"I just think that --"
"You think? I'm actually taken aback at that revalation." The calm smile he had would have taken the edge off of the biting sarcasim. Except something darker lived in the undertones. Dark things followed Kenith Irons around like a shroud. One had to wonder when those dark things would come for the pale mans soul.
"He needs to get out of this house, sir. Children his own age." Dark curls hung about the face, obscuring the oppositins face. Deep brown orbs stared at the tiled floors. "The boy is deeply disturbed."
"What happens to the boy is none of your concern." A scarred waved, flipantly dismissing the opjections. "He is mine, and I'll do with him as I see fit. Unless you think could do better..."
Angry eyes kept to the ground, not daring to look up at their master. "No, sir." No real emotion showed any more, voice trained to keep the hurt and the fear out. The dark things -- the shadows fed off of that. They wern't all ways there though, not in the begining. In the begining the two could laugh together. Not be afraid of sudden changed in mood, or the voilence. Then 'Daddy' sold his soul for fame, wealth, and power. The third was fleeting. It was the loss of power, the withdrawl that made him this way. Deep down Kennith Irons cared, or maybe it was just wishful thinking.
"I didn't think so. Now, news about our friend in law enforcement?"
"Disposed of." Again, the trained voice kept the self hatred out.
Was that a smile? "How?"
"The papers will say Detective Pezzini was killed in the line of duty." A pause, waiting for the masters aproval. Head still tword the floor, brown orbs wandered up, waiting for the nod. It came. "A sting gone bad. A lucky shooter got him twice in the head... or so I'm told."
"Where exactly?" The ghost of a smile widened into a grin on Irons' face. This was the cou de grazie.
"A bullet in each eye."
"Anything else?"
"The bullets were taken from a Detective Dante. Special made with a certain engraving on them. A bull, I belive." Black gloved hands stayed clasp tightly behind the fitted trench coat, black boots firmly planted a shoulders with apart. A good servant waits for dissmisal. Her ears perked up, and the mucles in her back tightened at the little voice. Damnit! she should have been listening for him.
"Mother...? Father...?"
"Ian, my son. Come, come... more bad dreams again?" He lifted the black clad boy, no more that three, resting the weight on his hip. "Its all right..Rebecca and I were finishing." Cold blue eyes stayed focused on the brooding boy in his arms. Ian would have been a beautiful toddler if it wern't for the haunted look in his eyes. He was too much like his mother. "Leave now, I wouln't be needing you."
"Kennith, --" She reached out for the child only to feel the biting sting as her head wipped to the side. Bekka wouldn't fight back. She hadn't for twenty years, and would never in front of her son.
"Leave. Now."
Footsteps eccoed in the silent halls. It was her way of lashing out in the quiet. It was the only thing Bekka Nottingham could lash out at. Her eyes wattered, but tears didn't fall. Not until she was a safe distance away. she never looked back, not even as father and son spoke by the light of the fire.
......"Father... tell me a story..."......
"You think? I'm actually taken aback at that revalation." The calm smile he had would have taken the edge off of the biting sarcasim. Except something darker lived in the undertones. Dark things followed Kenith Irons around like a shroud. One had to wonder when those dark things would come for the pale mans soul.
"He needs to get out of this house, sir. Children his own age." Dark curls hung about the face, obscuring the oppositins face. Deep brown orbs stared at the tiled floors. "The boy is deeply disturbed."
"What happens to the boy is none of your concern." A scarred waved, flipantly dismissing the opjections. "He is mine, and I'll do with him as I see fit. Unless you think could do better..."
Angry eyes kept to the ground, not daring to look up at their master. "No, sir." No real emotion showed any more, voice trained to keep the hurt and the fear out. The dark things -- the shadows fed off of that. They wern't all ways there though, not in the begining. In the begining the two could laugh together. Not be afraid of sudden changed in mood, or the voilence. Then 'Daddy' sold his soul for fame, wealth, and power. The third was fleeting. It was the loss of power, the withdrawl that made him this way. Deep down Kennith Irons cared, or maybe it was just wishful thinking.
"I didn't think so. Now, news about our friend in law enforcement?"
"Disposed of." Again, the trained voice kept the self hatred out.
Was that a smile? "How?"
"The papers will say Detective Pezzini was killed in the line of duty." A pause, waiting for the masters aproval. Head still tword the floor, brown orbs wandered up, waiting for the nod. It came. "A sting gone bad. A lucky shooter got him twice in the head... or so I'm told."
"Where exactly?" The ghost of a smile widened into a grin on Irons' face. This was the cou de grazie.
"A bullet in each eye."
"Anything else?"
"The bullets were taken from a Detective Dante. Special made with a certain engraving on them. A bull, I belive." Black gloved hands stayed clasp tightly behind the fitted trench coat, black boots firmly planted a shoulders with apart. A good servant waits for dissmisal. Her ears perked up, and the mucles in her back tightened at the little voice. Damnit! she should have been listening for him.
"Mother...? Father...?"
"Ian, my son. Come, come... more bad dreams again?" He lifted the black clad boy, no more that three, resting the weight on his hip. "Its all right..Rebecca and I were finishing." Cold blue eyes stayed focused on the brooding boy in his arms. Ian would have been a beautiful toddler if it wern't for the haunted look in his eyes. He was too much like his mother. "Leave now, I wouln't be needing you."
"Kennith, --" She reached out for the child only to feel the biting sting as her head wipped to the side. Bekka wouldn't fight back. She hadn't for twenty years, and would never in front of her son.
"Leave. Now."
Footsteps eccoed in the silent halls. It was her way of lashing out in the quiet. It was the only thing Bekka Nottingham could lash out at. Her eyes wattered, but tears didn't fall. Not until she was a safe distance away. she never looked back, not even as father and son spoke by the light of the fire.
......"Father... tell me a story..."......