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I decided that the only way to get out of my creative slump is to actually write, and a prompt challenge is a good way to do so. The particular challenge I'm doing consists of thirty prompts and I've decided to complete it for both Zhivago and Rosalie, resulting in sixty stories in all. Just a note, characters' views don't necessarily reflect my own. This is the first of Zhivago's and it uses the prompt of "defiant."



Zhivago would never leave the house of Von Helson: after all, Vladimir’s protecting him more than his sniper’s protecting him. It’s not that he could anyway, no matter how much he plots escape before he drifts off into uneasy sleep. He never willingly chose a life of indentured servitude but necessity makes a slave out of many a man. Zhivago knows that if he ever falls out of Vladimir’s good graces, a whole host of furies from his past will descend to tear him apart: the Durem police, old prison enemies, victims that got away, his marks’ families, and most assuredly a very bitter and very powerful sire who never forgave him for leaving his house. Some debts are too grave to ever pay.

He knows that there’s far worse work than serving the Von Helson family. In fact, it’s rather enjoyable sometimes. Vladimir makes sure he never has to worry about money or where he’s going to hide the bodies ever again, and the hardest thing he must do in return is simply killing someone every now and then, something Zhivago is very good at. It’s not strenuous for him but the exact opposite. In fact, it’s the sort of job that many only dream of and he’s always thankful for it. It’s far better than risking life and fingers laboring in a textile mill or sweating away in a foreign jungle as a mercenary, which Zhivago knows all too well.

Sure, there’s some minor annoyances about the job but they’re only minor annoyances. His life would be infinitely less complicated if Vladimir didn’t have an obsession with producing the perfect male heirs. Zhivago can slit the throat of any unlucky commoner in the wrong place at the wrong time without it ever making the news, but disposing of yet another wife who bore only daughters without arousing the suspicions of the public is a different matter entirely. Zhivago doesn’t have the heart to tell his master that sex is determined by the father. Thankfully, now that Vladimir has Damian and Louie, that matter isn’t so pressing anymore, though Zhivago is tempted to just shoot the two whiny brats sometimes. He most assuredly does not have a paternal bone in his body.

And there’s the whole matter of Rosalie. Normally, Zhivago has no opinion of any of Vladimir’s wives, since it’s not his place to have opinions. They flutter in and out of his life like moths, fleeting insects he barely pays any attention to. Sure, some of them have made interesting company -the infamous actress, Daisy, immediately springs to mind- but for the most part, it’s an endless parade of attractive young heiresses and noblewomen that Zhivago just can’t will himself to care about. Rosalie, however, bothers him.

Naturally, he thinks she’s an ungrateful little harlot who has no clue how good she‘s got it. Here she is, married to the king of the vampires, a man who can give her anything anyone could possibly want, and she cheats on him with some obnoxious young upstart who’s probably groping call girls behind her back. Why does she always whine about Vladimir not loving her? As long as she has clothes on her back, food in her belly, and a roof over her head, she doesn’t have any right to complain. If she wanted Vladimir’s love, she should have been his mistress, not his wife.

But even if she is a bit of a whore, Zhivago still doesn’t quite approve of how Vladimir treats her. She’s a fallen woman, but she’s done her part by bearing his children, so why not just let her go like she wants so much? He doesn’t need her now that he has his healthy prince and a replacement in case anything happens. She does nothing around the castle that can’t be replaced by any of the servants. Vladimir just doesn’t like losing his possessions. He’s a very stubborn man, a fact that Zhivago is all too aware of.

But really, his grievances are mild. The boys will grow up soon and the Rosalie fiasco will probably be resolved with a quick bullet sooner or later. Why should he care about them? They’re no business but Vladimir’s, so he shouldn’t even be concerned about them any more than what’s required for his job. Instead, he should focus on all the Von Helson have done for him. He owes everything to that aristocratic family. If Lord Von Helson hadn’t taken him in to be his son‘s companion and protector so many years ago, he’d probably be dead by now, whether by his own hand or by his sire’s. Life had not been kind to the half-starved, battle weary vampire until then. He has everything now or, at least, more than he needs to get by. He should do nothing but sing Vladimir’s praises.

But despite everything he‘s done for him, Zhivago really just wants to strangle Vladimir Von Helson until the rich b*****d stops twitching. It’s an impossible dream, of course, but sometimes when he and Vladimir are alone, a sphinx’s smile flits across the assassin’s face for reasons known only to him. Vladimir doesn’t know the answer to its riddle nor will he ever, but a man can plot and dream of happiness, can’t he? Everyone has a secret hope that keeps them going through the cold days, their own vicious little hopes and dreams.

It’s a dream that goes unfulfilled. Zhivago might be vindictive b*****d but he’s not stupid. He’s well aware that without Vladimir, he’s as good as dead, so no matter how much he yearns to be free from his contract and start as normal a life as someone like him can have, he’s going to shut up and serve Vladimir with a smile. He wants nothing more than to be a free man but since he can’t have that, he’ll settle on being a secure man. Vladimir has no need to fear for his neck while his “faithful” manservant is around.

He won’t kill Vladimir. In fact, if his master asked him to shoot his own heart out, he’d do it with a smile and praise him all the while. But that doesn’t mean that Zhivago isn’t defiant in his own way, though he‘s extremely careful about it. He doesn’t do anything against him: to the contrary, he doesn’t do anything. Sometimes he feigns debilitating illness when Vladimir really needs him to take someone out, lies made more convincing by the fact that he’s in chronically poor health. He doesn’t always make a real effort to hide the bodies from the police or even to ensure that they’re dead, and he most certainly isn’t going to tell Vladimir that Rosalie’s cheating on him. Vladimir doesn’t even suspect a thing.



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