A.N: Sorry for the wait, I got a little sidetracked by an idea for a new Vampire Knight fic (but I was already halfway finished with this chapter so I decided to finish and update it anyway) which will be gothic oneshots based on fairytales and folktales around the globe. Anyway really like this chapter because things start to gain momentum and… well you'll see the other reason during this chapter. Anyway, on with the chapter!
I do not own Code Geass, because if I did, Lelouch would be handcuffed to my bed.
Mosaic Fragments
Stuck together haphazardly, making a pretty pattern, making no sense, making me smile. The pattern's getting blurred now. Or is it just the tears in my eyes? Why do I cry? Pretty patterns never last, not forever. That's why. - Expert from Mental Mosaic by Denrele Ogunwa
It was a balmy summer day in the city of Oxford, the sun beaming brightly in the cloudless azure sky. Traffic on the freeway moved along at a comfortable pace, not at all in the intolerable rate that was customary. Perhaps it was partially due to the heat of the day or perhaps it was because of the fact that all the busybodies were trying to decorate Rose Avenue for the upcoming Independence Parade. Whatever the case those that were in a hurry thanked whatever the reason and traveled merrily to their destinations.
David rode down the freeway on his motorbike-something else he'd splurged to buy himself a month ago- chestnut hair whipping around his helmet. He was late and frankly he didn't give a damn, Regina should learn to start scheduling him for the afternoon instead of mornings. It wasn't like he needed the money anyhow, he just enjoyed the sport. He flicked his turning signal and leaned slightly to the side, veering onto the next exit, speeding down the spiraling pass until he hit the highway. He drove for a mile or so more, continuing down the highway even as the traffic slowed and the condition of the neighborhood degenerated until he found himself in the slums.
He stopped his motorbike on the curb in front of a Chinese restaurant, The Gold Dragon, casting a glance at the brawny man sitting on the steps of the eatery smoking what appeared to be a cigarette but definitely did not smell like one. The man's name was Jimmy; he would make sure Lelouch's ride was intact when he departed. He lifted his helmet from his head and hung it on the handlebars, striding past Jimmy without gawking at his number of tattoos and piercings. Moments later after he'd bypassed the Oriental themed dining area, he came to a door in the far corner of the busy kitchen. Without hesitating he rapped on the slotted door in an abnormal succession.
The slot opened and two pairs of eyes became visible in the small space before closing the aperture again. Locks clinked as they were unbolted and unlatched before the door was pulled open by an elderly man with spectacles on his face. "Ah, Mister Drake, come in. Regina has been waiting for you."
He gave a quick gesture of acknowledgement to the doorman before entering the area. The room was alive with activity. The sounds of tiles being rattled, cards being shuffled, and chatter among the betters and competitors filled his ears. Nicotine and other harmful pollutants stemming from the cigars and cigarettes the gamblers and competitors tended to smoke filled the air, causing him to give a slight cough. He frowned deeply. He was going to have to stop coming here, because there was no way in hell that he was going to die from a habit that he didn't even indulge in. With an arrogant tilt of his head he followed the old man, stopping when his sponsor, Regina stepped in front of him.
"You're late," Regina chided lowly.
Lelouch shrugged. "Then schedule my matches in the afternoons so I won't be," he replied sharply. Regina was a middle-aged woman with a beautiful face, statuesque body, and a thing for young pretty boys like him. Although she was a trophy to most young men he was not attracted to her-- she was way too greedy and petty and thus undesirable in his eyes. He didn't flinch when green eyes flared with irritation and she flipped her fiery red hair.
"Just get over there."
Lelouch glared at her momentarily, not liking the idea of being ordered to do anything, and strode to the table at which a rather obese man sat. He dropped into the chair, ignoring, for the moment, the crowd that had seemed to instantly appear out of nowhere once he sat down. His piercing blue eyes fixed themselves on his rotund opponent, noting the bad comb-over and beady eyes.
"David Drake," he greeted a derisive sneer on his thin lips. "I thought Regina's prized commodity and such an acclaimed player would be older."
A few members of the surrounding crowd sniggered softly.
Lelouch crossed his legs and presented a cool expression. "And what is your name?"
He smiled proudly, showing straight white teeth. "John Pembrooke. One of the best players you'll ever meet."
Lelouch restrained a snort. This man did not look like he was on the same level of Schneizel. "Then perhaps you can enlighten me as to why- despite your age and supposed skill- your name hasn't even tickled my ears whereas you apparently know mine?"
John's eyes widened and his round face reddened in indignation. "An insolent tongue for such a young whelp."
The small crowd fell silent watching the exchange.
He sneered scathingly at the much younger man. "I say her confidence in you is ill-advised," he growled, the extra skin sagging from his chin rippling with every word he muttered.
Lelouch maintained his indifferent façade. "Then let us allow our skills to end this argument," he responded challengingly, gesturing towards the chess set before them.
Thirty minutes later, John stared incredulously at his tipped over white king piece. "H--?" He stammered, hardly able to believe that he was beaten so easily and in such a short amount of time.
A sense of triumph rolled through him at the man's amazed countenance. "I suppose you were the one ill-advised." That utterly incredulous expression plastered on his opponents' faces when he mopped the chessboard with them never became monotonous.
After the winnings were gathered and counted Regina kissed his cheek softly, allowing her lips to linger for several excruciating seconds before she drew away. "You are truly amazing Mister Drake," she purred hungrily into his ear.
He pushed his chair back and stood, ready to leave before Regina decided to have one of her muscle-bound minions haul him to her bedroom. "I know, now if you'll excuse me I must be going." He gave her hand a gentlemanly kiss before turning to leave.
John, whose face was currently flaming with infuriation, slammed his salami-sized fists on the table, rattling the chess set. "I demand a rematch!!" He bellowed, his gruff voice echoing through the room, getting the attention of other pools of gamblers.
Lelouch turned upon the man, smirking arrogantly. "Why? No matter how many matches we have the result will be the same… I will crush you." With that he turned and swaggered through the line the crowd had formed for him.
Later he strolled down the urban street, secretly missing the lush scenery of the Garden District, and stopped at a baby blue townhouse flanked between the bookstore and the burlesque club. The townhouse was quaint with a classic white picket fence enclosing it and its impeccably kept flowers and neatly trimmed hedges. He walked through the opening that led to the driveway, past the glossy, black car and to the white door.
He rang the doorbell twice and waited. The door opened and an elderly lady in a wheelchair sat there. Her green eyes sparkled when she saw him.
"David! Come in, come in." She wheeled the chair backwards and to the side to allow him entrance, shutting the door behind him. "Stella is going to be so surprised to see you."
He followed her into the den, listening as Penny continued prattling on. It had been two weeks since the last time he and Stella had screwed and honestly he was so horny it was starting to ache. He was here for only two reasons: he didn't feel like going through the hassle to find another fuck buddy when she already knew his true identity and his hand could only get him so far.
"The girl has been working nonstop taking care of both the shop and me since my follow-up surgery I had two weeks ago."
"Auntie Penny…?" She stopped in the archway of the den, her eyes falling instantly to him.
He smirked when he saw the appraising gaze she ran over his body, her eyes subtly gleaming with raw need. Then, he raised an eyebrow when he noticed the casual sundress, the lack of makeup, and the wisps of golden brown hair falling rebelliously from her ponytail. She looked… natural and he found that it felt pleasant to see her so relaxed. "You look like hell," he observed blandly. The glare she sent his direction told him loud and clear that she was too stressed for his shit right now.
"Yeah, well getting only four hours of sleep every night for two weeks will do that to you." Then she directed her attention to her aunt. "Auntie Penny you're not supposed to be up you could strain yourself!" She scolded her aunt scampering over to grasp he handlebars of the wheelchair to take her back to her room. "I'm taking you back to your room."
Lelouch watched in amusement as the gray-haired woman struck at Stella's hands to keep her at bay, landing a firm strike that discouraged the younger female to pursue her previous course. He fought the tug at the corners of his mouth when she drew away rubbing her stinging hands while sending a glare to her aunt.
"I'm fine, I even worked in the garden today while you were out," she announced triumphantly.
"What!" She exclaimed. "The doctor said--."
"I don't think she cares what the doctors say." He put in, giving a shrug when she glowered at him. It was fun teasing her when she was already on the receiving end of her aunt's taunting.
Penny waved dismissively at the mentions of doctors. "Doctors schmoctors," she snorted, wheeling her way towards the kitchen. "Bunch of butchers with degrees the entire lot of them. Telling me I can't work in my garden for a month. Why that's utter nonsense!"
Stella, followed by Lelouch, sighed at her aunt's headstrongness. "But Auntie Penny they are just trying to make sure you recuperate at the desired pace."
"What did you cook for dinner?"
"Spaghetti cabonara but--."
"Good, I love spaghetti cabonara." She wheeled her way into the tastefully decorated country kitchen and went straight to the stove. "Now you two go on, I'll be fine."
Stella took down a plate from one of the white cabinets and sat it on the counter. "But Auntie--" She lifted the lid from the pot, releasing the delectable aroma of its contents.
Penny clicked her tongue. "Don't worry I'll be fine. Now you go on and give David here some loving. I'm pretty sure he's tired of doing it on his own," she said casually, a perverted twinkle glittering in her old eyes.
Lelouch smirked, finding the flaming scarlet coloring Stella's face quite entertaining. Penny was by far one of his favorite old people, because he could hardly ever predict what was coming out of her mouth next.
Stella covered her forehead, giving an exasperated sigh. God why did her aunt always have to talk about 'relations'? "I'll go if that means you won't say something so crude again."
Penny chuckled. "You're so squeamish, just like your mother." She found a spoon in the silverware drawer and began scooping spoonfuls onto her plate. "Take the car. You'll get there faster."
"Yes ma'am." She picked the car keys from the hook attached to the monthly planner bulletin board posted on the wall and scurried out of the kitchen with him in tow, hoping to get away before her aunt embarrassed her anymore.
Lelouch allowed her tug him out by the arm, sending a glance down to those gorgeous legs. "I wanted some spaghetti cabonara." He pouted. Now that they were so close he saw that the sundress was slightly see-through and he could discern a pair of black panties. And he would bet his bottom dollar that those panties were lace, which meant that she was wearing the matching bra that lifted and separated. Thinking about her bra and panties made him imagine what body parts were beneath those same garments which in turn sent a spike of heat to the pit of his belly. Shit. He'd never thought that he would ever crave so much for sex, but at the moment he was so horny he wanted to drag her upstairs to her room and pound her into the mattress.
She glowered over her shoulder. "No spaghetti for you."
He smirked, unable to fight the urge to taunt her. "Well don't punish me just because you're trying to escape before your aunt embarrasses you again," he said nonchalantly, an impish edge to her voice. They'd made it to the house entrance when Penny shouted to get their attention. He couldn't help but give a tiny smirk when she audibly groaned.
"Too late," he spoke with a wicked grin. "I'm going to guess that you'll turn tomato red this time. Or perhaps beet." The hard glare she aimed at him only fueled his fun.
"I'm so glad you're enjoying my discomfort so much you sadist," she snapped playfully.
It was true. He was enjoying her obvious mortification too much, but if he had known why the elderly woman had halted their departure he would have got the hell outta dodge at top speed. But he didn't know, so he just regarded her with glittering eyes as she approached them.
"I forgot to give you something."
He quirked an eyebrow when she took his hand in both of hers, cheeks coloring slightly when he realized what she'd put in his hands. What the hell was an old woman doing carrying these things around? She was waaay past the age of fertility.
"I don't want you getting my niece preggers," she elaborated, suspiciously narrowing her eyes at him.
"Ohmigod." He heard Stella moan when she realized what was in his hand."
"Now you be sure to use those David. I didn't know if you were a magnum or what so I just got one size fits all," she explained as if she were stating the most natural thing on earth.
Stella would swear that her face was melting by now.
He stared down at the three square packets in the palms in his hand, reading the words TROJAN ECSTASY, stamped across them in bold print. "Yes ma'am." Okay now he was experiencing discomfort but nowhere near as mortified as his partner. He didn't know what embarrassed him most; the fact that she went shopping for condoms for them or that she attempted to guess his 'size'.
"Good, now don't let this pretty boy talk you into not using them because 'they take away the feeling'," she preached to her niece firmly. "Remember, no glove no love."
"Yes ma'am," she mumbled sheepishly, wanting to fling herself off the nearest skyscraper at the moment.
"Now go, and have a good time."
Lelouch jumped at the dismissal, ushering her out of the home and into the summer evening almost before Penny finished talking. "I feel sorry for you." He stated simply, swaggering over to the passenger side of the automobile.
She unlocked the doors with the key and opened the door. "Me too. She climbed into the car, smiling when it roared to life at the turn of the ignition. "Sooo did your--"
He knew exactly what she was trying to say. "I do not masturbate." He clicked his seatbelt into place, gripping the dashboard when she came just shy of knocking the mailbox over on the way out of the driveway.
She scowled and tightened her hold on the steering wheel. "Then how else did you relieve yourself? Do you have another screw toy I don't know about?"
He snorted and rolled his eyes dramatically. Goddamnit, he was caught in another trap. "No."
"So… you jerked off?"
He set his lips into a thin line. "I'm not going to dignify that question with an answer." He ignored the subsequent laugh she gave even if it did remind him of tinkering wind chimes.
The black muscle car sat in the driveway of Lelouch's seaside condo, each of its windows fogged from the heated activity that had just finished transpiring. Lelouch lay draped over his lover, a foot braced on the floor, basking in the afterglow of their lust and passion put into action. Having sex in the backseat of Penny's car (Stella sold hers to make a payment on some of her aunt's medical bills) was a first for him and he found it rather exhilarating.
He leaned over, whispering breathy sweet-nothings in Japanese in her ear before dropping to lathe her slender neck in tender kisses. Deep down, he knew that the frenzied almost animalistic sex that they'd just had was a rare occurrence that stemmed from weeks of unfulfilled fleshly cravings, and it immensely unsettled him. But for now he would-- His thoughts halted on a dime when she took in a deep gasp, finally comiing down from her euphoria, causing her bosoms to press into the smooth planes of his chest.
"Well, the stress is gone." She played her fingers through his dark tresses, smiling at him with slight ecstasy-hazed eyes. "And I can't believe we just did that."
"Was that your first time in the backseat?" He teased, enjoying the way the red mark he'd just made contrasted against her milky skin. His own secret mark of possession.
"No." She stretched languidly, arching her back against the leather seat. "It was just my first time in the backseat in broad daylight."
"I found it rather thrilling." He brushed back a few strands of golden brown hair barring his way to assault her ear and started hungrily nibbling on the shell.
She closed her eyes, giving a sigh of pleasure. "Of course you would, you're a pervert."
He ceased nibbling the shell of her ear and stared down at her. "What ever am I going to do with that damned impudent mouth of yours?" He smiled softly as her cheeks reddened when she saw the lewd glint he allowed to come to his eyes. He propped himself up on forearm, using that hand to grasp a fistful of her hair and wrench her head back. Without any preamble, he possessed her full rosy lips, plunging his tongue into her warm cavern, while his other hand left soft caresses on its descent below her navel. Mercilessly he plundered her delectable mouth, the other hand between her legs deftly working its magic. His heart leapt dramatically, heat pooling in the pit of his belly as all the blood in his body seemed to drain to one spot in his body.
She shuddered uncontrollably and arched into his ministrations, digging her nails into the skin of his shoulders.
Inwardly he smiled when she cried into the kiss, breaking away to look down at her. Damn she was so beautiful when desire hazed those blue-gray eyes like that. She was his. The body reacting so wonderfully to his every touch belonged to him. Despite the fact that she felt like fire in his arms and he wanted so badly to take her again, he knew better (just in case someone saw the car bouncing and decided they wanted to come watch the show like the Coppertons). He caressed and stroked her for a brief while longer until her want was palpable before stopping, grinning to himself when she whimpered longingly. He raised himself upright and withdrew, prompting her to moan yearningly from the sudden absence.
"I hate you." She sulked, a very becoming blush pervading her face.
He buckled his pants and placed his wig on, reaching down to pull her sundress down to conceal her bosoms. "I hate you as well." The dubious expression on her face clued him into to what was really going through her mind. "If I hated you I wouldn't have the desire to have sex with you now would I?"
"Uhm…no?"
He threw the black lacy panties in her face with an indignant air. "I'm thrilled that you're so immensely confident in my morale," he stated with mild annoyance. He watched with rapt eyes when she lifted her legs and spread them as she started wriggling into her panties, baring her womanhood with the evidence of their recent exertion still visibly clinging to it. His irritation melted away, leaving only wanton desire. Dammit, can't you think of anything else Lelouch? "Hurry it up so we can get out of here."
Hours later, Lelouch lay on his side elbow bent, head propped up on a hand, watching the woman alongside him sleep. He wished that he had never met her. His life had been simple, mundane even, before she came along. Now, things were complicated. He silently berated himself for being so foolish to think that their "arrangement" would never be anything but empty pleasure.
He didn't know when it happened. Perhaps it was the afternoon he took her on the bathroom floor and found himself chanting her name while in the throes of completion, or the first time he began whispering soft endearments in her ear, or the morning he discovered that he actually enjoyed waking up to her warmth that was the turning point. He didn't know when things had changed between now and three months ago. All he knew was that between then and now their relationship had evolved from a meaningless way to fulfill carnal cravings to something deeper. Somehow or another-over time- they'd connected on an emotional level and that frightened him no matter how adamantly he tried to deny it.
He hadn't planned for this and he usually planned for everything. This was unexpected, he never thought he would gain any affection for a person like her, but maybe that was the reason why he did. Stella dabbled in neither masks nor pretenses; the person she showed on the outside was the real deal. It was a beautiful trait that he sometimes wished he had the bravery to display, but it made her an open book to a manipulative person like him, which made it easy to take advantage. As of yet, he had not availed himself to take advantage of her (okay maybe he had once or twice but only with little things).
Tenderly, he skimmed his fingertips over her eyebrow, down the soft curvature of her jaw, and back up to her left ear. He stared closely at her ear, raising himself up so he could see the dimly glowing eraser-sized device sitting inconspicuously in her ear. It was an ear implant, the consequence of her ex-boyfriend's idea that it would be fun to take a metal rod to her skull. Now, she was deaf in one ear and had to wear that implant (which had to be recharged twice every year).
He sent a dark scowl her way. This was all her fault. She was a villainess, the bane of the darkness that enshrouded him, the temptress that seduced him into the light and he abhorred her for making him feel something other than despair and anguish. He sighed heavily and dropped a kiss on her cheek, allowing his lips to linger briefly. He turned over and cut on the wall-lamp, illuminating the room, before using the remote to turn on the flat screen television secured tightly to the wall facing the bed. The sheets rustled as he sat up and reached for the cordless phone, dialing one of the restaurants' numbers he'd committed to memory. He glanced down when she turned over and those bluish-gray orbs fluttered open.
"Are you ordering takeout because I'm famished." She cuddled close, nuzzling his side with her nose, and looked up at him with a warm smile.
He wanted to push her away and reiterate rather vehemently how much he didn't like cuddling, but the affectionate expression on her face pulled the strings of his heart. With an inaudible resigned sigh, he fondly patted those mussed up brunette locks. "The fact that you are 'famished' comes as no surprise and yes I'm ordering takeout."
"Chinese?" She asked hopefully. He however squashed that hope when he answered.
"Mediterranean." He turned his attention to the phone when someone answered.
"Aladdin's home of Mediterranean cuisine how may I help you?"
"Yes, I would like risotto al a parmigiana, tomato bruschetta, and a small order of zeppoli." He glanced at her expectantly.
"Chicken gyro with dill sauce, spanakorizo, and fanourapita cake," she replied, remembering the menu from Aladdin's by heart (hey it was their favorite restaurant).
He glowered after adding up the total for her order. Where the hell did she put all of that food? He repeated her order into the phone, grimacing at the price. After giving them his address, he hanged up the phone. "Your appetite never ceases to irritate me."
She smiled and climbed out of bed, completely naked before putting on a silk robe. "Why? Because proper ladies only eat rabbit food?"
He followed the graceful sway of her hips momentarily as she sauntered towards the adjoining bathroom before answering. "No because it's a chronic drain on my wallet."
"Then I'll pay for my own food. And anyway if you were going to gripe about it you shouldn't have ordered me anything."
"Nonsense," he said, waving her statement away dismissively.
She leaned on the doorway of the bathroom, trying not to show her slight indignation. "Then if you don't want me asserting my independence in this matter then why are you complaining?"
Shit. Argument approaching. "Stating a fact is not complaining." He smiled slyly. "Besides, a gentleman always takes the tab for his lady."
"Gentleman?" She arched an eyebrow. "I thought you were a devil."
"Only when the time calls for it," he answered smoothly.
She chuckled and disappeared in the bathroom.
He gave a soft smile. Maybe C.C. was right; maybe he could allow himself to have a normal life this time around. He stared wistfully at the television. C.C. He missed his green haired accomplice. He wondered if she was okay and what was she doing now. What was he thinking? Of course she was fine, she was an immortal witch. He just hoped she was allowing herself to actually experience life instead of merely existing like a porcelain doll isolated in her own little decorative case. With all his heart, he wished that she was able to really live because, unfortunately, it would seem that he was fulfilling his promise after all. If she was allowing herself to experience and enjoy life, then that meant that they were both living, albeit apart. He clung to the hope that one day he would see her again, and if he didn't then he would hold her in memory until death, just as he would hold his other loved ones in his memory until time claimed him.
He was in such deep wonderment that he didn't even realize Stella was back in the room until he heard a pencil scraping against paper. He raised his violet eyes to the woman sitting on the foot of the bed, leather-bound sketchpad propped up on her knees, drawing him. "I know I'm a work of art, but there is no need to draw me."
She rolled her eyes. "Just be still Captain Ego."
He maintained the cool expression on his face to keep away a smile. Stella was an aspiring artist and a damned good one in his opinion, but-like everything else she did- she doubted her skills. He however recognized her obvious talent. "Rembrandt's Gallery is having a showing for aspiring artists this Friday. Perhaps you could enter one of your paintings." His eyebrows sloped downwards when she firmly wagged her head.
"Nah, I'm not good enough. My painting would probably be the one that stinks up the entire display."
His eyes narrowed. Her insecurities stemmed from the physical and verbal abuse inflicted upon her by her worthless father. "Idiot. Anyone whose painting gets as many praises and offerings as 'Reflections of Titania' is more than ready to have her work shown along with her peers in Rembrandt's Gallery." 'Reflections of Titania' was a portrait she'd painted for him of the fairy queen looking ponderously at her reflection in a shimmering pond that he'd hanged on the wall behind the clerk's desk in the bookstore in which he worked.
Her eyes lifted to his hopefully. "You think so?" She examined his eyes, trying to capture their brilliance on paper.
He nodded. "Yes I do." Her tone was distant, empty as if she were participating in the conversation merely on a subconscious level. "So, where is the mosaic you promised me?"
"In the trunk of the car." She carefully erased something and then redrew it.
"Ah." He reached for the book on the nightstand after several moments of silence.
"Be still," she scolded.
He ignored her and purposely leaned over further to pick up the book, 'V for Vendetta'. "Then hurry it up." He cracked open the book and started reading where he left off.
Moments crawled by and soon… "I'm finished."
"Let me see." He held out a hand.
She shyly handed it to him. "Please tell me what you think and be fruitful if you must." She crawled to his side, examining his face as he inspected her artwork.
He scrutinized the end result, a drawing of him sitting beneath the covers slumped against the headboard, eyes staring straight ahead. It was simplistic and candid, yet intricate. "It is quite lovely."
"Thank you."
"But did you have to draw my bed-head as well?" She'd even captured the longing expression in the depths of his eyes, but he refrained for mentioning that detail.
She grinned evilly. "Yes. I like to draw people in their most candid moments."
He frowned. "I'm guessing that's why you're always sketching me when I first waken from sleep."
"But you're adorable when you're still groggy and haven't changed into your insufferable sourpuss suit yet."
Again he frowned at his partner. "Shut up," he grumbled.
She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the doorbell. "The food's here!" She jumped from his side and hurried out of the room.
Moments later the two sat at the dining table eating their dinner, conversing lightheartedly amidst the classical music playing the background. Lelouch smiled faintly when Stella let out a laugh, reluctantly delighting in the light dancing in her incredible eyes. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen but she was lovely and she was infectious. He cocked an eyebrow when she stared at him inquisitively. Damn, he was caught staring. Again. He averted his eyes and busied himself with daintily biting a chunk of bruschetta bread.
"You were smiling," she stated after swallowing a morsel of her gyro sandwich.
Did she always have to state the obvious? "Since when was it against the law for me to smile?" He snapped defensively. Of course he was aware he'd been smiling, but he just didn't want her to point that fact out.
"No, it's just that seeing the light reach your eyes when you smile is rare. I was just enjoying it is all," she replied softly, feelings stinging from the harshness of his tone.
He inserted a forkful of risotto into his mouth to maintain the cool façade that a smile was threatening to mar. "Well, quietly staring at me like that is quite irritating." He snapped with vain venom. He raised his eyes when she resumed quietly eating, inwardly fighting off a cold realization that at this very moment he was actually… happy.
Somewhere in the EU
Carline smoothed down her short, golden off-the-shoulder dress and followed her sister and Duke Weinheimer-who was carrying a metal case-into the seedy gentleman's club. She ignored the beautiful and well-dressed women flittering about the opulent establishment on the arm of their choice partners for the night. The dresses were trendy but there was enough damned cleavage on display to open a shop. Even if she had never been in one before she knew that the words 'gentleman's club' was just a euphemism for high-class brothel. She frowned when a giggling woman-who was obviously drunk-, led a richly dressed man up the large staircase. Ugh. No matter how bad things got, she promised herself she would never resort to selling her body to survive.
Weinheimer led them past the card and roulette tables, lounge chairs, tastefully decorated dining tables and to the bar. He stopped and leaned over to the barman that was listlessly cleaning a glass. "I would like to speak with Raephe," he said quietly, slipping the man a couple hundred dollar bills. "My friends and I require his… special services."
The barman, George, nodded craftily a sneaky smile on his face. "Follow me."
Carline glanced warily at her sister remembering the small gun strapped to her pantyhose and the knives concealed in her elbow length gloves. If this bartender tried to lead them to their death he had another thing coming. "I don't like this. It feels like we're being led into the lion's den."
Guinevere bobbed her head in agreement. "Perhaps we are, and if that is the case, be ready." She stared unblinkingly at the Duke's back, wondering if he was truly a reliable ally or like that turncoat Diethard she'd heard so much about. If he betrayed them, she would turn Carline loose on him and would make sure to give her the tools she required.
They sauntered down a series of dark halls and up a flight of stairs before they came to door where the sound of obvious merrymaking was heard. George knocked twice, then three times before opening the door, motioning for them to stay put while he entered.
Weinheimer took the bartender's absence to speak to the two ex-princesses. "My ladies when you get in there please be precise and to the point, he is not too particularly fond of small talk."
Guinevere eyed him suspiciously. "I get the impression that you've done this before," she stated disdainfully.
The tall heavily muscled man stroked his beard and chuckled. "Hardly milady. I've simply had my ear to wind is all."
The door swung open and three women, their hair and outfits still in disarray, strutted out of the room, glaring angrily at the unexpected visitors. The duo of princesses shot each other a sideways glance, but refrained from saying what thought traversed their minds.
George motioned for them to enter.
The three of them- Weinheimer taking up the rear- entered the apartment-sized suite, following George into the lounge area. Moonlight filtered into the room casting shadows through the parlor and upon the shoulders and head of the average-sized man standing before the floor-to-ceiling window with his back turned. He gestured towards a nearby sofa when they entered without turning around.
The three of them sat down simultaneously, shifting into regal postures. "I am Guinevere su--" she was impolitely interrupted by the bartender.
"Names are not needed madam," he said tersely from his place near the moonlit baby grand piano.
Carline narrowed her eyes. How dare that worthless alcohol-serving cur interrupt an imperial in mid-sentence! Five years ago he would have been stripped of his clothes and flogged for such an offense. Unfortunately it was the present and the world, her world, had gone to the dogs.
"I see," she replied calmly. "Then I shall cut straight to the chase. My associates and I require your services and we are willing to pay…" She gestured and Weinheimer opened the case in his lap, revealing several stacks of banded bills. "…handsomely."
George scurried forth and took the open case, carrying it to his boss so he could see the money for himself.
"That is only a quarter of what we are willing to pay. Should you choose to take the job you will get the rest upon its completion," she informed him. She drew her back straight and raised herself to her full height to let him know that she was not intimidated and he was not in control of the situation. Of course it was hard not to be intimidated by the immense air of danger surrounding him.
Raephe bobbed his head once.
George closed the case and set it next to his superior's foot. "Raephe requires more information."
Carline rolled her eyes. "What, he couldn't tell us that himself?"
Raephe glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. She was a fool if she thought he couldn't hear her, or perhaps she was unafraid because of the gun strapped to her thigh and the concealed knives in her gloves. Whatever the reason for her rudeness it did not sit well with him. He turned to gauge them. They had all apparently been part of the nobility and their postures told him they were pompous ingrates, but somehow they were different from his previous clients. They were not to be trusted. Of course it wasn't like he trusted anyone-not even his grandmother. Wait, she was dead.
"Who is the target?" George asked coolly.
Guinevere gestured to Weinheimer who promptly produced a manila folder from his inner pocket and proffered it to the attendant who appeared before him in less than two steps. The slight man of apparent Spanish descent handed it to his master and waited.
"Included is the target's name and photograph. Also the time, date, and location of where the assassination should take place. I'm sure you can find a suitable perch to carry out your objective."
He said nothing, his expression concealed in shadow as he ceaselessly studied the photo in the manila folder.
Carline glowered at him. "You don't have a problem with killing women do you?" She asked derisively. She did not like assassins. They were just glorified murderers, whose skills were better than a mercenary's and but with much less loyalty.
Guinevere glanced at her sister angrily. Did Carline wanna die?
A thread of indignation spiraled through the assassin. The girl was treading on paper-thin ice and if she broke through, none of their three guests were going home tonight.
George swallowed but calmed when the deadly assassin closed the folder and nodded. "He accepts the job. When he has completed it he will contact you."
Weinheimer handed him a disposable cell phone. "Contact us through this. Our number is already on speed dial."
George took the cell phone. "I will--" He stopped when his master touched his shoulder. "Meet you all at the door."
They silently filed from the lounge and strode to the door, waiting patiently for their escort. A half moment later he stopped in front of them, a serious expression on his face. His eyes fell upon the former Fifth Princess. "Raephe says that it would be wise of you to remember that assassins do not kill just for money… Sometimes the kill is personal." He kept his doe-brown eyes on Carline as he spoke. "Okay, let's go."
Guinevere glared irately at her sister when they got into the town car. "Next time it would be best if you minded your tongue little sister," she scolded rather harshly.
Carline folded her arms crossly. "Whatever."
Guinevere composed herself. "Next time my sister he may not be so courteous and allow us to leave alive. Please understand I am concerned only for your safety." She gently stroked her sister's rose-pink hair. "We are blood and you mean a lot to me."
Carline nodded. Truthfully Cassius was her blood brother and thus her favorite sibling, but Guinevere was in her top five. "And to the plan."
She settled into the leather seats of the car. "Yes, that as well." She grasped her sister's hand and they rode in silence all the way to the airport.
Suzaku stepped out of the bathroom, bringing steam and the scents of soap and shampoo into the room with him. He dried his hair and put on a pair of jeans and nice white shirt. Today he was staying home so he could have a little 'me' time. He was overworked and stressed out beyond words. He knew it was time to take a day off when he was short with the Knight of Four for no reason yesterday. Today he was going to lounge around and do nothing. He didn't care who called he was not setting foot out of the front door. He nodded resolutely and went into the kitchen to fix himself a well-balanced breakfast. After breakfast, a session of meditation, and an attempt at not mutilating his bonsai tree he settled down to watch television. He was well into an old samurai movie when someone knocked on his door. He grasped the blue baseball cap on the Asian inspired coffee table (which complemented the rest of the Asian décor of the sitting room), quickly pushed back his hair, and placed it on his head. "Who is it?"
No answer.
"Who is it?"
Silence.
He grumbled, pulled his hood on his head, and opened the heavy door. No soul was in sight. "What?" He glanced down and found a yellow envelope lying innocently on his doorstep. Cautiously he stepped outside and scanned the secluded surroundings, peering at the hedges that served as a natural boundary to see if they were at all disturbed. Nothing. He saw no signs of life. With a last suspicious sweep of his surroundings he picked up the envelope and disappeared into his home.
This was not good. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his belly again. He flopped down on the sofa and stared at the envelope in his hands. Had someone discovered Zero's true identity? Was this a bomb that would blow him to smithereens once opened? Or worse, was it some kind of bacteria like anthrax? Well, only one way to find out. He breathed in deeply and opened the envelope, reaching in to bring out a folded piece of paper with the symbol of a black knight chess piece embellished onto the paper. His brow knitted and his stomach flopped. Again. With trembling hands he unfolded the letter and cocked an eyebrow in disconcertedness when he saw the letters written in his native tongue. It read:
Dear Zero,
I shall keep this letter brief and to the point. I know who you truly are and I know that you have discovered a profound secret about your king.
His eyes slightly broadened. Someone knew that he'd discovered the falsity about Lelouch's death.
I know how doggedly you search.
It was true; he had been searching almost nonstop for Lelouch. Lloyd and Cecile had even been so gracious as to allow him the use of their databases. But each search ended with no results and no leads.
If you want to end your search use the plane ticket enclosed in this envelope and come to the café Rocco's as soon as disembarking. I look forward too seeing you.
Burn after reading.
The Japanese man gripped the letter between trembling fingers, his heart doing flops in his chest. This person-whoever they were- sounded like they knew where Lelouch was. If they knew, then he had to know as well. The rational part of his brain told him that this was most likely an attempt at blackmail, but the part that was only concerned about finding Lelouch did not care, knowing that no matter what price was named he would pay it in order to gain knowledge of his dearest friends whereabouts. He didn't care about paying the price, but if this blackmailer threatened Lelouch's life, they were going to have nightmares about him for years to come.
He burned the letter and got dressed. On the way to the airport he phoned Nunnally and informed her of his unexpected trip. She was okay with it and asked if he would be back by Thursday to accompany her to Oxford and he replied yes.
The sun was just starting to rise, painting the sky brilliant hues of orange and pink, its warm rays bathing the white-washed houses of the Grecian city. Suzaku ascended the stairs to the restaurant Rocco's. Rocco's was situated on the cliff overlooking the clear blue waters of the Aegean Sea. He peeped over the cliff and couldn't help but wonder if this was a safe place to have a restaurant. He stopped at the entrance, inspecting for signs of life, but found it shut tighter than an iron maiden. "Damn."
Maybe he should have taken in some of the sights before he came here. He walked down the stairs and shoved his hands in his pockets in mild frustration, trying to decide if he should stay put or go back to the city. Well, he couldn't exactly just stand here like some idiot all day, at least that's what Lelouch would say to him if he were here. He was so caught up trying to decide if he should stay until it opened for business or leave and risk missing the informant that he didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching.
"I've been waiting for you," a feminine voice said.
A.N.: I had to split this chapter in half so I hope this one doesn't end at an awkward moment. If it does, sorry *looks over shoulder for any oncoming threats*. So chapter 4 will actually be the other half of Chapter 3. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Read and Review please b/c I feed upon them and they make me big and strong so I have the strength to keep writing! CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is welcomed by NO FLAMES. Thanx.
Bear hugs and puppy dog kisses!
