|Samandriel is broken (ofimagination) wrote in childofeden_rp,|
@ 2014-05-21 15:22:00
|Entry tags:||character: carrick, character: hermes maiason, character: samandriel, thread: complete|
Who: Samandriel & Carrick
Where: A Swanky Hotel
When: Week 15, 00:00 Monday
Why: Follow through on a bargain struck (part 1 of 3)
Warnings: Probable amounts of serious Sadism. This is Carrick and Samandriel has crossed so many lines with him.
Mitchell was still reluctant to let Samandriel go. He didn't have to say a word about it, the young angel could see it written in his every unnecessary breath. Still, he went. Unmarred save for the scars he'd been bought with and dressed in the clothes Carrick had delivered to him.
The vampire wasn't in the hotel restaurant/bar when the boy arrived, something he was sure was a play to make sure that Samandriel knew just how much he would be serving at Carrick's pleasure while he was there. There was a pianist and violinist playing for the quiet entertainment of the few Supernaturals in the room. A middle aged blonde man sat at the piano while a young woman was setting her instrument down to take a scheduled break. Slaves, the both of them. Samandriel had no problem whatsoever catching her before she disappeared to ask if he might please pick up where she left off for a few minutes.
Clearly, he must have been earnest and harmless enough because she simply smiled at him and said 'yes' like he knew how important it was to be allowed the trust of handling that piece of someone else's soul.
The male slave eyed him curiously as he picked the violin up with such reverence. There was no true silent language between them as there had been with him and the woman, but as Samandriel took it up, the barest of nods had the pianist gently ending his song so Samandriel could begin.
Even without his Grace, the boy played like an angel. He didn't need notes in front of him. He practically breathed the music, feeling it in his veins like it wasn't something he'd ever stopped doing. His song soared, not light and fleeting, but powerful, meaningful. Angel song sung not by choirs of Heaven but one slight young man who knew what it was to fly and to fall. For those long minutes (and yet not nearly long enough) while the slave was gone, Samandriel thought not of slaves and Masters, of vampires or weres or witches. He couldn't bring himself to spare a thought for demons or humans. All he could do was come so very close to the angel he would soon be again.