Birthright ~ (LGBT-Fantasy-Vampire)

Chapter 4 ~ Epiphany

Daniel awakens to the sun darting through the slightly parted drapes cascading from above the iron encased window. Situated below an antique fainting sofa adorned in velvet covered pillows lies framed in cherry armature, worn from neglect. The birds were melodiously singing their greetings to one another from blossom-filled trees that just a few hours ago seemed sinister. My body greeted me with a different sort of salutation as memories of last night's physical encounter scolded me to be mindful of moving too suddenly.

"OUCH, crap, uhhrrrg!", I bellow within eavesdrop of one of the keepers close by.

She inquires in a more sensitive manner than I'd imagine she would, considering her letters, "Are ya alright in thar sir?"

"Yes Ma'am. I think so. It was just a rough night. I'll tell ya'll about it when I manage to get up and find some clean clothes. And my dirty clothes are not here.. Whoops.. I left my other clothes in my car which is on the side of the road. Dammit... Um, sorry Ma'am, I didn't mean to cuss," I apologize.

"Ohhh, it's alright Sir! I have freshly laundered your clothes and if ye in need of more, the Master, I mean Mr. Harewell has offered some of his for your use, which I can retrieve right away. Henry will fetch your auto after breakfast. Which reminds me, what would you like for breakfast? We have sausage links, bacon, ham, eggs, toast, muffins, anything you would like!" she offers.

Woww.. She's very hospitable.. Much like people in the South. Either that or she's terrified of Christopher.. Nawww.. He wouldn't be like that. Although, I'm not sure the screams that are ringing in my ears from last night could be a testament to his even-temper.

"Well, eggs and toast would be fine with me Mrs. Copeland." Daniel confirms. Little did she know I wouldn't eat pork or red meat. Only poultry and fish.

Mrs. Copeland inquires, "How do you like them sir?"

"Scrambled, Barely kissed, if that's okay with you? I'm not particular." I concede.

"Are ya sure? I can fry them any way you'd like," she prods.

I assure her once again, "No Ma'am, just toss them in a pan. That's quite fine by me! But thank you so much for offering."

"I'm gonna put these clean clothes just inside the doorway for you." I rush to cover myself in the coverlet, but she sees my face and other bruised areas. "In the name of MOTHER MARY, what happened to ya!!?" she exclaims.

"I'll explain at breakfast. That is, if you don't mind seeing me like this?" I mutter in embarrassment.

"Mmm.. well.. okay Sir. Call out if you need anything! I'll care for your wounds, when you are up to it," she voices concern.

Carefully placing one foot on the floor at a time, I stretch my feet in hopes of them holding me up steadily. Having a genetic joint disorder is for the damned birds. "One, two, three.. oh fuck, that didn't work and plop down on the bed. Okay, let's try that again. Shit, shit shit.." Note to self: Do not spread your legs so far apart during sex.

Gingerly, walking to the door to retrieve my clothes from the woven basket, the joints in my feet, ankles knees and hips pop and crackle. "Oh yeah, this is gonna be one of my fun days. I can already see that."

After struggling to put jeans back on, one leg at a time while holding onto the wall, buttoning shirt, (they really should outlaw buttons) and finally donning socks and loafers, I pad softly down the hallway to locate the bathroom, since there were no mirrors to be found in the bedroom. There should be one there to inspect the damage from last night.