It was still night when Sparrow awoke from a friable sleep. Her bedroom was still dim, and light less. She sat up on the placid bed, which could have given anyone a comfortable rest, but not her. She slowly shifted out of bed, and quietly got out of the bed.
A question had dwelt on her ever since she had met the man, but never could she have the courage to ask it. How would he react to the question? certainly he wouldn't proffer the answer to her. He was a man of many words, but giving was not one of them. But the question was killing her. Obviously, he had a secret, a secret of the past.
()()()()
Sparrow's feet scuffled along the hardwood floors of the mansion. They hardly made a noise. Once she arrived to the staircase, she obverse the downstairs. Thankfully, candles were lighting what would should have been a sullen room. This could only mean he had not cared to go to sleep yet.
She continued her way down the stairs, trying to avoid ones that made a creek or a sound to indicate she was coming down. She had to praise herself one she reached the bottom of the downstairs, not once had she made a noise.
Then, turning to her right, which was the doorway ark.
"Reaver," whispered Sparrow. "Reaver, are you up?"
It was a few silent seconds before she received her respond. "Come in, my dear minx."
She obeyed and walked into the room, where she found him sitting in a luxurious chair, watching the fire flicker.
"My deary, why are you up at this absurd time?" he asked.
"I could ask you the same question," she answered, as she sat down on the chair across from his.
He agreed with her on that. Such an odd, unnatural time for anyone to be up.
"I want to know something, Reaver," Sparrow started.
"And what may that be?" he asked, not pay attention to her at all, just gazing upon the fire.
It took Sparrow sometime to find the confidence in herself to ask. "I've read your journal," she finally began, with a heavy sigh. "I do know about Oakvale, but I want to hear the story."
Reaver's eyes shot open slightly after the question, and his eye brows raised high. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied.
"Do not take me as an idiot," snapped Sparrow. "I've read it! I've been too Wraithmarsh! I know it was you, but I want to know why."
"My dear, you are severely amoked if you think that," he said causally, and turning back to the fire.
Sparrow had little patience. Now, Reaver was making it worse by protesting everything. She had come down for an answer, and an answer was what she was going to receive that night.
She looked around the room, and it was then when she turned to her right, that she knew what was going to give her that answer. Sparrow put her hand out for the dragonstomper 48. that layed on the miniature table.
Without a doubt, she marked it towards Reaver. "I thought such a rare gun would be locked away somewhere."
"Ah, then you thought wrong," he remarked. Reaver did not seem to be bothered my a gun, his own gun, to be pointed at him.
"You're not frightened?" asked Sparrow. "When I pull out a gun, most people scream and run."
"If you have not notice my dear Sparrow, I'm unlike those citizens," Reaver smirked. "I have had a gun to my head dreadly many times. You are just one of those many."
She smiled at his charming comment. "What a great thing to bring up before you die."
"Ohhh," he said. "Are you really going to kill me because I won't give you an answer?"
"Hmm, I think…I will," she said happily.
Reaver smiled, and sighed. "Well then, pull the trigger."
"Oh, you aren't going to just tell me?" Sparrow asked. "It will save your life."
"You want a refutation so badly that you will kill a man," he chuckled. "Well, well, well, you've stayed with me for to long. But why don't you release that gun and run along, and don't worry your pretty, little mind on this."
"Tell me about Oakvale!"
"Uh, no."
Sparrow stood up, off the chair, and pointed it towards Reaver's head. "I'll count to three, and if you don't start talking by then, well your never be able to talk."
Her threat made Reaver smile more.
"One…two…," she started to count, "Come on, Reaver, don't be a bastard about this."
"Says the person who put a gun to their friend's head because he won't give her an answer."
"Three," and without a flinch, Sparrow pulled the trigger. But oddly, a bullet did not come. "What the hell!"
"Rare guns sometimes aren't loaded as well," mocked Reaver, the turned to face her.
She huffed with anger and disgust, through the gun toward him, and started walking out the door.
"Wait," he muttered, which made Sparrow stop walking, and turn to face him.
She quickly trotted towards him with inquisitiveness, and sat down.
"I think I shall prehaps share a few particulars in my past, just because you just hideously embarrassed yourself," he said.
"Tell me!" she exclaimed, letting his remark pass. She was acting like a child, waiting for Christmas to come.
"Fine, it all started when I was still, why, yes when I was seventeen…"
()()()()
There layed outside of the vast cities of Albion, was the small village of Oakvale. A tiny, charming, little hamlet. A great place to relax and not worry about the bustle of the rest of the world. Right by the majestic lake, sat the small home of Reaver and his parents. He layed in a deep sleep that early morning, but soon was awoken.
"Reaver!" a feminine voice screeched. "Get your arse down here this minute!"
One of his green eyes merely open from the yelling. "Wh," he mumbled to himself, then turned to the clock on the wall.
9:00 it said, way past the natural time for people to get up and start their daily lives. He slowly, with no rush, got out of the rickety bed that was close to falling apart. Reaver sighed heavily to himself, and rubbed his forehead. Another day with that hag!
He finally pulled himself together and pulled on his shirt that was a light red. Next, he shoved on his torn boots, going barefoot would have been more useful. Then he walked to the small, wooden, broken mirror and the sink. Reaver poured some water into it, and relieve himself. After doing so, he spit on his hand and fix his hair with only that. Good enough.
After a solid two minutes, Reaver knew he was going to have to go down those steps, and face his mother. He took each step slowly, and soon reached the bottom. His slow pace continued as he walked into that kitchen.
"Finally!" his mother bursted, as she flung a black strained of hair out of her face. "Don't you know what time it is?"
"Good morning to you to, mother," he said gleefully. "And yes I do, I have a clock in my room."
She gave him an angry frown, but turned back to the stove. There was moment of silence, the only noise was a grandfather clock ticking, and the creak of the floorboards when Reaver walked across the room, and sat down.
"So, I'm sure you remember what you have to do today," his mother scowled.
"Ahh, no," mumbled Reaver. "What do I have to do today?"
She slammed the spoon she had in her hand, onto the table. "Reaver, when I say things, it would be a great pleasure if you actually listened."
"Well it would be a great pleasure for you, not me," he pointed out.
She sighed heavily, and continued to glare at her son. "You are going to ask out Cassandra Shultz, and you are not going to complain about it!"
"Who?"
His mother rolled her eyes at him. "The richest girl in Oakvale!" she almost screeched, but then turned around to the oven. "I believe if you can make her fall for you, you two can marry, and your father and I can get out of debt."
"Oh, so this is actually for you," smirked Reaver. "Typical."
"So you don't care that we are close to being out on the streets," she mumbled. "We have no gold."
"I've notice," he interrupted. "And if we do end up being on the streets, ah, I'll make friends with a hobo."
"This is all a big joke to you," his mother mumbled.
Reaver thought for a second. "Kinda."
"Go over to the Shultz's house, right this moment, and ask her out," his mother demanded.
He got up from where he sat, put on his tattered black coat, and opened the door slightly.
"Wait, what if I'm gay and I just don't know it," he joked, "then when I'm about to marry her, I figure it out because I start imagining her father in a hot bath!"
She huffed, ready to slap that grin off of his face. This hint for Reaver to go, and he did just that.
()()()()
Reaver walked to the Shultz's house as slowly as he could go. He was not at all in a joyful mood, particularly because he was being forced to date a girl who he had heard little about and hardly knew.
Word had spread across Oakvale about the rich family. Mainly just about their extreme wealth, and their ten shops in Bowerstone Market.
He finally arrived to the home. Somehow, he sucked it up to go to the front door, and knock on it. Their servant, Pam, answered it. It was a tremendous home, but not that large it need a servant.
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked.
"I'm here to see ," he said clearly.
Pam moved to the side to let Reaver in. "Certainly, sir, the lady will be right down."
She shut the heavy oak door behind him, and walked up the stairs. Once fully inside, Reaver took notice of the richness of the home. They had dark oak tables, that had a glass vase on them. It held some sharp coloured red roses. There also were marvelous paintings of a castle, well drawn.
"Ah, if it is not the young master Reaver himself," a voice announced.
Reaver turned around to see Cassandra's father, Samual. "Nice to see you, sir."
Samual waved his hand. "I was hoping to meet up with you one day, and here you are, right in my house."
He nodded.
"Now, come, come," demanded Samual, and walked to the a table that had a flask of the finest wine in it. "You must be thirsty, have some of the most expensive wine ever to be made in Albion."
Reaver obeyed and walked over to him, as Samaul poured the wine into small glasses, that had an elegant pattern on the side of them. He handed one of the glasses to Reaver then took the other one. "A toast."
"Here, here, sir," politely Reaver said.
Both man drank from the glasses. Reaver chugged his, while Samual sipped his. Reaver had never encounter such expensive wine, so he didn't know how to drink it politely.
"So, young, fierce Reaver, why have come to visit?" the man finally asked.
Reaver cleared his throat. "Uh, I was here to see if would be up for a stroll."
"Ah, you see her beauty and enchantment, too."
"Actually, sir, I have never seen her before. My mother believes her and I would be good friends."
Samual chuckled. "More than friends, dear boy. The first time she layed eyes on you she felt those sparks. Not to be offensive, but I see nothing in you. Our families are quite the opposite. You being a poor, dirt boy, and well us, we are splendidly drowning in riches."
"I found nothing offensive in that sentence," lied Reaver and drank a little wine.
"Yes, but maybe you'll achieve something," mumbled Samual. "I cannot have my precious little girl go for some farm boy."
"Yeah, when people tell me I might achieve something, " Reaver began, "I always tell them, don't count on it."
Samual chuckled again, like it was some type of joke, and Reaver didn't want to anger him, so he letted him keep believing it was a joke.
"Ah, but I do like your humor, boy," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Prehaps you can make my daughter satisfied."
"Yup," again, lied Reaver, and then he chugged the rest of his drink.
()()()()
"I do not know what could be taking my sweet so long!" exclaimed Samual, then turned to Reaver, who thought it would be best just sit down and wait. "She must be trying to look her best for you."
"Yeah, it's good one of us makes an effort," Reaver said.
Then, a loud set of footsteps starting coming down the stairs. Even though he knew he should have, Reaver didn't care to get up from where he sat.
That's when a scanty, red head came into the room. She had an extrionary amount of makeup, trying to cover all her flaws. She wore a heavy, dark red lipstick, almost like the colour of blood. And a yellow coloured eye shadow, with a load of mascera. For her hair, it was tied in a tight bun, with a few diamond jewels on it, took make her hair sparkle.
The yellow eye shadow matched with the yellow, laced dress she wore. The collar of the dress had a diamond pattern on it, and the top part had a lace that made an extrionary pattern, as well.
"My dear," started Samual, "what took you this great amount time?"
She ignored her father's question, and nodded towards Reaver. "What is that doing here?"
Reaver smiled at the remark. "This is going to be so fun," he joked to himself.
Author's notes.
First Fanfiction story. Do not own Fable, Fable Characters, or Fable settings. Love making a cocky, hilarious Reaver.