A/N: Ehhh…well, I kinda wrote this before all the magic plot history came out so just ignore any glaring plot deficiencies, m'kay? Also, mild (very, very mild for me) slash. If you close one eye, you could probably ignore it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Noblesse. But if I did…oh the possibilities…:drools:
~.~
His master is never a prideful man. Never arrogant, never pompous, but never humble or subservient either. He isn't powerful, he is power. He is the same as always yet a constantly unique being. His master is a walking contradiction and as much as Frankenstein knows (about the world and the intimacies of the inside of the body, how to twist and turn to see just what makes it tic) he doesn't know his master. Not completely. So he learns.
Hour by hour, day after day, through decades and centuries of service he will learn. How master likes the visits with the clan leaders even if they do nothing but sit and stare in respectful awed silence (as well they should). So Frankenstein cajoles, and persuades, and threatens the leaders into his master's presence just a little more often. Just a little, because it is his place by master's side and they had best not get uppity and forget that least he teach them a painful lesson.
He knows that master has no favorite color, all of the castle is still a neutral shade even after all of Frankenstein's hard renovation work, but is partial to burgundy and blue. So he finds a dusky red silk set of bedding for master's chamber complete with a translucent curtain the smoky blue color of the mountains in the distance where master so often looks from his window. How he actually accomplishes the acquisition of the rather unique fabric with its monogrammed initials diagonally stitched with matching thread across a corner is something no one (not even the Lord) quite dares to mention.
His master does not eat unless Frankenstein cooks for him and Frankenstein is not a good cook. But no matter how many hours he slaves in front of an open flame and how many cuts and bruises and burns his hands acquire, his food is terrible. Not worthy of master. Still master eats without complaint. Frankenstein is ashamed and redoubles his efforts. He is rewarded (over six months in this venture) with a pat on the back from master. He has never known such happiness but knows he is still undeserving. Cooking becomes more of a science than an art, and unsurprisingly, he conquers the skill soon after.
After nearly two decades of observation, Frankenstein can say with reasonable certainty that his master likes children. The first time he finds an urchin wandering the mansion behind his master he almost has a heart attack. His master has a soft spot of kids? His master who didn't speak a whole sentence to him after the initial introduction for over a month? He feels briefly as if he's slipped into an alternate dimension. Then he sees the crumbs the urchin is leaving behind him (from a scone left over from master's breakfast clutched in one dirty hand) and nearly keels over again.
His master pats him on the shoulder as the mismatched duo pass and vanishes down a corridor, the child trailing after him gingerly pinching the cuff of the Noblesse's sleeve with two fingers. Frankenstein sprints after them. The child is gone the next day, along with a week's worth of ingredients. Master is blushing and Frankenstein can't bring himself to mind. Until the next one shows up, and the next one, and the next one after that. Then he gives up and starts making special disposable baskets for the unexpected guests to take when they vanish just as quickly as they turn up.
He knows that master tolerates the presence of the Lord's daughter though he gets no apparent pleasure, even as closely as Frankenstein watches, from her visits. He harbors a suspicion that she comes to try to figure out how he, the violent, murdering, inhumane human bastard, managed to secure a position in the Noblesse's confidence. He isn't sure he knows himself but he is grateful for more than words could tell. It is fortunate, at the time, that his master has no desire to hear gratitude toward his person, he understands without such frivolities.
Frankenstein discovers, after abandoning experimentation with seeds from Arabica (far too bitter, not suited for master's sweet tooth), the hot beverage resulting from the grinding, heating and super-saturating of cacao nuts was ideal for his master palate though the addition of the finest sugar cubes was necessary, naturally nothing but the best was good enough for master. Many a cold evening he spent with his master in front of a fire with a steaming cup in his hands internally praising his own genius (quietly of course, musn't bother master by thinking arrogant thoughts too loudly).
In retrospect, because things are clear upon reflection like nothing else, he knew enough about his master from the very first day.
o
Master is the only noble who he can honestly see being worthy of worship and reverence as a god. He is like the glaciers of the far north where the wolf packs breed, icy in demeanor but majestic both within and without. Truly beautiful, he thinks and it is a sincere thought.
Frankenstein has a place in the world now, and as long as he has his master and his master is content he will also be content. If master is displeased, then he will dirty his hands in any and every way to see the faint shadow of a smile on that alabaster face once more. He would raze Lukedonia and beyond to the ground if it would make master blush so prettily like the time Frankenstein slipped and called him beautiful to his face. The mortification and fear of looking his master in the eye for weeks after had been well worth it.
Frankenstein loves his master in a way that he has never cared for anything else, save his experiments (but that is an entirely different matter), and regrets more than he is willing to admit that he had never told his savior so.
When his master vanishes, he no longer has his place, a side at which to stand to the right and behind. He looks, desperately, feverishly, for his master but fails time and time again. He regrets so many things now, not finding more company for his master, leaving the truly terrible rooms for last to clean, failing to keep his master safe. He regrets and at the same time he longs again for the time, time to learn more about the still mysterious being he follows with all his heart.
He leaves the nobles and Lukedonia, he will not miss them, the traitors, and looks everywhere for his master he knows they will not. Frankenstein travels the world three times over and uncovers not even a whisper of a rumor.
He knows, suddenly, without explanation, one day as he pours over newly edited maps of the globe (looking for the one place he has not been, there has to be such a place, there must be) that he must cease this foolish behavior. Frankenstein carefully stows the maps, the notes, the files, the journals, the foreign currency and clothing in boxes and buries them in storage. He will not squander time thus, he will make something for master when he returns (for he will return, he is positive) something to make him happy.
A school, he decides, remembering the children his master so cherished. A school all children will be able to attend, no matter how poor (the dirt encrusted orphans) or wealthy. He will make it so, in a monument to his master. For him, Frankenstein will build something to share with others for the first time, and his master will be pleased. Only for his master, only for Cadis Etrama di Raizel, the only one he loves.
~.~
A/N: YES, FRANKENSTEIN INVENTED HOT CHOCOLATE. WHAT NOW? So, what do you think? :) :nudges: