Mysteries of the Next Life, Part I
Mar. 13th, 2005 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brainofckSeries/Chapter: Arena - Mysteries of the Next Life, Part I
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
muck_a_luck, posting in brainofck
Pairing: SB/VM (other pairings in later chapters)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Viggo is somewhere else, where everyone and no one is the same
Content/warnings: AU. Violence.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's ownporno script, populated by the individuals she feels would be ideal to fill the various roles if she ruled the universe if she were ever fortunate enough have the opportunity to bring her vision to the screen. *snortle*
Archive rights: www.rugbytackling.com, Green Opals, if they're interested, and my journalsmuck_a_luck and brainofck
Further Disclaimer: Any resemblance to Ancient Rome mostly incidental. I have never seen any gladiator flick. Ever. Honest. Not even stinky Gladiator that stole FOTR's Oscar. *glares*
Blame:uisgich, for encouraging me
Special Thanks: Toazramoon, my medical advisor, who says, and I paraphrase, "I wouldn't say this patient had a chance in Hell of surviving." Then modified her prognosis slightly because the intestines weren't perforated. :p
Arena
Water and Oil
Flesh and Iron
Night Terrors
First
Opening
Closing
Last
Viggo made them lay the bier on the table. The physician was waiting, despite the fact that this was a mortal wound.
But Viggo was sure it didn't have to be. The physician had gut and needles. He had linen for bandages. He had alcohol to dull the pain. Viggo went to the table and took what he needed.
The physician saw the look in the slave's eyes, and wisely stepped aside. Viggo first worked with the alcohol and a clean cloth, trying to clear away all visible dirt and debris. He didn't have any hope of a real sterilization of the wound, but he hoped that something would be better than nothing. The physician hovered at the edges of Viggo's peripheral vision.
"Help me, or go away," Viggo growled. Sean had already lost consciousness. Viggo hoped it was from the residual effects of the poison combined with the pain, rather than blood loss.
"Barbarian," the physician said, catching Viggo by the wrist, "He has been opened. His innards are visible. You cannot stitch up a wound like this. His guts will rot, and he'll die in pain. The one instance I can remember when the rot didn't kill the man, he was never able to move on his own again. His friends slit his throat to put him out of his misery after less than a year."
Viggo stared hard at the hand restraining his wrist, and the physician released him. He went back to threading the needle.
"Don't do this to him," the physician pleaded.
"I know this can work," Viggo said quietly. "I just don't know if I can do it. Whatever practical advice you can offer would be appreciated. Otherwise, stay out of my way."
He began the sutures. He could see that several layers of tissue had been opened, and he was sure the key to doing this right was to reconnect each layer. It was going to take forever, he realized, as he tied off the third knot. How could they do this without Sean just bleeding to death under their hands?
The physician had been working around him, placing pressure on the wound, but he suddenly made a little grunting noise, followed by a surprised exclamation.
"I see!" He said, sounding amazed. "I see what you are trying to do." He peered closely at the tiny amount of work Viggo had managed. He made another little thinking sound.
"Your knots are good, but you're too slow. You'll never finish it." And to Viggo's surprise, the man shoved him aside, and plucked the needle and gut from his hands.
"Apply pressure to the wound. Make sure everything stays inside, but disturb it as little as possible."
"You!" The physician pointed imperiously at his apprentice, who came scurrying over. The two began a quick, methodical process, the physician tying, the boy cutting. Viggo cringed at how filthy their hands were, but under the circumstances, it hardly seemed to matter. Viggo held the bandages firmly in place and tried not to think about the physician's promise that Sean was going to rot from the inside out.
"Sean."
Someone was calling him.
Sean was burning, but he couldn't stay warm. He hurt. Right in the center of his being. Everything. Adrift in a sea of pain and cold fire.
"Sean," came the voice again. "I know it hurts, but you need to drink."
Viggo was talking to him. There was a cup of cold juice that felt wonderful in his mouth. Cool and sweet. He shivered.
As he drank, he slowly found his way to full wakefulness. He was in an open room, full of light, sitting on a large sleeping platform. He was leaning back against Viggo, who was supporting his head and holding the cup. Sean reached up weakly to try to take it himself.
Bringing a startled cry from Viggo who promptly dumped most of the rest of the juice all over them.
"Sean?!" Viggo practically shouted in his ear. Gods, talk about a headache. Whoever had poisoned him was going to die, painfully and horribly, as soon as he recovered. It was so much worse than he had thought it would be. He had walked out into the arena on his own two feet, dammit, how could he be hurting this much now?
"What?!" He snapped back at Viggo irritably. He struggled to sit properly, but that brought a stabbing pain right through his belly, and he let himself flop back against his friend, who was irritatingly shifting out from under him at the very same moment, so he fell back awkwardly against the pillows. And if that didn't hurt. It actually brought tears to his eyes.
"Sean, are you talking to me?!" Viggo asked. Sean couldn't understand the look on his friend's face. Viggo was touching his head, his cheeks, his eyes. Sean swatted at him again, annoyed at how weak he was.
"Stop it! What is wrong with you?! Of course I'm talking to you! Gods, what the hell did the bastards give me? I feel awful."
To Sean's surprise, he realized Viggo was laughing and crying at the same time.
Sean was in and out over the next several days, sometimes coherent and complaining, almost his usual self, other times limp and feverish. The physician had some ideas about how to care for the wound - poltices with honey and herbs - and to Viggo's grateful amazement, they actually seemed to be managing some semblance of good wound care. The gash seemed to be healing, and though it was clearly infected, the physician seemed happy. It wasn't oozing or generating any odor of decay. Sean was feverish, but after the first day or so, no longer delirious. They were able to get liquids and thin rice broths into him, and (to the physician's unseemly glee) through him. After a week, the physician declared that the crisis was over.
"There's nothing more we need to do," he said as he packed the last of his few supplies. He grinned broadly at Viggo. "I don't know how we did it, but I think he's going to be fine."
There were two or three more truly miserable days after the doctor left. Sean was hurting and there wasn't a lot that could be done about it.
Viggo spent one long day sitting propped against the head of the bed, singing to himself, letting his fingers play through the silky strands of Sean's hair. He had a pad of homemade paper by his knee, and he was thinking through long pieces of verse in his head. He spoke it aloud and for the first time in months he was listening to Spanish, English, the beautiful sing-song rhythms of his seagoing forefathers. He jotted phrases down as he went, hoping that at least some of it would make sense in a few days. How long had it been since he had time for this?
Viggo was painting again, too. They were in one of the guest rooms of Sennet's house. The views from the windows were inspirational, though they weren't what Viggo painted.
"That's not mountains and flowers," Sean commented from the bed.
"No," Viggo replied.
"Well, why do you keep stopping to look out the window, then?" Sean asked testily. Viggo could hear him shifting around in the bed behind him. He shrugged.
"It's a nice view," he answered simply.
Sean snorted. He was restless and cranky and bored.
"I'm tired of watching you play in your raw egg paste. Let's go out."
Viggo turned to find Sean sitting on the edge of the platform, feet dangling, looking down at his healing wound thoughtfully.
"It looks terrible. You couldn't have done a better job than that?"
Sennet was very annoyed. Sean and Viggo were walking slowly through the garden outside his workroom. He glared at Rodin across the table.
"They are going to expect me to retire them, now, you realize. I don't have the gold on hand for that."
"What if you didn't retire them," Rodin answered. "You've got a lot invested in both of them, and there are acceptable roles for them outside the arena."
Sennet was interested. "For instance?"
"Well," Rodin said thoughtfully, "Viggo is an amazing swordsman. Tell him you are considering having him replace the Weapons Master, when he is too old to perform his duties."
"What about Sean?"
"I've been thinking about asking to take him off your hands, actually," Rodin replied. "The Emperor and the City have been asking more and more of my resources of late, and I've been thinking if I'm a man of power now, I should start acting like one. I'd like Sean to come over to my house and help me put a real guard in place. Something impressive enough to make the Emperor take notice, and formidable enough to keep Geta and Iestus guessing. Not to mention get Buteus off my back."
Sennet warmed to the idea quickly.
"It couldn't hurt me to strengthen my household defenses, either. I have a caravan to send this summer. I'd feel a lot better with a man like Viggo commanding it."
The men settled into a thoughtful silence.
"The problem is," Sennet said finally, "That even if I sell Sean to you, I must transfer his rightful portion of his winnings with him."
Rodin smiled - a cruel twist of lips and flash of teeth.
"Give Sean to me. I'll take care of it."
The night Sennet and Rodin were to join them for dinner, Sean was in excellent spirits. They had been all the way to the barn to see Viggo's horses for the second day in a row. He was in almost no pain, and tried to convince Viggo that they should take the geldings out for a ride.
He was hungry and happy when they came back to the house, but he wasn't ready to give up the luxury of being a patient quite yet. Sean had been genuinely horrid while recovering, and Viggo had waited on him had and foot with delight. Sean thought maybe Viggo would like him to play the helpless role a few days more, as well.
He collapsed onto the bench at the foot of the bed, pretending to be a little breathless. He felt a little guilty over the instant concern in Viggo's eyes, and he gave his friend a tired, but hopefully reassuring smile.
"I think you should lie down for a while before we eat," Viggo scolded. "You should tell me if we're doing too much."
"No, no! I'm fine!" Sean protested, even as he let himself be hauled off the bench and bullied toward the bed. He lay down gingerly, pleased that he hardly hurt at all any more. And as he expected, Viggo circled around to the other side of the bed, and climbed in behind him. Sean smiled to himself, waiting for Viggo to prop himself against the headboard and stroke Sean's hair. Maybe sing a little, or talk to himself. Sean liked that - the long fingers in his hair as he tried to make sense of the mysterious strange words in Viggo's familiar voice.
But to Sean's surprise, Viggo lay down behind him, snug against his back, and wrapped a strong arm around his chest.
"Don't you play sick with me, slave, just to get a snuggle," Viggo whispered, the rough stubble of his day-old shave rasping against the shell of Sean's ear. "Burrow all you want, I could use a nap myself."
Sean wondered how Viggo could fall asleep so quickly, considering the heat and hardness pressed perfectly against Sean's backside.
"No," Viggo said quietly, drawing all eyes in the room to himself.
"The decision is not yours to make, Viggo," said Sennet warningly. "The deal is done. Sean goes with Rodin in the morning."
"No!" Viggo was on his feet now. Sean was distantly amused to see that both Rodin and Sennet flinched as the angry swordsman towered over them. "You owe him better than this! How can you continue to treat him as a piece of property, after everything he's done for you?"
"Viggo, stop," Sean commanded quietly. And now all eyes were on him. To his surprise, Viggo did stop. He stalked out in to the night garden. Sean could tell from the wide eyes of their two visitors that he wasn't the only one wondering if they would see Viggo again in the morning.
Sean stood and bowed to them.
"I'll be ready to leave in the morning, master," he said, bowing again to Rodin.
"Thank you, master," he said, bowing this time to Sennet, "for accepting my meager services all these years. I hope you found them of some worth."
Then he smiled at them both grimly. "And now, if you will excuse me, masters, my recent injury makes me easily tired. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow."
Rodin was livid; so beside himself that for the moment he was speechless. Sennet stood stiftly and faced his former warrior eye to eye.
"You just be sure you're both here in the morning, slave. The Golden Slaves can't run," Sennet snarled. Then he turned and took Rodin hard by the shoulder, practically dragging his friend from the room before the scene could get any uglier than it already was.
"Come to bed, Viggo." Sean's voice was soft in the darkness. Viggo took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together.
"You realize that I've only stayed all this time because of you," Viggo said quietly.
"Well, then sleep with me one more night before you decide to leave," Sean replied. Viggo followed him back to the house.
Viggo woke to find Sean watching him in the grey, pre-dawn light. He thought maybe it was Sean's fingers in his hair that had awakened him.
"I think they aren't planning to retire us," Sean murmured, his voice barely loud enough for Viggo to hear, lying right next to him.
"They clearly aren't," Viggo responded in confusion. "They said as much last night."
"No," said Sean, shaking his head. "I mean, I think they don't plan to retire us ever. I think they expect you to die escorting this caravan, and if you do ever get back, you'll find that I'm dead, or gone."
Viggo sat up suddenly, staring down at Sean.
"They poisoned you," Viggo breathed. The logic of it hit him so hard, he couldn't believe they hadn't realized it before. "I'll kill them. Both. I'll kill them both."
"Viggo," Sean said softly. "They're right. The Golden Slaves can't run. And I'm not walking away from this life empty-handed. We have to find a way to leave this behind us. If you kill them and don't get caught and crucified, we just get handed down with their estates. Or resold at the next auction. We have to think this through. Don't do something in anger that we both will regret."
Viggo watched Sean leave for Rodin's house, wondering what, exactly, they could possibly do besides run.
The Mysteries of the Next Life, Part II
Author:
muck_a_luck, posting in brainofckPairing: SB/VM (other pairings in later chapters)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Viggo is somewhere else, where everyone and no one is the same
Content/warnings: AU. Violence.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's own
Archive rights: www.rugbytackling.com, Green Opals, if they're interested, and my journals
muck_a_luck and brainofckFurther Disclaimer: Any resemblance to Ancient Rome mostly incidental. I have never seen any gladiator flick. Ever. Honest. Not even stinky Gladiator that stole FOTR's Oscar. *glares*
Blame:
uisgich, for encouraging meSpecial Thanks: To
azramoon, my medical advisor, who says, and I paraphrase, "I wouldn't say this patient had a chance in Hell of surviving." Then modified her prognosis slightly because the intestines weren't perforated. :pArena
Water and Oil
Flesh and Iron
Night Terrors
First
Opening
Closing
Last
Viggo made them lay the bier on the table. The physician was waiting, despite the fact that this was a mortal wound.
But Viggo was sure it didn't have to be. The physician had gut and needles. He had linen for bandages. He had alcohol to dull the pain. Viggo went to the table and took what he needed.
The physician saw the look in the slave's eyes, and wisely stepped aside. Viggo first worked with the alcohol and a clean cloth, trying to clear away all visible dirt and debris. He didn't have any hope of a real sterilization of the wound, but he hoped that something would be better than nothing. The physician hovered at the edges of Viggo's peripheral vision.
"Help me, or go away," Viggo growled. Sean had already lost consciousness. Viggo hoped it was from the residual effects of the poison combined with the pain, rather than blood loss.
"Barbarian," the physician said, catching Viggo by the wrist, "He has been opened. His innards are visible. You cannot stitch up a wound like this. His guts will rot, and he'll die in pain. The one instance I can remember when the rot didn't kill the man, he was never able to move on his own again. His friends slit his throat to put him out of his misery after less than a year."
Viggo stared hard at the hand restraining his wrist, and the physician released him. He went back to threading the needle.
"Don't do this to him," the physician pleaded.
"I know this can work," Viggo said quietly. "I just don't know if I can do it. Whatever practical advice you can offer would be appreciated. Otherwise, stay out of my way."
He began the sutures. He could see that several layers of tissue had been opened, and he was sure the key to doing this right was to reconnect each layer. It was going to take forever, he realized, as he tied off the third knot. How could they do this without Sean just bleeding to death under their hands?
The physician had been working around him, placing pressure on the wound, but he suddenly made a little grunting noise, followed by a surprised exclamation.
"I see!" He said, sounding amazed. "I see what you are trying to do." He peered closely at the tiny amount of work Viggo had managed. He made another little thinking sound.
"Your knots are good, but you're too slow. You'll never finish it." And to Viggo's surprise, the man shoved him aside, and plucked the needle and gut from his hands.
"Apply pressure to the wound. Make sure everything stays inside, but disturb it as little as possible."
"You!" The physician pointed imperiously at his apprentice, who came scurrying over. The two began a quick, methodical process, the physician tying, the boy cutting. Viggo cringed at how filthy their hands were, but under the circumstances, it hardly seemed to matter. Viggo held the bandages firmly in place and tried not to think about the physician's promise that Sean was going to rot from the inside out.
"Sean."
Someone was calling him.
Sean was burning, but he couldn't stay warm. He hurt. Right in the center of his being. Everything. Adrift in a sea of pain and cold fire.
"Sean," came the voice again. "I know it hurts, but you need to drink."
Viggo was talking to him. There was a cup of cold juice that felt wonderful in his mouth. Cool and sweet. He shivered.
As he drank, he slowly found his way to full wakefulness. He was in an open room, full of light, sitting on a large sleeping platform. He was leaning back against Viggo, who was supporting his head and holding the cup. Sean reached up weakly to try to take it himself.
Bringing a startled cry from Viggo who promptly dumped most of the rest of the juice all over them.
"Sean?!" Viggo practically shouted in his ear. Gods, talk about a headache. Whoever had poisoned him was going to die, painfully and horribly, as soon as he recovered. It was so much worse than he had thought it would be. He had walked out into the arena on his own two feet, dammit, how could he be hurting this much now?
"What?!" He snapped back at Viggo irritably. He struggled to sit properly, but that brought a stabbing pain right through his belly, and he let himself flop back against his friend, who was irritatingly shifting out from under him at the very same moment, so he fell back awkwardly against the pillows. And if that didn't hurt. It actually brought tears to his eyes.
"Sean, are you talking to me?!" Viggo asked. Sean couldn't understand the look on his friend's face. Viggo was touching his head, his cheeks, his eyes. Sean swatted at him again, annoyed at how weak he was.
"Stop it! What is wrong with you?! Of course I'm talking to you! Gods, what the hell did the bastards give me? I feel awful."
To Sean's surprise, he realized Viggo was laughing and crying at the same time.
Sean was in and out over the next several days, sometimes coherent and complaining, almost his usual self, other times limp and feverish. The physician had some ideas about how to care for the wound - poltices with honey and herbs - and to Viggo's grateful amazement, they actually seemed to be managing some semblance of good wound care. The gash seemed to be healing, and though it was clearly infected, the physician seemed happy. It wasn't oozing or generating any odor of decay. Sean was feverish, but after the first day or so, no longer delirious. They were able to get liquids and thin rice broths into him, and (to the physician's unseemly glee) through him. After a week, the physician declared that the crisis was over.
"There's nothing more we need to do," he said as he packed the last of his few supplies. He grinned broadly at Viggo. "I don't know how we did it, but I think he's going to be fine."
There were two or three more truly miserable days after the doctor left. Sean was hurting and there wasn't a lot that could be done about it.
Viggo spent one long day sitting propped against the head of the bed, singing to himself, letting his fingers play through the silky strands of Sean's hair. He had a pad of homemade paper by his knee, and he was thinking through long pieces of verse in his head. He spoke it aloud and for the first time in months he was listening to Spanish, English, the beautiful sing-song rhythms of his seagoing forefathers. He jotted phrases down as he went, hoping that at least some of it would make sense in a few days. How long had it been since he had time for this?
Viggo was painting again, too. They were in one of the guest rooms of Sennet's house. The views from the windows were inspirational, though they weren't what Viggo painted.
"That's not mountains and flowers," Sean commented from the bed.
"No," Viggo replied.
"Well, why do you keep stopping to look out the window, then?" Sean asked testily. Viggo could hear him shifting around in the bed behind him. He shrugged.
"It's a nice view," he answered simply.
Sean snorted. He was restless and cranky and bored.
"I'm tired of watching you play in your raw egg paste. Let's go out."
Viggo turned to find Sean sitting on the edge of the platform, feet dangling, looking down at his healing wound thoughtfully.
"It looks terrible. You couldn't have done a better job than that?"
Sennet was very annoyed. Sean and Viggo were walking slowly through the garden outside his workroom. He glared at Rodin across the table.
"They are going to expect me to retire them, now, you realize. I don't have the gold on hand for that."
"What if you didn't retire them," Rodin answered. "You've got a lot invested in both of them, and there are acceptable roles for them outside the arena."
Sennet was interested. "For instance?"
"Well," Rodin said thoughtfully, "Viggo is an amazing swordsman. Tell him you are considering having him replace the Weapons Master, when he is too old to perform his duties."
"What about Sean?"
"I've been thinking about asking to take him off your hands, actually," Rodin replied. "The Emperor and the City have been asking more and more of my resources of late, and I've been thinking if I'm a man of power now, I should start acting like one. I'd like Sean to come over to my house and help me put a real guard in place. Something impressive enough to make the Emperor take notice, and formidable enough to keep Geta and Iestus guessing. Not to mention get Buteus off my back."
Sennet warmed to the idea quickly.
"It couldn't hurt me to strengthen my household defenses, either. I have a caravan to send this summer. I'd feel a lot better with a man like Viggo commanding it."
The men settled into a thoughtful silence.
"The problem is," Sennet said finally, "That even if I sell Sean to you, I must transfer his rightful portion of his winnings with him."
Rodin smiled - a cruel twist of lips and flash of teeth.
"Give Sean to me. I'll take care of it."
The night Sennet and Rodin were to join them for dinner, Sean was in excellent spirits. They had been all the way to the barn to see Viggo's horses for the second day in a row. He was in almost no pain, and tried to convince Viggo that they should take the geldings out for a ride.
He was hungry and happy when they came back to the house, but he wasn't ready to give up the luxury of being a patient quite yet. Sean had been genuinely horrid while recovering, and Viggo had waited on him had and foot with delight. Sean thought maybe Viggo would like him to play the helpless role a few days more, as well.
He collapsed onto the bench at the foot of the bed, pretending to be a little breathless. He felt a little guilty over the instant concern in Viggo's eyes, and he gave his friend a tired, but hopefully reassuring smile.
"I think you should lie down for a while before we eat," Viggo scolded. "You should tell me if we're doing too much."
"No, no! I'm fine!" Sean protested, even as he let himself be hauled off the bench and bullied toward the bed. He lay down gingerly, pleased that he hardly hurt at all any more. And as he expected, Viggo circled around to the other side of the bed, and climbed in behind him. Sean smiled to himself, waiting for Viggo to prop himself against the headboard and stroke Sean's hair. Maybe sing a little, or talk to himself. Sean liked that - the long fingers in his hair as he tried to make sense of the mysterious strange words in Viggo's familiar voice.
But to Sean's surprise, Viggo lay down behind him, snug against his back, and wrapped a strong arm around his chest.
"Don't you play sick with me, slave, just to get a snuggle," Viggo whispered, the rough stubble of his day-old shave rasping against the shell of Sean's ear. "Burrow all you want, I could use a nap myself."
Sean wondered how Viggo could fall asleep so quickly, considering the heat and hardness pressed perfectly against Sean's backside.
"No," Viggo said quietly, drawing all eyes in the room to himself.
"The decision is not yours to make, Viggo," said Sennet warningly. "The deal is done. Sean goes with Rodin in the morning."
"No!" Viggo was on his feet now. Sean was distantly amused to see that both Rodin and Sennet flinched as the angry swordsman towered over them. "You owe him better than this! How can you continue to treat him as a piece of property, after everything he's done for you?"
"Viggo, stop," Sean commanded quietly. And now all eyes were on him. To his surprise, Viggo did stop. He stalked out in to the night garden. Sean could tell from the wide eyes of their two visitors that he wasn't the only one wondering if they would see Viggo again in the morning.
Sean stood and bowed to them.
"I'll be ready to leave in the morning, master," he said, bowing again to Rodin.
"Thank you, master," he said, bowing this time to Sennet, "for accepting my meager services all these years. I hope you found them of some worth."
Then he smiled at them both grimly. "And now, if you will excuse me, masters, my recent injury makes me easily tired. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow."
Rodin was livid; so beside himself that for the moment he was speechless. Sennet stood stiftly and faced his former warrior eye to eye.
"You just be sure you're both here in the morning, slave. The Golden Slaves can't run," Sennet snarled. Then he turned and took Rodin hard by the shoulder, practically dragging his friend from the room before the scene could get any uglier than it already was.
"Come to bed, Viggo." Sean's voice was soft in the darkness. Viggo took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together.
"You realize that I've only stayed all this time because of you," Viggo said quietly.
"Well, then sleep with me one more night before you decide to leave," Sean replied. Viggo followed him back to the house.
Viggo woke to find Sean watching him in the grey, pre-dawn light. He thought maybe it was Sean's fingers in his hair that had awakened him.
"I think they aren't planning to retire us," Sean murmured, his voice barely loud enough for Viggo to hear, lying right next to him.
"They clearly aren't," Viggo responded in confusion. "They said as much last night."
"No," said Sean, shaking his head. "I mean, I think they don't plan to retire us ever. I think they expect you to die escorting this caravan, and if you do ever get back, you'll find that I'm dead, or gone."
Viggo sat up suddenly, staring down at Sean.
"They poisoned you," Viggo breathed. The logic of it hit him so hard, he couldn't believe they hadn't realized it before. "I'll kill them. Both. I'll kill them both."
"Viggo," Sean said softly. "They're right. The Golden Slaves can't run. And I'm not walking away from this life empty-handed. We have to find a way to leave this behind us. If you kill them and don't get caught and crucified, we just get handed down with their estates. Or resold at the next auction. We have to think this through. Don't do something in anger that we both will regret."
Viggo watched Sean leave for Rodin's house, wondering what, exactly, they could possibly do besides run.
The Mysteries of the Next Life, Part II
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-03-16 10:59 pm (UTC)Property!!! Because he had no sex!!! Where's the smut baby? Me want it, me need it, me love it!
Great story, I really, really like it.... `;-b~
Not to tempt you...
Date: 2005-03-16 11:04 pm (UTC)Re: Not to tempt you...
Date: 2005-03-16 11:23 pm (UTC)You realize that if you read ahead now, you wouldn't be spoiling more than one chapter or so...
What do you mean? I wouldn't spoil it? Or I would?
I'm writing my next chap. of UrBana and I'm going to make it really dirty and smutty...really good...bleed some tension...ya know?
Even though my corrupted mind is full of a certain gladiator OTP SHAGGING THEIR BRAINS OUT IN DETAIL!!! ***aaahhhhhhh***
Anyway, Thank you love, I'm really enjoying your fic!!! `;-b~
Re: Not to tempt you...
Date: 2005-03-17 12:08 am (UTC)What I was trying to say was, if you hopped the gap from 0 to +5 years, at this point you would only be skipping one unwritten chapter. There will be excitement in that chapter, but if you really want to get on to the smut, at this point I would condone you skipping a chapter and just moving forward.
If you haven't already... *is confused*
Re: Not to tempt you...
Date: 2005-03-17 12:29 am (UTC)You know, even though my kids (4) are teenagers and one a young adult, I do remember when they were little like your little guy...take time off from your fic and your boss' work and go play gladiators with your little guy...best therapy for everything and anything...they grow up so fast!!! maybe he could make you a picture of a gladiator and you could make it into an icon...display his art?
Anyway dear, don't worry about me...this is just fun and games...playtime...please don't take anything that I say seriously...just playing around. You know, my ex-stepdaughter is a paralegal...practices in Manhatten. Good profession that! **hugs**
Re: Not to tempt you...
Date: 2005-03-17 12:42 am (UTC)He's more into Vikings, anyway. And Star Trek.
Man, you've paid your dues! 4!
Re: Not to tempt you...
Date: 2005-03-17 01:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-23 04:46 pm (UTC)No access
Date: 2005-03-23 04:53 pm (UTC)When this story was still in draft form and clean posts were still a fantasy far, far in the future, I was reluctantly letting people (such as
However, I'm now editing and fixing the drafts as fast as I can. Therefore (*evil cackle*), not letting anybody else in to see them 'til they're right!!!
Does it help to know that I have been working as fast as possible? *hangs head in chagrin*
Re: No access
Date: 2005-03-24 04:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-23 05:44 pm (UTC)Viggo playing nursemaid to Sean...so sweet...and hot.
Stupid RL
Date: 2005-03-23 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-23 06:50 pm (UTC)Please see above...
Date: 2005-03-23 06:54 pm (UTC)However, please see my note to RangerGirl0301, above. I promise not to torment you unnecessarily, but the closed drafts are such a mess that I'm not letting anybody else see them 'til they're fixed.
Not trying to be evil. Really, I'm not. *scuffs shoe*
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Date: 2005-03-23 10:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 12:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 09:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-26 11:34 am (UTC)again, THOSE BASTARDS! well, sean and viggo are smart. they'll think of something. i hope.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-26 12:23 pm (UTC)LMAO! Me, too!
no subject
Date: 2005-07-21 11:27 pm (UTC)