5 Times Mat & Quentan Never Met: 2/5
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Five Times Mat and Quentan Never Met:2/5
Peter Campbell contracts demonologist Marie Decourdes as a teacher for his ward. Offering her daughter a place in Star Shadow is the carrot. Marie provides the stick. [Marie's POV.]
Title: What You Can Do
'Verse: Silver Midnight, albeit an AU
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1604
Notes: In which Marie Decourdes knows exactly why her father fled France, and has even made something of a family business out of it.
Marie Decourdes crossed her legs and watched Peter Campbell make a very determined effort not to watch her do so. She smiled inwardly. Peter Campbell was both canny and politically influential in the supernatural community, but he was still a man like any other, and therefore prey to her charms. She could use that against him, and she would. Marie was no true supernatural, but she was dangerous enough and they both knew it.
“Your proposition is an interesting one,” she acknowledged, modulating her voice so it was closer to a breathy purr that intimated at the possibility of all kinds of sin. Lesser men gave up when she used that voice. Campbell just looked briefly annoyed. “Ms. Decourdes,” he said.
“Oui?” she asked throatily, looking up at him through dark lashes.
“I knew your father.”
And wasn’t that just a slap in the face. Men who said such things always did one of two things: they implied that Benedict Decourdes’s daughter ought to have been better than a common whore, or they implied that her father owed them a favor, and she ought to be the one to pay it back.
Marie scowled and made a concentrated effort to mute the siren-song sex appeal that came as natural to her as breathing. “I suppose you’re going to tell me he owes you a favor, then?” she snapped.
Campbell looked a little relieved. He must have been more affected by her lures than he let on. Marie filed that away for future exploitation and waited for him to get to the point.
“No, actually,” Star Shadow’s Lore Keeper admitted. “I owe him one, but that’s beside the point. I knew your father. And what he was.”
Marie tensed. She might not have been a true supernatural, but she could still kill him if he presented himself as a danger to her or to her daughter. She’d done it before.
Campbell continued, blithely oblivious to the danger. “This makes you uniquely qualified to teach Quentan. Your father once boasted that he taught you everything he knew. I just want you to do the same for Quentan.”
“And what possible benefit could I derive from that?” Marie inquired. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Monsieur Campbell, the rarity of my knowledge is what has kept my daughter and me alive. You’ll forgive me if I’m loathe to share it.”
“Your daughter’s one of us, isn’t she?” Campbell said evenly. “We could offer her a place here, with Star Shadow. She’d be protected.”
From outside the room, Marie heard Mat snort derisively. She permitted herself a small smile of maternal pride. “You have a child of your own, do you not, Monsieur Campbell? One who is … I believe your word is ‘one of you?’”
“I meant no disrespect to you, of course,” Campbell said smoothly. “And yes, I do, as well you know. Why do you ask?”
“Can he defend himself?” Marie asked indolently.
“He’s Star Shadow’s Heir.”
Marie inclined her head. “Call him here, please.”
Campbell raised his eyebrows, but did as she asked.
The Hawthorne boy walked into the study a minute later, his eyes flickering from Campbell to Marie. “You wanted to see me?” he asked politely.
“Ms. Decourdes did,” Campbell said blandly.
“Ah. How can I help you?” the Coven Heir asked politely.
Marie chuckled. He was a fine little prince, wasn’t he? “Monsieur Hawthorne, Monsieur Campbell wishes to contract my services as a demonologist on your behalf.”
Naked hunger burned on the boy’s face for a second, startling Marie. He masked it quickly enough, but the knowledge of it lingered. Mat burned with that intensity sometimes, bright and desperate.
Marie forced herself to continue. “He also wishes to offer Star Shadow’s protection to my daughter, who would stand as a member of your coven.”
“The girl in the hallway,” Hawthorne said. “That sounds more than fair.”
“Is it?” Marie asked sharply. “She’s a virtual unknown, and you’d accept her out of hand? Think before you make the decision - you have no idea what she’s capable of.” She watched him redden slightly. “Or do you think that because I have no true Powers to speak of that my daughter must take after me?”
“Your abilities are dangerous enough,” Campbell interjected. “Dangerous enough to kill.”
“Yes,” Marie agreed, because there was no point in lying. Not to someone who had known what her father was. She smiled, predatory and full of sharp teeth. “Spar with Mat first, before you make any foolish promises about ‘protection’ and ‘places to belong.’”
Hawthorne looked thoughtful. “Has she had training?”
“My father started her on weapons as soon as she could walk,” Marie said truthfully. Those had been the bad days. Sometimes she wasn’t sure her father knew where his granddaughter ended and the weapons began, or if all he saw was the weapon. Either way, his training had worked. She just regretted that he’d had so little time to enjoy Mat’s company as his granddaughter rather than his protégé before he died.
The Hawthorne boy grinned, looking vaguely pleased by the prospect of a good fight. “A challenge,” he murmured, sounding satisfied.
“Indeed,” Marie murmured back, amused by his presumptions. “Mat,” she called, raising her voice.
Mat appeared in the doorway, standing with wary attention. “Oui, Maman?”
“Show Monsieur Hawthorne what you can do.”
Mat arched one eyebrow ironically. Marie wondered if Mat’s unknown father had been able to do that. She certainly couldn’t.
“They want to ‘protect’ us,” her daughter murmured in French. “What bullshit.”
“Language,” Marie said sharply.
Mat sighed. “How many moves?” she asked in English.
“Fifteen.”
“Maman!” Mat protested, aggrieved.
“See how he fights before you complain,” Marie chided her daughter, reverting back to French.
“Very well,” Mat conceded, with ill grace. “Monsieur Campbell, is there somewhere we may spar?”
“Backyard,” said the Hawthorne boy. “And you’re vastly overconfident if you think you can beat me in less than twenty moves.”
Mat snorted. “If this was chess, I’d be worried. As it is…” she trailed off insultingly. “Lead the way.”
Mat never could get along with anyone, Marie thought ruefully.
The Hawthorne boy scowled and headed down the stairs and out into the backyard, with Mat a half-step behind.
“Begin,” Marie called.
Mat didn’t hesitate. She punched Hawthorne in the face and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. She brought her knee up into his abdomen and snarled when he grabbed her arm and yanked her off-balance.
The boy knew how to take a punch, Marie noted. He was quick on his feet and level headed. Her father would have approved of the way he was already casting some kind of binding spell; he wasn’t afraid to fight dirty.
Mat swore as the Hawthorne boy’s spell took effect, binding her hands and feet with invisible chains and restricting her movement.
The Hawthorne boy smirked. “Told you,” he said.
Power rippled around Mat and the bindings on her feet broke. She kicked Hawthorne in the back of the knees, sending him sprawling. The Hawthorne boy rolled to his feet with a noise of irritation and swept Mat’s feet out from under her. She went down hard, rolling away from his kick and scrambling back to her feet. The Hawthorne boy punched her in the ribs, and would have hit her again if Mat hadn’t blocked him.
Marie admired his ruthlessness. It was a pity that wasn’t enough.
Mat snarled - a low, guttural, lupine sound - and shoved Hawthorne back. A burst of Power left her hands as she did so, forming a crude shield between them. A gesture slammed it into Hawthorne and sent him flying. He crashed into the ground, falling badly. Mat scowled, and the dirt three feet from her fallen opponent exploded, spraying everywhere except on him. She’d created another shield, this one designed to protect him from the debris. Mat knew how to make a point.
Hawthorne stared up at Mat from beneath the shield ad the wall of dirt. “Nine moves,” he commented, sounding impressed despite himself.
“Ten, actually,” Marie corrected.
“It seems I underestimated you.”
“A lot of people do,” Mat agreed gravely. She eyed the Hawthorne boy with frank appreciation. From his expression, the admiration was reciprocated.
“You’re a dienoanimus,” said Hawthorne, getting to his feet and dismissing Mat’s shield.
How had he - Ah. He’d taken the Power into himself, grounding it in his own reserves and using it to supplement them. Clever boy. And strong, if he could handle that kind of influx. Mat’s shields tended to depend on brute strength rather than subtlety.
“Yes,” Mat said. “You’re an analyst.”
“Among other things,” the boy agreed.
Marie decided she didn’t care for the look in his eyes one whit.
“You can take care of yourself, can’t you?” he asked. “Some of the bodies in your mother’s past are your doing, aren’t they?”
The question was rhetorical, but Mat answered it anyway. “Yes.”
That bright, desperate intensity flashed in his eyes again. Marie was surprised to see it echoed in Mat’s.
Perhaps it was time she had a talk with her daughter about boys.
“You’re magnificent,” the Hawthorne boy breathed. “And you’d be a welcome addition to Star Shadow, if you’re so inclined.”
“I don’t play well with others,” Mat demurred.
“You could play with me,” suggested the Hawthorne boy.
Marie briefly debated digging him a deep grave somewhere no one would ever find him, bit - No. Mat would live her own life. She was strong enough to learn from her mistakes, and her mothers, if Marie would only let her make them.
“Sounds like fun” Mat said.
Five Times Mat and Quentan Never Met:2/5
Peter Campbell contracts demonologist Marie Decourdes as a teacher for his ward. Offering her daughter a place in Star Shadow is the carrot. Marie provides the stick. [Marie's POV.]
Title: What You Can Do
'Verse: Silver Midnight, albeit an AU
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1604
Notes: In which Marie Decourdes knows exactly why her father fled France, and has even made something of a family business out of it.
Marie Decourdes crossed her legs and watched Peter Campbell make a very determined effort not to watch her do so. She smiled inwardly. Peter Campbell was both canny and politically influential in the supernatural community, but he was still a man like any other, and therefore prey to her charms. She could use that against him, and she would. Marie was no true supernatural, but she was dangerous enough and they both knew it.
“Your proposition is an interesting one,” she acknowledged, modulating her voice so it was closer to a breathy purr that intimated at the possibility of all kinds of sin. Lesser men gave up when she used that voice. Campbell just looked briefly annoyed. “Ms. Decourdes,” he said.
“Oui?” she asked throatily, looking up at him through dark lashes.
“I knew your father.”
And wasn’t that just a slap in the face. Men who said such things always did one of two things: they implied that Benedict Decourdes’s daughter ought to have been better than a common whore, or they implied that her father owed them a favor, and she ought to be the one to pay it back.
Marie scowled and made a concentrated effort to mute the siren-song sex appeal that came as natural to her as breathing. “I suppose you’re going to tell me he owes you a favor, then?” she snapped.
Campbell looked a little relieved. He must have been more affected by her lures than he let on. Marie filed that away for future exploitation and waited for him to get to the point.
“No, actually,” Star Shadow’s Lore Keeper admitted. “I owe him one, but that’s beside the point. I knew your father. And what he was.”
Marie tensed. She might not have been a true supernatural, but she could still kill him if he presented himself as a danger to her or to her daughter. She’d done it before.
Campbell continued, blithely oblivious to the danger. “This makes you uniquely qualified to teach Quentan. Your father once boasted that he taught you everything he knew. I just want you to do the same for Quentan.”
“And what possible benefit could I derive from that?” Marie inquired. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Monsieur Campbell, the rarity of my knowledge is what has kept my daughter and me alive. You’ll forgive me if I’m loathe to share it.”
“Your daughter’s one of us, isn’t she?” Campbell said evenly. “We could offer her a place here, with Star Shadow. She’d be protected.”
From outside the room, Marie heard Mat snort derisively. She permitted herself a small smile of maternal pride. “You have a child of your own, do you not, Monsieur Campbell? One who is … I believe your word is ‘one of you?’”
“I meant no disrespect to you, of course,” Campbell said smoothly. “And yes, I do, as well you know. Why do you ask?”
“Can he defend himself?” Marie asked indolently.
“He’s Star Shadow’s Heir.”
Marie inclined her head. “Call him here, please.”
Campbell raised his eyebrows, but did as she asked.
The Hawthorne boy walked into the study a minute later, his eyes flickering from Campbell to Marie. “You wanted to see me?” he asked politely.
“Ms. Decourdes did,” Campbell said blandly.
“Ah. How can I help you?” the Coven Heir asked politely.
Marie chuckled. He was a fine little prince, wasn’t he? “Monsieur Hawthorne, Monsieur Campbell wishes to contract my services as a demonologist on your behalf.”
Naked hunger burned on the boy’s face for a second, startling Marie. He masked it quickly enough, but the knowledge of it lingered. Mat burned with that intensity sometimes, bright and desperate.
Marie forced herself to continue. “He also wishes to offer Star Shadow’s protection to my daughter, who would stand as a member of your coven.”
“The girl in the hallway,” Hawthorne said. “That sounds more than fair.”
“Is it?” Marie asked sharply. “She’s a virtual unknown, and you’d accept her out of hand? Think before you make the decision - you have no idea what she’s capable of.” She watched him redden slightly. “Or do you think that because I have no true Powers to speak of that my daughter must take after me?”
“Your abilities are dangerous enough,” Campbell interjected. “Dangerous enough to kill.”
“Yes,” Marie agreed, because there was no point in lying. Not to someone who had known what her father was. She smiled, predatory and full of sharp teeth. “Spar with Mat first, before you make any foolish promises about ‘protection’ and ‘places to belong.’”
Hawthorne looked thoughtful. “Has she had training?”
“My father started her on weapons as soon as she could walk,” Marie said truthfully. Those had been the bad days. Sometimes she wasn’t sure her father knew where his granddaughter ended and the weapons began, or if all he saw was the weapon. Either way, his training had worked. She just regretted that he’d had so little time to enjoy Mat’s company as his granddaughter rather than his protégé before he died.
The Hawthorne boy grinned, looking vaguely pleased by the prospect of a good fight. “A challenge,” he murmured, sounding satisfied.
“Indeed,” Marie murmured back, amused by his presumptions. “Mat,” she called, raising her voice.
Mat appeared in the doorway, standing with wary attention. “Oui, Maman?”
“Show Monsieur Hawthorne what you can do.”
Mat arched one eyebrow ironically. Marie wondered if Mat’s unknown father had been able to do that. She certainly couldn’t.
“They want to ‘protect’ us,” her daughter murmured in French. “What bullshit.”
“Language,” Marie said sharply.
Mat sighed. “How many moves?” she asked in English.
“Fifteen.”
“Maman!” Mat protested, aggrieved.
“See how he fights before you complain,” Marie chided her daughter, reverting back to French.
“Very well,” Mat conceded, with ill grace. “Monsieur Campbell, is there somewhere we may spar?”
“Backyard,” said the Hawthorne boy. “And you’re vastly overconfident if you think you can beat me in less than twenty moves.”
Mat snorted. “If this was chess, I’d be worried. As it is…” she trailed off insultingly. “Lead the way.”
Mat never could get along with anyone, Marie thought ruefully.
The Hawthorne boy scowled and headed down the stairs and out into the backyard, with Mat a half-step behind.
“Begin,” Marie called.
Mat didn’t hesitate. She punched Hawthorne in the face and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. She brought her knee up into his abdomen and snarled when he grabbed her arm and yanked her off-balance.
The boy knew how to take a punch, Marie noted. He was quick on his feet and level headed. Her father would have approved of the way he was already casting some kind of binding spell; he wasn’t afraid to fight dirty.
Mat swore as the Hawthorne boy’s spell took effect, binding her hands and feet with invisible chains and restricting her movement.
The Hawthorne boy smirked. “Told you,” he said.
Power rippled around Mat and the bindings on her feet broke. She kicked Hawthorne in the back of the knees, sending him sprawling. The Hawthorne boy rolled to his feet with a noise of irritation and swept Mat’s feet out from under her. She went down hard, rolling away from his kick and scrambling back to her feet. The Hawthorne boy punched her in the ribs, and would have hit her again if Mat hadn’t blocked him.
Marie admired his ruthlessness. It was a pity that wasn’t enough.
Mat snarled - a low, guttural, lupine sound - and shoved Hawthorne back. A burst of Power left her hands as she did so, forming a crude shield between them. A gesture slammed it into Hawthorne and sent him flying. He crashed into the ground, falling badly. Mat scowled, and the dirt three feet from her fallen opponent exploded, spraying everywhere except on him. She’d created another shield, this one designed to protect him from the debris. Mat knew how to make a point.
Hawthorne stared up at Mat from beneath the shield ad the wall of dirt. “Nine moves,” he commented, sounding impressed despite himself.
“Ten, actually,” Marie corrected.
“It seems I underestimated you.”
“A lot of people do,” Mat agreed gravely. She eyed the Hawthorne boy with frank appreciation. From his expression, the admiration was reciprocated.
“You’re a dienoanimus,” said Hawthorne, getting to his feet and dismissing Mat’s shield.
How had he - Ah. He’d taken the Power into himself, grounding it in his own reserves and using it to supplement them. Clever boy. And strong, if he could handle that kind of influx. Mat’s shields tended to depend on brute strength rather than subtlety.
“Yes,” Mat said. “You’re an analyst.”
“Among other things,” the boy agreed.
Marie decided she didn’t care for the look in his eyes one whit.
“You can take care of yourself, can’t you?” he asked. “Some of the bodies in your mother’s past are your doing, aren’t they?”
The question was rhetorical, but Mat answered it anyway. “Yes.”
That bright, desperate intensity flashed in his eyes again. Marie was surprised to see it echoed in Mat’s.
Perhaps it was time she had a talk with her daughter about boys.
“You’re magnificent,” the Hawthorne boy breathed. “And you’d be a welcome addition to Star Shadow, if you’re so inclined.”
“I don’t play well with others,” Mat demurred.
“You could play with me,” suggested the Hawthorne boy.
Marie briefly debated digging him a deep grave somewhere no one would ever find him, bit - No. Mat would live her own life. She was strong enough to learn from her mistakes, and her mothers, if Marie would only let her make them.
“Sounds like fun” Mat said.