Date: Sat, 25 Sep 1999 08:52:43 -0400 
From: vampwrtr@INNOCENT.COM 
Subject: The Lions of Our Past 1/1 
To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU 


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"The Lions of Our Past"

He could feel her eyes on him yet again.  LaCroix looked up and across the
Raven's bar, and Janette was once again watching him.  An eyebrow went up
in her direction, and she quickly looked away.  The Ancient shook his head
as he took another sip of bloodwine.  She had been watching him very
closely in the weeks following  Divia's final demise.  LaCroix was not sure
what it was that Janette was expecting to see.  He wasn't going to fall
apart; to wither away and die.  Not that he hadn't wanted to, at least
partially; but he wouldn't.

Nicholas.  He could sense his son, on his way into the bar.  LaCroix
nonchalantly got up from his barstool, and when Janette was turned, he
quickly made his way to the back of the club, and disappeared up the back
stairs.  His children meant well, but the last thing he really needed was
for them to try and "cheer" him up.

Nick walked into the Raven and spotted Janette.  He walked over to her and
gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek.

"How's everything?"

"It is all right, Nicolas."

Janette glanced toward the direction she had last seen LaCroix, only to
find a partially drained glass and an empty barstool.  She looked back at
Nick.

"He must have sensed your arrival.  He is gone."

Nick shook his head, "I'm worried about him, Janette."

"Me too."

"Has he talked to you at all?"

"Non.  You?"

"No, not a word."  Nick paused for a moment, then looked Janette directly
in the eyes, "I thought he was finally going to open up, just a little,
but......"

"So did I.  We were apparently quite wrong."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Non.  We must simply let him be, Nicolas.  Maybe he needs to be a lamb
now, instead of a lion."

Nick frowned at the thought of his father no longer being the epitome of
strength.  It was somehow very unsettling.

LaCroix sat in his large, leather chair, an open book in his lap.  He
stared into the fireplace.  He could sense that both of his children were
very concerned for him.  It only made him feel worse.  He didn't want their
concern.  He didn't want their compassion.  He didn't want their love.
Only their obedience.  Or was he deluding himself?

As he stared into the blazing fire before him, he felt a sudden pang.  His
mind was trying to flood him with unpleasant memories.  He could still see
her, impaled on a wooden crate.  His beautiful daughter, whom he had loved
more than immortal life itself.  He slammed his eyes shut.  It almost hurt
physically to remember it.  After a moment, LaCroix opened his eyes and
picked up his book.  He flipped a few pages and it fell open randomly, to a
poem.

Had I the Heavens' embroider'd cloths
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet;
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

A tear appeared in the corner of his eye, and LaCroix brusquely reached up
with a finger, and brushed it quickly away.  His daughter would have no
more dreams.  His heart ached in its denied love for her.  For all of them:
All of those he loved, but never allowed himself to remember.  Divia,
Fleur, even Seline.  He found himself staring into the fire once again.

And what of Nicholas and Janette?  They were all he had left in the world,
and yet he couldn't tell them.  He couldn't share with them what was
brimming in his heart, just under the layer of stone which had served him
so very well for centuries.  What was the point of this immortal life, if
but only to feel the pain of loneliness?

He shook his head; he was allowing himself far too much melancholy.  Never
a good idea.  He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, so that it
rested against the big leather chair.  His mind wandered.  He felt so
tired, and so weary of life all of a sudden.

When LaCroix awoke a little while later, it was with a start.  He felt
disoriented, and had no idea how long he had been asleep.  He looked at his
watch.  He was late for his show.  He let out a long sigh, but dragged
himself out of his chair and headed downstairs.

Things had quieted down considerably in The Raven and LaCroix could no
longer sense the presence of Nicholas.  Janette was at the bar, talking to
Maurice.  LaCroix walked into his soundbooth, snapped on a light, and sat
down at his console.  A subject.  He didn't have one.  Allowing himself to
just "talk" whilst in his current mood, was nothing but dangerous, and he
knew it.  A slightly impish smile curled his lips.  Oh well, any port in a
storm.

He pulled the microphone close to his mouth, flipped a switch on the
console and began his monologue.

"It has been said that restlesness and discontent are the neccessities of
progress, gentle listener.  Is it progress that such properties seek, or is
it punishment?  Punishment lives to bring us anxiety."

LaCroix paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

"And anxiety brings with it a discontentment of its own.  Whether it is the
anxiety of a situation or merely a feeling, it gnaws at one's heart like a
little mouse on a hunk of cheese.  How can beings who are always restless
in their desire to gain more, ever truly be happy?  What is it that you
seek, mes amis?  Power, wealth.......love?  I submit that the saddest man
is not the one who pursues these things, but rather, the one who knows not
that he already has them."

LaCroix could sense Janette nearby again.  As he paused, he looked up and
spotted her staring at him through the broadcast booth window.  He
continued to stare into her eyes as he spoke.

"The sad man is oblivious to those around him, because he fears that his
darkest beliefs about himself will be uncovered.  And if a man harbours any
sort of fear, it percolates through all of his thinking, damages his
personality, his will, and makes him landlord to a ghost.  Landlord to a
being of shadows and haunted memories that eat away at him, piece by nasty
little piece."

Janette's eyes bore into his with such intensity, that LaCroix could barely
keep looking at her as he continued.

"The pain of life is not just in the losing of those we love, but also in
the discovery that we might not be worthy of their love.  Eventually it
makes one ineffectual as a being, unresponsive as a parent, and worst of
all; it turns one into a non-entity; one who survives only along the
sidelines of life like a voyeur."

He swallowed hard before continuing, "But the tragedy in all of this, is
not the man who falls by the wayside because of his own doubts and fears,
but rather, it lies in those he has let down along the way.  The ones who
depended upon him, are the true victims of his tainted soul, and his cold
heart."

The tears spilling down Janette's face, began to tear an even larger hole
in LaCroix' heart.  He could deny her no longer, and he knew it.  He leaned
into the mic, and looked at his loving child.

"I think the greatest lesson of this life, mes amis, is simply to love, and
be loved in return."

LaCroix flipped a switch on his console, and the on air light went dark.
He continued to stare at Janette through the window.  After a moment, she
walked through the door, closing it behind her.  She stood in the doorway
for a moment, and the two of them said nothing.  They did not need to say
anything.

Finally, silently, LaCroix stood and walked over to Janette.  When he was
right in front of her, he gently raised a hand and wiped away the tears
that were left on her face.  Janette's love for him was plainly showing in
her eyes.  He smiled at her as he took her face in his hands.  LaCroix bent
his head down and took her mouth with his, kissing her very intimately.

After a long moment, he gently pulled away, but continued to hold her face
lovingly betwen his hands.  Fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

"Do not cry, Janette."

He kissed her mouth lightly once more, then he let go of her face, and
began to unbutton his shirt at the collar, until it was open about half way
down, exposing his chest.  He held his arms open to her, and when he spoke,
his voice was low and husky with emotion.

"Taste of my love for you, from my heart."

LaCroix pulled her into his arms, and Janette hesitated for a moment,
looking into his eyes.  She was unsure.  He kissed her forehead, and pulled
her closer.  Janette's eyes flashed gold as her fangs extended, and she
tenderly sank her teeth into his chest, right near his heart.  The
overpowering taste of his blood made her knees weak, but LaCroix held her
tightly against him.  She drank in his essence and tasted his love and
passion.

The power of it overwhelmed her, and she began to sob.  His love was
encompassing, crushing, endless.  LaCroix held onto her as she wept,
kissing her head.  He had not allowed her to taste of his blood so freely,
for centuries, and he knew that he had most likely overrun her senses with
the emotions he had tried so hard to eradicate.

He continued to rock her in his arms, until he felt her heart calm.  She
pushed away slightly, and he brought her to arm's length.  There was no
need for words; he had allowed his blood to convey all of his feelings to
her.  Janette reached a hand up and stroked the side of his face.  And he
smiled.  The smile that could melt her like nothing else she had ever
experienced.  She had not seen that smile in so very long; she had not
known if she would ever see it again.

Janette let her hand continue moving down his face, his throat and his
chest.  The smile on his lips turned into a much more serious contour as
her caresses became bolder.  She slid both of her hands into his shirt,
reaching around his waist to hold him.  The touch of his smooth skin felt
like velvet on her fingers.  She gently kissed the wound on his chest.

Janette's touch felt so very good to him; he had genuinely missed her.
LaCroix allowed himself to linger in her touch for only a moment though,
and when he felt his eyes starting to tinge gold, he gently pulled away
from her.  Janette looked sharply into his golden eyes.  She silently
questioned why he had stopped her.  His voice was heavey with lust as he
spoke.

"No, ma cherie, no."  They stared at one another, then he continued, "I
only wanted you to know that which I do not have the courage to say aloud."

LaCroix bent down and took one last kiss from her.  Then, rebuttoning his
shirt, he kissed her on the forehead and walked out of the soundbooth.
Janette watched him slowly walk through the club, her emotions in a jumble.
Exactly what was in the future, she did not know.  The only thing she knew,
was that the lion of her past that she so loved, had returned.

fin

end part 1
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