NPLH - Chapter 1 -- Witchblade Karma

[ Show ]

Support VoyForums

[ Shrink ]

VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, 2, 3, [4], 5 ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 09:28:33 05/12/03 Mon
Author: moondreamer
Subject: NPLH - Chapter 1
In reply to: moondreamer 's message, "No Place Like Home - PG-13" on 09:16:08 05/12/03 Mon

A/N - for those expecting my usual stuff this is NOT a 'shipper story. Fingers felt like something different. This was going to be for Wildswan's Father's Day Contest but a)sometimes I'm just an idiot and b)there was not way I was getting it finished in time. Sorry, but updates will be slow.

Once again for Renee, this time because she's gracious.

The headmaster�s office was decorated in dark, somber wood tones. Solemn, classic, sturdy furniture lent an air of almost stuffy respectability. There were a few fussy touches, the antimacassar on the back of the chairs, the tapestry-like covers for the end tables. Interspersed throughout the room were a few actual antiques for the more discerning among the prospective student�s parents. A subtle reassurance that yes, their son was in the right place. Safe here, among their own kind.

There were usually only three times a student would be physically present in the office. The first was his initial arrival day. The headmaster would joke and jolly the young lad, praise the parents for raising such a well-behaved youngster; pat him absently on the head and smile benevolently as he pocketed the cheque that paid the first term�s fees before handing the youth over to the Housemasters and promptly proceeding to forget his name until the next payment was due.

The second occasion would usually be at the end of a student�s stay at the Academy. They would be suitably enjoined to go forth and do their societal duty. Of course, all the while remembering that Alumni funds were a strong part of the Academy�s annual budget.

For some students there would be the third occasion. Usually when some boyhood transgression proved beyond the ability of the Housemasters to solve they would be herded off to the Headmaster for a more stern and hopefully terrorizing experience.

Not knowing what to expect the student would stand with quivering knees in silence in front of the Headmaster�s desk. Above the massive, dark oak desk there hung the obligatory poorly rendered painting of the founding Headmaster of the Academy. The canvas eyes looked down at the terrified youth with disdain, the nostrils seemed to be pinched closed against the stench of youthful folly. Most students would only find their way here these three times. Most students.

Ian Christian Nottingham sat silently beside his father. The chair was too tall for his young legs and they dangled above the floor. He wanted to let them swing back and forth as an outward expression of his boredom but knew such behavior was not to be tolerated of a knight in training. For this is what he was. His whole life was to be geared to one goal, one purpose. In order to achieve this he would have to be strong, disciplined, controlled.

But, for now, he was just a bored 9-year-old boy. He was tired of sitting and listening to adults. He wanted to explore his new surroundings. He had much to do. It was always difficult going to a new school. First he would have to learn the layout of the school and the surrounding buildings. He would make rough sketches and use them to plan his various surveillance and escape routes. One must always be prepared for any contingency.

Next he would have to prepare the required dossiers on the various staff and other students. Soon he would know all their habits and their most obscure personal information. This took longer than he liked without the technological resources available to him at the estate but he was confident in his ability to acquire information.

He could hear the adult voices droning on but didn�t concentrate on what they were saying. He kept his face expressionless so they wouldn�t notice his thoughts wandering. This was his 4th school in the last two years and he knew they were just repeating the same old things he had heard before. He allowed himself the luxury of an inward sigh. He didn�t want to be sent away to school. He wanted to stay at home. He wanted to be at the estate with his Father and Dr. Immo, the wolfhounds and his weapons.

There was so much to learn at home. So many things to see. And there was THE ROOM. This was where his Father kept all his knowledge of The Witchblade. Century after century of art and literature, a truly outstanding collection, all dealing with that most sacred of objects. His Father had devoted his life to the study of The Witchblade and it�s Wielder and Ian would continue his Father�s work when he completed his training. It was truly a noble destiny and one that never failed to fill him with pride.

Ian looked up from his contemplation of his future to see the two men looking at him. The Headmaster was giving him that wide, fake looking smile that adults who really despise children use. Ian ignored the headmaster and looked at his Father who was smiling with a thin twist of his lips. That was a good sign, he must be presenting the required image.

�Well, young Ian.� The Headmaster boomed. �Ready to go meet the other boys?�

Without waiting for a response, the man stood up from his chair and came around the large desk. Ian could tell it was a cheap imitation of an antique; he could see where some of the stain had chipped off, exposing the inferior wood beneath. The Headmaster reminded Ian of his desk.

Kenneth Irons stood also, rising slowly and gracefully from his chair. Ian looked at him proudly. His Father was a true gentleman. Polished in both manner and speech. This was the man Ian wanted to emulate. He couldn�t understand why he was being sent away when all that he needed to learn was at home.

�Work hard, young Nottingham.�

Ian stood silent as his Father walked past him and exited the office without touching him or otherwise saying goodbye. He wanted to run after him and put his arms around his Father, begging him not to leave him here. Not like this. Not like you would drop off a parcel at the post.

But, remembering his training, he stood silent and resolute. He would make his Father proud. He would work hard and soon, soon if he was good he would get to go home again.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:

Ohh...our young Nottingham at school. Should be very interesting! Want more!! =) (NT) -- Spin, 02:01:43 05/13/03 Tue