Paul with another tall man.  He scrambled up, to explain what he was doing in his bedroom, when suddenly his friend was on him.  He felt a sharp pain in his neck, yet felt nothing but warmth.

He woke up in Paul’s bed a bit vague on what happened.   Bond, James Bond … told him he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Paul had just been Turned and taken too much blood, the only chose he had was to Turn Charles.

He was okay with it.

Bond, James Bond … that never gets old … taught him how to defend himself.  

M adopted him, and stole his Cockatoo.

Paul became his brother, one he would do anything to protect, despite the fact the guy was an International Spy.  He’s seen him pissed and it’s hot as fuck, as long as it wasn’t directed at him, and even then it was still hot. Charles also knew Paul would do anything for him, the fact he had a ‘bug out’ bag before he was Turned said a lot about their relationship.

Thirteen years later, he’s now a qualified Wildlife Veterinarian, who can use a variety of weapons, take out poachers with his bare hands, and has a family of spies.

Life hadn’t been boring.

So when he mentioned travelling to Rio, James contacted the local Clan for Dr. Evan to stay with, since they had a few Sloth specialists.  The irony was he hadn’t even met his own Clan Leader, Arthur Pendragon … M had supposedly given him her word that Charles and Paul were good guys.  

He dropped his bag at his feet, and smiled at the Vampire in front of him, who was holding a sign with his name on it.  “I’m Dr. Charles Evan.”

“Jack Harkness, welcome to Sanctuary.”  He motioned towards the exit. “Did you know that the job you applied for was a Sloth Sanctuary owned and operated by Vampires?”

“Actually I didn’t!”  He chuckled, remembering when he had discovered that piece of information.  “I’m sorry to say that I never got to meet Dr. Stephen Maturin, his papers were exceptional and I read every book he wrote.”

“It’s been six years since we lost him, and we still feel it every day.”  He opened the trunk tossing in Dr. Evan’s luggage. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“Technically I would be in my forties, but I’m still a very young, twelvish.”  He settled into the passenger side of the vehicle resisting the instinct to reach for the wheel.  “I’m still getting used to Clans, I’ve spent time in South Africa with Ghost/Darkness Clan. Trained with Tarzan, and boy was that a shock.  Learned a lot under Muldoon and Owen.”

“They speak highly of you.”  Jack gave him a smile, as he pulled out into the traffic barely missing at least three cars.  “We figured you can stay at Sanctuary, we usually have at least one full grown Sloth, a baby in care, and a strappy teenager.”  

He went on to explain, that the grown sloth was usually one that’s rehabilitated but couldn’t go back into the wild.  The babies were taken care of by Brandon, who took his job very seriously. And Harkness took care of the strappy teenagers.  He also warned, that Charles should be prepared to have a sloth on him at any given moment.

“I have to admit, I’m more comfortable with animals.  I’ve not had a lot of association with Camelot, so living within a Clan might take some adjustments.  Even while I was in Africa I was out on the tundra studying, barely spent time with the Clan itself.”

It was the one thing he was worried about, he lived alone most of his life.  His mother, loved him and made sure he had every opportunity she could provide, but it was just them.  Then when he moved in with Paul, he was rarely around, he had more family and friends now than he had in his entire life, and that was still limited to a few people.

“The only thing you have to understand…”  He pulled the car up to the front of the house.  “We’re all insane.”

“Okay.”  He got out of the car and was introduced instantly to an actual English Butler.  Even in England, he had never met one. Before he could blink, he was escorted into the house, getting a running commentary on everything Sanctuary.

“Let the poor guy breath!”  The man pushed through a few of the other Vampires, giving Charles  a smile. “I’m Angel, ignore these idiots.”

“Charles.”  He held out his hand.  “Irish?”

“My birth country, but I’ve been here long enough to be a native, though the accent never goes away.”  He pulled Charles through the crowd into the sunroom. “Figured you would want to meet the reason your here.”

Charles smiled at the sight of the Sloth hanging on it’s branch.  He walked over to it carefully, hand brushing across the fur, shocked at the softness.  “What’s his name?”

“That’s Velcro.”  Jack popped back next to him. “He sticks to you.”   He threw open his coat and held out his arms … instantly Velcro was crawling onto him.

It was the most adorable thing Charles had ever seen, until they introduced him Brandon.

Brandon who was tall, had the most amazing eyes, and a soft almost shy smile.  Who was wearing a nice suit, with a cashmere blue scarf that had a tiny adorable baby sloth within its folds.

Brandon who looked just like Paul.

Brandon who was his Mate.

 

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Brandon Sullivan Aesthetic

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(This is a teaser from the reworking of Sylum Story: Proof of Life)

Memories gradually filtered forward through the cotton wool his brain had been trying so valiantly to shrug off.

After the Baptism, he’d gone back to the hotel with the full intention of relaxing, ordering room service, getting some sleep, and heading back to London the next morning.  He’d even made arrangements to spend a little time with Henry, then pick up Dino and head over to New York, where a big Wall Street firm called ‘Finlay and Sullivan’ had been putting out feelers about K&R Insurance for their foreign offices and representatives.

In the hotel lobby, where he’d been trying to organize a wake up call on an antiquated phone system that worked only when there was a full moon, he ran into Mendoza, and they’d wound up in the hotel bar, drinking far too many neon colored concoctions and reliving old adventures.

At some point, they’d been joined by a little blonde haired slip of a girl who reminded him a bit of Alice.

What the hell was her name…?

She’d looked like a good stiff breeze would blow her off her feet, but she’d been chatty and cute.

When she’d tried luring him out of there with the promise of a night worth remembering, Mendoza had buggered off, telling him to go for it and not give a damn about the consequences for once.

Seriously, what the fuck was her name?

She’d sounded American.

Not fake American, like the local hookers sometimes used on the tourists.

Real American.

He could remember Mendoza paying their tab with the bar tender, then nothing.

At all.

Sissy!!

Yes!

Her name was Sissy!

She’d probably put some shit in his drink when he wasn’t looking.

Fucking bitch!

A low moan from his right hand side had Terry suddenly aware that he wasn’t quite as alone as he’d imagined.

Pain shot down his arms in trying to turn and see who else was in there with him, yet he forced himself to move, feeling a lot like a worm on a fishing hook.

To his astonishment, he found another guy strung up much like he was himself, but with two notable exceptions.

One, the bloke was bollock naked.

And two, his feet were almost flat on the ground, though not quite low enough for him to take his own weight.

Terry had naturally seen a whole load of shit in his life, the great majority of which he could never, ever find adequate words for, or wish to reiterate in polite company.  Much of it no one would ever understand anyway, unless they’d been there or they’d endured it for themselves.

So he knew full well what rape looked and smelled like.

The female and the male variety.

He also knew what repeated beatings did to a body.

And what it took to inflict pain and humiliation at various intervals, until the victim was broken and longing for death.

If the guy hadn’t made a sound, he’d probably have though him dead.

“Mate!  You awake?” Terry hissed.  Not that he’d wanted to deliberately force the poor bastard into consciousness, but maybe the guy could at least tell him where the hell they were at.

A slightly louder groan was his only reply at that point.

“Mate!” he hissed again, fighting like a bitch not to dwell on whether he’d personally end up the same way before Dino found him.  “C’mon, Mate!  You still alive there?”

How his unfortunate companion in captivity went from being slumped in defeat, chin on chest one moment, to fully alert and awake the next, complete with a snarl of defiance and what appeared to be an ungodly light in his eyes, was nothing if not terrifying.

And for a split second, Terry was convinced he’d been shackled alone with a monster, until he realized his still mushy brain was playing tricks on him and forcing adrenaline through his system when it should’ve been conserving the stuff for later.

Preferably his first opportunity to escape.

“Who the fuck are you?”

It wasn’t, typically speaking, how most kidnap victims greeted their fellow hostages, but Terry knew he couldn’t be choosy.  “I was about to ask you the same.”

“Brandon.”

“Got a last name too?”

“Sullivan.”  He coughed.  Winced.  Coughed again.

“I’m Terry.”

“You my rescue?  ’cause you suck at it.”

He sounded remarkably good for someone who’d clearly been through hell.  “Sullivan?  Wait, like in ‘Finlay and Sullivan’?”

“Guess you were my rescue.”

Terry thought him fair dinkum for not freaking out.  “Didn’t know your friend Finlay had a full on situation in progress.  He made it sound like all he wanted was a chat and some information on insurance.”

“Fucking asshole!”

Brandon said it like it was old news, and Terry knew he’d obviously missed something else that had been going on.  “Is he why you’re here?”

A gentle shake of the head.  “I came for my sister.  Found her and Finlay fucking in my bed.  She got upset and ran away with this rich piece of Eurotrash who brought her down here.  Calls himself a Roman.  Says he’s from the Caesars, or some bullshit like that.  Aurelius, I think.  Not sure that’s his name.  Richer than God.  Said he didn’t want money for Sissy’s life.”

Terry’s stomach hit the floor with a squelch.  “Your sister is Sissy?”

“Was.  He killed her right in front of me here, just before you were dragged in.  Guess he used her to get you here.  She was so naive.  Always thought sex meant someone cared enough about her to give a damn.”  He snorted and cringed in pain.  That was when the tears began to fall.  “Death gets him going.  Mister Eurotrash.  Fucked me over her body while you were being prepped for him.”

It was hard to know precisely who Brandon was crying for, but in the end Terry realized it probably didn’t matter.  It was all the same thing really.  Part of him wanted to see the bloke’s face better, figure out what that light was making his eyes shine.  If they could look at each other properly, there was chance they could connect like men and not like victims.