Eh, switch Virgin out for Failure, or embarrassment, or whatever, and the challenge would kind-of work. >_> Kind of bad examples, but meh. ><

Unless Taure meant to say that, or something. lol

 

Poetic license. It's a TGYH flash fic, not a PhD thesis.

 

Lol, for the king of nitpicking in the Harry Potter fandom, I find it highly ironic that you are taking the "it doesn't have to be coherent with Canon" route here. Just sayin'.

 

I could see it working. The way I pictured it was that there was a jinx on the Raith, but that's as far as I can get.

Whether this is a harmless jinx on this particular Raith or is some death curse affecting the entire family when they awakened and why seems to escape me for some reason. The only idea I can think of seems to be ripped straight from Good Luck Chuck, but I'll get it down eventually.

 

Ha! Watch me resurrect this thread simply by the mighty power of my own mightiness! Also, I felt like writing and Jon was kind enough to give me a prompt.

Behold, electronic necromancy!



Prompt: During Storm Front, Dresden tries to be more diplomatic when confronting Madame Bianca.

Time Limit, Word Count: BATMAN HAS NO LIMITS!!!



Intuitive Understanding

by Big D

Disclaimer: Not Mine, No Profit, No Shit


I smiled at her, and put one hand into my pocket, onto the white handkerchief. "No, thank you. I came to talk."

Her lips parted in a silent, ah. "I see. What about, if I might ask?"

There are moments, few in number and fleeting in duration, when you can quite literally feel your life changing. When everything that has come before and everything that will come after stands in perfect balance, and a small, insistent voice inside of you starts screaming that the next words you say or move you make will have repercussions that, one way or another, will echo till the end of your days.

It's like... unexpectedly meeting that one special girl, and suddenly having to decide whether or not to introduce yourself, even though you know that you have absolutely nothing to say to her, and one misstep will send her running for the hills. Or that instinct that tells you to get a ride this time instead of driving yourself home after those few beers, even though you've never given it much thought before. It's the kind of thing every person experiences, usually forgets before the day is over, and never bothers to consider much afterwards. But those are the moments, the decisions, that build a life.

Call it spidey-sense, gut feeling, having an angel on your shoulder, whatever you like... but I was feeling it now. That quiet, wise little voice inside of me was singing a soft song about all the ways in which the next few moments could and would go wrong, but the problem with that voice is that it doesn't actually have any answers. It's clever enough to sense the moment when life is about to pull a one-eighty on you, but it can't tell you whether to go left or right. That's what free will is supposed to be for.

Bob, my lab assistant-slash-wizardly sidekick-slash Skull Friday, always says that free will isn't worth the paper it's written on, and there are days when I agree with him. Confronted with something like this, the best hope I had was to make sure that I understood the options before I decided on a path forward. I had come to this meeting hoping for a civil conversation, but ready and willing to throw my weight around if it came to it. If my humanity-sense was tingling, perhaps it was because something was wrong with that plan. Mentally, I reviewed the road that had brought me to this moment, sitting in this chair, across from the queen bee vampire of Chicagoland.

Jennifer Stanton, one of Bianca's employees, had been murdered using black magic. I had been brought in by Chicago Police Department's Special Investigations Division to find out whodunit, which made sense, considering I was the only Council-class wizard within five hundred miles. Everyone in the closely-knit supernatural community knew that, just like they knew that only someone with Council-level muscle could have possibly pulled off the spell that gacked Jennifer and Tommy Tomm.

Many of those people, including Bianca, also knew that I was a convicted warlock myself, currently living under the Doom of Damocles, which I had received for (wouldn't you know it) murdering someone using black magic. Despite this, I hadn't bothered summoning the duly appointed Wardens, who's job it was to hunt down and kill warlocks, something that should have been the first move for anyone in my position, if for no other reason than as a preemptive declaration of my own innocence. Of course, I'd had my reasons for not whistling up the magical Gestapo, and I thought they were good ones, but looked at from the outside, it could be seen as me not wanting anyone looking too closely at the murders. After that, I had bullied my way into Bianca's home, without even the simple courtesy of an appointment, and at this very moment was palming a deadly weapon, ready to draw it on her at the slightest provocation.

When had my instincts twigged? I had said I was here to talk, and she had made that little 'ah' with her mouth. I nearly swore when I finally put it together. That's one of the problems when dealing with inhuman beings, particularly vampires. You spend so much time reminding yourself that they're inhuman that you tend to forget that some of them used to be real people, and those old mannerisms died hard. If Bianca had been a normal, mortal woman, I would have recognized that little quirk of the mouth for what it was, a firm declaration that she considered everything I was about to say to be bullshit.

As smoothly and casually as I could make myself move, I took my hand out of my pocket, leaving the little handkerchief full of folded sunlight where it was. I placed both hands flat on the table, displaying my lack of weapons and hopefully my peaceful intent, then smiled at the vampire without showing teeth.

"I want to talk about how we can help each other," I told her.

Bianca didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even breathe, and only then did I realize how still she had become while I had been pondering my instincts and the meaning of them. Real, mortal people can't go still like that. Try it sometime. Try to sit or stand perfectly still for one whole minute. It's nearly impossible. Muscles twitch, tendons tighten, joints ache, and you're wriggling around before you even realize it. If you're disciplined enough to get past that, there's still the matter of your heart. The heart is a fantastically powerful muscle, which starts its long labor before you're born, and doesn't stop until it's time to take that long walk down the tunnel of light. The beating of your heart is so strong that, if you pay attention, you can actually feel it rocking your head back and forth when you think you're completely motionless. It's that lack of that constant, unconscious motion that people are talking about when they describe the life going out of someone.

Bianca didn't stay still for a minute. It was more like five. Three hundred seconds of perfect, silent, impossible stillness, while I sat across from her, my hands on the table, as exposed as I could possibly be. I knew she could be across that table and at my throat before I could do a damn thing about it, and so did she. That's the thing about wizards. We're dangerous as all hell when we're ready for you, but pretty much just plain folks otherwise. She could kill me, right here and now, with about as much relative effort as I'd put into ordering a pizza, and probably get away with it. The White Council would grumble about it, but I had shown up without an invitation, and she had been careful not to offer me guest right or the hospitality of her home.

My posture was a calculated risk, a statement of apology and willingness to deal fairly, made her own language, that of a polite predator. After those eternal five minutes, something in her seemed to relax, and her smile flashed again, somehow more natural than before. She rose gracefully from her chair, and I began to stand as well until she waived me down with a flick of one slender hand. She crossed to a table against the wall to my left, turning her back to me in a gesture that both opened herself to attack exactly as I had done, and gave me a long, very pleasant look at the sway of her hips and the smooth skin of her back, which her dress left exposed down to the waist.

When she came back, she bore a pair of glasses half filled with what I suspected would be magnificent and ridiculously expensive scotch.

"Please accept the hospitality of my home, Wizard Dresden," Bianca said in a formal tone, holding one glass out to me. "As well as my word that no harm shall come to you while you stand within it."

"Thank you, Madame Bianca," I replied just as formally, taking the glass from her. "And you, of course, have my word that I will offer no violence except in self-defense for the duration of my visit."

Something actually rather merry danced in her eyes as she took sip of her drink, as if with our words, we were playing some well-loved game from her childhood, and she was grateful for the temporary distraction. She swallowed in a way that was designed to draw attention to the line of her throat and everything that followed south from it. I stared, because she wanted me to and it was only polite, and also because I'm a heterosexual American male and even vampire breasts are still breasts. I took a drink myself, and had to fight the desire to close my eyes and savor the smoothness of it. I had already exposed myself to this perfectly poised people eater once today. It was a bad idea to get into the habit of it.

Bianca set her glass on the table and skinned off her long gloves, tossing them aside in a gesture that conveyed something casual and almost friendly, then leaned against the table facing me, one arm folded under her breasts, which I considered rather unfair seeing as they obviously scoffed at gravity to begin with, the other propped against it, holding her drink up near her mouth. Even with me sitting, she was only a couple of inches higher, which is actually more intimidating than you might think. When it comes to formerly human immortals, it's the short ones you have to look out for. Go back a few hundred years and the average height of an average human was much lower than it is now. Short vampires tend to be the ones who have lasted the longest, and are therefore the most powerful and clever. Bianca was maybe four-ten without her heels, which put her firmly into what I like to call the Murphy Class, meaning: 'dangerous, annoy at your own risk'.

"So," she said softly, drawing the word out. "How exactly do you propose we... help each other?"

I decided it was time to inject some patented Dresden bluntness back into this equation, just to keep her on her toes.

"One of your girls was murdered."

Her chin lifted slightly, and she took in a sighing breath, but there was no explosion. She simply waited.

"When I came here, you thought that I had done it."

"It had occurred to me," she said quietly.

"What about now?"

"I'm willing to... reserve judgement. For the moment."

I grinned at her. "Don't suppose you'd be willing to take my word that I didn't?"

She eyed me. "You know even better than I how very few mortal practitioners could have accomplished a working on that scale. Not more than a hundred on the planet, of which you are one. Simple mathematics suggests that you were likely involved."

"A hundred or so, that we know about," I pointed out. "Warlocks are coming out of the weeds like... well, weeds, these days. Why can't this be just one more?"

She tilted her head at me, raising an eyebrow. "A dark wizard of that power, in your territory, whom you were totally unaware of? That makes you incompetent, rather than complicit, which is hardly any better."

I shook my head. "I'm neither. What I am is one man, in a metro area of about ten million. Your math says I'm involved, but my math says there can't help but be three or four Council-level talents in a pool that large, and it's not like I have a handy PKE Meter to hunt them down with. I have to wait until they surface, or hope that they find me through the community, the way my usual students do."

Bianca mouthed the words 'PKE Meter' as if she wasn't sure what language I was speaking, but didn't argue.

"But none of that matters to Morgan, our friendly neighborhood White Council executioner, who doesn't even seem to be bothering with a cursory investigation this time, or the cops, who are breathing down my neck to deliver them a perp they would have no earthly idea how to deal with, or John Marcone, who's busy trying to make me an offer I can't refuse."

Bianca's eyes narrowed. "Marcone is trying to step in," she hissed, then scowled in frustration. "Of course he is, the arrogant child. One of his little tools was broken, and the sky may fall if his precious reputation is sullied." She glanced back at me. "Very well, wizard. Let's assume I believe you. The original question remains. How are we to help each other?"

I leaned forward and set my glass on the table, then steepled my fingers and looked up at her. This was going to take delicacy, and I'm the first to admit that's not my strong suit. "As far as the Red Court is concerned, Chicago is frontier territory, not part of any officially recognized House, right?"

She frowned and nodded, clearly not happy to be reminded of her own precarious position. It wasn't difficult to understand why she hadn't moved on Marcone, despite the fact she clearly detested him and their interests were inevitably going to come into conflict before long, maybe even before the end of the week. Without recognition from the Red Court, she couldn't call in the troops, and wasn't even allowed to convert her own people into vamps without permission from one of the vampire nobles. She could defend herself, and had the money and contacts to do so extremely well, but any aggressive move was beyond her.

"And the White Council considers you a nuisance at best," she replied. "They may even relish the chance to have their attack dog invoke the Doom of Damocles upon you while the specter of this unknown warlock hovers over Chicago, then 'upon further investigation' discover that you were never the killer to begin with."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Let's not mince words, lady. There are people on the Council who would declare an international wizarding holiday on the occasion of my beheading."

Bianca laughed. It was a rich, warm sound that went from my ears to my crotch at something approaching the speed of light. I knew it was a bad idea to encourage her, but I found myself grinning back at her.

"I begin to see your reasoning, Wizard Dresden. I have a strong power base within Chicago, but my position within the Red Court restricts me from acting. You are free to act, but your contacts are limited in this area. Combining our resources would be the best course to bring Jennifer's killer to justice before all of the conflicting interests surrounding this matter create a conflagration."

I tried not to blink at her. Was that was I had said? Damn, I must be smarter than I thought.

"I'm just looking for a little help," I told her. "You scratch my back and I scratch yours."

Her eyebrows raised, a feline smile spreading across her lips, and I wanted to kick myself for giving her an opening like that. Something of what I was thinking must have shown on my face, because Bianca smiled and reached out to brush the tip of one slim finger slowly down my cheek. Before I'd realized what was happening, she had closed the gap between us and settled firmly into my lap, her arms draped around my neck. My hands, traitorous bastards that they were, settled instinctively onto her waist and one knee to hold her steady. Again, it was only polite.

Now, listen carefully, because this is important, particularly for you impressionable young folk who don't seem to know any better. Vampires are neither cool nor sexy. Actually they're pretty icky as a group. I mean, if you stop and think about it for a while, they're really more like giant, talking, bipedal ticks than anything else, and those are only cool in Saturday morning cartoon form. And while they may look human, often very attractively so, I've heard stories about what they're hiding under those flesh masks, and you really, really don't want to know about it.

But, as the old saying goes, a hard penis has no conscience. Apparently, my penis also lacked a gag reflex, if the eager way it jumped to attention as Bianca's entirely false, but wholly desirable posterior snuggled into it was any indication. Giant, disgusting tick or not, what she felt like in my arms was a lushly curved, sweetly scented example of warm and delicate femininity. I was the next best thing to two feet taller than she was, which made for a slightly awkward fit between us, the top of her head only coming up to my chin. It led to dangerous and distracting thoughts on the logistics of how we would fit together in an even more intimate setting. I had a feeling it would work best with me on my back and her on to--

And that was a thought I needed to hunt down, shoot dead, burn to a crisp, and bury in the woods if I wanted to live long enough to kick myself for being an complete idiot.

"Madame Bianca," I said, trying and failing to find something a little less awkward to do with my hands. If I just let go of her, it would either send her sprawling to the floor, which would probably undo any progress I'd made in convincing her not to kill me, or more likely, encourage her to hang onto me even more tightly. I had to admit a certain dim admiration in how smoothly she had allowed her left leg to slip free of the long slit in her dress, so that when my hand came down on it, it found soft, warm skin instead of cloth.

"Shush, dear," she said, leaning her head up to look at me. "Recall that I've given you my word of hospitality. You are as safe with me as a babe in arms."

I glanced down at her long enough to catch her bright smile and the sight of acres and acres of pale, gorgeous cleavage.

"I know what it is that you desire, wizard," she said, "even if you haven't entirely realized that you want it yet."

"Bianca," I began.

Her fingers brushed the back of my neck. "You want my help tracking down your rogue warlock," she continued as if she hadn't heard me. "And my aid in bringing this individual to heel, should you require it."

"No, that's--" I said by rote, then stopped. "Well... yeah, that's pretty much it."

"You also would appreciate me placing my contacts at your disposal, and to run interference for you with the mortal authorities and John Marcone's men."

I felt my eyebrows rise. "That would be... very useful."

She chuckled low in her throat and pressed her cheek against my chest. "I will do these things for you, wizard. I will be happy to provide any..." her hips moved almost imperceptibly, "assistance you may require of me. But there is a price."

And here was the hook. "What price," I asked.

"When you find this man," she said quietly, her voice taking on a grim tone, "when you find this rogue warlock, he will face my justice, not the White Council's. All you need do is track him down, then call me. I will handle the rest."

I frowned. "The Council isn't going to like that. If he just disappears, they might start wondering if you didn't simply want to nab yourself a mortal practitioner, and a dark wizard at that."

"A reasonable concern, but easily handled. I will provide them with the body when I am finished with it, as well as my sworn written testimony concerning the good works you did in helping to build trust and cooperation between our two peoples."

I grimaced. That sounded like a disaster in the making. The White Council might tolerate vampires, respect their rights under the Unseelie Accords, even make deals with them on occasion, but actually working with them was something else entirely. "How about we skip that second part? Wouldn't want to give them the wrong idea about where my loyalties lay."

She looked up at me, amusement dancing in her eyes. She took a slow, deep breath that gave my blood a hard choice in deciding whether to surge to my face or below my belt, and I got the very uncomfortable impression she was taking in my scent. "Certainly not," she murmured.

"Madame Bianca, all I really came here looking for was a name, or a hint in the right direction. Give me that, and I'll make sure this warlock is taken care of. You don't need to involve yourself further."

A flicker of anger touched her eyes, and I felt her body assume that absolute, predatory stillness again. "Jennifer was a good girl, Wizard Dresden. She was my girl, my employee, and I will see to it that justice is done on her behalf. If the dried up old men on your White Council want to know why you gave her killer to me, you can tell them it was because I insisted, since that is exactly what I am doing."

It occurred to me that, despite her low opinion of him, Madame Bianca wasn't really all that different from John Marcone where it counted. It was an opinion I very wisely kept to myself. She finally slid off of my lap, taking up her long gloves and sliding them on again without looking at me. "The name you want is Linda Randall. She worked here at the house, and she and Jennifer were friends. If anyone knows what kind of trouble Jen got herself into, it will be her. I will have someone bring her phone number to you before you go."

I stood up, glanced down at myself, then hurriedly sat again just as Bianca glanced over her shoulder. I made like I intended to finish the drink she had poured me before I left, but slight curve of her full lips told me she knew exactly why I would need a few minutes before I was up (or down, as the case may be) to walking around. She stepped back over to me and leaned down to plant a soft, gentle kiss on the exact center of my forehead. The spot where her lips touched my skin radiated a happy little tingle that did nothing to help my problem downstairs.

"I hope this goes well, Wizard Dresden," she whispered in my ear. "Should there be anything else you require of me, anything at all, you have only to ask. It would please me very much if you and I were to become... allies."

And with that, she turned on her heel and swayed out of the room. I watched her go, then slugged down the drink in my hand in a single gulp and touched a curious finger to my forehead, wondering if she had done something to me with that kiss. It felt slightly numb, and that tingle hadn't gone away yet. A minute or two later, Bianca's assistant Paula ducked into the room and handed me a thin file with Linda Randall's name lettered neatly across the top. There wasn't much in it. A card with contact information, a list of what I assumed were clients and assignments, and a glossy 8x10 of a woman with lovely grey eyes, soft brown hair, and absolutely no clothing on. There was a second, somewhat thicker file underneath it, belonging to Jennifer Stanton.

"Madame Bianca said you were going to help track down Jen's killer," Paula said as I glanced at the contents.

"I'm going to do whatever I can," I told her.

She glanced down, then back up at me. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Bianca tries to run a quiet, safe place here, but when things go bad, no one really ever lifts a finger."

I glanced up at her, wondering if she knew who, or more to the point, what her boss was. She shifted under my stare, thumbs brushing across her wrists in a nervous, unconscious gesture. I glanced down and spotted the scars there, several neat little puncture marks, just to the side of the big veins. Well, that answered that question. Paula saw me looking, blushed, then turned to go without another word. I shook my head, partially at her stupidity, and partially at mine.

"Stupid instincts," I muttered to myself. "This whole thing would have gone much better for everyone involved if I'd just set her on fire."

(end)

 

You terrific cockteasing son of a bitch. Dangling something this good over our heads with your reputation for writing magnificently and then... nothing follows up. If this doesn't develop further...

 

(chuckles) Development? Follow up? Good god man, what to I look like, a writer?

 

It was awesome and disturbing at the same time, because every time I picture Bianca she's always in her bat form in my mind. That makes for some nasty visuals, I can tell you.

 

Yeah, I've enjoyed everything I've read from BigD, but I always know it's not gonna be finished D:

 

Yeah, it was always in the back of my mind as well, which makes for some uncomfortable writing, but I tried to play it as straight as I could, with Dresden being ignorant of exactly what she's hiding.

Pfft. See if you get anything from me before 2014. Seriously, though, it's a TGYH. Expanding it was never in the cards. Frankly, Harry hooking up with Bianca, business or otherwise, isn't the kind of story I'd write on my own to begin with. Wouldn't even have occurred to me if Jon hadn't made it his prompt.

Speaking of which, I have one for anyone who wants it.

 

-> Le fixed.

 

Fapfapfap:facepalm

 

I'm not sure I could pull off the writing style of The Dresden styles, much less the quality of writing expected here... But I might give one of these prompts a shot.

Now, onto me.
I'd like a Harry/Murphy fic. Bonus points for involving Lash. She's probably got a few hints to give, which could be fun if done right.

 

Disregarded my earlier crap prompt.

I would rather like to see Harry and Georgia just hanging out somewhere between any of the books. I've always liked their chemistry.

 

If your gonna necro the thread you better write something you slut ;p

 

Heeey. I am writing. I've written like 6 pages long-hand on my DF story...

But on the topic of this thread: Give me a challenge and I'll try my best.

 

I believe he meant you should write something for the thread when he said that, but since you're going to anyway;

Currently available/unanswered challenges:
here
here
here
here
here
here
here
here
here
here
here
here
here
here
and here.

And if you guys don't start answering them on your own, I'm going to. I see a good Timetravel!Dresden concept for the Charity rescue prompt anyway.

 

Yes, I got that Zenzao. I've gone through this thread a few times without seeing a challenge that called out to me, or that I felt I could pull off. I'll take another look, but a few fresh suggestions couldn't possibly hurt.

And go ahead!

 

It's too short and was way more awesome in my head, but maybe some of you will like it.

Jezebel​

The dark haired woman put out her hand in greeting, palm down. "Hello, Father Forthill. My name is Lara Raith."

"To what do I own the pleasure of finally meeting you, Miss Raith?" He asked taking her hand in his own. "Unless you are not here for me, but for Him."

He gestured towards the altar.

"Oh, definitely for you," she smiled like a cat watching a canary.

"Very well. Then we shouldn't disturb people who are talking with Him. Please come with me to my office."

"I'd be delighted."

*

"How can I help you?"

"As you know, recently there were some big changes in a balance of power in the world and in Chicago. Because of that friends of late Harry Dresden, along with Marcone and his men, are trying to set up an organization to keep our city safe. I'm sure that they proposed you a chance to join them as they proposed it to us."

"Yes, Michael told me about these plans."

"So many people with very different opinions about things. There are bound to be disagreements. It would be to our mutual benefit to have an ally in these disagreements," She walked closer to him and placed her hand on his face. "Don't you think?"

"That will not work on me."

"It works on everyone," she smiled pleasantly tracing bottoms of his soutane with her hand. "No matter what their sexual preferences are. But we can find someone better fitting your tastes if that's what you want."

"Trust me, my dear, a lovely woman like you definitely fits my tastes just fine," he said stopping her hand over his heart. "But when one becomes a servant of our Lord, he needs to be prepared to not give into temptations far greater than what you are offering. And trust me, I was tested many times."

"Oh, I doubt any of these temptations were greater than myself," she said practically sitting in his lap.

"Not many," he stood up and at the same time caught surprised Lara stopping her falling down. "But some were."

"I'm afraid I'm not very good with politics and wouldn't make a good ally for you, Miss Raith. But if you ever need a friend, feel free to come here anytime you want. We are always open for everyone."

He kissed her on her forehead and went to prepare the next Mass.

Exiting the church Lara promised herself to never visit it again.

 

It's no masterpiece and could use a lengthening out(a mere 409 words), but I feel you kept Father Forthill's character in-line with what we've seen of him.

Not bad for the first go at this in a while.