Housewarming

The Pirate King moved silently into his house, and smiled. He could have sent an envoy to light the fires and get his little coastal paradise ready before he had arrived, but he found himself somewhat fond of the house when it was in this state, empty and quiet. And, besides, it was not so cool. Quite warm, in fact.

In fact... very warm.

Reaver frowned. He slid his travelling cloak off his shoulders, slowly, reflexively brushing across his holster, his Dragonstomper. He threw the cloak over the banister, and then stayed still for a moment. There was a fire in the other room, the study. He could see the flickering light under the partially opened door. Some street brat? Some cur sheltering from the cold in his home? Well. That just wouldn't do. He drew the legendary pistol, hand sliding instinctively into the optimum position on the grip.

He walked a few steps forwards, looking around him. His frown deepened. He had thought it would be some knave taking advantage of an open house, but this to him looked... homely. A dozen or so coats hung on the hooks by the door, all bright and vibrant - and rich. This wasn't some street brat. This was someone who was probably almost as wealthy as him.

The realisation came to him in a shock: someone had bought his home! His costal paradise! Someone had bought it!

Anger filled him, followed swiftly by a grim anticipation - he would find this man foolish enough to purchase his manor and shoot him straight through the head. No-one got one up on Reaver. No-one.

He moved silently to the door, and pushed it open a little. The hinges didn't squeak - at least this mysterious person was taking care of the Mansion in his absence - and he moved further into the study, silently.

There was someone sitting at the desk - reading, by the looks of things. They didn't look up, didn't notice him. He couldn't see very well because of the placing of the door, but it looked like a girl. Well. No matter. He'd just shoot her in her pretty little head. Didn't matter who she was, really. But, first... he wanted to know why. He didn't have the patience to play, but he was curious as to what possessed this little thing to make such a... fatal decision.

Must be suicidal, he mused, thoughtfully, Poor young wench.

He prowled closer, trying to get a better view of her. He took a silent step to the left, and, suddenly, she was thrown into light.

The girl sitting at the table was, no other word for it, exquisite. She was a little older than he had previously thought, maybe just about gracing twenty-two. Her golden blonde hair was pulled back from her china-like face into a ponytail and dreadlocked - a style which he usually thought looked hideously cheap, but, on her, strangely worked. Her hair was so long that a lock of it still managed to cloud her face, but he could see dark brown eyes with heavy black lashes surveying the book in front of her, lit up with interest at whatever it was she was reading.

Her clothing immediately caught Reaver's attention. She was wearing... well... a pirate outfit. Almost a pirate wench outfit, or, at least, pretty close. Her corseted top was red and black and tight against her body, the sleeves off the shoulders, flaring at the lower arms and tight at the wrists and elbows. The ensemble was coupled by a flared red skirt with a black lace petticoat, barely coming down to her knees. The material looked like velvet. A black pirate hat was on a hook on the wall behind her, which she had appeared to have attached a red bow to. She had short leather boots on her feet, brown with large rectangular buckles, which were - he noted with a wince - propped up on his chair.

However... there were... other parts of the scene that drew his attention. Her long legs were strong and bare, her skin pure, leading Reaver's gaze inexorably up to her so short skirt and what could lie beneath it. Mmm. Maybe more fun could be had with his home's current occupier than he had thought...

The pirate smirked, and closed the door behind him with a snap. The girl continued reading to the end of her page, and then glanced up.

Her fragile yet powerful beauty hit him again. Her skin was like porcelain, and she had painted on a gentle makeup that made her eyes glow. She had a huge animal tooth hanging from a chain around her neck. Fragile yet powerful. She would look like if she moved a step she'd shatter into pieces... if it weren't for the daggers in her belt.

At seeing a strange man in what she probably considered her house, armed, her face remained completely stoical. She paused for a moment, and then, slowly, looked him up and down. When she was finished, her eyes returned to his face, "Who are you."

God, what an accent. Not the drawl the scum of Bloodstone had picked up. This was something else. Something far more sophisticated, far more proper. And soft - her words slid off her lips like honey.

"I could ask the very same question, my dear," Reaver replied, silkily. She just looked at him, and he raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, were you expecting someone else?"

"I must say I was, actually." She paused for a moment, looking him over again, "Where is she?"

"She?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow, "Sister? Friend?" he watched her for a moment, a smile playing at his lips, "Companion?"

"None of the above. Where is she."

A hint of danger had moved into her voice, and he smiled again, "I assure you, pet, since I have entered this house I have laid eyes on no-one but you." His smile grew, "Not that I'm complaining."

"I don't believe you."

She put down her feet, making to rise, and he fluidly pulled out his pistol, pointing it at her, "No no no, please, my dear, don't get up. Trust me, I prefer you where you are."

Her eyes locked onto his weapon, immediately, and, oddly, she frowned a little, "Is that a Dragonstomper?"

Reaver raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry?" he couldn't suppress his surprise.

She gave a small, grim smile, "I know my guns, good sir. It's a Dragonstomper, isn't it. Let me think... Dragonstomper... .48?"

A small pause was all he needed to get back on his feet. He gave her a smooth smile, "Indeed it is, my dear. Now, as much as I adore my little pet names, I would much prefer to know the real thing. What is it?"

"Liliana." He cocked an eyebrow, and the slightest smile twitched at her lips, "Lily."

"Lily..." he savoured the name, eyes wandering casually as he considered it. He gave a small smile, "Beautiful."

"Thank you. And what about yourself. It is customary, when asking for a lady's name, to give your own."

"My dear Lily, I believe little is customary when a pistol of this finery is involved."

"On the contrary," she replied, smiling a little, "I believe customs are more definite when a weapon is involved - the finery of the weapon aside."

Reaver looked at her. She dared contradict him? "You don't know my name?"

"You didn't know mine."

"Yes, of course, but I'm afraid I am... a rather different case."

She smiled, "As am I."

He looked at her again. That voice... that face... God, she was so familiar. Liliana... No, he was sure he would have remembered such an exotic name if he had heard it before. There was a hint of amusement in her chocolate-brown eyes, and, as he looked at her, he felt his frustration build. It was if she were toying with him. The nerve of the girl! It was his job to play. He'd had far more practice.

Reaver decided to remind the girl of this fact. He took a few steps forwards, and, this time, when she rose to match his added height, he didn't stop her. Instead, he moved closer, until they were about an inch apart. She stayed still, didn't back away. Reaver brought up his Dragonstomper again and stroked the line of her cheek with the barrel, gently, and then her lips. His heart was starting to beat hard in his chest. Liliana stayed perfectly still, watching him through those beautiful doe eyes, not a sliver of fear on her face.

"Now," he said, his voice a low, soft purr, "This is how this is going to work. You're going to explain to me who you are... and just what exactly you are doing residing in my house."

The girl raised a sceptical, surprised eyebrow, "Your house?"

He pushed the barrel a little deeper into her cheekbone until she flinched slightly, "Yes, my house." He gave her a moment to let the message sink in, and then shook his head, "But... perhaps I could be convinced to allow you to stay..." He moved his pistol over her neck. Black velvet straps of something that could have been a back holster crossed over her shoulders, and he pushed one down with the barrel, slowly, "...for a night or so, at any rate. Except... if I were to do that... I am afraid I would require something in return."

"And just what is it that you would... require."

A flash of a memory went through him, but his desire easily overcame it, and he smiled, slowly, "Need you really ask?"

She raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent. He moved the Dragonstomper again, down to between her exposed collarbones. He applied a little pressure, pushing down her vibrant red top about an inch. Liliana didn't move. He leaned closer until his lips were inches from hers and he could feel her breath on his skin. He felt her muscles tense.

"Get the fuck away from her."