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fk_ficfest - they go together as the "beginning of the long friendship with Charles DuChamps"
Title: "New Here?"
Author:twilight2000
Recipient:brightknightie
Rating: G
Prompt: Gen
Warnings: This story is *all* flashback. It's the first meeting with Charles DuChamps.
Word Count: 794
Prompt: So often, we come in at the tragic end of Nick's friendships. I would love to read an incident from the beginning or middle of one of them. (It could be a flashback inside another scenario, or it could be the whole piece.)
Charles DuChamps and Nick – 1952
Nick Girard, Professor of Archaeology at Univ of Chicago
“Well,” Nicolas Girard thought to himself, “If I’m to stay in this new country for any length of time, I should make my money work for those less fortunate. Leaving it in a Swiss Account will never do!”
Nick sat in a well appointed office of a rather old and established investment firm. He sat, hat in hand, wearing the sort of suit an assistant professor at the University of Chicago might sport if he had a small inheritance. He had to have enough to be in these offices, but not so much as to cause questions.
“Mr. Girard?” A gentleman of about Nick’s apparent age, mid-30’s, with gentle smile, brown hair and a hand tailored suit to compliment it, came out of the office and offered a hand. “I’m Charles DuChamps. So sorry to keep you waiting, I understand you would like our firm to handle some investments?” He said this as Nick stood to shake his hand, put his arm around Nick and let him back into the office the man had emerged from.
Nick walked into the office noting that if anything it was even more well appointed than the waiting room. Some of the pieces in the room were clearly antique. Either the firm did well or this gentleman came from money himself.
Nick seated himself facing DuChamps’ desk while the man seated himself behind it, “Yes, I did, Mr. DuChamps. I’ve done some research and it seems this is the firm best suited to handle the de Brabant Foundation.” He’d created it as a foundation before leaving Europe, so that part of the story would stand scrutiny.
Charles DuChamps looked confused. Clearly not a condition his face was used to.
“Let me elaborate. My duty in this particular instance is to find the right firm to handle the trust of the de Brabant family. There are several millions of dollars involved, so I’ve been doing some research to determine who might best fit the job. Your firm weathered the Great Depression and came out The War in quite handsome shape without any apparent war profiteering. That tells me yours is the firm to handle this trust.”
DuChamps nodded as he leaned across the desk toward Nick, “First, please, call me Charles. We often find ourselves working with European families, Mr. Girard. Our international offices make it somewhat easier for us to understand their needs.” He seemed thoroughly genuine. Nick hated having to lie to him, at least for now. Someday maybe…
“And please, if we’re to work together on such a large project, you should call me Nicolas.” He smiled at DuChamps. “One of many reasons I’ve chosen your firm, Mr. Du- Charles. The Foundation prefers to invest in entities that are heavily involved in charitable work. Here,” as Nick slid a folder across the desk toward DuChamps, “is the information you’ll need to invest the funds.”
DuChamps opened the file, flipped through the few pages Nick had provided him, and realized that the net worth of the de Brabant Foundation was far more than the “several millions” young Mr. Girard had named, it was, in fact, worth closer to five hundred million.
“Nicolas, do you have Power of Attorney?”
Nick nodded, “I do, Charles. And you’ll note the last page is signing over to your firm, and specifically to you, that same power, for purposed of investment.”
DuChamps raised an eyebrow, “Not just to the firm, but to me directly?” That was a little unusual.
“Yes, to you directly, Charles. I want to make this a long term personal relationship. I hope in another thirty or forty years you’ll still be handling the Foundation’s monies.”
Charles nodded, “Personal relationships are how we build our business, Nicolas. I hope to be working with you for quite some time.” He had a feeling about Nicolas, couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about this man engendered trust. He wanted very much to work with him.
Nick nodded, stood to go, reached out to shake hands goodbye. “I look forward to your prospectus, Charles. I’m excited to see the sort of investments you think will be good for this Foundation. And as we get to know each other better, I look forward to sharing more about its rich history with you.” Something about Charles made him want to trust him. Perhaps that’s what made him so good at his job.
They shook hands and Nick walked out of an office that he was pretty sure he’d be in and out of many times over the next few decades. At some point, he’d have to explain to Mr. Charles DuChamps just why he still looked thirty-five. But that would come with time. He smiled as he walked into the waiting room.
*************************
The first story couldn’t sit without a second – so here’s the follow on:
Title: Can I Get You A Cuppa?
Author:twilight2000
Recipient:brightknightie
Rating: G
Prompt: Gen
Warnings: This story is *all* flashback. Charles DuChamps figures out what Nick is.
Word Count: 1090
Prompt: So often, we come in at the tragic end of Nick's friendships. I would love to read an incident from the beginning or middle of one of them. (It could be a flashback inside another scenario, or it could be the whole piece.)
3 years later, Nick’s been investigated by the HUAC, lost his job and is now working as an archaeologist for a small historical foundation in the Chicago area.
Nick was walking home in the pre-dawn glow at the end of a long night’s work. He was enjoying the work, it was interesting. It wasn’t teaching and he missed the students, but after HUAC’s disruption of his life, he was lucky to have this. McCarthy was almost as bad as some inquisitors he’d known. He would enjoy watching this experiment called Democracy take the man down. Yes, he would enjoy that very much.
Nick’s mind was so on Senator McCarthy and HUAC that he hadn’t noticed the college age kids in the trees.
“I will take thee with swift abandon!” cried one adolescent male voice.
“Not if I take thee first, ye scoundrel!” cried another from a tree on the other side of the walkway.
Nick smiled to himself, playing at pirates? How very amusing. He could have introduced them if they’d been around a few hundred years back. He smiled to himself as he remembered a particul–
“I will have thine heart on my sword, naïve!” said one young man as he swung from his tree on a rope, holding only a pointed stick as his “play” sword. He was aiming for his partner, but there was a man on the walkway he hadn’t seen.
“Not before I finish thee, rottard!” yelled the other young man, swinging from his tree on a rope as well.
“OH MY GOD – what have I done?!?!”
“Dave? What happened, dave?” the second young man asked the first.
“Gary, come here, help me!”
Dave was looking down at Nicolas, though he had no name for the man he’d just run through with his pointy stick. He was trying to figure out what to do now.
“Gary, gods, look!”
Gary looked – there was a man, about thirty five, lying on the walkway, with one of their play swords jabbed into his chest. He wasn’t moving.
Dave and Gary looked at each other, Gary being the first to speak. “Dave, we *have* to get away from here. Come on!”
Without much hesitation at all, Dave followed Gary as he sprinted down the walkway, disappearing into the night.
Nick lay there, “play sword” through his heart, ironically immobilized by what those two kids must have thought of as ‘safe swords’ – he could have handled metal with no trouble. But if he didn’t find a way out of this before the sun came up…
###
Nick thought he laid there for hours, but within about twenty minutes, a jaunty Charles DuChamps came walking along, headed home from a long day in the office. As he walked into the part of the park where the oak trees almost met above the walkway providing a big, leafy canopy, he heard someone wheezing. He looked around and saw his friend Nicolas Girard lying at the edge of the walkway with something sticking out of his chest.
“Good Lord, Nicolas! What’s happened?” Charles rushed over to Nick as he asked, but down his umbrella and took a closer look at his friend. Why there was a stick embedded in his chest – what was that all about? “Nick, I– There’s a stick– What in heaven’s name happened, man??
Nick was clearly in pain and couldn’t say much or move much for that matter. He had to get DuChamps to remove the stick before he called for an aid car. Explaining this to a hospital full of doctors, or making them all forget, would not be a task he was up to for several days after this.
“Char– s” he was able to get out and point at the stick, if limply. “Plea– “
Charles stared at Nick. He clearly wanted Charles to remove the bloody stick from his chest. Well he didn’t know much about medicine, but it would stand to reason that a hole that big would bleed out if he removed the only thing plugging it – the stick!
“Nicolas, you can’t be serious! You’ll bleed out in a moment if I remove the stick. It’s got to be keeping the wound sealed up. Let me call for an aid car!”
Nick shook his head, though Charles had to be watching closely to notice given his condition. Again, he motioned to the stick, again he said “Plea–“ and clearly wanted the stick removed.
Well, he knew Nicolas had done a little work as a medic in the War, so maybe he knew what he was suggesting. Charles certainly had no training in this area.
“Alright, Nicolas, I’ll do it. But at the first sign of blood, I’m calling an aid car!” Charles stood up, grabbed the shaft that was sticking a good two feet out of Nick’s chest, and yanked. Gods, he hoped he was doing the right thing.
As the stick came out of Nick’s chest, Nick took in a huge gulp of air. He also changed.
Charles was looking down at his friend Nicolas one moment, and into the face of a monster of myth in the next. The man’s eyes had turned a strange yellow green, the pupils had become slitted like a cat’s and most of all, Nick was sporting fangs!
Charles jumped back, stumbled and started to crab walk away as fast as he could. Nick couldn’t let that happen. He grabbed Charles’ hand and tried to calm the beast within himself.
“Charles, please, I know what it must look like, but please, let me explain!” Nick was gaining some measure of control now. The eyes were returning to their normal condition, the teeth receding. “Look, I know that looked odd, but perhaps what you saw was a trick of the light? Pre-dawn light is always a little uncertain, eh?”
Charles looked at Nick, falling into that trance Nick was so used to seeing, then shook his head and cocked his head. “No, Nick, I don’t think so.”
Drat. The man was a resistor. OK, so, no messing with his memory of what he saw. Perhaps this was an opportunity to finally tell Charles the truth. Or part of it anyway. “Charles, there are a couple of things I should tell you….”
###
Charles had taken it tremendously well. They’d both had a good laugh at the irony of the young mens’ practice swords being the instrument of his almost-destruction and Charles had become part of that small legion of humans that could manage to deal with the understanding of vampires in their world.
He’d been right. Charles was different. He would have a friend for at least a few more decades in this one.
fk_ficfest - they go together as the "beginning of the long friendship with Charles DuChamps"Title: "New Here?"
Author:
twilight2000Recipient:
brightknightieRating: G
Prompt: Gen
Warnings: This story is *all* flashback. It's the first meeting with Charles DuChamps.
Word Count: 794
Prompt: So often, we come in at the tragic end of Nick's friendships. I would love to read an incident from the beginning or middle of one of them. (It could be a flashback inside another scenario, or it could be the whole piece.)
Charles DuChamps and Nick – 1952
Nick Girard, Professor of Archaeology at Univ of Chicago
“Well,” Nicolas Girard thought to himself, “If I’m to stay in this new country for any length of time, I should make my money work for those less fortunate. Leaving it in a Swiss Account will never do!”
Nick sat in a well appointed office of a rather old and established investment firm. He sat, hat in hand, wearing the sort of suit an assistant professor at the University of Chicago might sport if he had a small inheritance. He had to have enough to be in these offices, but not so much as to cause questions.
“Mr. Girard?” A gentleman of about Nick’s apparent age, mid-30’s, with gentle smile, brown hair and a hand tailored suit to compliment it, came out of the office and offered a hand. “I’m Charles DuChamps. So sorry to keep you waiting, I understand you would like our firm to handle some investments?” He said this as Nick stood to shake his hand, put his arm around Nick and let him back into the office the man had emerged from.
Nick walked into the office noting that if anything it was even more well appointed than the waiting room. Some of the pieces in the room were clearly antique. Either the firm did well or this gentleman came from money himself.
Nick seated himself facing DuChamps’ desk while the man seated himself behind it, “Yes, I did, Mr. DuChamps. I’ve done some research and it seems this is the firm best suited to handle the de Brabant Foundation.” He’d created it as a foundation before leaving Europe, so that part of the story would stand scrutiny.
Charles DuChamps looked confused. Clearly not a condition his face was used to.
“Let me elaborate. My duty in this particular instance is to find the right firm to handle the trust of the de Brabant family. There are several millions of dollars involved, so I’ve been doing some research to determine who might best fit the job. Your firm weathered the Great Depression and came out The War in quite handsome shape without any apparent war profiteering. That tells me yours is the firm to handle this trust.”
DuChamps nodded as he leaned across the desk toward Nick, “First, please, call me Charles. We often find ourselves working with European families, Mr. Girard. Our international offices make it somewhat easier for us to understand their needs.” He seemed thoroughly genuine. Nick hated having to lie to him, at least for now. Someday maybe…
“And please, if we’re to work together on such a large project, you should call me Nicolas.” He smiled at DuChamps. “One of many reasons I’ve chosen your firm, Mr. Du- Charles. The Foundation prefers to invest in entities that are heavily involved in charitable work. Here,” as Nick slid a folder across the desk toward DuChamps, “is the information you’ll need to invest the funds.”
DuChamps opened the file, flipped through the few pages Nick had provided him, and realized that the net worth of the de Brabant Foundation was far more than the “several millions” young Mr. Girard had named, it was, in fact, worth closer to five hundred million.
“Nicolas, do you have Power of Attorney?”
Nick nodded, “I do, Charles. And you’ll note the last page is signing over to your firm, and specifically to you, that same power, for purposed of investment.”
DuChamps raised an eyebrow, “Not just to the firm, but to me directly?” That was a little unusual.
“Yes, to you directly, Charles. I want to make this a long term personal relationship. I hope in another thirty or forty years you’ll still be handling the Foundation’s monies.”
Charles nodded, “Personal relationships are how we build our business, Nicolas. I hope to be working with you for quite some time.” He had a feeling about Nicolas, couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about this man engendered trust. He wanted very much to work with him.
Nick nodded, stood to go, reached out to shake hands goodbye. “I look forward to your prospectus, Charles. I’m excited to see the sort of investments you think will be good for this Foundation. And as we get to know each other better, I look forward to sharing more about its rich history with you.” Something about Charles made him want to trust him. Perhaps that’s what made him so good at his job.
They shook hands and Nick walked out of an office that he was pretty sure he’d be in and out of many times over the next few decades. At some point, he’d have to explain to Mr. Charles DuChamps just why he still looked thirty-five. But that would come with time. He smiled as he walked into the waiting room.
*************************
The first story couldn’t sit without a second – so here’s the follow on:
Title: Can I Get You A Cuppa?
Author:
twilight2000Recipient:
brightknightieRating: G
Prompt: Gen
Warnings: This story is *all* flashback. Charles DuChamps figures out what Nick is.
Word Count: 1090
Prompt: So often, we come in at the tragic end of Nick's friendships. I would love to read an incident from the beginning or middle of one of them. (It could be a flashback inside another scenario, or it could be the whole piece.)
3 years later, Nick’s been investigated by the HUAC, lost his job and is now working as an archaeologist for a small historical foundation in the Chicago area.
Nick was walking home in the pre-dawn glow at the end of a long night’s work. He was enjoying the work, it was interesting. It wasn’t teaching and he missed the students, but after HUAC’s disruption of his life, he was lucky to have this. McCarthy was almost as bad as some inquisitors he’d known. He would enjoy watching this experiment called Democracy take the man down. Yes, he would enjoy that very much.
Nick’s mind was so on Senator McCarthy and HUAC that he hadn’t noticed the college age kids in the trees.
“I will take thee with swift abandon!” cried one adolescent male voice.
“Not if I take thee first, ye scoundrel!” cried another from a tree on the other side of the walkway.
Nick smiled to himself, playing at pirates? How very amusing. He could have introduced them if they’d been around a few hundred years back. He smiled to himself as he remembered a particul–
“I will have thine heart on my sword, naïve!” said one young man as he swung from his tree on a rope, holding only a pointed stick as his “play” sword. He was aiming for his partner, but there was a man on the walkway he hadn’t seen.
“Not before I finish thee, rottard!” yelled the other young man, swinging from his tree on a rope as well.
“OH MY GOD – what have I done?!?!”
“Dave? What happened, dave?” the second young man asked the first.
“Gary, come here, help me!”
Dave was looking down at Nicolas, though he had no name for the man he’d just run through with his pointy stick. He was trying to figure out what to do now.
“Gary, gods, look!”
Gary looked – there was a man, about thirty five, lying on the walkway, with one of their play swords jabbed into his chest. He wasn’t moving.
Dave and Gary looked at each other, Gary being the first to speak. “Dave, we *have* to get away from here. Come on!”
Without much hesitation at all, Dave followed Gary as he sprinted down the walkway, disappearing into the night.
Nick lay there, “play sword” through his heart, ironically immobilized by what those two kids must have thought of as ‘safe swords’ – he could have handled metal with no trouble. But if he didn’t find a way out of this before the sun came up…
###
Nick thought he laid there for hours, but within about twenty minutes, a jaunty Charles DuChamps came walking along, headed home from a long day in the office. As he walked into the part of the park where the oak trees almost met above the walkway providing a big, leafy canopy, he heard someone wheezing. He looked around and saw his friend Nicolas Girard lying at the edge of the walkway with something sticking out of his chest.
“Good Lord, Nicolas! What’s happened?” Charles rushed over to Nick as he asked, but down his umbrella and took a closer look at his friend. Why there was a stick embedded in his chest – what was that all about? “Nick, I– There’s a stick– What in heaven’s name happened, man??
Nick was clearly in pain and couldn’t say much or move much for that matter. He had to get DuChamps to remove the stick before he called for an aid car. Explaining this to a hospital full of doctors, or making them all forget, would not be a task he was up to for several days after this.
“Char– s” he was able to get out and point at the stick, if limply. “Plea– “
Charles stared at Nick. He clearly wanted Charles to remove the bloody stick from his chest. Well he didn’t know much about medicine, but it would stand to reason that a hole that big would bleed out if he removed the only thing plugging it – the stick!
“Nicolas, you can’t be serious! You’ll bleed out in a moment if I remove the stick. It’s got to be keeping the wound sealed up. Let me call for an aid car!”
Nick shook his head, though Charles had to be watching closely to notice given his condition. Again, he motioned to the stick, again he said “Plea–“ and clearly wanted the stick removed.
Well, he knew Nicolas had done a little work as a medic in the War, so maybe he knew what he was suggesting. Charles certainly had no training in this area.
“Alright, Nicolas, I’ll do it. But at the first sign of blood, I’m calling an aid car!” Charles stood up, grabbed the shaft that was sticking a good two feet out of Nick’s chest, and yanked. Gods, he hoped he was doing the right thing.
As the stick came out of Nick’s chest, Nick took in a huge gulp of air. He also changed.
Charles was looking down at his friend Nicolas one moment, and into the face of a monster of myth in the next. The man’s eyes had turned a strange yellow green, the pupils had become slitted like a cat’s and most of all, Nick was sporting fangs!
Charles jumped back, stumbled and started to crab walk away as fast as he could. Nick couldn’t let that happen. He grabbed Charles’ hand and tried to calm the beast within himself.
“Charles, please, I know what it must look like, but please, let me explain!” Nick was gaining some measure of control now. The eyes were returning to their normal condition, the teeth receding. “Look, I know that looked odd, but perhaps what you saw was a trick of the light? Pre-dawn light is always a little uncertain, eh?”
Charles looked at Nick, falling into that trance Nick was so used to seeing, then shook his head and cocked his head. “No, Nick, I don’t think so.”
Drat. The man was a resistor. OK, so, no messing with his memory of what he saw. Perhaps this was an opportunity to finally tell Charles the truth. Or part of it anyway. “Charles, there are a couple of things I should tell you….”
###
Charles had taken it tremendously well. They’d both had a good laugh at the irony of the young mens’ practice swords being the instrument of his almost-destruction and Charles had become part of that small legion of humans that could manage to deal with the understanding of vampires in their world.
He’d been right. Charles was different. He would have a friend for at least a few more decades in this one.
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