Determined Dawn

This scene was inspired by a word prompt from the WriYe DreamWidth (the title).  I could have used any of a number of my characters, but I decided to go with Quinten…


Quinten yawned deeply and set his sketchbook to one side.  Then, he looked out the window towards the horizon.  The sun was just starting to brighten the sky.  With the light of day, he wouldn’t burn as some people supposed.  Instead, he would sleep.  It was near impossible to keep from sleeping when sunlight touched him.

He heaved a sigh and glanced over at Felicity.  “I hate this time of year,” he said, rubbing at his eyes.  “Nights aren’t near long enough.”  As the sun peered over the horizon, he slumped back in the chair and slept.

Chuckling softly, Felicity tucked a blanket around his shoulders.  “That dawn is just determined to ruin your night, is it, Quinten?” she murmured, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her.  Patting his hand, she turned and left the room.

O Muse

This little scene was inspired by a word prompt (the title) from the WriYe DreamWidth.  Thinking of muses immediately made me think of Quinten.


Quinten frowned speculatively at Charity.  Then he drew out his sketchbook and began drawing.  When he looked up at her again, she was frowning at him.  “Don’t mind me, my dear,” he said, shaking his head.  “Just go about your business.”

“I’m embroidering,” Charity said, scowling.  When Quinten nodded, she blinked.  “Are you drawing me… while I embroider?”

Shrugging, Quentin said, “All the greats drew and painted people while they were doing normal, mundane things, Charity.  Why shouldn’t I make a piece of you embroidering?”  He grinned suddenly and waved at her to continue her embroidering.  “I’ll call it ‘Wolf at Work’.”

Charity rolled her eyes.  “You’re crazy,” she said, turning back to her work.

Looking back at his sketchbook, he said, “You can never tell what will inspire you, my dear.”

Gently Now

This little vignette was inspired by a photo prompt from the WriYe DreamWidth.  The scene in the picture is just mentioned as a comparison to what’s happening in the scene.


Felicity watched the scene with a bemused smile on her face.  Her expression was mirrored by Quinten as he held the tiny kitten in his lap.

“It’s funny,” Charity said, shaking her head.  “Nearly every living creature in the world is terrified of both werewolves and vampires.  Cats, though… they seem to like vampires.”

“Maybe they sense a kinship,” Felicity said.  When Charity frowned at her, she shrugged.  Her eyes twinkled with mirth as she said, “The fangs?  The animosity towards… dogs.”

“I’ve got nothing against werewolves, Mistress,” Quinten protested without taking his eyes off the kitten that was rubbing affectionately against his hand.

81d934d61ead312752cb81c4e137903f“It reminds me of this picture I saw,” Charity said, smiling.  “This huge gorilla with a tiny butterfly perched on its finger.  The gorilla could crush that butterfly, but… it just stares at it with this almost human expression.”

“The same expression that Quinten’s got right now,” Felicity said, nodding.  She chuckled when Quinten looked up at her with wide eyes.

He shrugged.  He might have blushed, if he still had the ability.  Instead, he just grinned.  “I can keep her.  Aye?”

“Of course,” Felicity said.  She chuckled when Charity made a disgusted noise.  “She’ll get used to you, Charity.”

“Cats hate werewolves,” Charity grumbled.  Then she heaved a sigh and shook her head.  “Still, they’re so cute together.”

“Thank you,” Quinten said, grinning.  He flashed his fangs at the kitten.  “Yay,” he said.  He chuckled when the kitten gave a chirping mew, flashing her fangs in reply.

Reflections in the Mist

This scene was inspired by a picture prompt from the WriYe DreamWidth.  The moment I saw this picture, I thought of Quinten and Charity.


Charity gasped as Quinten stepped forward and nearly fell off the ledge and into the water.  She caught him and pulled him back just in time.  “Please watch where you step,” she said.

“It’s all so… beautiful,” he breathed.  He looked around them and Charity knew that he was admiring the way the mist seemed to cling to the trees.  To her, it looked rather spooky, but she already knew that Quinten didn’t see things the way she did.

“Are you two coming?” Felicity called them from further up the trail.

Quinten flushed.  Then, together with Charity, he called, “Coming, Mistress.”  They hurried up the path until they came to a bridge made of ropes and wooden planks.  Quinten gasped at the sight.  Charity knew he didn’t like being over water, few of his kind did.  However, she was surprised when that wasn’t what at elicited the gasp from her mate.3d4710a6409b21b99fc95e4806f9506b

“It’s breath-taking,” he rasped.  Tears stood in his eyes as he caught Felicity by the elbow.  “Please, Mistress, might we have a break, so that I can sketch it?  It won’t take but a few moments!”

Felicity frowned.  “You wouldn’t be delaying because the idea of crossing water bothers you,” she said, meeting his gaze.  “Would you, my dear?”

“Because of that stream, Mistress?” Quinten said, looking surprised and somewhat offended.  “What sort of coward do you think I am, Mistress?”

“The vampiric sort,” Felicity replied, shrugging.

“Well, I like that,” he huffed.  Then he sat down on a nearby rock and pulled out his sketchbook.  “Go ahead,” he invited.  “I’ll cross all on my own and show I’m no coward.  You see if I don’t!”

Charity covered a laugh and crouched beside him.  “It’s really just because you’re so taken by the beauty of it all?” she asked.

“It is,” he replied, nodding.  He waved ahead of them.  “The rustic appeal of the bridge, the haunting misty background, the trees reflected in the water… it’s not something I’ve encountered in Ireland, and no mistake!”

“We’ll break here for lunch,” Felicity said, as she settled down on a nearby stone.  She met Quinten’s gaze.  “Forgive me for teasing you, if you can,” she said, giving him a weak smile.

“Of course, Mistress,” Quinten said, shaking his head.  “It’s already forgotten.  I knew your words were meant in jest, after all.”  He gave Charity a sidelong glance and murmured, “You’ll hold me hand when we cross that wee bridge, aye?”

“Every step of the way,” Charity promised, patting his shoulder gently.

Like A Ship on the Ocean

This is the last of the picture prompts from the WritYe DreamWidth that I had to use in order to be current.  Technically, there’s one more (from this past Wednesday), but otherwise, I’m caught up.


15-db59ec0a40Quentin frowned at the image.  It was odd, yet imaginative.  “Reminds me of Noah’s ark, a bit,” he said, tilting his head one way and then the other.

Felicity scowled at him and then looked back at the picture.  “It looks like it’s sinking,” she said, shaking her head.  “Noah’s ark didn’t sink.”

“I was home to all those creatures,” Quentin said.  He waved at the picture.  “It’s a house bobbing in the waves, like a ship on the ocean.”

“It’s sinking,” Felicity argued.

Quentin turned to face her.  Folding his arms behind his back, he smiled.  “It’s a stationary image, Mistress,” he said.  He lifted one shoulder and then looked back at the picture.  Tilting his head slightly, so that the house appeared level, he added, “I say it’s bobbing in the waves, like a ship and you can’t say me nay.”

Charity stifled a laugh.  “Technically, he’s right,” she said, nodding.

Felicity scowled.  “Houses don’t float,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.  “They get washed away or they sink.  The entire image is absurd.”

“I rather like it,” Quentin said, smirking.  He turned and walked on through the gallery whistling to himself, so that he couldn’t hear Felicity’s grumblings.  He did, however, hear Charity’s laughter.

Who’s In Charge Around Here?

This little scene was inspired by a word prompt from WriYe DreamWidth (captain).


Captain Stanley Smith had never met anyone so infuriating in his entire life.  The man ignored every word that came out of his mouth.  Whatever Captain Smith said, he went and did the exact opposite.  “Mr. O’Conner,” he said, his voice strained, “what are doing back on deck?”

Quinten whirled around to face him.  “Mistress sent me up to ask when we would arrive, Captain,” he said, his voice soft.  The man gave him a smile and he resisted the urge to flinch at the sight of sharp-pointed teeth.  “Would you happen to know, sir?”

Captain Smith could swear that the man was well aware how unnerving the view was.  He was probably enjoying it.  “We’ll dock with the morning tide, Mr. O’Connor,” he said, scowling.  “I’ll thank you to remain below, as ordered.”

Bowing politely, Quinten said, “I appreciate your position, Captain.”  Then, the man straightened and met his eyes.  “I’ll thank you to remember that I am not in your chain of command.”

“This is my ship, Mr. O’Connor,” Captain Smith snapped.

Quinten flashed the sharp teeth again.  “Your ship, aye,” he said, spreading his arms.  Setting a hand against his own chest, he added, “Not your vampire, though.  I take my orders from only one soul and that soul is not you, sir.”  He folded his arms behind his back and bowed politely.  “Good day, Captain.”

“Good day,” Captain Smith said, glaring as the man retreated below once again.  He heaved a sigh and shook his head.  Looking at the boatswain, he said, “Never again.”

“Duly noted, sir,” the boatswain agreed, nodding.  At least someone was content to obey his orders.

Juxtaposed Views

This little scene was inspired by a picture prompt from the WriYe DreamWidth.  I had a bit of a tough time figuring out what to write for such an amazing image.


Charity stared at the dark clouds in the distance with a confused frown.  She’d never, in her life, seen something so strange.

Quinten grabbed her by the arm and tugged at her.  “Would you come on already?” he said, his voice strained.  “That – that thing’s dangerous, Char!”

22-58fd2f4238She let him draw her back towards the cellar of the house, where Felicity had already taken shelter.  “There’s a rainbow,” she said.  “Isn’t that supposed to be the symbol of a promise from God?”

“A promise not to destroy the earth in a great flood, aye,” Quinten said, as he shoved her into the cellar. As he followed her below and secured the door, he added, “That promise says nothing about not ripping over-curious werepups into the air with cyclones!”

“It was rather pretty,” Felicity said, patting Charity on the arm.

Quinten sat down on the box beside Felicity and hurumphed.  “In rather a terrifying way, I suppose,” he said.

Fields of Gold

This scene was inspired by a picture prompt from the WriYe DreamWidth and… the fact that most of my current characters (particularly in this universe) are vampires or werewolves, neither of which like bright sunshine (both can survive it in this world, though).  Vampires combusting in sunlight is a Hollywood invention.


21-e514a7a2a0“You have to admit,” Charity said, as she twirled her parasol, “it’s really rather pretty.”

Quinten yawned hugely and shook his head.  Rubbing at his eyes, he said “Only thing that I must admit, is that I’d rather be anywhere besides an open field the middle of the day.”

“Would you like my parasol?” Charity offered, smiling.

“What I’d like,” Quinten snapped, “is to have been left asleep, in my bed.”

“Come along,” Felicity called to them.  She turned to face them and set her hands on her hips.  “If we want to be in position before moonrise, we need to get going, Quinten.”

“Sure and it’s a cruel master you are,” Quinten said, but he pulled his hood up a little higher and hurried after Charity, who was already rushing to join her.  At least she’d let him wear the cloak.  Prudence would have told him it wasn’t that bad and that he should stop acting like a baby.

A Dark and Stormy Day

Here is another excerpt from the same story – set a bit earlier, when Felicity is still a child of about five year.  It was inspired by a picture prompt from the WriYe DreamWidth.


12-3c3457d86cQuentin sat up quickly when he heard his ward scream.  A moment later, he knew what had scared her: thunder rolled so loudly that the inn seemed to shake with the sound.  Her mother, he knew, would be busy tending to customers.

He threw back the covers.  The storm clouds were so thick that it had turned the day to night.  At least he didn’t have to fear the sun.  He sighed as he peered into the playroom.  Charity was kneeling in front of Felicity, who was sobbing uncontrollably.

“Young Mistress?” Quentin said, his voice soft.  “Are you all right?”

Charity heaved a sigh and nodded.  “The thunder startled her,” she said.  She patted young Felicity on the shoulder.  “See?  I told you that he’d come.”

“Make it stop,” Felicity said, as she left Charity and threw her arms around Quentin’s waist.  “I don’t like it, Quentin.”

“I know you don’t care for the thunder, Mistress,” he said, as he crouched down.  The only problem with her mother signing their contract over to her child was that Felicity was prone to giving them impossible orders.  There was simply no way to explain to a five year old that she couldn’t order them to make the thunder stop.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of some way to comfort her.  “I cannot make it stop, Mistress.  The rain makes the plants grow,” he said, his voice soft.  “People need the rain.”

“Why must it thunder, though?” Felicity asked, her brows furrowing.  “Can’t you make that stop?”

Shaking his head, Quentin said, “If I could, believe that I would do so, Young Mistress.”  He lifted her into his arms and brought her to the nursery, where she slept.  Sitting on her bed, he said, “What I can do, is distract you from it.”

He began telling her a story that his mother had told him when he’d been young and frightened by something.  He was certain that he made a few mistakes in the telling.  However, it did the trick.  Slowly, but surely, Felicity’s attention became more and more focused on what he was saying and her fear of the storm faded to the background.

By the time he was finished, the thunder had passed, although it was still dark and raining.  He smiled when she hopped off the bed.  “Play with me,” she said, hurrying back to the playroom.

Chuckling softly, Quentin followed her into the next room.  One day, his young mistress would be a grown woman.  Until then, he would enjoy serving her as a playmate and storyteller.  “I like much better being a nanny than I did a peace officer, I think,” he said to Charity.

Charity shrugged and then nodded.  “It’s definitely more fun,” she agreed.  Then, she settled down beside their young mistress on the floor beside the doll house.  Quentin joined them and, soon, they were playing house with Felicity’s collection of dolls.

Meeting New Friends…

The next section of Quinten’s story.  We meet Charity, a little werewolf, and he get permission to get some “breakfast”.  The word prompt from WriYe DreamWidth was “arch” and I’ve snuck it in there a couple times.


Quinten woke at sunset to find a little girl staring at him.  He scowled at the child.  “What are you supposed to be?” he asked, sitting upright.  “You’re not herself’s daughter.  Are you?”

An impish smile touched the girl’s lips.  “He’s awake, Mistress,” she called, not taking her eyes off of him.  “I’m Charity McLaine,” she said, before she spun away from him and bolted out of the room.  A moment later, she reappeared and pointed at a wardrobe.  “Clothes there, vampire.”

“I’ve a name, you imp,” he snapped.

Charity laughed.  “I’m no imp,” she said, shaking her head.  “I’m a werewolf.”  Then, she had bolted out of the room once again.

“Werewolf, eh?” he called, as he slipped off the bed.  “That explains the rude behavior well enough.”  Then, he began rummaging through the wardrobe, searching for something to wear that suited his style.  What he found was woefully somber.

He released a long-suffering sigh and then changed out of his clothing from the night before.  Once he was dressed properly, if drably, he brushed his hair and headed out of his bedroom.  He inclined his head politely at Prudence.  “So,” he said, after she returned the gesture, “now you’ve got a pet vampire to go with your were-pup?  Can I ask why you’re collecting supernaturals the way some women collect suitors?”

“She’s a peacekeeper, of course,” Charity said, rolling her eyes.  Her eyes twinkled as she waved her finger at him.  “You were a naughty boy, Mr. Terror of Dublin… very naughty indeed.”

Quinten had the grace to duck his head.  He had no excuse for his actions.  His late sire would never have approved of him feeding on schoolboys the way he had been.  “I suppose you were bound because you were such a perfect, innocent little angel,” he said, leveling a glare at Charity.

“Oh, she was worse,” Prudence said.  She waved them both over to the table in the kitchen.  “Sit down and we’ll break our fasts.”

Sighing, Quinten joined them at the table.  It was a fairly normal breakfast: eggs, toast and kippers, along with tea.  Of course, he didn’t need to eat the way Prudence and Charity did.  He needed blood to sustain him and, just then, he was powerfully thirsty.  What had the witch done to him?

“I’m thirsty,” he said.  He gave an exasperated sigh when Prudence poured him a cup of tea.  The implied order to drink it made him lift the cup for a sip.  “This is not what I’m thirsty for, and I expect I’m not telling you something you don’t already know.”

Prudence arched her brows at him until he ducked his head once again.  “Mind your tone, dear one,” she said, as she looked away to pour tea for Charity.

Shaking his head, Quinten said, “Please, Mistress… I need blood.”  He looked at her, meeting her gaze once again.  “I’m of no use to you the way I am just now.  I’m too weak.”

“He is looking rather peaky, Mistress,” Charity said, frowning.

For a moment, Prudence simply stared at him.  Then, finally, she nodded.  Her eyebrows arched impressively as she spoke her next words.  Her tone was firm, not the sort Quinten would have ever thought to argue with.  “You will find someone of age and willing to feed from and then you will return here.  Is that understood?”

Quinten nodded once and pushed away from the table.  “Yes, Mistress,” he said, his voice soft.  He hurried out of the kitchen and had opened the door before he heard Prudence remind him to wear a hat.  He heaved a sigh as he snatched a top hat off the shelf by the door.  Then, he set it on his head and hurried off into the night.

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