"My brother is the dullest man in all of Gilneas." The man spoke with the precision of one who was sober enough to grasp that he was quite intoxicated. The young woman sitting across from him only chuckled in response, shaking her head when his eyes fell on her.

"He's busy, Ban…" She admonished, and he raised a brow over a jaded gray eye.

"He marries tomorrow, Evelyn. He marries you tomorrow, yet he's at the warehouse." There was a wealth of recriminations under his terse sentences, and Evelyn shook her head sharply to stop him before he got started again. Ban was naturally argumentative, add however much spirits he'd had that night to the mix, and he'd never let go…like a mastiff with a particularly fine bone.

"Not tonight, Ban." She hissed, and he glared back. How this one could be so different than his older brother, she had no idea, but the only thing they had in common was their coloration. Both had raven hair, steel eyes, and there the resemblance halted. Bram was a big man, bordering on huge…imposing. Ban was thin, frail, well suited to the dandified finery he preferred. Bram was simple. Ban was fickle, temperamental, sullen and flighty. Bram was meat and potatoes…Ban was fancy little treats that she didn't even know the names of most of, and the few she did, she was certain she would mispronounce.

"There is no other night but tonight." He pointed out sharply, and she sighed. He was correct, there was no other night. She married his brother tomorrow at noon. But this was a discussion she didn't want to have…again.

"Ban. No."

"You're making a mistake, Evelyn." He intoned seriously, and she frowned. A serious Ban was a bad deal all around. A drunk Ban who still managed to be serious was even worse. He was normally a happy drunk, loud, boisterous, a joy to be around. This was not normal, and she didn't like it.

"We've had this discussion, Ban. When you were sober." And it had solved nothing then. There was no thought that it would solve anything now, the night before. He glanced at the empty snifter on the table next to him, and shrugged.

"I'm not as drunk as you seem to think I am." He argued, and she took a deep breath. She'd learned enough in the eight years she'd lived in this household to know when to not rise to one of Ban's baitings.

"No. Go to bed. Sleep it off. We need you looking pretty in the morning…best man." His lips twisted, and she was well aware that his mind came up with a million responses, many of them profane, but oddly, he decided to keep them to himself. Why, oh, why, couldn't Bram have been born with even a hint of this mind? This brilliance? Not all of it, because the entire package had given them someone she was certain she couldn't tolerate on a permanent basis. Ban was like the richest of cakes, best taken in small nibbles…thickly sweet with little nutrition. His brother was the blandest of oatmeals…stick to bones satisfying but boring.

"Perhaps you're right, Evelyn." He stood…his full adult height barely greater than hers, and she was no large woman… and then delved in the pocket of his greatcoat. "Here. My…sister. A gift for the beautiful bride." He produced a small box and presented it to her with a graceful flourish. He smiled wistfully when she took it, rescued his hat from the table, bowed and strode away. She remained on alert until she heard the tread of his boots on the stairs, and the deliberate snick of his door opening and closing before she dropped into the chair before the banked fireplace. Damn him. He always knew how to do this. She'd heard a thousand others express concern, and only from him did she ever get any reason to feel doubts. Bram would be a fine husband. She didn't need fire, she needed warmth and security. Ban was a house fire, not a hearth fire.

"Damn you, Ban." She mourned when she opened the box. His taste was, as always, impeccable. His brother had gifted her with the barest minimum of jewelry, all heavy and gold. The earrings resting on the black velvet before her were intricate, fragile…emeralds in a platinum setting, one large one with a dangle of three tiny stones. They were exquisite.

Ban woke when the moon rose, wide awake in spite of the large amount of alcohol he'd imbibed earlier. Wide awake in spite of the fact that he was, by his very nature, a late riser. He should have slept long enough for an exasperated Bram to have come to wake him. But no, Bram wasn't home yet. He could feel Evelyn…she was asleep in the room down the hall…but no Bram. The house was still empty.

Something was wrong.

That was the only explanation as to why he'd be awake. Why he'd be cold sober. He moved to glance at the massive dog beside his bed… Glory was awake as well, her eyes locked on his windows, standing silently within his fingertip's reach. She looked back when he sat up, greeted him with the smallest of whines, and then went back to staring at the closed curtains.

"What is it, girl?" He asked in a bare whisper, sliding from bed. He was almost afraid to open the curtains, almost afraid to look, but when he did, there was nothing out of place. Only Gilneas City, mostly asleep, and the rising moon. He unlatched the window, warily pushing it open. The world looked fine, but his heart ran and jumped in his chest like a rabbit running from Glory. The world smelled of fog and roses, just as it should. He could hear the muffled voices of those who did not sleep… guards, the constable passing on his way. They didn't sound disturbed.

He shook his head, pushing away from the window. The sane thing would be to go back to bed. But he'd never been accused of sanity, and even if he was unusually sane this evening, he doubted if he could sleep. He had rarely felt this awake. This aware. This filled with sword edged caution. He chose instead to dress, habitually picking up his walking cane. No. Not tonight. Almost without thought, he tossed it back on his lush bed, and moved to grasp the hilt hidden in the heavily embroidered bed hangings. Tonight was not one of those nights that called for the whisper thin blade 'hidden' in his cane. Tonight was…

He pulled the shining, liquid length of his rapier, turning it over in the growing moonlight. Why it was this tonight, he wasn't certain, but his soul told him it was, and he trusted his gut. "Glory." He called, and the mastiff ceased her wary view of the window and fell into heel behind him.

He walked the house, pausing first outside of Evelyn's room. She slept, he could feel it. Deeply…and he grasped her door handle. If he was caught, there'd be hell to pay, and he had no true explanation as to why. My gut says so. Not valid to her. Not valid to his parents. Certainly not valid to Bram. He should go downstairs. It was the safest thing to do. Have some more brandy, and wait for Bram to show up.

His hand moved with a will of its own, and the door opened silently. The mastiff stopped when he motioned at her to stay, and Ban slunk into Evelyn's room, on a beeline straight for her windows. He didn't spare a glance at her bed, that was not what he was there for. Her curtains hung open, and he stared outside again. Still the waiting dread. Still nothing concrete. He checked the locks, and slid the poker from the fireplace through the grips. The windows were iron. Their panes tiny. As long as the frame held….

What was wrong with him? He didn't know, but he grasped that he disliked the curtains hanging open, and he closed them without conscious thought. That plunged the room into darkness, and he couldn't admire Evelyn even if he wanted to. No. He was busy. There were other windows, other doors. The house needed to be secured.

He moved from window to window, locking the house from cellar to attic, followed by the faithful shadow of the mastiff. "Where's your brother?" He asked her when he finished the circuit of the house. She only tilted her head quizzically…her brother was with his. Wherever that was… he slipped his pocket watch from his waist coat and glanced at it. Bram, out after midnight…on what was now his wedding day? Father? Had they both lost their minds? Ban glanced at the door, torn. Leave Evelyn, alone? When the very air felt like this?

Evelyn woke to the sudden pounding of a fist on her door. It was deathly dark in her rooms, but it shouldn't be. "Who?" She yelped.

"It's Ban." His voice was muffled through the door, and she cursed under her breath. Ban? Tonight? Of all the damnable fools…

"Ban, we're not talking about this. I can't believe you woke me up…" She moved through the darkness, pulling the door open. The hallway was lit; brightly for this time… a quick glance at the hallway clock proved it was morning. It was the darkest part of the morning, less than an hour after midnight. Ban was dressed, and in his right hand, he carried a sword. Not the wicked little blade that every gentleman 'hid' in their walking canes, but the lethal silver length of a fighting blade. His eyes were intent, focused. He seemed… sober. "What?"

"Bram is not back yet. Neither is my father. It's almost one."

She frowned. Slipping in at one in the morning was Ban's style, hardly his brother's, and definitely not his father's. She didn't have an answer for that, and let him know so with a shrug.

"Evelyn. Something is wrong. I'm going to go to the warehouse." He raked thin fingers through his hair in ill disguised agitation. "But you need to be awake. Lock the door behind me, and don't let anybody in but us… do you want Glory?"

She tilted her head, feeling the air. He was correct, something intangible was wrong. Now that she was awakened, she could feel it pressing on the edges of her perceptions. "No. If you're going out there, you take her."

He nodded, spinning and stalking back into his rooms. They were also lit, and she hung warily outside in the hallway, not surprised when he pulled a heavily carved box from his dresser. She'd seen it before. She knew what it held. She was not surprised when he checked the first pistol, and made it vanish into the depths of his woolen greatcoat. She was somewhat surprised when he checked the mate of his dueling pistol, and offered it to her. He'd been the one to make certain she knew how to use one, because in his demented world, every lady needed to know how to use a pistol because the world was full of rakes like him. "Just in case, Evelyn." He muttered. "It's loaded. Be careful."

"You…be careful, Banastre." It felt odd. She'd never told him to take care a day in all the time she'd known him. And she very rarely called him by his full name.

He gave her a pale smile, leaned in, planted a brotherly kiss on her brow, whistled for the dog, and vanished into the gathering fog.