tirsden: a creepy child swings on a creepy swing (Default)
[personal profile] tirsden
Oh yes. It is great fun. And less brain-breaking than it sounds on the outset. Here's the starter fic and a couple of diary entries used as backstory for roleplaying this. Yummmm.


Warnings/Explanation: Technically a male/male pairing but no kink. This is also a bit less refined than it could be but it's a drabble and a possible RP starter-fic sooo... take it for what it is. This is technically a Riddick/Lord Recluse ship, yet another alternate universe, early 1800's Earth (think Kiera Knightley's or A&E's Pride & Prejudice or the Emma Thompson version of Sense & Sensibility). Riddick is quite AU'd, the original character concept being from the Pitch Black / Chronicles of Riddick works (Vin Diesel). In this AU, eyeshine is considered a Furyan genetic trait. Lord Recluse aka Stefan Richter is from the MMORPG City of Villains, extremely AU'd as a 17-year-old; here he's blond (hair quite long this time, usually tied back, straight; no sideburns) / blue eyes / handsome Nordic features / built and is taller than Riddick by a couple inches at this age.



The social engagement was upper class but not boisterous party. The room held a constant hum of chatter, the topics on the nearer side often venturing to the subject matter on the far side. The famous and mysterious Mr. Riddick had decided to grace the occasion with his presence, though most of the crowd thus far had avoided him.

People labeled him eccentric in part because he was ever and always wearing strange black goggles. Rumors circled that his eyes were horribly deformed, or he was afraid of the light, or various other conjectures. The fact that he kept his head completely bald added miles to the speculation, but there was no denying that he was incredibly handsome despite his peculiarities. Perhaps people were willing to overlook these things because he was rich. Extremely so. There was much guesswork on just how rich as well.

Stefan watched the enigmatic man's calm demeanor from across the room. Riddick, as he preferred to be called but most never dared, was responding coolly to the conversational advances of a middle-aged socialite woman. Stefan wished he had the courage to trade places with the lady, but for the moment he was trapped behind his own insecurities and the pressures of his family. The latter were at least ignoring him for the moment; he was an only child, but just his parents were enough to deal with as it was.

The boy was technically rich, but he didn't feel at home in wealth. It felt foreign to him, though it looked good on Riddick. The man seemed perfectly at home in opulence, though he lent it a decidedly earthy quality, to Stefan anyways. In fact, it seemed like no one else had noticed this, but Stefan could sense it. Maybe he just wanted it to be there.

The seventeen-year-old had a taste for the more undesirable side of life, as his parents called it. He caused no end of troubles for the haughty pair and their social circle, as he preferred to spend his time in more lower-class settings. Much lower. His parents said "slums." He said "home." But not to their faces. He just escaped there as often as possible.

Lately, though, when he was wrapped up in the warmth and noise and honesty of his chosen environment, he found himself thinking of Riddick. Did Riddick moonlight on the darker side of life? That wasn't one of the few stories that circulated, and one would think it'd spread like wildfire if such a thing were to happen. The gentleman was hard to miss. But there was nothing like that; he was squeaky clean, if shrouded in mystery.

Someone passed in front of Stefan's vision, bringing him back to the present and reminding him not to stare. The boy's eyes flicked elsewhere, finery and posh surroundings failing to catch his attention as usual. He felt like a stuffed turkey in the clothing he'd been expected to wear as much as forced. So much pointless pretense. People fawning over each other in an eternal attempt to validate their shallow existences.

Stefan liked the way that fake life didn't seem to stick to Riddick. Sure, maybe that was because he was a bit too weird for high society to accept him fully, but he did have money. He could have been just as much a fop as the rest, but he wasn't. Stefan found his eyes return to the object of his quiet obsession, only to see that the goggled gaze had turned his way.

The boy looked away again quickly, a confusion of nervousness and threat of blush crowding into his brain. How long had Riddick been looking at him? The goggles hid the eyes as always but the boy had the distinct feeling he'd been the target of that dark gaze.



---------------
And now, for the diary entries that Riddick keeps somewhere quite safe. In the above setup, he's 30, so that gives you some frame of reference for the ages noted here:



(first entry, age 25)


Fire eating through the bandages of the older wounds still bleeding. Cauterizing, burning, the ship going down in flames upon a planet forbidden to outside contact. The world goes black for a moment, then Ersha is trying to wake me. Get out of the ship. Was this the order in which things happened? It's all a jumble. Damp leaves in the dark, rolling, it burns and then someone is there, smothering the flames, beating them out with something that mostly covers me. Smell of my own burnt flesh, damp earth, and the stranger.

Words I do not understand. Ersha is in the ship. Firelight on the trees surrounding, no one could survive that inferno. I am alone here.

There are two men. They seem to understand what has happened here, though this world is nowhere near advanced enough to have reached for the stars. Can I trust them? I have to. I can walk. Maybe. The older one is helping me along. Taking me somewhere. The right side of my body is pure hell. I'm bleeding, my head, I still have my goggles. They haven't seen my eyes. I let this man lead me. It is all I can do.


Lost so much time, too many days ill. The older one keeps watch, there are others, I can smell them, but they are not allowed to enter here. The younger one from that night appears from time to time. He is not much younger than the master, though. It is evident the elder is someone important. The other is a servant. But this master plays servant to me. I require little. I just want to sleep. The pain drags at me even from those depths.


I begin to learn the new words. They have taken me back to where the ship was. It is gone, dismantled and buried. Hidden, like me. I say nothing about it, have not the words regardless. That is the past. I am here now. I do not know what I will become, but if I am not found by those who sought me, this place will be my home.


It is different, this culture. Simple in a way that is quite honestly beautiful. But there are many hypocritical evils here as well, vices just as potent as those beyond the sky. My patron, Victor Fitzwilliam, has taken great liking to me, taught me much. I learn more every day. I read, I can't get enough. Shakespeare is my favorite. Plato is too circular for my tastes. Dante can go hang.

I learn what anyone will teach me, and there is always so much more I have yet to touch. Too many options. I choose Latin and must sacrifice German. French is failing me, or I am failing it. Chinese is a wonderful challenge, as is the fighting style of the one called Chang. I have the luxury of time, and still not enough of it.


My trust is betrayed again. I would rather forget it, but the rumors now are worse than before. Is abstinence the only way to keep from being exposed to the public in more ways I don't need? Bad enough my patron is dying. They are saying I poisoned him. Not the servants, though I have my doubts on a few. But everyone else. They have no idea. This man saved me, guided me, led me on the path that made me what I am today. I am indebted to him forever. I owe him my life, but I can do nothing to stop the sickness that draws him closer to that dark place every new day.


He is gone. That great and beautifully senile mind works no longer. He has left me everything, and I am overwhelmed. He was the only man here to have seen my eyes. Not even Alan knows that last great secret, though he was there that night. He is the only other to know my origins. I trust him implicitly, though my final secret stays mine. It is a heavy and frustrating burden to keep alone. I would like to, but do not know if I can ever share it now that Victor has passed.


I have discovered who is leaking information to the outside. At least it is nothing of any real concern to me, being as my greatest secrets leave all else looking like trifles. But those responsible have found the harsh reality of what happens to untrustworthy servants. I care not for their futures, they are gone and I can breathe easier now.


I wrote this all in one day, but it spans many years and varying stages of my life here. There is more, but for now this is enough. What came before my arrival here may yet be written some other time.



(second entry, age 27)


Ersha. He was my guiding force for so long. It was he who discovered me, still alive when the attack on Furya had wiped our entire race to the brink of extinction. Found me in a garbage bin with my umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. He raised me, as one we were thick as thieves, and then together joined the military of a system that promised to pay well for our services. I was fifteen. He was thirty years my senior. It had been he who introduced me to the grander things in life. Those things which high society looks down their nose at regardless of the world involved.

We found ourselves stationed together on a planet being fought over. The place mattered not, it was our duty to fight for the side that paid us. I made a friend in the ranks there, but this friend found the ire of our captain. He beat my companion close to death and I arrived almost too late. I killed my superior officer. It was not an easy fight, as he managed to throw me into a littering of shattered glass. It tore up my right side, and he used that to his every advantage, but I won in the end. Someone came for the friend. Ersha came for me. We had to run because of what I had done. He would not leave me to fend off "justice" alone and injured.

The ship was damaged, mercenaries too close for comfort. One danger blown to oblivion traded for another, the danger of our failing vessel. A planet lay nearby, one of the untouchable worlds. It might provide a haven if the crash didn't kill us first.

The rest I have written previously. Ersha's grave lies in the family cemetery out in the hills. It was some time before my patron knew what name to engrave upon the stone. It is meaningless to all but myself now. Victor rests nearby as well, another friend buried and gone.



-----------------------------
The disclaimer/credits from DA:

intro fic

1800's Riddick by me
various AU's of Stefan by lk666
Riddick original concept (c) Universal / Vivendi
Stefan Richter aka Lord Recluse original concept (c) NCsoft

Weapons of choice: Microsoft WordPad, Firefox auto-spellcheck, LiveJournal for code check


diary entries

Riddick original concept (c) Universal / Vivendi

Weapons of choice: rabid imagination, the Riddick in my head, roleplaying with lk666 aka Stefan, Microsoft Wordpad, Firefox auto-spellcheck, LiveJournal for coding check

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