Dammit Vermillion.
Mother always warned me that the fey were never to be trusted. They were beautiful and cunning and would talk you into killing yourself if you weren't careful. She was right; I had seen many a moron die at the hands of fairies, purely out of their own stupidity. They were always too distracted by the fey's magical perfection to notice that they were being drowned or fed to some kind of plant.
This is why I was just going to stab and run.
But itwas my mentor so it was okay.
The fey was doubled over on his knees behind me, "Ah! You should have seen your face!" He barked out, overjoyed and downright giddy. Vermillion's strange laugh, metallic and echoing, bubble into the air filling my ears like water.
I sheathed my blade and narrowed my eyes at him. I didn't like the fact that I had so easily let my guard down. It was a rooky mistake that often gotten you killed, "Not cool, I was this close from stabbing you!" I hold up my thumb and index finger and put an inch of space between them.
I never keep company with anyone, let alone fairies, but Mill was different.
He was . . . entertaining? Dangerously so.
Also, people backed off when Vermillion was around, no one really liked getting in between the fey and their pets (that's what they called humans that worked with these glittery freaks).
"Yes, but you did not," he smiled, transforming his angular face, his pale violet skin shimmering in the light. Damn fairies and their perfections. I should've stabbed him just to see his face, but then I would've had to listen to his bitching.
I cannot believe you! Blah blah blah! You got blood all over my new robes! And so on and so forth.
His smile drops and he gets a serious tone, "Come, it is time to continue your lessons," he levitates into a standing position with one sift motion. I frown and flip him the bird, tromping towards my house. His serious face breaks after only a few moments.
He follows me, giggling and making rhymes about the scenery, his feet never hitting the ground.
Such a fucking fairy!
I throw my front door open and sling my satchel full of goodies across the kitchen floor waiting for the fey to follow me in, but he's still waiting in the doorway.
When I look back to see what's taking him so long I see he's just standing there, his lean form unnaturally still and straight. His feet are finally on the floor, I note, and he was wearing his armor for once. It shimmered and shined, the light moving like a slippery fish. Usually he only wore his armor when the Unseelie had him out on a mission.
"What is wrong with you now?" I snort.
His expression is a mask of indifference and impatience making him look like the porcelain solider that he is. I hated it when he gave me that stare. It looked dead, but alive, and it freaked me right the fuck out, but I force myself to keep eye contact.
After a moment it cracks and he giggles like a fool, "You have to invite me in Meus Amet¹," he flashes his long canines at me and blows a kiss. I flinch ready to dodge incase it's a spell, but it's blank.
I let go a breath I didn't know I was holding, "You're not a vampire. You're a pansy," he pouts at me in mock hurt and slams the door ruefully like an annoyed child, making some of his dust fly off and swirl around the room. How dare I not play along.
The dust wafted around the corner turning and swirling like a great cosmic galaxy, sparkling and twinkling like the brightest of stars. Great, that corner is going to glow in the dark now.
"Watch the pixie shit," I grunt as I shoulder past him to my kitchen counter. He schools his face into a frown and his eyes gleam a dark red. Uh oh, I think I just pushed a sparkly button.
"Do. Not. Compare me. To that wonderland. Slut!," It's amazing how over dramatic he was.
Mill wasn't all too fond of pixies. For him, they were the equivalent to horny mosquitoes, with their annoying buzzing wings and weak little lust charms. Apparently they would screw a pile of feces if they were bored enough (his words not mine).
I watch him for a moment, amused. He always reminded me of fire, flowing along trail of gasoline, flaring and dimming.
He flicks his long red tresses off his shoulder in a dramatic fashion and struts my way (a few inches off the floor) with his nose in the air. His red hair flies around his head, catching a halo of gold light, moving like flame.
Vermillion's tall form slips its way to my kitchen, effortlessly jumps onto my counter, and crosses his legs into the lotus position likes it is the most comfortable thing in the world. Every movement about him was to graceful and so hypnotizing, like quick silver.
He watches me from the corner of his eye, "Like what you see human?"
I make a show of rolling my eyes back and gagging, "As if I want something that reminds me of glitter on a stick."
He makes a humph, "How about a quick review of what we practiced earlier," He cracks a smile and blows another kiss my way. This one packed up with his sparkling magic, "counter attacking spells."
I see it coming at me at break neck speeds and nearly dodge it, but it grazes my cheek, "Dammit Mill!" now I have shit load of glitter on my face, "That spell doesn't have a counter attack!"
"This I know," his metallic laugh fills the room. His eyes dance a pale pink and I swear to God that I'm just going to clobber him in the face.
I clench my fingers tight and get my muscles ready to move, but I release the aggression with a grunt. Damn.
If I hit him, then that would be breaking that cursed pact; he would totally fuck my shit up, "How about we focus on spells that you actually can fight off."
"What fun is that?"
Fucking fairy . . .
Charles Offdenson was a genius. He was able to take five of the most bull-headed-ignorant-sons-a-bitches and turn them into the strongest force the world has ever known. He was a financial savant and had a tongue as sharp as his sword. He talked the Devil himself into a chokehold contract and spat right in Death's eye without a second of hesitation. When the fairies started to act up, he was the one that forced them into the blood pact. Invulnerable immortals his left ass cheek. No one was completely invulnerable. Not even him, The Great OFC.
No one could even try to look down on him or his mass empire.
No One.
Yet . . . there was one.
Well there was more than one; of course, he was sure there were many who were not completely satisfied with the world as it is. Even if this were a Utopia (the one that humanity has been fighting to reach since the very beginning), there would be a handful of naysayers. It was inevitable.
This statistic he could handle. He could handle the plagues of diseases and he could handle the famine and he certainly could handle these few unhappy citizens. Except that one.
These others, they were silent, too terrified of their Overlords to even try to step out of line, but this one. Ah, this one little girl! All by on her own, just decided that it was okay to take justice, Offdenson's justice, into her little hands. It would not have bothered him if she was just killing off some useless Kloketeers every now and then, making it a lot easier for him to trim the fat. It was the fact that she had the gall, the disrespectful audacity to challenge his throne, his way of life even, by going after his Elite Patrol. And using magic, of all things, to do so!
Oh no no, she was just pushing all of his wrong buttons.
Offdenson sat in his large leather office chair, his face drowned in the warm red light of the setting sun. His left hand holding his brandy and his right thrumming at his desk slowly. He sat himself back, basking in the dimming light, contemplating his next move.
In the twilight light, others could easily notice his no longer human eyes. The pin prick pupils dilating in thick slashes and shifting with each thought. A perk from his contract.
"Number-360, how goes the background check on, uh, Ms. Chillings?"
He had already had a handful done on her, but they all proved to be incorrect. The ages all mismatched, her family information incorrect, and her bios all wrong. Most of the pictures weren't even of her. This girl was skilled in what she did. She kept her tracks covered to the point of nonexistence, a feat not easily done and one that he applauded.
"Better sire, we finally got a shot of her full face," the Kloketeer slide the photo across the massive oak desk into his masters reach. It showed a zoomed in, slightly pixilated profile of a young girl with piercing green eyes throwing a sword in the air, "A security camera caught it earlier today. It's the first one we found were her hood was off."
Offdenson observed her features memorizing every detail. She was probably in her late teens, maybe twenty. The focus in her eye was unsettling, she was far too confident for someone in her position. The simple flick of her wrist showed she knew how to use the sword she was currently tossing and the fact that there is a dead Kloketeer in the background shows how little she cared for the laws of this new world. This girl was dangerous and she knew it.
If it weren't for the fact that she made the one mistake of stepping on his toes, he would've hired her as an elite. He was absolutely going to have to do something about this before it got more out of hand, " Please, uh, send a message to my personal guard," he swirled his brandy in his glass, his gold cufflinks catching the orangey light of smog, "I'm, uh, going for a stroll today."
"You are so lucky you're a god damn fairy," I pant out, prostrate on the ground, with my face mercifully in the dirt.
Mill had sent a bazillion different mental attacks at me at once, apparently my mental shields were lacking. I was able to block the really lethal suggestions, like the suicide attempts, the sexual hazes, and the personality switches, but one of the minor ones slipped by.
I spent the last half hour trying to undo the dance spell he threw in for kicks.
Mill's smile spilt his face, "I had no idea you could move so gracefully Meus Amet," he held his slim hand against his mouth holding in his laugh. He knew if he laughed one more time, I would stab him.
"You are getting better," he squeaked out, "That mental counter only took you a third of a time of your last attempt," he sent a sparkling ball of energy at me full force.
I turn on my side and easily stop the spell, containing it within my own hands, then shoot it back tenfold. All without getting up. Physical attacks I could handle any day of the week. So long as you timed yourself right you could stop any, no matter the strength. Or, I could. My physical magic was crazy. I could take down an Ogre if I really wanted, which is impressive from any perspective.
But Vermillion has proved that time and time again that it didn't mean much if my mental barrier was weak. It didn't matter that I could probable stop a stampeding elephant with my hands if a pixy could convince me to jump into a ravine.
Or in this case, dance until I couldn't feel my legs anymore.
The fey only smiled and levitated me off my resting place so that I was a foot away from the floor. My hair forming a curtain around my face and my fingers brushing against the floor limply, "Gee thanks. That makes me feel a ton better."
"Have you been practicing like I said," Mill gently rubs my back, pushing healing magic in, trying to curb my fatigue. I'm grateful until he grabs my ass like the pervert he is.
I groan and try to kick him half-hazardously. I really didn't care anymore, I was just tired and wanted to sleep, "I've been using some simple ones on the local thugs," I pause thinking of how easy it had been in the heat of battle, " and I got a group of elite to feed themselves to the mermaids," I would have went into more detail, but my voice was tired from the supreme exertion I just went through. Using mental magic took a thousand times more energy than physical and I just wanted to lie there undisturbed.
Vermillion sighed and mumbled something incoherent in elf (which was his native tongue) and gently guided my floating form back into the house. Once we enter the household, he dropped me face first on the tile of the kitchen floor, "It was my instructions for you to practice on fairies, not some stupid humans."
"Dick."
"Your Divinity," A Kloketeer with a specialized leather mask cautiously approached the thoughtful Offdenson. When a slight wave encouraged him to speak, he took a careful breath, "your speculations were correct sire. Well, you obviously knew that already. You're never wrong about such things. Anybody with a brain . . ."he stopped. He was rambling and that wasn't a smart move in front of the OFC. The Kloketeers took another breath to calm himself, " The girl is a pet of a fairy," Offdenson raised an eyebrow at the Kloketeers nervous body motions, but nodded for him to finish, "It seems that the fairy she belongs to is Vermillion."
"Vermillion?" Offdenson raised his eyebrows. Well that was a surprise. The Kloketeer nodded his head vehemently. Now he did not expect such a powerful and esteemed fairy behind her tutorship.
Fairies as high up as Vermillion usually didn't keep company with humans, but it did explain a lot. From what that pictured showed, he understood how she attracted the attention of the Unseelie general, "Uh, well it seems we have ourselves a bigger problem then I, uh, thought," his glasses flashed. Vermillion wasn't going to just let him take away his pet. He was going to have to put more caution than what he wanted into this.
"Are my travel preparations complete?" The servant nodded again, "Good. Let's go make a house call."
Mues Amet: (latin) my pet
A/N: There is going to be a lot more of Charles (I hope I didn't make too OOC) in the next chapter and possible a début of the boys. Also some bad ass fairy fights with the elite klokers is going down.
So read and review!