Thread: Bats in Broom Closets

There was an expected level of respect owed to the elders of the different families. Not just from members of other families in general but especially from those within their own clan. It kept the elders in control of their families and gave them the power needed to lead their own people and they were trusted to make decisions for the betterment of the society they lived in. So, when that due respect was not shown, it created a bit of a vacuum that brought all attention to the one missing from the equation. Namely, in this situation, Mickel. When the circumstances involved the expectations of another family, it was even worse because not only was everyone in Obermayer's clan watching but so were the Vampyrs and the erneut Trickzeichner. All eyes were on Grovater Obermayer to rein in the Welpen, even when it came to small infractions. Nothing but a small punishment was expected but an action was to be taken nonetheless. So, when a summons was ignored... Creasy held in another heavy sigh as he walked through the halls of the Obermayer estate, shaking his head internally about little Mickel's issues with authority. The thing was, this wasn't the first time something like this had happened and this wasn't the first time Mickel had blown off a summons - which was why Creasy had been instructed to watch over the Jungen as he slept to make sure he came to this meeting as soon as he woke up. As he walked the old stone hallways, he tried to go back over it in his head, trying to understand his reasons for letting the Welp go instead of dragging him by the scruff of his neck to face the consequences of his actions. The boy wasn't a very good liar, so Creasy believed him when he said he needed to deal with something else at the moment, especially since it seemed serious enough that he wouldn't even talk about it. And he also had a soft spot for Mickel, sympathizing with the boy more than the idiots from the other family. After hearing about the way Terrien first went crying to the Vampyr Lord about the slight against his honor only to go bragging about it the next night, Creasy was inclined to think das Saugenschlampe didn't deserve an apology or retribution. But that wasn't exactly diplomatic, which was why Creasy wasn't the Grovater. Finally arriving to the gardens, Creasy walked with his hands respectfully tucked behind his back, making his way amidst the trees and vine covered pillars to where the Grovater was pruning his roses. A few meters away from the older man, he stopped and waited politely. Finally, after a moment, the elder man, with white, slicked back hair and a bearded chin spoke without turning around. Ho, Creasy. Ho, Grovater. Where is my little Mickel? The timbre of the older man's voice was deep and soothing, the graveled quality adding ancient power to his words. Creasy was tempted to allow himself to be calmed by it but knew better. I am very sorry, Grovater, Creasy began. He was not able to join you today. Obermayer had a small grandfatherly smirk on his lips as he gently cradled a large rose head in his fingers while he snipped it at the neck with his shears. Is he really that frightened of my wrath or is he just being stubborn this time? Actually, he wished me to apologize on his behalf. He had some urgent business to attend to and it could not wait. The decision was not made lightly and he did not mean you any disrespect, Grovater. And you know this for certain, do you? Creasy was silent as the ironic note in the other man's tone got a hard edge to it. How many times in the last few months has he arrived late to my summons? I am running out of fingers to keep count and my patience is wearing thin. I can hardly talk to the Jungen when I want to anymore simply because he feels running off to do his own thing is more important than what this family needs! The old man picked up his basket of dead flowers and carried it with him through the garden, with Creasy following. Deeper among the foliage there was a pavilion with a granite table and benches with refreshments laid out. Grovater set the roses down and a nameless, faceless servant quietly came by and retrieved the plants, disappearing from the same shade she'd emerged from. Meanwhile, Grovater poured himself a glass of bright, painfully red liquid from the pitcher sitting on the table and took a sip from it before turning to actually look Creasy in the eye. Disrespect may not have been what he intended but it's exactly what he gave me when he failed to tell me to my face that he had matters to tend to. And you as well for letting him go when you were told to do otherwise. Creasy had been silent up to now but filled with the impulse to defend himself, he started, Grovater, I am deeply sorry, I meant no disrespe-- Ahk! Grovater placidly drank from his glass while sudden discomfort and pain lanced through Creasy's body. The old man glowed with power as Creasy's body shrank, his limbs growing thin and his stomach distending grotesquely while his clothes grew too big for him and crumpled to the ground. All hair on his body disappeared, and he was left standing at 109cm, his eyes large and bulbous in his head, his chin and mouth impossibly tiny with floppy, pointed ears dangling on the sides of his head. Looking like a hideously deformed little old man, Creasy was a creature of pure agony, wailing in a reedy voice up at the man he'd loved and respected all his life and blinking his huge, watery eyes in anguish. Eventually, smacking his lips in satisfaction, Grovater allowed Creasy's form to return, leaving him panting and naked, kneeling at the older man's feet. With tears streaming down his face and still feeling shades of that internal pain, he bent low and kissed the older wizard's sandaled feet graciously, murmuring an ancient prayer for forgiveness. I could have you, Grovater said in a quiet, graveled voice, the timbre once so soothing now causing Creasy to shudder reflexively. Anytime I want, you are mine to mold. This arrogance and immaturity will no longer be tolerated. He is 22 years old and he should know by now the appropriate decorum for getting the things he asks for. I don't care what business he is dealing with, you will find him and bring him to me. Do whatever needs to be done. As you will it, Grovater, Creasy said, his voice sounding frail and winded. When he was given permission to leave, he respectfully gathered his things in his arms and left the garden, his naked back straight and tense until he'd made it well out of sight of the older man. Mickel nervously watched her put food on the plates, wondering what he should say next to stave off her suspicions. He hadn't meant to say 'magic' or 'powers' or to put that idea in her head. But she was a little hard to read and he wasn't really sure how to get her to stop thinking that he was a shape-shifter. The fact that he actually was one made it even more difficult to know what to say. So, he decided to err on the side of caution and not say anything about that anymore. It wasn't like he'd encourage her disbelief if he started denying it now anyway. He wasn't really sure what to say about no one being able to help her, so he decided not to talk about that again either. Thankfully, he wasn't forced to say anything when she set the plate in front of him and he quickly, economically set about eating what she'd laid before him. Growing up in a large, affluent family, it was second nature for him to use the utensils in a dignified way, the habits that he's been trained in instantly kicking in as he picked up his fork and knife - shoulders back, elbows off the table, etc. Fully immersed in his meal, he paused mid-chew to glance at her when she spoke again, his eyebrow quirking when she offered a way for him to help her. Oh, she wanted manual labor help? Ugh... he inwardly groaned. He didn't like physical work. In fact most things that required physical effort, he did while transformed into an animal of some kind, simply because it made things go so much faster and easier. Did that mean he could have his money back? He didn't want to ask for it or just grab it back because that might make him look insincere in giving it to her - which he wasn't if he could buy her silence then he would certainly try that - but if she wasn't going to use it then he wanted to have it. Whatever. She could keep it, then. It wasn't like 1,000 was gonna put him back or anything. For a moment, he thought of Grovater, wondering about the meeting he was supposed to have with the older wizard today and how Creasy was possibly handling it. Mickel was probably going to be in super big trouble if he showed his face on the estate grounds again. Grovater might even suspend him from using his powers for this... Nah, it'd be okay. Creasy would take care of it for him and he'd talk things over with Grovater later, no big deal. Good old Creasy! That was when he realized he'd zoned out and she was still sitting there expecting answers. Abruptly he blinked and smiled at her, brushing the moment away as he said, You want me to fix your windows? Yeah, sure, I can do that! No problem! I know where we can order the high quality glass and we get starting right away, okay? And no worries, I am paying for everything. No more bats flying into your windows on accidents! Heh. He laughed and shook a finger at her before returning to his meal. He had no idea what the hell he was still doing here and every moment made him more nervous that she was going to ask him questions that he wouldn't know how to answer. He needed to loosen things up and get her seeing him as a normal person. You not trusting me because we are strangers, ja? Well, we can not be strangers anymore and then we will be friendly, okay? So, you having just moved here? Are you enjoying Germany? Well... uh... I mean besides... Mickel shrugged and made an awkward expression while motioning at himself then waited expectantly for her response. What are you called, by the way? I never got you name.