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azuremewTitle: Mistaken Identity, Intermission
Word Count: 7,509
Pairings/Characters: Michael, Erika, Richard
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Michael arrives in Columbus, Ohio, and someone mistakes him for Robert Fischer.
Author's Note: Dedicated to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lycanthrophile, my beta and the owner of Carl Dane. <3
Part 2
Intermission
The Crowne Plaza Hotel was as decadent as any other place of temporary haven Michael would expect from Clan Toreador. Nestled in the city's arena district, there were offerings to the various tastes of is patrons. Exhibits, musical performances, and other shows still whispered into the Cainite's ear, offering a night of indulgences only the refined taste of his bloodline would appreciate.
Yet Michael sat in the lobby's bar, waiting in one of the leather seats without a brochure or note of the scene. A phone call was made to Los Angeles upon landing, to tell Carl of his arrival, safe and sound. He hated the anxiety that laced his mate's voice, the tone that could've been assuaged by the simplest decision of letting him come to Columbus and wait at the hotel. Michael, now seeing this, criticized his ability to consider such options. It would have been so much easier for them both.
He allowed a very human sigh to pass through him, trying to clear the thought away. It made him pull from his pocket the white velvet box with gold trim and look at the piece that was up for judgeship as much as he. Even cushioned by the soft, silk interior, the rough, unpolished diamonds sparkled, reflecting the interior lights with a beauty that summoned a faint smile. The shards, encased in glass and then in metal to form a shield, was perhaps a little too simple for this level of design. “But that is who I am,” he said quietly. His thumb ran over the glass cylinder, pulling at the emotions Carl left. So many, so vivid, that Michael closed his eyes, almost able to sense him completely at his side.
“Mr. Dane.”
Michael was uncertain if it was the name or his thoughts that caused him to miss Richard's first call. Either way, his eyes opened, and he turned slightly to see the ghoul waiting for him. “Coming, Richard,” he said and closed the case. Rising up, it was placed safely back into his pocket before smoothing out the wrinkles in his vest. The moment gave him enough time to regain his proper composure before continuing.
It was quickly lost, for upon turning a young woman was crossing the area and being quite careless. They collided. Michael reeled back slightly, just enough to give her some space, and she removed the tiny, pieces of plastic that played music loud enough to deafen him. “I'm sorry,” she said, obviously startled and worried.
“Quite alright, miss,” Michael replied in the very same voice he held throughout the trip. It mimicked the one he used in public, at his shop mostly – kind, gentle, undisturbed. But inside he could feel that he was more shocked than she, ready to jump back and defend.
He held his ground, though, as she fidgeted with her player to pause it. The surprised look in her gray eyes was from more than not watching where she was going and its awkward consequence. “Hey,” she said, finally silencing her racket. “Aren't you Robert Fischer?”
“No,” Michael said, the last name catching any other words he might have wanted to say.
“Oh.” The woman frowned. “You look just like him. Well, I should be getting back to my room. See you.” She darted passed the stranger and turned her music back on, waiting until she was passed the bar's exit to the hallway that led to the hotel rooms on that floor. Only then did she turn to see if he was gone. He was, so she pulled out one earbud and opened her cellphone. It rang twice before someone answered. “It's me, and he's here. Cobb and his team should be arriving soon. Same with Fischer. I'll keep in touch once I'm out.”
Part 3
Word Count: 7,509
Pairings/Characters: Michael, Erika, Richard
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Michael arrives in Columbus, Ohio, and someone mistakes him for Robert Fischer.
Author's Note: Dedicated to
lycanthrophile, my beta and the owner of Carl Dane. <3Part 2
Intermission
The Crowne Plaza Hotel was as decadent as any other place of temporary haven Michael would expect from Clan Toreador. Nestled in the city's arena district, there were offerings to the various tastes of is patrons. Exhibits, musical performances, and other shows still whispered into the Cainite's ear, offering a night of indulgences only the refined taste of his bloodline would appreciate.
Yet Michael sat in the lobby's bar, waiting in one of the leather seats without a brochure or note of the scene. A phone call was made to Los Angeles upon landing, to tell Carl of his arrival, safe and sound. He hated the anxiety that laced his mate's voice, the tone that could've been assuaged by the simplest decision of letting him come to Columbus and wait at the hotel. Michael, now seeing this, criticized his ability to consider such options. It would have been so much easier for them both.
He allowed a very human sigh to pass through him, trying to clear the thought away. It made him pull from his pocket the white velvet box with gold trim and look at the piece that was up for judgeship as much as he. Even cushioned by the soft, silk interior, the rough, unpolished diamonds sparkled, reflecting the interior lights with a beauty that summoned a faint smile. The shards, encased in glass and then in metal to form a shield, was perhaps a little too simple for this level of design. “But that is who I am,” he said quietly. His thumb ran over the glass cylinder, pulling at the emotions Carl left. So many, so vivid, that Michael closed his eyes, almost able to sense him completely at his side.
“Mr. Dane.”
Michael was uncertain if it was the name or his thoughts that caused him to miss Richard's first call. Either way, his eyes opened, and he turned slightly to see the ghoul waiting for him. “Coming, Richard,” he said and closed the case. Rising up, it was placed safely back into his pocket before smoothing out the wrinkles in his vest. The moment gave him enough time to regain his proper composure before continuing.
It was quickly lost, for upon turning a young woman was crossing the area and being quite careless. They collided. Michael reeled back slightly, just enough to give her some space, and she removed the tiny, pieces of plastic that played music loud enough to deafen him. “I'm sorry,” she said, obviously startled and worried.
“Quite alright, miss,” Michael replied in the very same voice he held throughout the trip. It mimicked the one he used in public, at his shop mostly – kind, gentle, undisturbed. But inside he could feel that he was more shocked than she, ready to jump back and defend.
He held his ground, though, as she fidgeted with her player to pause it. The surprised look in her gray eyes was from more than not watching where she was going and its awkward consequence. “Hey,” she said, finally silencing her racket. “Aren't you Robert Fischer?”
“No,” Michael said, the last name catching any other words he might have wanted to say.
“Oh.” The woman frowned. “You look just like him. Well, I should be getting back to my room. See you.” She darted passed the stranger and turned her music back on, waiting until she was passed the bar's exit to the hallway that led to the hotel rooms on that floor. Only then did she turn to see if he was gone. He was, so she pulled out one earbud and opened her cellphone. It rang twice before someone answered. “It's me, and he's here. Cobb and his team should be arriving soon. Same with Fischer. I'll keep in touch once I'm out.”
Part 3
