"Well, Hatch? Know anything about the balverine rumor?" Walter interrogated, pacing around the butler bound in a decorative oak chair. Barry Hatch's face had been redder than usual with beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.

Barry let a sidelong glance slip as he shook his head, long red locks wavering with his voice, "I don't know a thing about the who-woman."

The cold, sharp tip of a blade pricked into his throat, just below his adam's apple. Barry shifted back uncomfortably as he swallowed and winced. Standing before him, the Queen held an unshaking grasp on the blade and an intense gaze, "Is that so?" The Queen had asked, "I've been known to pick out a lie or two."

Silence fell over them. Benjamin Finn, posted at the door was looking out a nearby window with rifle in hand. Page filled the distance between he and the Queen, cautiously watching the butler, ready to pull the trigger the moment he tried to lunge for escape. Reaver's mansion was filled with tension thick enough to choke on—and oh, how Barry Hatch had choked on their miserable presence.

"You have gorgeous eyes." The Queen said, taking notice of his widened, mismatched eyes. The right side blue and the left side a clear, amber brown. Her blade seemed to dip gently, as though the bitterness between all of them had subsided for a split second. Barry only breathed heavily and waited for his master's inevitable arrival—his salvation.

Ben had glanced over when he heard the Queen's compliment, an eyebrow cocked. Glancing away had been the mistake that allowed Reaver's steps up to the door of his mansion to go unnoticed.

All at once, everyone's breath siezed when the doorknob wiggled.

Page and Ben's heads jerked in the door's direction. The Queen was at a loss for reaction, both caught up in Barry's eyes and suddenly faced with the arrival of a man who could put a bullet in all of their heads faster than one could even realize he was there.

"Your Majesty!" Walter hissed.

Beyond the door, Reaver frowned as he realized the door was locked. He fished through his pocket for a key with one hand and with the other, withdrew the Dragonstomper from its holster at his thigh.

The Queen looked over her shoulder, lowering her blade before a misty-eyed Barry screamed, "Mastah Weavah!"

Reaver burst through the door and cocked his gun, "Oh, this is exactly what I love to come home to! A gaggle of annoyances who have tresspassed and tied my servant down!"

Immediately the gun was pointed against Ben's temple as he groaned, "Oh, blood—why is it always me who's got the gun to his head!"

Page reacted in a snap, turning her gun on Reaver, growling, "I will kill you if you hurt him, I swear it!"

The Queen held her calm, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach.

Avo, it was just another day in Albion.

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

That day had started out typically enough. A long night of hopping around in makeshift fighting ring in the basement of the Riveter's Rest. The stench of sweat and booze heavy in the air with the patrons screaming and roaring for the fighter whom they had placed their bets on. A masked fighter with a braid dodged a hairy thug's blow and met it with an uppercut. That had been 4;37am in Bowerstone Industrial.

At 4:58am, the masked fighter's fist was raised by the fight club's head—Andrea Nightingale, as she was infamously known. Nightingale was a powerfully built woman, with stocky arms and a tall frame. Her voice roared over the crowd as she announced the reigning champion who went by, "Chicken Chaser." She deposited a leathery bag full of the prize winnings in the victor's hand. It was pushed it back into Nightingale's grasp and the fighter's exposed mouth curled in a smirk. Nightingale understood.

At 5:29am, crossing through the alleys, shadowboxing and sporting a shiner and a bloody nose caked with coagulant, that braided woman threw her mask aside. Whatever feathers had once been on it were bent or torn off in the fights. As energetic as a child, the Queen of Albion ignored the cut above her eye in favor of the swing of her fists—left-hook, right jab, and a step as light as a bird's.

Adjacent to the bouncing, childish Queen, came Barry Hatch from a crate-lined alleyway. He'd emerged from the misty shadows with one hand pressed to his temple and a deep frown set into his face. While en route to his master's factory, he spotted the Queen. Damn it all to Skorm—what a person to run into at this time and place!

He slowed as his frown became something more uncertain. He buried his hands in his pockets and resumed his pace. In fact, he sped up, turning away as not to draw the daft woman's attention. To his luck, the Queen had been mostly oblivious to his presence.

He hurried down the street with only business in mind. The main Reaver Industries plant loomed up ahead in the heady clouds and scarlet, morning glow. The smoke rising from its chimneys and ventillation ducts took a pink hue in the cold sunrise. He watched it all with a sour expression as he pushed open the gates and hurried within the safety of the grounds.

The Queen caught the shadow from the corner of her eye, recognizing a unique haircut and familiar, gingery hair. A rush of blood to her aching nose spilled a coppery taste over her lips and she wiped it on the back of her wrist like a snot-nosed child. That man, she mused, that butler who always followed Reaver to the castle and helped him make those often-ridiculous proposals!

With his coat tails fluttering behind him, the owner of the said factories, proposals, and ginger butler crossed beside the Queen like a shadow. She'd nearly jumped out of her skin as the tall and graceful man passed her. As elegant and handsome as ever, the great businessman of Albion turned to her with a tired smile and the slight air of a hangover.

"Your Majesty! You are here early."

When met with Reaver's regard, the Queen stammered, "Er, business? Heh, why yes, yes I am."

That had been a lie, evident enough to both of them. But neither cared to question it.

Reaver blinked and placed a hand in his pocket. There was something absent about him—his cane, it seemed. That fancy, ebony and gold relic he'd always carried with him. It was actually strange to see him without it.

"I was not expecting anyone here. What business do you have with me so early in the morning?"

The sound of Reaver's silken voice had been welcome to Barry's ears. He'd nearly stepped out beyond the stone and iron gates before he realized his master was speaking with that daft Queen. Barry mumbled a curse and stepped a little further back into the shadows, eyes following the two warily.

"Just passing through the area and…well, I thought I'd pay this old place a visit. Quite a lot of memories here. Coming across you shooting those feisty little worker bees of yours, inciting 'Reaver Team Spirit' and what not…"

"Ah, yes, I recall it! I did not see you hiding off to the side." Reaver chuckled and nodded. He shook his head as if it were some funny little memory, "I should have known you were there. This is one of the last factories I have open now, you know. Had to open elsewhere. Come, would you like me to show you around this fine establishment?"

The Queen nodded with all the excitement of her heart skipping a beat clear on her features, "Y-yes, of course!"

"Come, come! We have much to see before those mangy workers come filing in." Devilish and full of grace, the fair businessman turned on his heel. He lead the way through the factory's massive double doors with the same sense of importance he was infamous for. The dull ache of a night spent partying too hard would never stop his regal demeanor.

The Queen followed close behind, uncertain as to whether she was more excited to bump into that curious ginger butler or walk alongside Reaver—not that she'd ever let the latter catch on to this notion.

"So tell me, what exactly is this factory producing now? Last I recall, it was a meat-packing plant. Smells much less dead these days." The Queen asked. It was hardly her job to do routine inspections—no, she'd cracked down on Reaver's practices, but she'd always hoped that she'd never have to step into one of those dirty places again. But it seemed regulations went a long way.

"Mastah, suh? Weavah…?"

Reaver and the Queen stopped when the fiery-haired butler jogged up behind them. Reaver managed a smile, "Ah, Barry! Is this where you wandered off to? I was just going to show the Queen around. Join us and help make her feel comfortable. Or do you need something?"

Need something indeed, the Queen had thought, heat rising under her cheeks. She wiped her nose on her sleeve like an oblivious child and sniffled loudly. She cringed when she tasted blood on the back of her tongue and muttered, "Egh, shouldn't have done that…"

She wiped more blood away and grew increasingly red-faced, almost hiding her face behind her sleeve, "E-er, the coagulant potions should stop the bleeding."

Barry mumbled something inarticulate and regarded his master first, "Fwaid I got some news fwom the hewald this mownin', actually. Apawently, some woman tuwned up mauled on the banks this mownin' …bit of a panic goin' on down in Millfields. Figuwed I'd stop by and wa'wn you."

He gave the Queen a half-bow and smiled despite the sleeplessness in his own eyes, "Mownin', You'we Majesty. Pwetty as eva', I see."

Arm still hiding her face, the Queen replied, "S-same to you."

Right eye blue, left eye brown, she noticed. The butler had different colored eyes. That was peculiar. She'd never quite noticed that before… or had she just forgotten? It was rare she ever lent the troll much thought until recently.

"Mauled woman, you say?" The heavy steps of boots on wood heralded Page's arrival. The Queen looked over at the revolutionary who stepped in through the open doors, her walk characterized by a sway of the hips. Page had a way of appearing out of nowhere like that… there really never was any telling how long she'd just waited and listened. Or who she had been tracking. Reaver, perhaps, considering their long-standing distaste for one another.

"Now, why am I not suprised to hear this?" Page said, hands on her hips.

Barry had started at the woman's arrival. The sudden nervousness became evident on his features as he pressed a bit closer to his master and managed a thin smile, "Bweaking news, I'm afwaid."

"Well. Barry, get something together for the Queen to clean herself up with, hm? After, I may decide to stay in a different home for a bit. I don't much want those pig-haired neighbors asking me to defend them any." Reaver drawled, before giving Page a coy grin and half-bow, "Where ever did you come from? Most are asleep at this hour."

"Justice never sleeps," Page answered, having none of Reaver's tone.

"I'll fetch he'w Majesty a cloth." Barry muttered, disappearing quickly.

Reaver yawned lazily into a gloved hand and waved away the small gathering. He took to the stairs and climbed up to his private office, "As much as I would love to stay and chat, I have much paperwork awaiting me and not the head for jabber."

The Queen thanked Barry when he returned quickly with a clean piece of linen and a grin on his face.

Haflway up the steps he gave a bow once more and one of his winning smiles, "Your Majesty, I bid you well."

He headed further up the stairs as Barry caught up to him, hands folded behind his back. The two men looked down at the Queen and the rebel, and Reaver added, "If any pressing matters come, please feel free to see me, but otherwise, have a good day!"

Barry scowled and then shook his head. He offered a slight bow to the Queen and the rebel woman before following his master.

"How dull of you, Reaver. I would say you can sleep when you're dead, but," Page said, before turning to the Queen, "I would be cautious of that cloth, Your Majesty—"

She'd been a bit too late in that. With the cloth pressed to her nose, the Queen slunk to the floor and Page knelt down, not taking this prank with an ounce of humor. She cursed and dug through her pouches for smelling salts and growled, "I believe it is time for the Queen and I to be on our way, before you two kill or rape her."

Reaver bent over the rail and rolled his eyes, "I do not stoop to such levels. I prefer my partners willing and enjoyable. Now good day. I have had a long night and have a long day ahead of me."

He stormed into his office in an irate huff and followed. He flopped into his seat behind the desk and turned his back to the door, memories of the night before a vague, drunken haze.

"My Queen!" Page said, giving the Queen a shake, "If only we could just lock him in that office."

The Queen stirred with a groan and a wince, "Ba… huh? Where am I? Bloody hell, my nose is bleeding…"

In her groggy haze, she reached out for the first cloth she saw before Page panicked and grabbed her wrist, "No! Your Majesty, that is the same cloth!"

"Oh, oh my, ugh!" The Queen tossed it away and snapped her hand back with a grimace, "Eh… well, alright then. Perhaps we should best be on our way and investigate this mauling in Millfields."

As she climbed to her feet and balanced herself against Page, she shook her head and frowned, "Why would someone give me a poisoned cloth?"

"My Queen, the answer is unconscious sex." Page answered, as-a-matter-of-factly.

"You don't say." The Queen sighed, wincing from the sunlight that poured in through the factory's high windows. She shrugged, "At least the sun's risen, now. Shall we, my dear?"

"But of course. It would be wise for us to investigate. No time to waste. What do you suggest we search first?"

The Queen thought for a moment, regaining her balance and answering, "I'll contact the area's guards. They'll know where the body is."

"I think it would be wise of us to investigate the town's pub. Surely someone has some information."

"Indeed." The Queen answered, stepping out into the factory's vast lawn, "I could use a quick drink."

"Not too many, My Queen. I do swear you are a lightweight." Page teased with a bat of long black lashes that shadowed clear blue eyes.

The Queen smirked and replied, "Well, then, before you start counting, let me buy you one."

"Well, my Queen!" Page laughed, "I would be honored. I like my drinks hard, as you would know."

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

"Fowgive me, suh, but… this mownin'… the woman… I think, I… balverine," Barry had stammered, pawing at the back of his neck. Reaver turned in his seat and looked his servant over with a raised brow. Finally, he rolled his eyes and stood. A yelp escaped Barry when Reaver suddenly grabbed him by the collar.

"You are joking, right? You realize that you are one…of those disgusting things now, but can you not control yourself?" Reaver hissed, tugging the man a good foot off of the ground. He half threw him and stalked back to his chair. It was a side of flustered annoyance that few ever saw. As he regathered his composure, he said, "Fine. I do not need any more of the Queen and that rebel's people on me. I will steer them off of you this time, Hatch, but do not allow it again!"

Barry groaned and rubbed at the back of his neck, almost neurotically, "I dunno, suh, weally, I-I don't wememba' anything… at all. Just know I woke up in the gwounds, naked and kind'a bloody. I mean, I could'a killed a dea'w o'w a bunny, o'w someth…ing like that…"

Reaver nodded and rolled his eyes some more. He sat back with a pen in his hands, letting it play across his fingertips.

"If not you, then what?" The businessman asked, peering up at the servant with cold eyes, "Mauled, you said, yes? What on earth could have mauled her? Nothing in these areas mauls anymore! In any case, a cover up is in order. One body won't send much of a spark, but if it happens much more, you can bet there will be a stir."

"And it'd be my neck on the line, wight?" Barry said, coarsely.

Pondering, Reaver shook his head and answered, "The forest off to the side of the lake. Behind some homes… that is where I acquired the balverines that bit you last year. So they would likely search there first. For now, Barry, you have gotten lucky."

Barry scrubbed a hand over his face and shrugged, "Mastah Weavah, suh, not that I lend much cawe to the thought, but, what if the webel and he'w Majesty come pwying?"

Reaver rubbed his head. Now was hardly the time for anxious dabbling in worst-case scenarios—that much was evident from his bloodshot eyes and the pain in his throbbing head, "Then I will send them away. There is nothing for them here. You have an alibi I can give… and I am not one to discuss my private life with the likes of them. They know this."

With a firm palm slapped to the desk, Reaver ended it, "Now enough of this talk. The more you speak of it, the more in your mind it is. Forget it happened. Fetch me something to drink to quell this headache."

"I'll be off to the pub, then." Barry answered—hair of the dog that bit you, as it were—"Weckon' I'll be about ten minutes, Mastah Weavah."

He offered a quck bow and hurried out. Reaver waved a hand and bent over his paperwork with a groan. The one downside to all of his power and money was that damned paperwork.

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

The Riveter's Rest was bustling. A few leftovers from the late night brawls remained to drink away their hangovers. Many others were sailors and industrial workers getting a quick pint of mead and an easy breakfast before heading out on their day.

Few of them had any information worthwhile. Though a good deal of them had already gotten word of the mauling. For a moment, the two had thought they were on to something when a man began to ramble about his daughter loafing about in Millfields. But then the barmaid arrived, slammed a mug down before him and barked, "Oy! I'm right here, dad!"

Sitting with a mug of ale in hand, Page sighed, "Perhaps the balverines have returned to Millfields?"

"It's very possible," The Queen said tentatively, "But I was so sure we culled the lot of them out. Pushed them back into Silverpines."

She swirled her drink before a large hand slapped down on her shoulder and a jovial voice broke the serious air.

"Long time no see, dears! Next round's on me!"

Sir Walter Beck, with his salt-and-pepper beard and great, rosy smile had a way of lighting up the room. It had been a nightmare to nearly lose him a year ago, in the fierce war that defined the current peacetime. But there he was—indestructable and with a mug of ale in hand.

"Sir Walter! Fancy meeting you here!" The Queen grinned.

"It's been a while. Where have you been?" Page smiled.

Walter chuckled, "At the other pub. But I'm here now!"

A jingle near the door caught the Queen's attention for a split-second. But soon enough, she was back on Page and Walter, completely unaware of the ginger butler who had sulked into the pub and took a seat in a corner.

"All has been well since the war, Majesty. What a lively bunch we have here today!" Walter said.

"Walter, there has been word among the people of a mauling in Millfields," The Queen said, sobering up the mood. Page chimed in as Walter's face darkened, "Have you heard anything about this among the guards?"

"Not much, Page. I've heard little through the drunken grapevine. Just that some rich folk in Millfields met a messy end this morning. We are awfully close to Silverpines, though. Anyone reckon the balverines may be returning?"

Page sipped her drink and mused aloud, "I still think it's a little odd. How did they get out to Millfields so easily? Through the guards and the hunters?"

Unnoticed by all of the Queen, the rebel, and the jovial knight, Barry glanced over from his table in the corner. A waitress came to take his order and as he made his request, he kept a sharp eye and a sharper ear out for whatever the investigating trio said.

"Well, then, Sir Walter, care to join Page and I on an investigation in Millfields?" The Queen asked with a lighthearted tone. It'd been too long since they all had a decent adventure together.

"Of course! Ladies first! Err, let me finish my ale real quick…" Walter chugged down his drink and hurried after the women as they exited the pub.

Barry took his drink—Reaver's favorite cure to the common hang over—and hurried back to the factory. Just before exiting the tavern, a glimpse of a familiar, pale-blond head of curls caught his eye. But Barry disregarded the man with the printed paper in hand. It couldn't possibly be… no, of course not. The blond in question couldn't read, Barry recalled. When he reached Reaver's office, he shut the door behind him and set the healthy-sized mug down on Reaver's desk.

"They'we investigating, Suh."

Reaver looked up from his paperwork, irate, but grateful for the alcohol, "As they would… again. They will not suspect you. In fact, you are the last one they should suspect. They will think it was a wild one. You do not wish to return to Millfields alone, I assume? We may need to hire someone to follow them and make sure they stay clear of us."


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