Ian walked slowly down the halls of Kenneth
Iron's mansion. The wood creaked softly below the heavy steps of his combat
boots. The mansion was silent. Kenneth and himself were the only two present in
the entire estate. The hallway was elusively dark this morning. Candles lined
the wide hallway. The light flickered shadows across Ian's impassive features,
as he walked back towards his room.
'If Sara Dies, You die. Remember that.' As
though I could forget an order. He allowed a quiet sigh to pass his lips as
he pushed open the door to his room. The door made no sound as he opened it. His
master may change his room and vehicle every day, but Ian preferred consistency.
He trusted his skills enough to know he could protect himself if someone
did—though unlikely—enter his sleeping quarters. Irons, however, was aging and
could no longer depend on his own skills to keep himself alive. Ian took small
pleasure in that fact, and kept it hidden deep. What will I do, if ever Irons
is no longer my master? He wondered slowly, surveying his room and listening
intently.
Upon his bed, lay his folded clothing. On a rack
above his headboard, his katana lay sheathed. Ian looked it over quickly and
efficiently. Nothing had been moved. Remembering his orders from Kenneth, he
began to take his shirt off to change. Pulling off the black over shirt and
undershirt, he folded them and set them on the hamper by his door. He rolled his
shoulders slowly and twisted, cracking the bones along his neck and spine.
Flexing his arms Ian watched as his muscles rolled across the scars he held.
Walking to his desk, he pulled out the first drawer.
Inside the drawer lay a Navy Seal's underwater
knife, sheathed in a strap-on hilt. Lifting it out of the desk, he strapped it
tightly across the upper part of his left arm. He then returned to his bed and
pulled on a clean black tank top, and then another over-shirt. Sitting on the
bed, he unlaced his boots and set them down near the end of the bed. Putting on
new black socks, he pulled a pair of dark pants and secured another knife
sheathed on the outside of his right thigh. Pulling on a clean set of combat
boots, he secured throwing knives on the outside of each boot, and checked the
mechanism on the front of the boot. The blade worked well, and he licked his
finger, cleaning off a bit of blood from the Irish Massacre that stayed on the
boot's blade. Dressed once again and his body conditioned to work, he turned and
looked at his katana.
It had been a long while since he had wielded the
smooth blade. It was his preferred weapon; the weapon of an honorable shogun,
given to him long ago by Kenneth. He had taken so many lives in the name of his
master, that his blade was visible tainted with blood. The shine the blade had
originally was dulled by the layers of death that lay across it. Reaching out
slowly, he lifted the sheath and straps from the board.
A slow knock on the door made him pause. He
recognized the light pattern to be that of Irons, and continued to lower his
katana. His door was pushed open slowly and Kenneth stepped threw, dressed now
in a savvy black and navy blue suit.
"Ah, you're ready. Excellent." He said, his voice
had lost its hollow demeanor. Ian set the sheath across his back and sheathed
his katana with the shrill sound of the metal sliding into its ancient casing.
Ian nodded solemnly.
"I received a phone call a few moments ago. It
seems you'll have a chance to watch Sara under more...respectable
circumstances." He waited for Ian to reply. Ian said nothing. Quirking a brow
suggestively, he looked at Ian.
"Captain Dante, placed the phone call. He was
asking more questions concerning the whereabouts of Sara during the Irish
Massacre. I continued to back up McCartney's story…" He leaned against the
doorway with a yawn.
"Needless to say," he continued, "..this seems to
vex Mr. Dante. Before he hung up the phone, he informed me that there was a
banquet tonight in honor of his new position as Captain of the 11th
Precinct. He does not know it is Vorschlag that is playing host. I plan on being
present, and therefore—so do you." He smiled impishly and looked Ian over. He
clicked his tongue and crossed his arms across his chest.
"I realize, Ian, that you're not accustomed to
courting women, seducing them, drawing their reactions from them as you please..
Of course you're not, you're innocent as far as sexuality goes. However." He
raised a finger firmly.
"Sara has recovered from her loss of Concobar,
with the help of The Witchblade. She is only human, after all, and we humans
have but one purpose—to live, to breed, and to die. With the exception of me, of
course—I live to own the Witchblade. But I am not entirely out of their league.
I live, I breed, and someday, I will die. Not without the Witchblade." He
watched as Ian looked back at him blankly.
"My point, Ian, is this: Although you are
without the experience of a sexual person, you are not without sexual
appeal. You are alluring, charming—and damned if you can't be seductive if you
try. And you will try, tonight. I want you to seduce Sara. I want you to
warn her about Jakes' intentions. I want her to trust you, and I want it
done tonight. Do you understand?" Ian startled. Not visibly, but his
stomach tightened with anxiety. Seduce…Sara? I..kill, I do not..love. I
cannot..love her, not like that..not ever. His mind wound around his heart
and he stood still for many moments. Kenneth watched him, knowing this would
disturb Ian very much. After a long and uncomfortable pause, Ian looked Kenneth
in the eyes.
"..Like you, Master," He said, quietly, "..I am human. I shall live,
breed, and someday, die as well." He paused, calculating his next move. He
looked to the floor once again, and spoke:
"Though I am not
without a heart. I am your bodyguard, your assassin, your loyal servant, but I
was never trained to seduce. I was never trained to break someone's heart. I
cannot—" As he spoke, Kenneth stepped forward and slammed the back of his hand
across Ian's jaw. Ian was caught in mid-sentence, and didn't attempt to defend.
He took the punishments from his Master like a loyal dog, and if he was wrong,
he was wrong. He felt his lip split upon impact, Kenneth's ring having caught it
sharply. Blood trickled slowly down to pool beneath his lip. His face still
turned to the side. He said nothing.
"You can. You
will. And you will do it tonight." Said Kenneth, pulling out a
silken handkerchief to clean his hand of Ian's blood. Ian still faced to the
side, staring blankly at the floor. Kenneth's eyes narrowed once again. Ian knew
he was ready to inform him once again of his duties. Kenneth tossed the bloodied
handkerchief on Ian's bed, and stepped towards Ian.
"Look at me." He
barked, demanding Ian's attention. Ian turned sharply to stare at his
master.
"Good." Irons brought
his hand back and backhanded Ian across the other cheek. Blood spattered from
Ian's busted lip and from the new slash across his cheek. The wound burned and
seeped blood sluggishly. Ian turned his head back slowly to face Kenneth.
"I will instruct you
personally today upon seducing Sara. The Witchblade has shown me her desires,
her dreams—Her time with Concobar. All her time with her lost lover. You
will be her new lover. Tonight. And threw you, I will get what I truly
want."
Sara lounged at her
desk, sipping a hot French vanilla latte, compliments of her partner. Though she
felt much better since last week, her work was stockpiled on her desk. Jake was
still taking the bulk of the assignments, and it was something Sara thanked him
for every chance she got. His training was going well, and he seemed to be a
little detached lately. Sara shrugged it off and circled a line on the paper she
was working on. Biting the end of the pen, she studied the case before her. A
chuckle from her open door way made her look up.
"Hey dude," said
Jake, as he walked into the office. Sara rolled her eyes—she still had trouble
adapting to his West Coast-surfer vocabulary.
"How's the case?" He
asked, picking up her latte and taking a sip, barely avoiding Sara's swipe as he
stole her drink. She cast a glare then said:
"Hell, like usual...I'm still working on the case for Gabriel.. I hope
he's feeling better by now." Jake nodded and set down Sara's latte, half
drained, and grinned.
"Well, then, I've got
some good news. Dante just announced a banquet tonight in honor of himself, as
the new Captain of the 11th precinct." Jake watched for her
reaction.
"Don't remind me."
Said Sara with a sigh, as she shuffled threw the papers on her desk.
"You're missing the
point, Sara." Said Jake. Sara only glanced at him.
"And what's that?
Dante's throwing himself a party—seems like a good occasion to get some sleep."
Jake shook his head with a laugh.
"You get to
relax, to take a load off…To get dressed up, for once, you know—something
other than blue jeans and a t-shirt?" Sara looked at him accusingly, and quirked
a brow.
"Yeah, well…I'd rather be sleeping. I'm sure he's
made it mandatory?" She crumpled up the paper she was working on and tossed it
at the garbage can. And missed.
Captain Dante leaned down from standing in the
doorway, and picked up the crumpled trash.
"With your aim, Pezzini, it looks like you might
spend your time down at the shooting range, and not at my party tonight." He
smirked and looked at Jake and Sara.
"Oh, and yes, Ms. Pezzini, it is
mandatory. I want you all to be there. Got it?" Before either of them could
answer, he turned and walked back out of the office. Sara sighed again.
"Fine, whatever. Jake…get outta here, I need to
get my work done." Jake winced teasingly, grabbed her latte, and followed after
Dante.
Sara reached into her desk and pulled out a
folder. Opening it, she pulled out the files that Gabriel had dropped off about
the Witchblade. Closing the folder, she stood up and walked to her door, closing
it and drew the blinds. Sitting back down, she disconnected her phone and turned
on the radio. Oh, like that's not suspicious at all, she thought with a
smirk. No time. I need to read these over so I can stop by Gabe's tonight
before the banquet. The first paper on top of the file was simply labeled:
"Kenneth Irons." Sara set it aside. The next file was labeled "Hitler, Adolph."
Flipping threw the papers, Sara read about Hitler's extensive collection of
antiques.
Hours later, when she was finished reading the
files that Gabriel had collected, she went back to the file on Kenneth Irons. He
seemed to be connected to everything. Everyone. And most of all, to his
bodyguard, Ian Nottingham. Kenneth...what's on your mind? What are you
planning? ..Why do you have Ian protect me like you do? Her mind wandered as
she thought about Vorschlag and the cases she'd been studying lately. 'There
are no consciences.' She remembered, and shook her head. Well, I'll get
to this later tonight. For now, I need to go and figure out what the hell I'm
supposed to wear to the Dante's vanity ball. Plugging her phone back in, she
set the files back in the folder and placed them in her desk, locking the
drawer. Picking up her jacket, she headed for the door.
Pulling her motorcycle to a halt, Sara took off her helmet and turned off her
bike. The snow fell all around now, a heavy storm had started shortly after she
had left the precinct. Hugging herself tightly, she quickly made the steps to
her apartment and entered. Walking up the stairs to her door, which was on the
second story, she welcomed the stuffy warmth of the apartment complex. She heard
laughter in a room as she passed by the door, and blushed when a moan and giggle
followed shortly after. Smirking, she pulled out the keys to her apartment and
unlocked it, walking in.
Typical of Dante to warn us all of a formal gathering only hours
before it happens. I'm sure the Mayor will be there, along with officers of the
other precincts. Pealing off her leather jacket, she tossed it on her couch
and made her way to the kitchen. Pulling her tea kettle to the sink, she filled
it with water and set it on the burner. Outside her window, the snow continued
to fall. As she opened her cupboard to find her teabags, her phone rang. Setting
the bags on the counter, she picked up the phone.
"—Pezzini, Yeah?" She asked, watching the stove.
"Hey Sara, you're not at work anymore," the voice was Siry's. Sara
smiled.
"Joe... nice to hear from you again. Listen, I.. I went threw the box
that you gave me, and I.. just, wanted to thank you." The conversation
paused.
"..Of course, Sara. Anyways, I called about the banquet tonight. Are you
planning on making it? If so, I'll be seeing you there." Sara heard the slow
smile in his voice. Sara nodded.
"Yeah, Dante says everyone's gotta be there, and I didn't think he'd let
me slide." She smirked, and walked to the stove, setting out her coffee cup.
Siry sighed.
"I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't know that Dante would have such a grudge."
Sara frowned.
"A grudge, Joe?" Joe cleared his throat, but went on:
"Oh, it's nothing Sara. Listen, I'm busy right now, but I'll catch you at
the banquet. Bye Sara, take care." Siry hung up the phone. Sara frowned and set
the phone down. She leaned against the counter and waited for the tea pot to
scream.
Joe.. I can't thank you enough for giving me that box. I've.. found
out a lot about myself in these past few days. She smiled faintly and turned
to stare out the window. Snowflakes drifted and spun in the wind outside, making
her feel warm and comfortable in her own apartment.
Jake walked out of the precinct in the snow, his boots crunching nosily against
the pavement. It wasn't so cold outside as it was stuffy and closed in, like it
always was in the Winter in New York. Cold, lonely and closed. The cold made his
bruises hurt. His body still ached from when that madman Ian Nottingham had
nearly killed him. Out of habit, recently, he brought his hand up to touch his
recovering jaw. Scowling despite himself, he shoved his hands in his coat
pockets and walked on. The bastard, first in the interrogation room, then
when I was working out.. And Sara.. He sighed, confused, stopping on the
sidewalk. What about Sara? He wondered with a slight frown
creasing his brow. A scent drifted in the air and he started walking again,
heading out for a snack before going home to get ready for the banquet.
The place where he and Sara would've taken their lunch—had she not headed
out early—was a local little dog stand on the corner near the precinct. He could
smell the vendor from where he was. His mouth watered and he picked up his pace.
Food..that should take my mind off.. of everything. That, or surfing, and
there's no surfing in this weather. The banquet's in about two hours, I'll have
plenty of time.
Footsteps crunched behind him in the snow and
he tensed.
"McCartney," came Dante's voice, "..there you are. Where's your partner?"
Dante walked a little faster and caught up with Jake, falling into a slow stride
along side him. Jake shrugged.
"She left about fifteen minutes ago, said she had to get home and get
ready for the banquet." He mindlessly kicked at a clump of snow on the ground.
Dante nodded, clapping Jake on the shoulder reassuringly. Dropping his voice as
they walked, he said:
"So..have any questions about the..White Bulls?" Dante quirked a brow,
quizzically. Jake shook his head slowly.
"..What White Bulls?" He asked, with a grin. Dante gave him a
quick wink and kept walking.
"That's a good lad," He said, nodding, "..Care to get a drink before we
head downtown?" Dante asked, cocking his head to the side. "You like beer, don't
you?" Jake grinned.
"Only if your buying," he chided, and Dante laughed stiffly.
