TIME STAMP
1st of Searing
It was any other day, really. Vivian had his usual breakfast of poached eggs, strawberries and toast, worked with Bara on a lunge line borrowed from Degare's stables, and relaxed in the sun. It was finally warming up. Spring had left and summer was in full swing, and it was absolutely incredible to be able to enjoy it for the first time in all his days. Vivian could lay out on the lawns, a cookie purloined from the larders in his teeth and a book over his eyes, for hours. He was clean, he was fed, power sang in his bones. Degare hadn't been shy about taking advantage of his vocation either, which bothered Vivian very little.
He'd never expected to just be an apprentice.
Vivian filled his days with practice. He practiced his magic, communing with Bara and memorizing the form of the mule. Things like the hammerhead worms that occasionally crawled into the garden were alarmingly easy. Bara was an elegant machine of bone, blood and muscle that took hours to properly assess. He was discovering that one could play with scale as well, and regularly took inspiration from the flea and worm to make features larger or smaller. The hammerhead worm was the easiest, being at its basic core a bag of coelom and blood controlled by a brain.
However, something was niggling at Vivian.
Degare hadn't been back in weeks. Neither had Arkash.
Oh, Vivian knew about those two. They were deeply in love, and it was rather endearing. Vivian had begun to liken their relationship to strange patrons he happened to suck off once in a while, and he'd liked Arkash as much as he did Degare. Rather, Arkash scared him quite a bit less. Their absence was typical at first. It was expected that Degare be able to swan off wherever he pleased and for a time his nephew had come to watch over the estate. Then the nephew had left.
Now it was just Vivian in a house full of servants, not quite above them yet not quite on their same level.
It was disquieting.
Vivian sighed and sat up from his usual napping spot on the lawn, taking the book down from his face and setting it aside. His letters had gotten a lot better as well, enough to study the books that Degare kept in his office. Of course, while the cat was away the mice played. He settled his hand on the book, his fingers absentmindedly stroking the leather. He missed Degare. Not just the sex and the lessons, but the man himself. He had a horrible sense that something was about to happen to shatter his quiet, happy life here...and that the days of hour-long baths, loud fucking in the pantry, and midnight snacks were about to go up in smoke.
He had noticed small things. The cook bought less fine beef, and more chicken and vegetables. They ate more rice and biscuits, things that were cheaper, and their supply of fresh fruit was dwindling. There was less cream in the house and certainly less chocolate and coffee. Likewise, the servants had shuttered part of the house including Degare's room. They'd covered his personal things in dustcloths and simply locked the door.
What was happening to House Socorro?
"Are you ever going to start helping around here, lazybones?" One of the maids griped at him as she came outside with a basket of laundry. "While the master isn't here I expect you to start picking up a broom."
"I promised him I'd practice while he was away-"
"That was weeks ago, child. You've got to start pulling your weight around here. We haven't seen a dime from Master Degare in a month, and the head of household is going to start cutting dead weight. You like that bed of yours? You best start scrubbing dishes every once in a while." The maid pointed an accusatory finger at him, and began pinning up the laundry. "Put that book away and go help take stock of the wine cellar."
Vivian looked at her suspiciously, rising to his feet and tucking the book against his chest. He'd filled out quite a bit since coming to House Socorro. With weight on his bones, and muscle, he was beginning to look less like a half-starved mink and more slender and feminine. He had surprisingly narrow shoulders for a man, and the rich food had added a pleasant curve to his hip and thighs. Not to mention what it was doing for his posterior; he was exceedingly proud of the bubble rear end he'd developed. "Take stock of the wine cellar? For what?" he demanded.
"Cook wants to start selling off some of the older bottles." the maid shrugged, pinning a bed sheet up to the line. She waved off the damp fabric as it fluttered in the wind.
"Yeah, that's going to go over well when he comes back and wants a nice bottle of wine with dinner, only for you to tell him you've only got the cheap stuff left." Vivian snorted.
"I'm serious." The maid cocked an eyebrow at him. "While you've been riding cook's cock in exchange for sweets and naptime, we've been getting letters about our financial obligations. I'm not sure where Master Degare is, but he's somewhere he can't send a letter of credit to the government. If it gets bad enough, they'll take the house. So you shouldn't moan over us selling some wine. Degare himself would understand."
A chill ran down Vivian's spine. Take the house?
"His nephew was just here! They can just take the money out of Degare's accounts can't they?" Vivian protested.
The maid sighed. "Yes, and his nephew left just as quickly when he figured out he couldn't just take his uncle for all he was worth. He didn't even respond to your constant attempts to get him into bed. Doesn't that tell you something? He knew something was wrong. He just had the good damn sense to get out of here before the guards show." She shook her head. "Some of us will stay with the estate if it's sold, can't put a price on good servants."
Vivian scowled at her. "Then I'll stay-"
Her laughter cut him off. "You really think some lord's wife is going to stand your pretty face around for two minutes? You really think she'll tolerate your corrupting her sons, attaching to her husband like a lamprey and draining their accounts dry?" she snickered, shaking her head and finishing the last of her laundry. "Anyone with any brains to rub together can see what you are."
Vivian's face flushed angrily, and he pressed past her into the house. He walked directly to Degare's study and shoved the book back in it's place, folding his arms over his chest. He had to do something. He stared at the books on magic, on Malformation. He knew them by heart now after hours of pouring over them. At first it had just been rote practice for reading. Now he understood the more he read them; it was like opening a new book every time he pulled one off the shelf to re-read it.
A horrible idea sprang to mind.
What if Degare didn't have to be gone?
Vivian rushed to his rooms and began throwing his clothes into a bag. He carefully wrapped up his tools in the woolen batting they'd come with, and neatly hid them under the bed. He broke down the sheets, folding them and carrying them to the nearest linen closet. A few extra crates in front of the bed and the room looked like any other converted guest bedroom turned storage.
He needed something of Degare's. He quietly crept to the man's bedroom, and stood in front of the locked door. He got on his belly, and thought of the worm. Boneless. Seeping his flesh under the doorjamb would be no problem for him. He slowly edged his head forward, skull dissolving, becoming formless, boneless, just a sack of flesh and muscle controlled by fluid. He squirmed under the door, letting the blind, chemical sensitivity of the worm guide him to the disused dusty rug in front of Degare's bed.
Vivian reformed himself, pulling back that feeling of shapelessness. He needed to know himself again for a few moments, flexing his hands to feel his bones and running his fingers over his reforming skull to prove it was still there. When he was back to his own shape, he stood up and looked around the room.
Time stood still here. The sheets were still mussed from the last day Degare had been in the house. Vivian approached it and ran his fingers over the pillow, nuzzling his face into it. Familiar scents of old sweat and sex...likely Degare and Arkash coupling. He sighed; they could have invited him. He was a good threesome partner, especially now that limits with things like owning a skeleton were now just bendable concepts instead of biological laws. He swept his hand over the bed again and caught some of Degare's hair in his fingers. Alright, a start.
Vivian pulled on Degare's dressing gown, surrounding himself in the man's scent. He shed his own clothing; if he was going to try and push a doppelganger form, even for a moment, he had to drown himself in the man he was trying to emulate. He still wasn't sure it was going to work. Doppelgangers were the ultimate pinnacle of his craft. They were legend.
He took a deep breath. He had to try.
He left his own clothes laid out. That was his emergency. He needed something to anchor him to him, so to speak. A way to get back. He couldn't risk depersonalization or he would become Degare well and truly. That thought was met with a shudder. He did not want to become his master, however much he missed him.
Vivian went into the bathroom and used Degare's brush on his hair. Right, Degare had hair the color of midnight. As he brushed, he banished the platinum blonde locks, imagining his hair coal black and straight. The closest he could get was a horse's mane...but perhaps if someone didn't look too closely? He tied up the rough, thick hair behind his head and looked in the mirror. Degare's face. The red eyes that had burned into his soul...he would start there.
He stared at the image of himself in the mirror, blue eyes wide and open. He imagined them blood red, the irises taken over by the color of powerful lifeblood. The way Degare's eyes sat in his head...harsh and cold and cruel. A headache stabbed into his temple and a knot of nausea crawled in his guts. The edges of his eyes creased, his brows lowering in the severe look of an older man. He would have to shape his face into something slightly heavier and older. It was getting hard to think and his breakfast was roiling.
Fear crawled in his heart. The changes shivered violently, blue warring with red and his large eyes fighting Degare's angry squint.
Vivian broke his gaze and felt the changes snap back. His magic blew back like a whip, punishing him for attempting something he clearly wasn't ready for. Bedraggled platinum hair fell in front of his face and he vomited into the sink. Vivian retched, a headache stabbing behind his eyes so harshly he had to shut them. When he risked opening them again, he saw blood mixing with the bile flowing down the drain. Even trying to copy Degare's eyes had been too much.
Vivian crawled out of the bathroom, across the wooden floor to his own clothing. He buried his nose in his own scent, and weakly shook off Degare's dressing robe.
He could have killed himself, or worse. Even a few minutes of trying had given him a migraine and a stomachache so severe he felt like gremlins had crawled down his throat with broken glass. He retched uselessly, moaning and kicking away Degare's clothing in favor of cuddling his own.
"Get back to Vivian..." he whispered. His hair was his own. His eyes were his own, wide, unwrinkled with long lashes. His lips were full and pouty, not those thin razors. He was himself. It would likely take days to recover, and none of the servants would be up to babying him without Degare.
Gods, what was going to happen to him? To the house?
Could he face living on the street again?
Hot tears stung his eyes, but at least they were his own. Vivian grabbed the dressing gown he'd kicked, and sobbed into Degare's scent.
"I'm so sorry...please come back..."
