6d (edited) • Davi's Stuff
from "Alice Ate the Rabbit"
An insight into the empire that Alice will soon discover she'll inherit. (my attempt to drop some exposition into a salacious scene without it being an info dump)
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The Carpathian Mountains, 380 miles northwest of Bucharest
By the time the Range Rover turned off the E81 and headed up through the long, narrow village of Stolna, they’d already been driving for six hours. It would take another hour, crawling higher into the Southern Carpathians, before they’d arrive at the castle. Lars cursed his old man’s bladder and tapped on the partition separating him from the driver. Hopefully this stop would be the last before their destination. The snow fell heavily now, settling in the needles of the Silver Fir trees. Outside, the air bit him sharply, and he rubbed his liver-spotted hands together for warmth.
Standing behind a tree, fumbling with his zip, Lars reflected that no matter how rich or powerful a man was, he still needed to take a piss like the poorest of men. It was one of nature’s levelers.
Ten minutes further up the road, the driver switched into four-wheel drive mode and engaged the lower gear ratio as the tyres crunched through an inch of snow. The remaining hour became two, and Lars dozed off. He woke when they made the final turn into a steep, unmarked driveway. Wrought-iron gates slid aside to allow them entry. Here, the forest thinned, the altitude too high, and the terrain too rocky for many trees to lay down roots. Craggy cliffs of grey shale loomed above, and on a massive outcrop, the castle stood majestically.
It always exuded an eerie dominance over the landscape, but this afternoon, in the half-light of the snowstorm, its visage was haunting. The original castle, constructed seven centuries ago in the Byzantine era, had been largely swallowed by each generation of extensions and modifications. The resulting edifice now resembled a chaotic citadel. Jagged towers rose above the curtained stone walls snaking around the mountainside. Most of the vertical slitted windows set into the ancient masonry were dark, but a few in the east wing glowed the sickly yellow of cat’s eyes, squinting at prey. Blue lights blinked atop the most incongruous modern addition, a helipad, rendered useless today by the weather.
The Range Rover followed the wide, horse-shoe shaped driveway and crunched to a halt in front of the main entrance. Lars allowed the driver to help him up the snow-covered steps. Solid oak doors swung open before them, and a white-haired man in a butler’s waistcoat and trousers ushered them inside.
A grand lobby of ornate tiles and oak-paneled walls adorned with ancient portraits and tapestries never failed to impress Lars, but he had no time to gawp. The driver disappeared through a side door, heading to the kitchen for a warm brew. Lars followed the butler up a curved marble staircase to the next floor. They turned left, down a passageway with suits of armor lining the walls, and through an innocuous single door into the drawing room.
Decorated back in the Renaissance period, plush burgundy rugs covered most of the floor. Velvet drapes of crimson and royal blue framed lead light windows. Artworks occupied almost every inch of the walls, and cornices of intricate plaster work mated the walls to the vaulted ceiling.
Two French chaise lounges faced each other in the centre of the room. A table l’italienne squatted between them, covered by a lace cloth upon which sat a silver tea tray. Beyond those, a brick hearth housed a crackling fire. This, combined with several candles scattered about the room, provided the only illumination. A more modern armchair, chosen for comfort rather than period accuracy, sat facing the fireplace.
Countess Nicolescu, dressed elegantly in a crimson silk gown with grey hair drawn back in a bun, reclined in the chair. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth betrayed her age, and her delicate voice barely broke above a whisper.
“Lars, you took your time. That damn whirly bird couldn’t fly through a bit of snow?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am, visibility is down to a few hundred yards in the valleys.” He approached the armchair and bowed.
“So much for global warming, eh?” She smiled. “Anyway, it’s good to see you. Now, where’s that Yvette? She can attend to us.”
Lars cringed. The succubi scared him, and with good reason. “I’m sure we can manage, ma’am. Or Henry could fetch anything we need?”
The countess laughed. “Oh, come now Lars, you’re not still scared of my little helpers, are you? It must be thirty years since that unfortunate faux pas.”
“Thirty-two years, actually,” Lars mumbled, involuntarily rubbing his neck.
They were interrupted by a panel opening in the wall. A waif-like figure, scantily clad in a see-through negligee, slipped barefoot into the room. Dirty-blonde, unkempt hair hid most of her face, but Lars still caught sight of a mischievous smile, with thin lips drawn back over gleaming, sharp teeth. When the creature moved in front of him, the fire silhouetted her feminine curves in fine detail. He scolded himself for being unable to take his eyes off her.
Yvette helped the countess sit higher, rearranging cushions and turning her towards the centre of the room. She dragged a chaise lounge over with one hand, as if it were no heavier than a deckchair. The small table followed, and without asking, she took the stack of papers off Lars and placed them on the table. When she moved behind him and took his jacket, he winced. This only made Yvette giggle before asking, “Drink?” as he sat down, flustered.
The countess answered for him while he regained his demeanor. “He’ll have a straight vodka, thank you, dear, and I’ll have another red, of course.”
Yvette sauntered over to a liquor cabinet while Lars flicked through his notes. “I’m sure you do that just to get a reaction from me,” he mumbled as he found the papers he was after.
“An old lady has to have some fun, doesn’t she?” his host replied, “And so do old men, for that matter. You’re going to be snowed in here for the night, I’d imagine. Yvette will happily keep you warm – or otherwise entertained.”
“I’m sure she would. But I’m less sure I’d wake up in the morning!”
The countess laughed. “Well, there are worse ways to go. Now, what of my young heiress? Is she still safe and well?”
“She is ma’am. And we’re making preparations for the extraction.”
“And the Russians, no sign that they’re any the wiser?”
Lars took the proffered crystal tumbler of vodka from Yvette, who then gave the countess a generously poured glass of red wine. Instead of leaving, she perched on the side of the armchair, lifted a knee under her chin, and began examining her scarlet-painted toenails. The negligee failed hopelessly at covering any modesty. Lars tried to ignore the exhibition of more female flesh than he’d seen in a long time and drank a large gulp of vodka before continuing.
“No ma’am. The Russian embassy in Wellington is going about its normal business. There’s been no increase in chatter since we found Alice, and no irregular movement of personnel. Still, the Russians remain our number one concern. If they find out, they’ll stop at nothing to get her. But don’t worry. We’re ready.”
The countess stroked Yvette’s hair as if she were a cat.
After a sip of her wine, she said, “At least Alice kept her first name. Were you aware of its old Germanic roots, Lars?”
“Yes, ma’am, it means ‘of noble blood’”
Yvette surprised Lars by whispering, “Alice in Wonderland,” as she played with her toes.
It was the first time he’d heard a succubus say anything. He raised an eyebrow at the countess, who smiled. “Don’t be so taken aback, Lars. She’s more than a pretty face, you know. She enjoys her stories, don’t you, dear?”
Yvette nodded, took the countess’s empty glass, and slid off the side of the armchair, grabbing the tumbler from Lars on her way. At the drinks cabinet, she talked to herself while she poured.
“Would you like some more tea, Alice? The mad hatter asked.” She giggled.
After handing over the glasses, she winked at Lars and recited some more, “The Cheshire Cat asked Alice, ‘can you stand on your head?’”
And with that, she lunged towards the nearest wall like an expert gymnast, planted her hands flat on the floor, head between them, and lifted her legs gracefully until her toes touched a painting of the castle.
The negligee fell, covering her face and leaving the rest of her body bare. Small pale breasts lolled forwards, beneath a thin, flat stomach and a sparse triangle of blonde pubic hair. “See?” she squeaked from under the negligee.
The countess rolled her eyes. “Yes, dear, he can see plenty. How about you run off and find Josephine? You two can read some more Alice in Wonderland in the library?”
They were treated to another eyeful when Yvette arched her legs back, one at a time, to the floor, and righted herself. She performed a cute curtsy and then disappeared through the side panel. Lars watched her leave; with a level of disappointment he’d never admit to.
The debriefing continued with no further distraction. As chairman of the board, he presented the matriarch of the Nicolescu family with her financial reports. Since the unfortunate passing of the count a decade previous, she’d had to suffer these tedious presentations. But Lars did his best to remain succinct. The vast industrial and commercial empire of the oldest family in Europe remained in excellent health; thanks to adept handling, generations of planning, conspiring, and no small amount of corruption. Compound interest played a significant role too. The wealth amassed over the centuries rivaled the GDP of half the world’s nations. And with the recent discovery of lithium under the Carpathian Mountains, owned exclusively by the family, their grip on global financial systems grew tighter.
Within the highest circles, among the world’s power brokers, both legitimate and corrupt, the Nicolescu conglomerate was known by another term.
The Vampire Nation.
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from "Alice Ate the Rabbit"
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