Victubia Fanfiction: A Dangerous Girl Chapter 2
Steve Chatterton, the stable hand, had been keeping night’s watch. He had really tried very hard. He’d even missed happy hour down at Late Night to be here! No one made a Salty Dog like Cry, he longed for one to put fire in his belly on this winter night. He had fallen asleep, legs up on a table, leaning back on his chair. He snored softly as his chest rose and fell, the ring of keys that was pinned to his waist swaying a little. Lady Minx had ordered a nights watch since her favourite horse had been stolen from her stables. He slept in a hut with a toasty fire crackling in the fireplace, taking away the bite of the cold outside. Since Steve was asleep, he didn’t see the figure creeping up towards the window, the silhouette that spied on him, the flash of red that flickered before disappearing back into the night. With a crash of wind that slapped the hut like a face Steve fell off his chair, violently awoken, reasonably annoyed. Pushing himself up with an agitated sigh, (this had been happening all night) he positioned himself into his original nap position.
She had managed for look enough to deduce that the sleeping stable hand had lots and lots of keys in his possession, she could borrow them, just for the night, he wouldn’t miss them for a few hours. She was desperate and almost savage from what ailed her, but she knew this next operation would require some delicacy, so she calmed down. She would use the next crash of the wind as a cover to open the door, sneak in and hide in the shadows, until the boy’s lust for sleep overtook him once more. She had pressed herself against the wooden hut, just below the misted, frosty window, practically crouching, her hands sliding along gently as she stepped across. Despite the jarring pain in her leg, she forced them to straighten, they nearly buckled under her. She went round the side of the hut to the door, hand on the doorknob, using the other to pull her coat over her body as a shield from the blistering snow. The wind started to pick up its pace, its howling reaching a climax, a wall of wind and snow crashed against her, but she was ready. As quickly as a mouse she slipped in as she splayed open the door of the hut, letting the monstrous blizzard charge, violently knocking the poor stable hand off his chair once again. She crept into the darkest corner, pulled her coat over herself and desperately hoped he wouldn’t spot her.
“Bloody hell!” He cried as he fought against mother nature to close the door, his clothes now saturated with snow, his face given a free facelift. After much effort, in fact grunting with the exertion, he slammed the door shut, emphatically slamming the latch. He brushed the snow off of himself and pushed his hair down as he tried to regain his dignity. At last he settled back into his sleeping position, this time with a considerable amount of trepidation and suspicion, as he kept whipping his head back to catch glances at the door. Eventually the only sound to be heard where the laments of the outside wind, the gentle whistle of snoring and the popping and crackling of the fire.
Krism crouched stock still in the corner, rigid with tension, not taking her eyes off of the stable hand. Finally, and with painstaking delicacy she moved forwards, not as a human, but as a spider. On the balls of her feet and the tips of her fingers she glided forward, becoming still as stone when she heard his breath hitch or saw him twitch. Carefully balanced she reached out and unhooked the ring of keys from his belt and stood up. She tiptoed towards the door and slid out, as fluid as water, making sure the door was closed behind her.
With a sigh of relief she hobbled towards the back of the mansion, spotting a back door. She realised with shocked concern, her face twisting into a grimace, that she was dripping blood across the snow. Crap… With renewed vigour she made her way to the door, awkwardly leaning across it after she tried key after key. Almost at her wits end she finally found the right key, dull brass, beautifully intricate. The door creaked as she stepped into pitch black.
She whistled as her eye drank in the breathtaking interior shrouded in darkness. All of the wood rose mahogany, acutely polished, plush royal purple rugs and the walls painted with stylistic weaving patterns. Staircases lined the walls, ascending in concentric circles, and high up a giant crystal chandelier shot out shards of glittering light. Moonlight streamed in from above where a star shaped conservatory had been built. Where she was standing there were elongated windows lined with royal purple curtains that let in bursts of glistening moonlight. She felt a little guilty at staining the floor with her blood. Awakening herself from her reverie, she smelled her way to the kitchen, where she rabidly gorged on stale bread and cake. She then began to calmly make herself sandwiches, she almost laughed, giddy at all the cheese, meat and bread. She also drank heartily from their milk and wine, saving some of their fine Bordeaux she had ‘procured’ for later. Almost guiltily she figured that she had had more than her fair share and so courteously didn’t nick any of the antiques on display. Quite satisfied, she left the house, locking it behind her. She hopped into one of the empty stables, glad for the clean straw and warmth and began to sleep. She had decided that she could give back the keys in the early hours of the morning, before anyone had awoken.
Krism was grabbed by the neck and slapped awake. Her vision blurry, she felt light-headed. A group of people had crowded into the stable, she couldn’t see their faces, only blurry outlines. The person who had grabbed her, in purple, a woman. She was being shouted at, but she couldn’t listen, she felt so sleepy, so sleepy…Krism fell unconscious.