Lady Fortune
Jun. 14th, 2008 06:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
altarielWritten for: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
majoritython
Fandom: Blake’s 7
Prompt: Fortune and Her Wheel
Lady Fortune
One
When President Conol’s private guard stormed the Commissariat for Pacification and Public Order, Sleer was waiting crouched and head-bowed behind her magnificent desk. As the door buckled and burned, she rose from her chair, arranged herself and her feathers, and stood with arms stretched out, fingertips light upon the black glass. She had been here before; she would be here again.
The door broke, falling like a palace of cards. A dozen troops streamed in, forming a semi-circle around her. Sleer smiled at them, in turn, patient and forgiving as a goddess.
And watched them all waver, more or less.
Two
Conol came to see her in captivity. He liked her caged, but didn’t know what to make of her, and didn’t know what to do with her. “Did you honestly believe you could go around unrecognized? Somebody must have helped you! Who helped you?”
So far, he has gone away unanswered—
“Or are you mad?”
—but returned often. Unable to resist. She was irresistible.
“Servalan!”
She lifted her eyes, huge and dark in a sun-starved face. Gestured him closer. Only a whisker between them. “Let me tell you all about it,” she breathed. “Let me tell you all my secrets.”
Three
Residence One may be more comfortable than prison, Madame is heard to remark these days, but it has certainly faded since she was sole occupant. Since she was ‘Madame President’.
In the banqueting hall, the President bores his allies with complaints. She sits regal and untouchable at her end. When Conol stops to drink, Servalan dabs white linen against scarlet lips, then drops the cloth upon the floor. Two guests and three guards dive to retrieve it for her. When she speaks, wineglasses and allies and enemies and candlesticks quiver, to a man.
“Poor Conol. Always so tired, these days.”
Four
One sultry night, they walk together beneath the cold stars of which she was once Empress. Bodyguards follow them: two young men – discreet, anonymous, loyal.
She takes him to a secret garden. Red roses soften the air. He tells her that he worships her. She clasps his head between her hands, kisses him. The young men obey her signal.
All these boys, she thinks, as they drag the body away – they are her own. They know her for what she is; they know she will use them, but never waste them. It is very like love, she thinks. Only honest.
Five
The day President Servalan took office again, she stood alone before the Presidential Palace, and swore an oath to serve and rule, to judge and protect. She looked pale and vulnerable before her black-clad guard.
But it was not an unequal partnership. If they kept her here, if they never wavered, they knew she would take the stars back for them. And if not...
She had fallen before. Yet here she was again.
Servalan stood upon the threshold. Her office was made of light and air, black glass at its heart. Beautiful, she thought, and turned the handle once more.
majoritythonFandom: Blake’s 7
Prompt: Fortune and Her Wheel
Lady Fortune
One
When President Conol’s private guard stormed the Commissariat for Pacification and Public Order, Sleer was waiting crouched and head-bowed behind her magnificent desk. As the door buckled and burned, she rose from her chair, arranged herself and her feathers, and stood with arms stretched out, fingertips light upon the black glass. She had been here before; she would be here again.
The door broke, falling like a palace of cards. A dozen troops streamed in, forming a semi-circle around her. Sleer smiled at them, in turn, patient and forgiving as a goddess.
And watched them all waver, more or less.
Two
Conol came to see her in captivity. He liked her caged, but didn’t know what to make of her, and didn’t know what to do with her. “Did you honestly believe you could go around unrecognized? Somebody must have helped you! Who helped you?”
So far, he has gone away unanswered—
“Or are you mad?”
—but returned often. Unable to resist. She was irresistible.
“Servalan!”
She lifted her eyes, huge and dark in a sun-starved face. Gestured him closer. Only a whisker between them. “Let me tell you all about it,” she breathed. “Let me tell you all my secrets.”
Three
Residence One may be more comfortable than prison, Madame is heard to remark these days, but it has certainly faded since she was sole occupant. Since she was ‘Madame President’.
In the banqueting hall, the President bores his allies with complaints. She sits regal and untouchable at her end. When Conol stops to drink, Servalan dabs white linen against scarlet lips, then drops the cloth upon the floor. Two guests and three guards dive to retrieve it for her. When she speaks, wineglasses and allies and enemies and candlesticks quiver, to a man.
“Poor Conol. Always so tired, these days.”
Four
One sultry night, they walk together beneath the cold stars of which she was once Empress. Bodyguards follow them: two young men – discreet, anonymous, loyal.
She takes him to a secret garden. Red roses soften the air. He tells her that he worships her. She clasps his head between her hands, kisses him. The young men obey her signal.
All these boys, she thinks, as they drag the body away – they are her own. They know her for what she is; they know she will use them, but never waste them. It is very like love, she thinks. Only honest.
Five
The day President Servalan took office again, she stood alone before the Presidential Palace, and swore an oath to serve and rule, to judge and protect. She looked pale and vulnerable before her black-clad guard.
But it was not an unequal partnership. If they kept her here, if they never wavered, they knew she would take the stars back for them. And if not...
She had fallen before. Yet here she was again.
Servalan stood upon the threshold. Her office was made of light and air, black glass at its heart. Beautiful, she thought, and turned the handle once more.
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Date: 2008-06-14 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2008-06-15 10:53 am (UTC)Everyone has commented with such brilliant icons, it's amazing how many people are turning out to have a Servie icon or two!
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Date: 2008-06-15 11:02 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2008-06-16 08:30 am (UTC)I've run out of Servalans, so here's Arlen instead, in a rather rough and ready icon.
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Date: 2008-06-15 08:18 am (UTC)And the lines "Poor Conol. Always so tired, these days.” made me giggle. Harriet Jones would recognise it.
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Date: 2008-06-15 12:04 pm (UTC)Hurray! You are my favourite reader!
A little revenge on Servie's part for the downfall of Harriet Jones, perhaps.
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Date: 2008-06-15 12:06 pm (UTC)*hugs you lots*
I think someone needs to take revenge for Harriet Jones. As Donna noticed very early on, sometimes the Doctor does need someone to stop him.
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Date: 2008-06-16 04:49 pm (UTC)Her ruthlessness is the thing I find most compelling about her. You write it very well.
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Date: 2008-07-16 04:51 pm (UTC)