Ilya Petrov (ilyapetrov) wrote in stagemanagers, @ 2014-04-18 16:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | narrative: ilya petrov |
narrative
Who: Closed, narrative
When: March 16, 1963 (very backdated)
Where: London, England
What: Ilya is forced to retire his career as Elijah Peters
Ilya always hated the rain and hated the fact that London had so much of it. Sitting in the sun room of his second of three preferred homes, he silently cursed himself for having chosen dreary London for his vacation. After finishing up the last of the promotion for his latest movie, "The Birds", he was looking forward for a little rest and relaxation before taking on his next project. Sitting on the bench, his feet propped up in front of him; he watched the rain fall down as he sipped on a glass of crimson. He had every intention of going out on the town and enjoying the night life, but the rain was something he would rather avoid. So instead he invited guests over, but they were a bit too drained to do much of anything, quite literally.
There was a third knock at his door. The first two were heard but ignored. Ilya wanted no more company, or at least the company he knew stood on the other side in the rain. He could hear the familiar voice cursing as he fished around his pockets for spare keys. The jingling and then the shifting of gears and finally the door cracking open... Ilya heard the rain for a split second from outside, while the door was briefly open, and it ended when the door slammed shut.
"Elijah, are you out of your mind?" Hissed the voice of his manager, Henry, as he dragged his wet boots into the sun room. Elijah. Ilya cracked a grin when he heard that name. That was his current alias, the one he used for his career. Elijah Peters, famous writer, director self-proclaimed king. His ego grew each time the alias was spoken aloud and this time was no exception. "Elijah! Crying out loud... are they dead?"
Ilya finally looked away from the window and turned to face Henry, who was pointing to three young women who were passed out on his couches and floor. Ilya could not help his chuckle and waved his hand towards them, as if that answered everything. Blood splashed out of the cup, but Ilya was quick to lick the spillage on the side.
"They are merely human, Henry, settle down. They have been here before; they're the fans who stalk my home." Ilya laughed. "They had a little bit too much wine. They're sleeping it off."
"Did you drain them dry?" Henry seemed agitated and he should have been considering this was not the first time something like this happened.
"They are sleeping, listen," Ilya held up his hand to silence his manager and, when a few drunken yet quiet snores rumbled in the other room, Ilya sat back in his seat with a smug smirk. "Raul is going to take them back to their hotel room. They were compelled to believe they went to the bar around the corner and had too much to drink. They eventually settled at a hotel room."
"How did they pay for it, hmmm? Won't it be strange when they go to check out and it's already been paid for?"
"I am going on three hundred years old, Henry, I was not born yesterday," Ilya sipped from his cup. "The brunette's purse contains a receipt stating she purchased the room. She was too drunk and won't remember the fact that she has the same amount of money in her wallet tomorrow as she did tonight. She won't consider the fact I paid for it and all because they gave me a little drink... and a little fun. They couldn't wait to get their hands on Elijah Peters."
Ilya's lips curved into a smile against the glass and Henry huffed in disgust, taking off his coat and slopping it down over the coat rack.
"It's a good thing vampires cannot reproduce, or else you'd have fathered hundreds of children by now."
"Henry, have you come to join me for a drink or are you here to bother me with business?" Ilya now sounded agitated. "I am on vacation, the first day actually. I don't want to speak of business until next month."
"That's why I'm here, and it isn't good news either, Elijah," Henry took in a deep breath and his expression changed from irritated to concerned. "It's nearing the twenty year mark, Elijah."
"Get out," Ilya hissed. "I don't want to talk about this."
"Elijah.... Ilya.... twenty years, you know the rule," Henry frowned. "The authorities have mailed you on several occasions and informed me you haven't replied once."
"I have only begun to thrive, Henry, I will not bow out now."
"But the authorities said...."
"Fuck the authorities, what do they know? They know only what covers their own mistakes and that's why they ask us immortals to live for twenty years and retire for another few decades. It's stupid," Ilya's voice rose. "RAUL! GET THESE IDIOTS OUT OF MY HOUSE! I'm tired of looking at them."
A large man walked into the room and stared at the women and curiously at Henry, shifting an inquisitive gaze in Ilya's direction.
"Leave that idiot," Ilya said as he waved towards Henry. "He'll be leaving shortly anyway."
"Ilya...." sighed Henry, glancing at Raul as he woke them and escorted them one by one out of the house.”They are threatening your life."
"I am the most successful director of this generation!" Ilya raged as he threw the glass in Henry's direction. Henry dodged the glass, but it broke against the floor, remaining blood splattering over his shoes. "People know my name, even if they don't want to. I have three houses, one in New York, in London and in the Caribbean. I have all the wealth in the world and that's because I'm so successful. I created Elijah Peters and look how far he's come! To throw it out the window because of a silly rule would be the stupidest decision I could ever make."
"Elijah Peters finished work on his latest film and they are suggesting he retire to pursue ventures in another field. Writing... something that will never stick, but provide the world time to..."
"To what? Forget about me?" Ilya hissed and rose from his chair, causing his fearful human manager to shrink back into the corner. Ilya gripped Henry by the throat and pinned him against the wall. His fingers clenched tightly around Henry's neck and the human struggled to breathe. Ilya watched, his face darkening with anger by the second, never once hesitating in holding him there.
"I could kill you right now," Ilya spat to Henry. "I could have killed everyone by now! Could have run all over the world drinking people dry and making a big deal about myself. I am an immortal!" Ilya finally let go of Henry and his manager collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.
"I am stronger than they are, stronger than the world. We are a superior species, vampires, and there are many others like us! Lycanthropes, witches, all of them! We are so strong and what do have we to show for it?" Ilya raged on. "NOTHING! We bend to these humans and their society of spotlight. We let them think they are alone in the world and they rule us, but we could rule them. Yet we don't! We just sit around and let them tell us how to live our lives! Be a director, Ilya! Change your name and live large, son! Twenty years down the road we'll ask you to give it all up to preserve the supernatural realm, but why even bother doing that? Why preserve it? Why not vocalize everything and make known the fact we are SUPERIOR! So much strength and nothing to show for it!"
"Ilya..."
"I will not stand down!" Ilya said as he shoved a chair towards Henry, who was able to successfully dodge around it. "I have worked too hard!"
"Ilya, but you must! This is the only way!" Henry bravely walked over to Ilya and pulled a letter from the inside of his vest. It was headlined with the logo of the authorities for the supernatural realm. Ilya hesitantly opened it but he read over the text, his face falling as he read every word.
"They are threatening not only your life, Ilya, but those you love," Henry pointed out. "Anya, Margot, everyone... they will all be struck down by your stubborn hand if you do not retire."
Ilya was silent for a few moments and he finally walked over to throw the letter in the fireplace.
"I will not give up my homes."
"No, of course not," Henry was surprised by Ilya's quieter voice. "There is a large sum, compensation so to speak...."
"Henry, you may go," Ilya returned to his seat by the window. "Elijah wouldn’t be a writer. He would be an artist."
"Then so be it," Henry picked his coat from the rack and slipped it over his shoulders.
"I think there is coffee somewhere in the kitchen," Ilya said quietly. "If you wanted to wait until the rain stops."
Henry looked down at the broken glass on the floor, the specs of spilled crimson and he felt his neck, which still ached. Then he looked into Ilya's eyes, which were full of a rare sadness and he knew this was one of those times where the vampire's emotions were unmanageable. Perhaps not the best of friends, but Ilya did take good care of Henry when he was not being threatened into retirement.
"Henry..." Ilya's voice was apologetic and Henry swore he saw tears in his eyes.
"Ilya," he interrupted. "It's okay. I'm going to make some coffee."
Ilya watched his friend, one of the only few he had, disappear into the kitchen. Then he returned to watching out the window and he wondered what life he would live next, mourning the loss of Elijah Peters. While he gave into the demands of the authorities, the unsettled madness in his heart did not die and he knew this would not be the last time he would speak on the matter of such petty rules. He would rise one day, but with another name. But for that moment, he simply stared out the window and watched the London rain.