Disclaimer: I don't own Fable 2, but you already know this so this will be the last time I put this in a chapter. You don't need to read it and I don't see the point of repeating myself...

Thank you for the reviews! They make me verily happy. X3

Chapter Two

For the next few days after the incident at the gypsy camp, James seemed to be incapable of doing anything other than fume over Sparrow's audacity. He spent hours sulking at home, snapping at his mother if she so much as walked too loudly near him. He declined offers to go to Fairfax Gardens with his coterie for fear they would ask him what had caused his vile mood. He even missed a hat sale. A hat sale! It would be safe to say this didn't improve his temperament any.

Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately considering the circumstances, events transpired to distract him from the gypsy boy. Ever since they had returned home to Bowerstone, his father's behavior had worsened.

"He doesn't come to bed at night, anymore." Laura had told James one evening when he had been feeling a little less hostile and had allowed her to sit with him. "He stares out of the window all night, or goes and sits downstairs by the fire. I don't think he sleeps."

That wasn't all, either. Roughly a week after the visit to the gypsy camp, James was feeling sociable enough to do some shopping - a pass time he'd always found to be therapeutic. He hadn't had any money on him at the time so he'd made his way to the Bank of Bowerstone were his family held an account, fully intending to draw out enough gold to buy at least three new outfits and a ridiculously expensive lunch. He felt he deserved it after the foul week he'd had.

However, upon arriving at the bank he'd been informed rather grandly by the snooty clerk that his father had recently closed the account to everyone but himself, and that she was very sorry but James was not authorized to withdraw any gold at that time. She'd seemed awfully pleased about this.

"Father!" James snarled as soon as he'd returned home. "Where is he?"

Laura looked up in surprise from where she sat in front of the fire, sewing, then glanced at the ceiling. James followed her gaze. There was a moment of silence then the floorboards upstairs creaked towards the staircase. A moment later Edmund descended, looking slightly more like his usual dignified self, but there was still something off about him. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and glared at James.

"You'll not take that tone with me, boy." Edmund growled, eyeing his son angrily. "I may be having some... difficulties at the moment, but I'm still your father and you will show me respect. Are we clear?"

James sniffed disdainfully. "You locked mother and me out of the account. Tell me why."

Between them, still sitting beside the fire, Laura gasped and turned her gaze on Edmund. She didn't say anything though. James hadn't expected her to. She was far too weak willed for her own good.

Edmund lowered his head slightly, his brow furrowing further. "That is none of your business." He replied. His tone was dangerous, a warning, but James didn't heed it.

"Like hell it isn't my business." James snapped. "That's my inheritance you've got locked away in there, and I want to know what you're doing with it."

Edmund snorted and crossed the room a few small strides. "Your inheritance?" He repeated, stopping a mere foot from James and leaning forward, so that their noses almost touched. "That could easily change, James. I suggest you watch your tongue."

"Or you'll do what?" James purred, his tone suddenly growing cocky. "Sacrifice me to the Shadows? I've heard they give out bonuses for family-"

He yelped as Edmund struck him with the back of his hand, his head snapping to the side. It wasn't the first time James had been hit as a punishment for his insolence but it had certainly never been so painful in the past. He bit back a whimper of pain, his fist clenching at his sides and kept his head turned away. Had he finally over stepped the mark?

Laura finally found her backbone at this and hurried to stand between her husband and her son. "Edmund, please!" She cried, placing one hand on his chest and the other on James's shoulder, pushing him back.

Edmund ignored her and reached out to grab James's chin, jerking his head around to face him. James kept his eyes averted for a moment, then raised them to meet his father's gaze defiantly.

"Don't you ever mention them in this house again, do you understand?" Edmund snarled through gritted teeth. "If I ever hear their name spoken under this roof, I will disown you without a second thought. You will lose everything. Your inheritance, your name, everything. You will be nobody."

James jerked his head out of his father's painfully tight grip and took a step back. "You're mad." He replied quietly, his mood once again sober. "I don't know what you've done, but if mother and I get caught up in this you can keep your money. Some things I can't forgive you for."

---

He hadn't waited around to hear his father's response to that. Instead he'd fled to Bowerstone Market. Hopefully, by the time he dared to return home his mother would have calmed his father down enough that he wouldn't be shot on sight. Just to be on the safe side though, he wasn't going back until the next day. He'd rent a bed at the Cow and Corset. It wasn't such a bad little place, despite the riffraff it typically served.

Idling down the road at approximately the speed of a snail, James pondered what he was supposed to do with himself for the rest of the day. He only had enough money on him to rent a bed, not even enough to buy a meager lump of Fairfax Delight. He couldn't even afford Fairfax Delight! The very thought made his skin crawl.

He stepped into the market square proper and fell to a stop, listening to the typical town noises. To his left he could hear the sound of horses tromping up the road to the coach house by the city gates. He could hear the stall vendors shouting out about their wares. To his right, he could hear the rhythmic metallic beating of the blacksmith's workshop.

James froze, eyeing the blacksmith's building stealthily. After a moment's internal struggle with himself, he wandered towards the noise. A wooden beam at the front of the shop proved to be the perfect place to lean casually and watch the current blacksmith's apprentice work.

Now, James would never have admitted it to anyone, because he certainly wasn't interested in rough trade, but he did rather enjoy watching sweaty, muscular, shirtless men beating living hell out of weapons. There was simply something terribly exotic about watching lower class men work for a living.

This one was new by the looks of it. At least, James didn't recall having ever seen him before. He wasn't as powerfully built as the master blacksmith who was standing off to the side watching him, but he was still bigger than James. His hair was long, probably down to the bottom of his shoulder blades when he stood up straight and dark brown. For the moment it was loose, obscuring his face, but James didn't mind so much. He was too busy admiring the rest of the view. Covertly, of course.

The apprentice was topless, a must considering the hot, bubbling forge not far away from him, the red glow from the furnace casting a strange, warm hue over his skin. His torso was slick with sweat, making him glisten in the light. His muscles, though not particularly prominent yet, still shifted in an attractive way. Occasionally he would grunt with the effort of striking the metal just right. James shifted and bit his lower lip, forcing himself to look away for a moment lest he embarrass himself in public.

There was a thunk and hiss as the apprentice tossed the finished blade into the vat of water beside him, a cloud of steam billowing upwards. James glanced back at the sound and watched as the apprentice placed the hammer down for a moment to tie back his hair. James watched, utterly fascinated as the stranger's stomach and chest was fully exposed for a moment, his gaze inadvertently following the little trail of dark hair just above the waistband of his trousers. They weren't very nice trousers, but James decided he could probably forgive the apprentice that little transgression considering the delightful show he'd put on so far-

No. No, no, no, no, no.

No.

It was Sparrow. That foul, insolent, filthy, arrogant bastard of a gypsy.

James stood frozen, staring at Sparrow's suddenly unhidden face. It was definitely Sparrow. How could James possibly forget that face, that smug, malicious little grin. Sniffing angrily, he gave Sparrow another once over. Hmph. Look at him, he thought. No muscles to be seen anywhere. It was positively pathetic. And all that sweat. He must have a problem with his glands. And those trousers were simply vile.

Turning swiftly on his heel, James marched away, trying not to look too flustered and probably failing. Damn his pale skin anyway. He hurried up Posh Street towards Fairfax Gardens. He would spend his day there and only return to Bowerstone Market to rent his room for the night. After all, why would a filthy, good for nothing gypsy like Sparrow show his face in the Gardens?

---

As it turned out, for once, James was lucky. Sparrow didn't turn up in the Gardens and he enjoyed a nice, relaxing day among people of his own class. Well, okay. Perhaps they weren't quite his class. These 'upper class' twits were utter fools, and James had long since decided he wouldn't be seen dead wearing that foul white make up or those disturbing hairstyles. He was quite content with his perfect little blonde curls, thank you kindly.

As evening began to draw in, James headed back towards the Cow and Corset. He was tired, hungry and unhappy. Still, if he did manage to get to sleep in one of those 'beds' at least it wouldn't bother him so much. As soon as he woke up he'd head home, make sad eyes at his mother and eat until he couldn't move.

He made his way through the darkening streets, passing under the warm puddles of light from the street lamps and finally stepped into the tavern. It was warm and smelled like food and James's stomach snarled angrily at being deprived. He grimaced and patted it gently then weaved his way between the tables over to the bar.

The landlord looked up as he approached; placing down the cup he was cleaning for a moment. James suspected the man could probably smell money from a mile off. Well. Too bad for him, since James had nothing to spend.

"What can I do for you, young sir?" The landlord asked, dipping his head in a mockery of a bow.

"I'd like to rent a room for the night." James replied wearily, already reaching for his small purse.

"Ah," The landlord winced politely. "I'm afraid I just rented out my second room a few minutes ago. Terribly sorry."

James paused with his hand hovering over his money bag, a look of absolute disbelief etched across his features. "I beg your pardon," He said, in a dangerously low tone, "but you did what?"

The landlord quickly nodded past James's shoulder at one of the tables behind him. "I gave it to him. You know, if you want to negotiate."

James turned to see who the landlord had indicated and very nearly spat in rage. It was him. Again. Sparrow was sitting at one of the tables up the steps behind him. No, not sitting, sprawling. He sat in the chair, one arm slung over the back of it, his legs stretched out like he own the place. He was watching James and when their eyes met he lifted his tankard, winked and took a swig.

The smirk never once left his face.

Is it wrong that James's hatred of Sparrow amuses me so? O.o

R&R if you feel like it.