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Entry tags:
- au,
- bloodverse series,
- fic,
- james lester,
- lester/ryan,
- ocs,
- rps,
- slash,
- tom ryan,
- vampire
Primeval fic: Bathed By Blood (8/16)
Title: Bathed By Blood (8/16)
Author: knitekat
Word Count: ~2460 (of a total ~47955)
Characters: James Lester, Tom Ryan and a cast of RPs, OCs and OHs.
Pairing: James Lester/Tom Ryan
Rating: 18
Disclaimer: Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures. Certainly not me. Writing for fun and will replace.
A/N 1: Part of my AU Bloodverse series. Continues from Part 7 and continues in Part 9.
A/N 2: Contains details of historical fact, several individuals in the fic are based on real historical people.
A/N 3: Thanks go to Fred for the beta. Cheers, m'dear.
Warnings: Dark!fic, bloodplay, blood and gore in general (graphic descriptions), angst, hurt/comfort.
I woke the next morning refreshed and pleasantly aching from my activities with Ryan the previous night. Running a hand through my hair, I considered my options. I could wait for the Seer or I could question the witnesses myself. I sighed. At least if I spoke to them I would know whether the Seer needed to question them. Besides that, it gave me something to do as I awaited her arrival and the next murder, I might even find a clue to help me in this hunt.
I kissed Ryan goodbye. “Practice well, my Ryan. I expect I will be gone most of the day and I will want a full report on your progress on my return.”
“I will miss your presence, my sire.” Ryan told me with a come-hither look.
I leaned in to kiss him, softly biting at his lips. “I will make it up to you later.” From Ryan's grin I assumed he was in full agreement with my plans. “Later, Ryan. I have work to do and so do you.”
“Yes, my sire. I will make you proud.”
I smiled before turning to my toiletry as I made myself ready for the day and carefully chose my clothing for my role as a police inspector. I read Richardson's statement as I broke my fast and savoured an excellent year from my special cellar.
I had Charlie drop me near to Richardson's likely location at this time of the day. It would hardly do my disguise any good if I turned up in my obviously upper-class carriage. I waited in the shadows of a narrow alley for a few moments after I'd arrived as I checked for anyone watching me. Satisfied that I had not been noticed leaving my carriage, I stepped out onto the street and walked along as I asked after Richardson. I was soon directed to him by several of the locals and entered the public house he was to be found in. It was small and smelt of soot and unwashed bodies and I had to force myself not to give expression to my distaste at being in such an establishment. The interior was lit by the flickering flames of several gas lamps, even though it was still daylight outside, but they did little to lighten the gloom that covered all like a cloak.
“Wha' you be 'aving?” The barkeep wiped his hands clean on a dirty rag and looked me up and down, no doubt wondering if he could thump me over my head and steal my valuables.
I showed him my new warrant card as I spoke, making sure I accidentally let my jacket fall open to reveal the revolver I carried. I also quickly made the judgement call that he would more easily speak to one of his own class. “I's looking for John Ric'ardson. Been told 'e's 'ere.”
“I don't blow.” The barkeep scowled at me as he ground one meaty fist into the other.
“No need t'be gammy, I justs wants talk t'im.” I really did not need to get into a fight, especially as I would have to take my knocks for once. Too many witnesses were present for me to use my abilities and not be noticed doing so. I decided to draw the man into my confidence, all barkeeps liked gossip. “'E be witness that murder t'other night.”
“T'bloody trasseno done carved up t'judy? Needs a good topping.” When I nodded, the barkeep nodded towards a group of men playing cards. “Tha'Richardson o'er there, back t'window.”
I turned to look at the group and spotted my witness. He was dressed much the same as the rest of the patrons to this establishment. Sporting Moleskin trousers, black coat and waistcoat and a checked shirt, topped by a bowler. Facially, he had neatly trimmed dark hair and moustache and a somewhat hooked nose. He looked like a descent enough fellow, as descent as any got in this hell known as the East End and one who would respond well to his betters.
I mentally shook myself. Standing at the bar looking at him was not going to get any of my questions answered. I strolled over to the group and watched for a moment until I would not interfere in their hands. Clearing my throat I enquired, “Mr John Richardson hof 2 John Street, Spitalfield?”
“Who wants t'know?” he replied surly as he glared at me from beneath his bowler hat.
I flashed my warrant card at him. “Hinspector Johnson. I have a few questions for you habout Saturday just gone.”
“I already given a statement t'that other copper.”
“Hand now you can tell me.” I stepped closer and made it clear I was not going until he talked to me.
“Right yer be.” Richardson licked his lips as his eyes flickered to his friends, before he repeated his tale. “It were about 4.45 and I 'ad calld in t'29 'Anbury Street t'check t'cellar doors. Make sure they was secure as a few months ago been broken into and a saw and 'ammer stoln.”
“Quite. Hand on that night?” I attempted to hurry him up as I really did have other matters to attend to.
“Aw, right. I checked t'door then sat meself down on t'second step down t'yard. I 'ad a bit of leather on m'boot that were 'urting me and I wantd t'cut it off.” He shook his head. “I would 'ave seen that woman's body if she'd been there then. It were just getting light but I could see all t'yard. I couldn't 'ave missed seeing 'er.”
I extended my senses slightly as Richardson spoke, and could just detect that peculiar flatness to his words and the almost imperceptible hesitation as he spoke of seeing nothing in the yard. Most of my kind would not have noticed, but I had learned to hear the tell-tale signs of domination and memory tampering to aid me in my role as a troubleshooter for the Council. Of course, a Seer would have detected it as soon as she had seen Richardson and I had to wonder if the delay in her arrival was more than My Lady's dislike of Seers. I almost shook my head at the direction my thoughts had taken. Did I really think there was a conspiracy between the killer and My Lady? Best to banish that thought from my head before I met the Seer, for she would know of it... I supposed that explained why the Seers were few in number and distrusted by most of my kind.
Enough. I had work to do and getting sidetracked on to irrelevant paths was not helping. I knew whoever had dominated Richardson was highly skilled as the trace was so faint. Far too skilled for me to risk an attempt to break the tampering. I could only hope the Seer arrived before the murderer killed again.
Dusk was falling by the time I had finished questioning Richardson and I considered my next move. I could track down my other witnesses and question them, but was there any point? If they had been dominated into forgetting what they had seen I'd still be faced with the same conundrum. By breaking the domination I would more than likely break the mind of the witness. Maybe not immediately, but within a few months, possibly years, the witness would suffer for my meddling and I could not, would not, be responsible for that.
Where the hell was my Seer?
But no matter how much I wanted to scream that at the Council, I could not. It would get me nowhere except on My Lady's list of troublemakers. I had seen what happened to mortals and vampires on that list and it was not pleasant. I sighed but I saw no alternative but to wait for either another murder – and hope the killer made a mistake – or for the Seer to arrive, and I could only hope that the latter happened before the former.
I will admit I was a fool. An overconfident fool at that. I was so deep in my thoughts that I completely forgot where I was. It did not pay to be unaware in Whitechapel, too many predators hunted for easy prey within its streets.
I barely heard the scuffle of boots behind me in time to avoid the blow that had been aimed at my head. I knew if I had been mortal that I would have been on the ground out cold, if not dead. My assailant was not a man who worried about the gallows, that was clear, if he was willing to murder me for my belongings. As it was, the blow hit my arm and sent a jarring pain through it and I smelt my blood in the air.
I spun and saw him, a heavy-set fellow who hefted a spiked cudgel in his meaty hand, its wicked spikes glittering with my blood. His teeth were yellowed from tobacco and his face sallow and pock-marked. All together an unsavoury specimen of an Eastender as I had ever seen in his much-patched and worn clothing. As he swung his cudgel at my head once more I kicked him in his privates. Not a gentlemanly thing to do, I admit, but my assailant was not a gentleman. I cautiously watched him as he dropped the cudgel and collapse to the ground holding himself and moaning in pain.
“Bloody 'ell. 'E's kicked me tallywags!”
I suppose I had but I could hear his accomplice creeping up on me so I liberated his cudgel to tap him smartly over his head, although I was careful not to hit him too hard. He might be a murderer but I tried my best not to kill. I hefted the cudgel to feel its weight as I turned to face my new assailant. He was a little rat of a man wearing a once red scarf around his neck and waving a sharp blade in his hand as though he meant business. Truthfully, with the way he was waving it about I felt he had more chance of stabbing himself in his arse than he did stabbing me with it.
“I'll slit yer bloody gutter lane,” he snarled at me as spittle flew from his mouth and he did his best to look menacing with his knife. Did he really not know the best way to hold a blade in a fight?
Although it sent agony ripping through my body I parried his blade with the cudgel before twisting it to send the blade spinning from his grip. He blinked in surprise to find himself so easily disarmed and I took advantage of his distraction to clip him around the head so he joined his friend unconscious on the ground.
I made sure both were alive before I dropped the cudgel and made for home. All I could think about was a warm bath and then snuggling in Ryan's arms as we slept. I cursed as I felt blood drip down my arm, there was no way I could call a hansom now, not when I was in torn blood-covered clothing that would look rather suspect in the high-class area in which my house was situated. Instead, I slipped through the shadows, an unseen ghost to those who walked the streets beside me, as my arm ached and throbbed with every step I took.
Finally I stepped through my front door and into the glare of Hattie, who was tapping her rolling-pin in her hand for emphasis. Her stern expression melted when she took in my posture and appearance. “Sir James?” She turned her head and, with little respect for anyone sleeping, bellowed, “Master Ryan, Becker.” The two called men came at a run and sighed as they saw me standing there all bedraggled and bloodied. Hattie turned to give them her orders. “Becker, please run Sir James a warm bath. Master Ryan...”
Ryan nodded and carefully scooped me into his arms and I must admit I had to bite back a whimper as he jostled my arm when he carried me up to our room. His touch was gentle as he careful stripped me of my dirty and damp clothing before stripping himself. The feel of his warm skin against my own served to distract me somewhat as he lifted me into my bath. I groaned as the warm water surrounded me and warmed limbs I had not realised were cold. I shivered and yelped as the shivers sent agony racing along my nerves. Ryan's hands were gentle as they cleansed my body and I was soon drifting half-asleep. I mumbled as I was lifted from the bath and carefully dried, before snuggling into my bedding and nuzzling against Ryan's broad chest. I yelped as I was rudely disturbed by fingers probing my aching arm. I opened an eye to glare at whoever had disturbed my rest and swallowed as I met the stern eyes of Hattie.
“Hush now,” Hattie muttered as her fingers gently examined my arm. I had to tamp down several flinches as she touched an especially tender spot.
“Hattie?” Ryan sounded concerned as he nuzzled my hair in a distracting and most welcome manner.
Hattie sighed softly. “Sir James has broken his arm, Master Ryan.”
I shifted in Ryan's grip and shot Hattie an annoyed look. “I did not break anything.”
“Hush now.” Hattie repeated as she stood up and tucked the covers around me. “Master Ryan, keep him still and I will be back with an ointment for his arm.”
“Do I not get a say in this?” I muttered in annoyance and was not surprised by the chorus of 'Nos' that greeted my words. As it appeared I would not change anyone's mind and, in truth, I was too tired and comfortable to resist them, I decided that my best course of action was to snuggle against Ryan and let him hold me.
I was not best pleased when I was once more rudely disturbed as Hattie manipulated my arm and only Ryan's arms held me still enough for her to complete her work. I did sigh as she coated my arm in her ointment before bandaging it and the pain died down to a dull bone-deep ache. I sniffed appreciatively as Ryan held a glass of blood to my lips and I eagerly drank it and one further glass before I slowly drifted into sleep as Ryan stroked his hand down my back.
Author: knitekat
Word Count: ~2460 (of a total ~47955)
Characters: James Lester, Tom Ryan and a cast of RPs, OCs and OHs.
Pairing: James Lester/Tom Ryan
Rating: 18
Disclaimer: Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures. Certainly not me. Writing for fun and will replace.
A/N 1: Part of my AU Bloodverse series. Continues from Part 7 and continues in Part 9.
A/N 2: Contains details of historical fact, several individuals in the fic are based on real historical people.
A/N 3: Thanks go to Fred for the beta. Cheers, m'dear.
Warnings: Dark!fic, bloodplay, blood and gore in general (graphic descriptions), angst, hurt/comfort.
I woke the next morning refreshed and pleasantly aching from my activities with Ryan the previous night. Running a hand through my hair, I considered my options. I could wait for the Seer or I could question the witnesses myself. I sighed. At least if I spoke to them I would know whether the Seer needed to question them. Besides that, it gave me something to do as I awaited her arrival and the next murder, I might even find a clue to help me in this hunt.
I kissed Ryan goodbye. “Practice well, my Ryan. I expect I will be gone most of the day and I will want a full report on your progress on my return.”
“I will miss your presence, my sire.” Ryan told me with a come-hither look.
I leaned in to kiss him, softly biting at his lips. “I will make it up to you later.” From Ryan's grin I assumed he was in full agreement with my plans. “Later, Ryan. I have work to do and so do you.”
“Yes, my sire. I will make you proud.”
I smiled before turning to my toiletry as I made myself ready for the day and carefully chose my clothing for my role as a police inspector. I read Richardson's statement as I broke my fast and savoured an excellent year from my special cellar.
I had Charlie drop me near to Richardson's likely location at this time of the day. It would hardly do my disguise any good if I turned up in my obviously upper-class carriage. I waited in the shadows of a narrow alley for a few moments after I'd arrived as I checked for anyone watching me. Satisfied that I had not been noticed leaving my carriage, I stepped out onto the street and walked along as I asked after Richardson. I was soon directed to him by several of the locals and entered the public house he was to be found in. It was small and smelt of soot and unwashed bodies and I had to force myself not to give expression to my distaste at being in such an establishment. The interior was lit by the flickering flames of several gas lamps, even though it was still daylight outside, but they did little to lighten the gloom that covered all like a cloak.
“Wha' you be 'aving?” The barkeep wiped his hands clean on a dirty rag and looked me up and down, no doubt wondering if he could thump me over my head and steal my valuables.
I showed him my new warrant card as I spoke, making sure I accidentally let my jacket fall open to reveal the revolver I carried. I also quickly made the judgement call that he would more easily speak to one of his own class. “I's looking for John Ric'ardson. Been told 'e's 'ere.”
“I don't blow.” The barkeep scowled at me as he ground one meaty fist into the other.
“No need t'be gammy, I justs wants talk t'im.” I really did not need to get into a fight, especially as I would have to take my knocks for once. Too many witnesses were present for me to use my abilities and not be noticed doing so. I decided to draw the man into my confidence, all barkeeps liked gossip. “'E be witness that murder t'other night.”
“T'bloody trasseno done carved up t'judy? Needs a good topping.” When I nodded, the barkeep nodded towards a group of men playing cards. “Tha'Richardson o'er there, back t'window.”
I turned to look at the group and spotted my witness. He was dressed much the same as the rest of the patrons to this establishment. Sporting Moleskin trousers, black coat and waistcoat and a checked shirt, topped by a bowler. Facially, he had neatly trimmed dark hair and moustache and a somewhat hooked nose. He looked like a descent enough fellow, as descent as any got in this hell known as the East End and one who would respond well to his betters.
I mentally shook myself. Standing at the bar looking at him was not going to get any of my questions answered. I strolled over to the group and watched for a moment until I would not interfere in their hands. Clearing my throat I enquired, “Mr John Richardson hof 2 John Street, Spitalfield?”
“Who wants t'know?” he replied surly as he glared at me from beneath his bowler hat.
I flashed my warrant card at him. “Hinspector Johnson. I have a few questions for you habout Saturday just gone.”
“I already given a statement t'that other copper.”
“Hand now you can tell me.” I stepped closer and made it clear I was not going until he talked to me.
“Right yer be.” Richardson licked his lips as his eyes flickered to his friends, before he repeated his tale. “It were about 4.45 and I 'ad calld in t'29 'Anbury Street t'check t'cellar doors. Make sure they was secure as a few months ago been broken into and a saw and 'ammer stoln.”
“Quite. Hand on that night?” I attempted to hurry him up as I really did have other matters to attend to.
“Aw, right. I checked t'door then sat meself down on t'second step down t'yard. I 'ad a bit of leather on m'boot that were 'urting me and I wantd t'cut it off.” He shook his head. “I would 'ave seen that woman's body if she'd been there then. It were just getting light but I could see all t'yard. I couldn't 'ave missed seeing 'er.”
I extended my senses slightly as Richardson spoke, and could just detect that peculiar flatness to his words and the almost imperceptible hesitation as he spoke of seeing nothing in the yard. Most of my kind would not have noticed, but I had learned to hear the tell-tale signs of domination and memory tampering to aid me in my role as a troubleshooter for the Council. Of course, a Seer would have detected it as soon as she had seen Richardson and I had to wonder if the delay in her arrival was more than My Lady's dislike of Seers. I almost shook my head at the direction my thoughts had taken. Did I really think there was a conspiracy between the killer and My Lady? Best to banish that thought from my head before I met the Seer, for she would know of it... I supposed that explained why the Seers were few in number and distrusted by most of my kind.
Enough. I had work to do and getting sidetracked on to irrelevant paths was not helping. I knew whoever had dominated Richardson was highly skilled as the trace was so faint. Far too skilled for me to risk an attempt to break the tampering. I could only hope the Seer arrived before the murderer killed again.
Dusk was falling by the time I had finished questioning Richardson and I considered my next move. I could track down my other witnesses and question them, but was there any point? If they had been dominated into forgetting what they had seen I'd still be faced with the same conundrum. By breaking the domination I would more than likely break the mind of the witness. Maybe not immediately, but within a few months, possibly years, the witness would suffer for my meddling and I could not, would not, be responsible for that.
Where the hell was my Seer?
But no matter how much I wanted to scream that at the Council, I could not. It would get me nowhere except on My Lady's list of troublemakers. I had seen what happened to mortals and vampires on that list and it was not pleasant. I sighed but I saw no alternative but to wait for either another murder – and hope the killer made a mistake – or for the Seer to arrive, and I could only hope that the latter happened before the former.
I will admit I was a fool. An overconfident fool at that. I was so deep in my thoughts that I completely forgot where I was. It did not pay to be unaware in Whitechapel, too many predators hunted for easy prey within its streets.
I barely heard the scuffle of boots behind me in time to avoid the blow that had been aimed at my head. I knew if I had been mortal that I would have been on the ground out cold, if not dead. My assailant was not a man who worried about the gallows, that was clear, if he was willing to murder me for my belongings. As it was, the blow hit my arm and sent a jarring pain through it and I smelt my blood in the air.
I spun and saw him, a heavy-set fellow who hefted a spiked cudgel in his meaty hand, its wicked spikes glittering with my blood. His teeth were yellowed from tobacco and his face sallow and pock-marked. All together an unsavoury specimen of an Eastender as I had ever seen in his much-patched and worn clothing. As he swung his cudgel at my head once more I kicked him in his privates. Not a gentlemanly thing to do, I admit, but my assailant was not a gentleman. I cautiously watched him as he dropped the cudgel and collapse to the ground holding himself and moaning in pain.
“Bloody 'ell. 'E's kicked me tallywags!”
I suppose I had but I could hear his accomplice creeping up on me so I liberated his cudgel to tap him smartly over his head, although I was careful not to hit him too hard. He might be a murderer but I tried my best not to kill. I hefted the cudgel to feel its weight as I turned to face my new assailant. He was a little rat of a man wearing a once red scarf around his neck and waving a sharp blade in his hand as though he meant business. Truthfully, with the way he was waving it about I felt he had more chance of stabbing himself in his arse than he did stabbing me with it.
“I'll slit yer bloody gutter lane,” he snarled at me as spittle flew from his mouth and he did his best to look menacing with his knife. Did he really not know the best way to hold a blade in a fight?
Although it sent agony ripping through my body I parried his blade with the cudgel before twisting it to send the blade spinning from his grip. He blinked in surprise to find himself so easily disarmed and I took advantage of his distraction to clip him around the head so he joined his friend unconscious on the ground.
I made sure both were alive before I dropped the cudgel and made for home. All I could think about was a warm bath and then snuggling in Ryan's arms as we slept. I cursed as I felt blood drip down my arm, there was no way I could call a hansom now, not when I was in torn blood-covered clothing that would look rather suspect in the high-class area in which my house was situated. Instead, I slipped through the shadows, an unseen ghost to those who walked the streets beside me, as my arm ached and throbbed with every step I took.
Finally I stepped through my front door and into the glare of Hattie, who was tapping her rolling-pin in her hand for emphasis. Her stern expression melted when she took in my posture and appearance. “Sir James?” She turned her head and, with little respect for anyone sleeping, bellowed, “Master Ryan, Becker.” The two called men came at a run and sighed as they saw me standing there all bedraggled and bloodied. Hattie turned to give them her orders. “Becker, please run Sir James a warm bath. Master Ryan...”
Ryan nodded and carefully scooped me into his arms and I must admit I had to bite back a whimper as he jostled my arm when he carried me up to our room. His touch was gentle as he careful stripped me of my dirty and damp clothing before stripping himself. The feel of his warm skin against my own served to distract me somewhat as he lifted me into my bath. I groaned as the warm water surrounded me and warmed limbs I had not realised were cold. I shivered and yelped as the shivers sent agony racing along my nerves. Ryan's hands were gentle as they cleansed my body and I was soon drifting half-asleep. I mumbled as I was lifted from the bath and carefully dried, before snuggling into my bedding and nuzzling against Ryan's broad chest. I yelped as I was rudely disturbed by fingers probing my aching arm. I opened an eye to glare at whoever had disturbed my rest and swallowed as I met the stern eyes of Hattie.
“Hush now,” Hattie muttered as her fingers gently examined my arm. I had to tamp down several flinches as she touched an especially tender spot.
“Hattie?” Ryan sounded concerned as he nuzzled my hair in a distracting and most welcome manner.
Hattie sighed softly. “Sir James has broken his arm, Master Ryan.”
I shifted in Ryan's grip and shot Hattie an annoyed look. “I did not break anything.”
“Hush now.” Hattie repeated as she stood up and tucked the covers around me. “Master Ryan, keep him still and I will be back with an ointment for his arm.”
“Do I not get a say in this?” I muttered in annoyance and was not surprised by the chorus of 'Nos' that greeted my words. As it appeared I would not change anyone's mind and, in truth, I was too tired and comfortable to resist them, I decided that my best course of action was to snuggle against Ryan and let him hold me.
I was not best pleased when I was once more rudely disturbed as Hattie manipulated my arm and only Ryan's arms held me still enough for her to complete her work. I did sigh as she coated my arm in her ointment before bandaging it and the pain died down to a dull bone-deep ache. I sniffed appreciatively as Ryan held a glass of blood to my lips and I eagerly drank it and one further glass before I slowly drifted into sleep as Ryan stroked his hand down my back.
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Loved everyone caring for him so tenderly. He should heal quickly, though, right? *wibbles*
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Glad you liked everyone looking after James. Hee, he's a vampire, of course he'll be fine.
I can't exactly kill him, he's already dead ;)Thanks for reading.
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Loving this verse'
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Thanks for reading.
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James is perfectly happy to be in Ryan's arms and Hattie will certainly put him to rights.
Um, you'll have to wait and see about the Seer *eg*
Thanks for reading and commenting.
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Thanks for a great read
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This continues to be awesome! :)
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*blushes* Thanks, good to know you think so.
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LOL, brilliant!! I do love the authentic feel that the language brings to the story.
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Thanks for reading, and the beta and paw-holding.