First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Theft and Ownership

Erramun was pretending he wasn’t shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Senga swallowed a sigh and looked at him. “I might be young.” She let a little acid drip into her voice. She had been around her family, after all, and it had been a long day already. “But I know a thing or two about the collar, and I’ve been on both sides of it. A collar isn’t a collar isn’t a collar, any more than a nice chain necklace isn’t a leather dog collar isn’t a bar of steel wrapped around your neck.”

She saw the flinch he tried to hide at the last one, and took a mental note. “Did my great-aunt know?” she asked, a stab in the dark but worth it with the way he was reacting, “someone had kept you as a slave before?”

He eyed her. She could see the way his shoulders turned slightly toward her, even as she kept most of her attention on the road. Traffic in this part of town could be deadly, even without the added threat of nearby family. “I don’t have to tell you that,” he said, slowly but with an implied threat. “You haven’t given me any orders to honesty.”

“Should I?”

“Depends if you want me to be polite or honest.” He was inching towards facing her. She kept her eyes on the road.

She snorted. “You’ve met my family. Which do you think I prefer?”

She almost missed the way his hands curled into fists on his lap. “I don’t like guessing games.”

“I don’t play them. I’m not the sort of bitch my cousins are” It wasn’t quite an apology, but she wasn’t feeling very apologetic.

“What sort of bitch are you, then?”

Apparently, neither was he.

She coughed to cover a laugh and let the traffic flow around them, pretending for a moment like getting the car to the right-most lane to turn onto her side street was taking all her attention. “I’m the sort of bitch who’s more honest than you want with friends and never honest at all with enemies.”

“And what about with your bound servants?”

“Well, I suppose we’re going to have to find out. It’s been a while since I had one, and the last one was a volunteer. It’s a bit of a different situation. What about you? What sort of bitch are you?”

It wasn’t a nice question. She didn’t think he’d appreciate her being nice.

“I’m not generally anyone’s bitch. Mirabella knew that. I think she’s fucking with me, giving me to you. I’m not sure why else she did it.” He shrugged. “You still haven’t ordered me to honesty.”

“You still haven’t told me if she knew you’d worn a collar before.”

Both of his hands went to his neck. “I’m not wearing a collar now.”

“No. You’re not.” This part of the drive often actually did require concentration. She handled the five-way intersection, sped up to avoid the oncoming tractor-trailer, and braked to turn into her driveway. “Except you are.” She tapped his chest, feeling a little daring but, hey, she Owned him now. She was going to have to get used to touching him eventually. “Metaphorically.”

He growled. She growled back at him, and was pleased to see he looked startled. She’d practiced that growl. “I’m yours,” he muttered. “That’s different.”

“How, exactly, is it different?” She parked the car and turned in her seat to look at him. “The collar is the symbol of being Owned.”

“Make up your mind!” He glared at her. “If a collar isn’t a collar isn’t a collar, than if I’m not a slave, I’m not collared.”

“This is going to be a long conversation.” She shook her head and resisted the urge to pinch her nose. “Did my Great-Aunt Mirabella know you’d been collared before?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “She did. Happy now?”

“Not yet, but it’s a good start, thank you. This is my house, or at least it is ‘till we take possession of Monmartin Hill Manor, which will probably take a little time. Let me show you around, and then we can go get your things.”

“Joy.” He let himself out of the car and slammed the door. His shoulders were tight and he looked like he wanted to punch something.

She was going to have to deal with this sooner rather than later. “Hey!” She caught his attention with a nice snap of her voice. “Nobody said you could play rough with my things.”

He sneered at her. “Nobody said I couldn’t, either.”

“Oh?” Not too much she wanted to do on the driveway, in front of potential witnesses, and he probably knew that. “And here I was thinking you were happier if people didn’t tell you, too much, what to do.”

That caught him by surprise. Good. She took a few steps towards him. He didn’t step back, but from his expression, he was thinking about it.

“You’re collaring me. That means you get to tell me what to do.”

“Get to, yes. Starting with let’s have this argument inside, shall we?” She tilted her head at the front door. “My team’s home. Welcome.”

“Team?”

“Crew, team, family.” She started inside, waiting at the doorway for him.

She watched him consider doing something like running away, and watched the moment when he lost that argument with himself. It made him angry, or angrier, at least; his jaw tightened and he stomped as he came towards her.

She stepped in and let him come in after her and look around. The place was, she knew, nothing special – it looked very lived-in, and like the people living there were busy people without a lot of money. “I can see why you need a Kept,” he muttered.

“Yeah, we talked about having a housekeeper come in once a week, but decided that around here, that might stick out. Besides, now it turns out we’re moving, anyway.”

He eyed her in obvious surprise. “You’re going to move your whole team?”

“Have you seen the Monmartin Hill house? I could put my whole team in one bedroom of that place and still have room left over to throw a party. Just you and I – even if the staff is still there and wants to stay there – we’d rattle around in there like mad. Besides, I like my team being where I know where they are.”

“Controlling much?” He sneered it like the insult he meant it to be.

“Needy more than controlling.” She grinned back at him like he’d paid her a compliment she was dodging. “I’m a bit clingy. I suppose it comes of being an orphan. So, until we move, this is the house, and upstairs is my bedroom. Kitchen, dining room – well, in theory.” The cheap table they’d picked up at Goodwill houses three computers, seven monitors, and three file boxes, as well as at least one cat. “We eat through here in the living room. Chitter lives downstairs, prefers the basement or just likes the sound buffer. Allayne and I have the upstairs, and Ezer when he’s around.” She strode through the living room and up the stairs.

Erramun followed, although she wasn’t entirely sure why. “But now you’re moving.”

“Well, its not every day someone gives you part of the family fortune back. This is my room. It’s yours, too. Ah.” It wasn’t a big room, by any stretch of the imagination, but sh’d gotten a nice big bed and put it in one corner. Dresser, chest, gun case, and a free-standing punching bag took up the rest of the room. “Well. I never planned on sharing the space. I guess we’ll move soon.”

Erramun looked around the room dryly. “I might be able to hang myself up in the corner there,” he offered. “By the dresses and other things that don’t seem to fit you at all.”

“Har, har.” She was just glad he hadn’t offered to put himself in the gun case. Maybe he thought she kept makeup in there or something. “How long do you think it’ll take for you to pack up your stuff?”

“Oh, maybe twenty minutes.” He looked around her mess again with a wider smirk. “I travel light.”

“One of us ought to.” She was not going to take offense. “So, let’s-”

“Senga! Sennnnie! How did it go-oh?” With all the class and delicacy of a freight train, Allayne crashed into the room.

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First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Family Problems

Senga’s good mood only lasted until they got to the parking lot. Erramun had stopped growling, but he didn’t look happy – not that she expected him to; she wouldn’t have been in his situation, and she wasn’t sure she was in her situation.

“I think you frightened her,” she murmured. “This is my car.” She nodded her head at the nondescript vehicle in the nondescript color behind them, a mintish-green Corolla she’d bought because it looked like a hundred other cars within any given three-block radius.

He raised his eyebrows. “Making a lack of statement?”

“Exactly.” She beeped the car open and slid into the driver’s seat. “Unless you’re worried about your ride being stolen, why don’t you come with me now, and we’ll come back for your vehicle later?”

“I walked.” He slipped into the passenger’s seat. “I don’t – didn’t – live that far from here. But.” He coughed and shifted in his seat, not looking at her. “There’s stuff I don’t want to leave there too long.”

“Right. I’ll show you my place, then you can go get your things. I have to get ready to take possession of a manor, anyway.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Family manor? Why’s your cousin want it?”

“Same reason she wants you, possibly. Because it’s mine.”

“She probably wants to use me as a murder weapon,” he pointed out, managing to look at Senga this time.

“Well, she might want to use the house as a kill zone. It’s been used for that before.”

“And what about you?” He sounded like he was forcing the words out. Considering the situation, Senga couldn’t blame him.

“Me?” She eyed him sideways. “I’m not in the business nor habit of murder. What I want to do with you – well, I’m going to have to figure that out, aren’t I? I didn’t expect to get anything from Great-Aunt Mirabella, much less…”

“…a slave.”

“A Kept. A responsibility.” She managed a small smile. “They’re not quite the same thing, you know.”

“I was alive when your grandmother was nursing at the teat,” he countered.

“Unlikely, but possible. I’m young, but my family isn’t. And my grandmother was Great-Aunt Mirabella’s sister.”

“…Unlikely, then,” he agreed. “You still don’t have to educate me in what being your bond and bound servant means.”

“Of course I do.” She maneuvered the car through traffic and wondered how she was going to explain this to her team. “You know what the words mean and probably know the law – and the fae Law – better than I do, but that doesn’t mean you know anything about how I handle having a bond servant.” If they were going to use that term, which was strange, archaic, and just like Great-Aunt Mirabella, she was going to make sure they were using it the same.

He was eyeing her sidelong. “You are young. What do you mean, ‘how you handle it?’ A collar is a collar is a collar.”

“Now that,” she said, feeling a little bit irritated and letting it show, “is just about the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all day, and I’ve been around my family.”

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Working on in-text character descriptions. Senga, from Erramun’s POV

Erramun took a moment while Senga was bantering with her cousin to really look at her.

She wasn’t so much short as she was shorter than him, which, to be fair, wasn’t saying much. She was wearing a very nice dress in sedate black which very nearly concealed most of the weapons she was carrying and, to a less trained eye, might hide the muscles in her arms. It couldn’t hide the way she moved, though, like she was tracking something. He wondered if, under her Mask, her Change was feline.

Her hair had been done up; it looked fancy, but it stayed out of her way. Black-brown and straight or straightened, for all she called herself the white sheep, he was amused to see her hair was darker than her honey-brunette cousins. She looked comfortable in the fancy-dress, and looked like she could kill someone without breaking a sweat. It was an interesting combination – but one that was less surprising than it might have been, given her family.

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First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Ellehemaei Inheritance Law

Senga looked over and up at Silence. He was looking over and down at her. He lifted his eyebrows at her. She shrugged at him.

“You’re right,” she admitted, “I’m screwed if you say no, and you’ve got more to lose by saying yes.”

“You don’t have shit to lose by saying yes,” he growled.

“Why don’t we talk about that when we’re out of here, one way or another? Because this isn’t exactly my cup of tea, either.”

“Yeah, well..”

“I’m sorry to rush you,” Mr. Maladono interrupted, not sounding the least bit sorry, “but I have several more cases to get through today. Mirabella’s will was, as you might have noticed, quite complicated, and there are quite a few people who wish to contest the terms or amounts of their inheritance.”

“You’re going to need more bodyguards,” Senga muttered. She looked up at Silence. “Well? This is your call. You’re the one that’s going to be wearing the collar.”

“You’re the one who — well, no.” He leaned backwards and stared at the ceiling for a minute. “Senga Monmartin, I Belong to you for—”

Mr. Maladono’s loud throat-clearing interrupted in.

“Oh, departed gods fuck all. Senga, I’m yours.”

“Erramun, Death Comes Silently, you Belong to me. Don’t kill me. Don’t maim me, either, and let’s get out of here before either of us maims someone else.”

“Sounds good to me.” He snarled it, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I mean, sounds good to me, mistress.”

Senga caught a flash of expression on Mr. Maladono’s face that she didn’t like, something like a pleased smirk. Maybe he enjoyed these clauses. Maybe he’d written them in with Great-Aunt Mirabella.

Maybe he was just an asshole.

Right now, he wasn’t her problem. Her problem was taller, looked nicer, and also looked like he was about to kill her, regardless of orders to the contrary.

She walked out of the funeral home as quickly as she could while still looking casual. Next to her, Erramun stalked. His face was set in something that looked irritated rather than furious, but she could see the hand closer to her was clenched at his side.

“Senga! Senga, you little bitch, don’t ignore me!” Eaven hurried up to her. Senga stopped, mainly because she didn’t want her cousin screaming her name in the middle of a wake filled with very important people of many different stripes. “Senga, you know you don’t deserve any of what mother left you. Just give it to me all now and there won’t be any trouble.”

“The Monmartin house?” Senga raised her eyebrows. “I think I deserve the house I grew up in.”

“You don’t have any use for that. A penny-ante thug like you? What are you going to do with an estate?“

Erramun took a step forward so he was looming over Eaven. “It’s her inheritance. It’s her business what she does with it.”

“And you?” Eaven sneered. “Are you her inheritance, too?”

He smirked. It was an expression that looked like a tiger about to eat a fat gazelle. “It looks that way.”

“I always knew you were born to-”

“Eavan.” Senga cut her cousin off with far more shortness than she’d ever dared use in the past. “Eaven, I think it’s best if you don’t finish that sentence. We are leaving now. With that which we were given. And I’d suggest you do the same.”

“I’m going to get it. The manor. The money. Him. You know I am. There’s never been anything that she’s denied me.”

“And maybe that’s why you don’t have as meaty an inheritance as you wanted. Because you got it all along.”

“Is that what this is all about? You’re jealous because my mother gave me the goodies your mama never could?”

“My mother’s dead,” Senga pointed out, her voice flat. She’d cried those tears a long time ago, and, besides, it’s not like Eaven didn’t know that – and didn’t like to rub it in.

“You’ll be joining her soon enough if you don’t give in. You know you can’t win, and you know you don’t deserve it. So make life easy on yourse-”

She trailed off, staring at Erramun. He was growling, low and animal-sounding. “Senga, put a leash on him before he hurts someone.”

“I’m fairly certain the point of him is to hurt people. And I’m fairly certain I’m not going to put a leash on him. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, cousin. Do enjoy what your mother left you. And, oh.” She couldn’t help leaving with a parting shot. “Try not to let your sister steal everything she didn’t get from you. I’m sure she’s going to be trying.”

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First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Legacies and Unimportant People

The lawyer was waiting for them, all prickly and officious. “Miss Senga Monmartin, Mr. Erramun Silence. Here are the full details of Mirabella’s behest to the two of you. It encompasses all that was read in the will – both the rewards for compliance and the punishments for a lack thereof, as it were – but includes also this statement:

“‘Now, Silence, I know you, and you’re going to try to give up as little as possible, and Senga, I know you, and you’re going to try to be nice, because that’s what you do. Neither of those things are bad traits – but they don’t suit this plan of mine. If I’m gone – and if I weren’t gone, you wouldn’t be hearing this, now would you – you’re going to have to trust the plan, both of you, because nothing else will keep you both above water.

“‘In that vein, I will only consider you to have followed the letter of my will and the spirit if you swear to the Belonging in front of Mr. Maladono, my favorite lawyer, and if you do so with no qualifiers. Nothing but you, Silence, saying you Belong to you, Senga, that and nothing more.’”

Senga looked at Silence. He was growling softly under his breath, glaring at the lawyer and the paper the lawyer was holding. The lawyer, quite sensibly, took a step backwards. Senga resisted the urge to do the same as Silence turned his glare on her.

“This was not my doing,” she pointed out, “or I wouldn’t have bothered to be negotiating terms with you.”

“You’re fucked if I say no, aren’t you?” There was something amused under the growl. Senga struggled not to show anything on her face.

“You’re fucked if you say no, too, aren’t you?” she countered.

“Oh, yeah. But it’s nice to know we’re fucked together…. or not-fucked together.” He smirked at her. “Which defeats the purpose of me being under your Name, I suppose.”

She snorted. “I don’t think Great-Aunt Mirabella arranged this all just so my bed would be warmer. For that, I can imagine she’d have picked someone who wanted the collar. She had a few of those, didn’t she?” She turned that question on the lawyer, who was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t listening to this discussion.

He cleared his throat. “If you mean, were there people in Mirabella’s will… there were three. Those disbursements were handled separately, as that is obviously against the law in this state.”

“All states, I’d think?”

“Oh, actually, there are special laws in three states, including California, that were presumably put in place stealthily and under the aegis of other laws by powerful Ellehemaei. That being said, if you wish to discuss inheritance law vis-a-vis Ellehemaei, I’d be more than willing to do so – at another date. Right now, I need to know which path the two of you are pursuing.”

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First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Negotiation

The security guards wrapped up with Muirgen and headed back into the lawyer’s office, just as someone in a well-fitted but cheap suit stalked out of the room. Senga watched the man go with curiosity.

“One of Mirabella’s bean-counters,” Silence murmured. “Always thought he was underappreciated. Guess the will hearing justified that.”

“Maybe she threatened his life and reputation too,” Senga responded in the same low term. “Maybe he didn’t appreciate being treated like someone she ‘appreciated’ after all.”

“I’ll note she didn’t do that with her daughters.”

“Neither did she give her daughters diddly. They’re – well. You probably know them better than I do.”

“Ah, but they’re your family. And it’s their mother’s funeral.”

“And they’re on par with Mister cheap suit there,” she added in the same casual, quiet tone. “They don’t get the big things. They’re just not as important as they think they are. Of course, that won’t stop them from killing me,” she added ruefully. “And they’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

“‘Cause you’re more important than them?”

“Ha. Hardly. I’m a glorified errand girl and beat-er-upper. Not exactly high on anyone’ totem pole.”

He looked down at her. Senga tensed, ready for the wise-ass remark. She wasn’t short, but, then again, she was neither tall nor that muscular. “You probably do a good stealth attack, don’t you? People aren’t expecting it, and then there you are, sharp and deadly and under their block.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. That was the quickest assessment of her skills she’d gotten since she’d been in training.

He smirked back in return. “Don’t tell me. It wouldn’t do to give away secrets you might need. But old fa – farts, the smart ones, they know that it’s not just brutes like me that have the power. Besides, I’m really good at knowing where metal is.” The last was barely a whisper.

“That’s a useful skill.” One she might actually have a lot of use for, in addition to those times when his looming growly intimidation might come in handy for the team – never mind that they’d specifically avoided hiring a thug because they could do this themselves, damnit; it wasn’t like she was choosing to hire him.

His smile looked tired. “Ah, and so it begins. You may be the white sheep, but you’re a member of your family through and through.”

She wanted to take offense. She was offended. But she lifted her eyebrows and grinned at him, because he’d meant for her to be offended, and she had no time for that bullshit. “Of course I am. Daughter of Aonghus, himself the son of Sláine, who was Mirabella’s sister and, let’s be honest, her better, until they were murdered. I’m more my family than they are, and if they’ve been setting the tone for so long, now, that’s my fault as much as theirs.” She raised her chin and let her smile edge from happy to challenge.

He looked down at her and twitched his own eyebrows. “But you’re not the one she left the ledgers to.”

“Of course not.” She winked at him. “I’m not the one she left the ledgers to.” There was more than one reason for Clause Seven, even if Mirabella had been the only one who knew that.

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First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Silence’s Inheritance.

Muirgen was still being handled by the security men; they had her in a corner and one of them was speaking very quietly to her. Senga ignored that situation as firmly as she could. Muirgen would not forgive her for having seen her in a foolish state, any more than she’d forgive Senga for having gotten something she wanted.

If today went as typical, Muirgen and Eavan would probably blame her for Muirgen’s loss of her inheritance. That was on par with their normal behavior around Senga or any of the other cousins who weren’t them.

She’d worry about that later. Right now, she had more important things on her mind.

She looked around; he’d only been gone a few moments before she stepped out of the office. Where had he gotten to? Had he left? She resisted the urge to swear. If he didn’t hold up his end of the bargain, he was going to leave her in a pretty precarious position. He’d need to be here after the reading. Otherwise… well. It was going to be a mess.

Not like she should expect that to matter to a complete stranger when her own family had put her in this situation….

There he was. She could’ve sworn she’d looked at that corner of the room before and seen nothing, but he was standing there, looking at her. Senga crossed the room, moving around mourners while trying not to lose sight of him. Mr. Silence. Erramun.

He was playing with an unlit cigarette. He noticed her coming up to him but said nothing. She thought about saying something, but the situation was a bit awkward. Hello, please agree to Belong to me so my family doesn’t kill me…

“My Name isn’t Silence.” His voice was gravely this time. “It’s just something I use to have a last name on the papers.”

She looked at him and waited. That sounded like an opener.

“It’s Death Comes Silently. You know what I did for your aunt.” He looked down at her. He looked considerably taller than she’d noticed him being before.

She cleared her throat. “I have a pretty good idea.”

“I’m not going to kneel.”

She was about to say something, to plead with him, when he continued.

“I won’t wear a leash. I won’t beg for food.” His gaze seemed to bore into her. “I won’t be told what to wear. Except for your funeral.” His lips curled upwards a little. “I can agree to wear black for that.”

No wonder his clothes looked new. She cleared her throat and made herself meet his gaze. “Those are acceptable terms. Anything else?”

She was going to work under that assumption, that they were terms, because otherwise he was using too many words to tell her that she was fucked.

He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t object to any of that?”

“Why would I? I didn’t sign up for a…” She remembered where they were and changed mid-sentence. “-a bond servant. I didn’t sign up for any sort of inheritance at all. I don’t know what Aunt Mirabella’s holding over you-”

“And if I have my way, you won’t. Ever.”

“-and that’s fine. What she’s holding over me is survival, among other things. As long as Clause Seven is in effect, the family won’t kill me.”

“Nice family you’ve got. What did you do to them?”

“I. Well, most of it, I don’t want to say here. Some of it is, I survived. My father didn’t. I wasn’t supposed to survive.”

“Mirabella always did work by some interesting rules. So. Those terms, they don’t bother you? Maybe I should have more.”

“I think you should,” she agreed. “Something about your emotions, probably. Something about sleeping arrangements. Hrrm. Sex.”

“Excuse me?” She’d either managed to startle or offend him.

“Sex,” she repeated. Her voice was quiet enough that she didn’t think it would carry, but she lowered it a bit anyway. “If you get it. If it can be a reward or a punishment. How much say you have in it.”

“…You’re being quite thorough. You don’t want to determine all that yourself?”

“We’re into negotiation territory.” She lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes. “Like you said, I know what you did for Great-Aunt Mirabella. It behooves me to make sure, if you’re going to not risk Envelopes A, B, and C, that I don’t end up with you hating me.”

“You’d care if your… bond servant… hated you?”

“Even if you weren’t… what you are, sa’Death Comes Silently.” She was certain he deserved the honorific and, from his expression, just as certain he rarely got it. “Yes. I’d care. As I said.” His eyes were not brown. They were gold and brown and green all at once. “I’m the white sheep of the family.”

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This follows The Funeral and Further Funeral and Funeral: Will-Reading and Funeral: Senga’s Inheritance. It’s set in Fae apoc, pre-apoc era, possibly 2010.

Senga stared at the lawyer. She didn’t dare look at Mr. Silence; she didn’t dare look at the rest of the room.

Clause Seven. That was the clause which had kept her alive. That answered a question she hadn’t wanted to ask yet – did Great-Aunt Mirabella’s protections continue after her death? It appeared that they did, or at least that they might.

If she agreed to Own someone who was clearly averse to the idea and clearly dangerous.

Well… he might be less dangerous than the rest of the family and of Mirabella’s empire.

“Now. Erramun called Silence, Mirabella here leaves to you one million dollars from the general fund, these three blue envelopes here, and her 1963 split-window Corvette, under the requirement that you agree to serve as Senga Monmatrin’s bond servant for no less than six years under the Law of the People. In addition -”

“Why does she get him?” The voice was shrill and loud.

“Miss Muirgen, if you engage in one more interruption, I will be forced to remove you from the premises and from the will, as allowed for in provision three of the will and as you have already been warned.”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“Very well, that does count as another interrupt. Joseph, Henrich,” he nodded to the two large men.

Muirgen was removed from the room with a surprisingly small amount of fuss.

“Now, as I was saying, Mr. Silence. If you do not agree to those terms, not only do you not receive your inheritance, but I am ordered to publicize the contents of what is referred to as envelopes A, B, and C.”

He said nothing, but Senga could see the way his shoulders tensed and twitched. He nodded his head very slowly.

“Please see me when the will reading is completed to discuss these terms.”

The lawyer moved on to the next person on his list. Erramun-called-Silence stood up and stalked out of the room.

Senga considered for two or three heartbeats before she followed him out.

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This follows The Funeral and Further Funeral and Funeral: Will-Reading. It’s set in Fae apoc, pre-apoc era, possibly 2010.

The room did not seem very crowded, but the list seemed to go on forever. Great-Aunt Mirabella’d had extensive holdings, after all, and with those holdings came promises, deals, arrangements, and piles and piles of sealed envelopes.

Senga had her eyes on the envelope that held her deal, but that one hadn’t gone up yet; the cousin had gotten only what the lawyer called the “common” envelopes, which Senga thought probably involved human dealings or dealings that appeared human.

She had ended up sitting a few rows away from her tall, dark, and handsome friend, and as the readings went on, she could see that he was growing more and more tense. His attention seemed to be aimed at the same pile of envelopes she was worried about, but he was very nearly vibrating.

“Senga, daughter of Claudia, called Senga Monmartin?” The lawyer cleared his throat. “Ah. Yes, miss, there you are. To you Mirabella has said: ‘I leave to you the house on Monmartin Hill, which should have been yours anyway, and the number bank accounts listed in the gold book, as well as one million dollars from the general fund, and the small pink notebook of names. All this however-’” here the lawyer had to raise his voice to talk over various upset relatives. That was more than she’d left her daughters, if there was anything other than pennies in the gold book accounts. “-However, is contingent on you, that is, Senga Monmartin, taking Erramun Silence as your bond servant for a time no less than six years under the Law of the People.” His eyes bored into her.

There was no question what “bond servant” meant here. Great-Aunt Mirabella wanted her to Keep someone. Some Erramun. Some -”

“No.” The voice came from tall-and-dark. “No.”

“I am not yet finished,” the lawyer admonished. “And your name is next on the list, Mr. Silence.”

Tall and dark fell – ha- silent.

“In addition, if you, Senga Monmartin, do not agree to the terms of this inheritance and do not fulfill them, then the protections listed under Clause Seven will be revoked.” The lawyer flipped pages, leaving Senga sitting stunned, feeling as if the air had just been knocked out of her. “Please come see me after the will-reading to discuss these terms.”

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This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1271293.html. You can comment here or there.

This follows The Funeral and Further Funeral. It’s set in Fae apoc, pre-apoc era, possibly 2010.

“What are you doing in here?” Eaven glared at Senga as a small group of the mourners trooped into the office. “It’s not like you’re the most favored relative or anything. And you.” She glared over Senga’s head at the as-of-yet-unnamed black-clad cowboy Senga had been talking with. “This isn’t for the help, you know.”

He smirked. It was the sort of smile you might imagine on a shark, right before it had you for dinner. “I was invited here to listen to the will-reading. It falls within my agreements with Mirabella. So here I am.”

“Same,” Senga agreed. “Great-Aunt Mirabella wanted me to be here. I haven’t told her no yet.”

“You don’t dare, do you? Even with her dead, you can’t go against her, or-” Eaven ran her finger across her neck.

“I’m a dutiful niece.” She knew her voice didn’t crack on that one. “And that is, like the man said, the agreement I have with my Great-Aunt.”

“Who is dead now. In case you haven’t noticed.”

“Ahem. Ahem. Please be seated. Thank you. This is a long will, and there are many parties involved, so I am going to attempt to get through this as expeditiously as possible. If you have any arguments, please wait until the very end, when I will be taking questions in the order of the will-reading.”

The will started with Mirabella’s children, unsurprisingly, and from there to her grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Senga amused herself by guessing what the bequests would be and how much fuss the relative in question would throw.

Eaven seemed pleased enough by her inheritance, although it was a fraction of Mirabella’s wealth and none of her empire. Muirgen, Eaven’s older sister, was not nearly as content with her similarly-small share.

Everyone was holding their breath for the Black Books. It might have been the computer age, but the wealth of Mirabella’s empire lived in a small stack of black leather-bound ledgers and a much larger stack of sealed envelopes.

When they went to a cousin – not one of Mirabella’s direct descendants, even, but her sister’s child – every single blood descendant of the former Empress of the City started to snarl and yell.

The lawyer merely cleared his throat. “At this point I will read a note from Mirabella herself.”

The room fell silent, Great-Aunt Mirabella’s heavy hand coming down on them from beyond the grave.

The lawyer cleared his throat again. “Dear family, frends, and others I’ve chosen as my inheritors.” The lawyer’s voice seemed to harden. “You will either take what you’ve been given without argument or fuss, or you’ll get nothing.”

The room stayed silent.

“Very good then. Now, onto the next inheritor…”

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