CHAPTER 7

Vampire Hunter Red

This was stupid. This was horribly stupid. This was so horribly stupid that if you looked the word up in the dictionary, the entry for 'stupid' would direct you to open up a thesaurus just so you could see the many words describing the current situation that Red was in.

It had started out innocently enough. Well, maybe not exactly innocently, as the whole affair had begun with the blatant failed murder of an aristocrat that everyone in the village suspected was a vampire with various artifacts of note.

Actually, that wasn't quite accurate either. What had really started the downhill snowball was the moment his godmother had paid him yet another visit with a chore in mind. Oh, how simple it had seemed at the time...All he'd had to do was go to Maple Town, check up on a miller girl, find out why she was to die, and then figure out a way to prevent that from happening. Unfortunately, things had gotten quite serious and had left the baker in a very bad state of affairs.

The dark-haired man really wondered what it was about himself that often attracted unwanted attention, especially from the male Fae. It was becoming rather bothersome that they were generally out to get him for one reason or another. He was beginning to entertain the thought that he had wronged a great many people in his previous life and was now being punished for said wrongs.

Even though the disdain that the baker held for nearly all of fairy kind was fairly legendary, the orange Fae who wanted his virginity (the thought of which made him choke and spout out bad Ye Olde Englishe randomly to himself in indignation) was not what was making Red pace back and forth so miserably and worriedly in the forest bordering the count's estate. No, though he knew he should be very concerned with the very possible future, he was actually thinking about Wolf.

He had been thinking of the silver-haired man so often lately, he thought that, perhaps, he had finally snapped and given in to some sort of cosmic trap. He couldn't quite believe that he had been sorry about Wolf. The man had been as incorrigible as ever—especially for that last stunt! There he had been, ready to forgive and forget (or 'kiss and make-up' for the anal retentive) and then—ugh!

"It's official," Red grumbled to himself, "I am cursed when it comes to men. Maybe I should think about becoming straight…"

The man did not seriously consider such a prospect, but temptation was temptation and he did wonder, briefly, if his view of the female creature in general could be changed. He decided, as a short flight of fancy, to start weighing the pros and cons as he began the walk to the Count's realm of influence. He had promised to meet up with Hannah at around sunset—just before that bedamned orange fairy was to arrive to start his naming game with them. The Count, Victor von Verkoltenstein, had offered to appear as well (it was the least he could do, by adding his own resources to finding a solution for Red, as he had inadvertently caused this whole thing to happen with his brilliant plans in the first place), but Red had told him that this was between himself, Hannah and the Fae. They would handle it.

Red groaned to himself as he thought about how he and the noble had come to meet. At the time it had not been at all pleasant for the baker to infiltrate the large home after acquiring a flask of holy water, some garlic, and a rusty old crucifix. He could remember with extreme clarity how hard his heart had been beating in his chest like a loud, pulsating drum as he had carefully crept about in search of the elusive count, who only appeared at night…

Earlier that day…

"Garlic? Check…Holy water from the church of St. Amaranth? Check. Crucifix? Eh….check."

"Is this…truly necessary?" Raddy asked, looking over the carefully selected items on his kitchen table. Hansel and Gretel would have been gawking and wondering what their newly acquired 'Uncle Red' was doing, had the brown fairy not wisely told them to go play outside. He gingerly picked up the rusty old cross Red had bartered from a traveling peddler who had been on his way to Bella Notte, a port town near the ocean renowned for its fine pasta, singing waiters, and generally romantic atmosphere. "I'm quite sure that there are other ways of dealing with this dilemma."

Red had immediately stormed off to his childhood friend's place after Wolf had made his exit into the woods. Arriving at Raddy's, he'd found the fairy engrossed in telling his godchildren a fairy story. Only after the children had vacated the premises had the baker told Raddy exactly what had gone on when he'd left to check up on Hannah, and why he had come back so quickly when he had only just left.

"I have to kill him," Red replied, practically stoic compared to the bundle of nerves he had been when he'd first returned to the little cottage in the Fae Forest . "If I can manage to get rid of him, not only will those annoying vampire charges against me be lifted—stupid Neil—Hannah won't need to spin that gold anymore."

"But Red…what if the man isn't a vampire as the rumors say?" Raddy inquired, trying to talk some sense into the smaller male. Red looked up at the fairy, searching for the eyes behind the wooden mask his friend always wore, his own expression a mixture of resignation and terror. Raddy lifted a hand and rested it gently atop the baker's head in a gentle gesture of comfort. "And even if he was…do you honestly think the townsfolk will let you go free? Humans are rather fickle beings…"

As if Red needed to be reminded of that.

"Well, it doesn't matter," he declared. "It's not as if I have to go back to town anyway. I'll just get rid of the count, which will clean up this whole stupid mess with that orange prat and Hannah, and go back to my home and never leave again. Unless..." Red paused as a thought occurred to him. "You wouldn't be able to tell me the name of the orange Fae that skulks around these parts, would you?"

Raddy was silent for a moment, and Red wished, not for the first time, that he could see his friend's face beneath his mask. Finally, the brown fairy shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said.

Red shrugged. He had known it wouldn't be as easy as asking Raddy—these things never were—so he wasn't terribly disappointed. "Oh, well, it can't be helped. Anyway, I should get going...the best time to kill vampires is during the day, after all." Without waiting for Raddy to respond, he collected his vampire killing weapons in one clean motion and dumped the lot into his basket, then strode for the door. Raddy followed, his body-language indicating that he had something he wanted to say, but Red didn't notice.

"Thanks for your help, Raddy. I'll see you again soon...probably," Red said at the door, before turning and jogging off into the woods, without giving Raddy a chance to say anything more.

"I can't tell you his name, but I know where to find it," Raddy muttered at his friend's retreating back. He pondered briefly if he ought to run after Red, but then decided against it a moment later when two small bodies attached themselves each to one of his legs, and he looked down at his godchildren, who were smiling up at him.

"Where's Uncle Red going?" Hansel asked.

"He has some errands," Raddy responded somewhat vaguely. As he watched Red disappear from view, it occurred to him that he had nothing to worry about. Red would go to the Count's, no doubt get involved in some wacky and utterly embarrassing mix-up involving mistaken identities and false rumors, and be back tonight in time for dinner. I can tell him then, he reasoned, and ushered the children back into the warm of his cottage.

The journey to the Count's manor passed quickly for Red, who jogged most of the way in a not entirely successful effort to boost his morale. Once he arrived, he circled the perimeter looking for the servant's entrance, which he located with little trouble. He managed to sneak inside with even less trouble, and it occurred to him that sneaking inside stranger's manors was probably not the sort of activity regular young men his age practiced. He experienced a moment of fierce longing when that thought lead to another, touchier one; that being that most regular young men his age were quite happily settled down with their One True Loves or Reasonable Facsimile Thereof, and did not have to deal with pedophilic Fae and horny Wolfs on a daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly basis. This thought caused the fear he was feeling at willingly venturing into the abode of a rumored vampire to recede temporarily, replaced with righteous anger at the unfairness of it all. However, the fear returned full-force when he heard loud, purposeful footsteps approaching him from somewhere in his nearby vicinity.

Heart pounding, he looked about wildly for a hiding place. He was currently in a rather wide hallway, lined with gorgeous, full-glass windows on one side and a number of portraits and paintings on the hunter-green wall of the other. Nearly weeping at the horrible cliché, Red ducked behind the deep green velvet curtains drawn open at intervals between the wide windows. He hoped that whoever was passing wouldn't notice his feet sticking out of the bottom.

He stood very still, hardly daring to breath, as the man to whom the footsteps belonged approached his hiding place, and then strode right on by. As he passed, Red could hear him muttering under his breath, though he couldn't make out what was being said beyond a few words – "Stupid Victor," "Bloody nuisance," and "What is he thinking!?" being key among them. Red shifted slightly and peeped out from behind the curtain at the man's retreating back. Everything he had heard sounded exactly like something he himself would utter at one time or another, and he felt a sort of instant bond with the stranger, who was clearly on some sort of mission for his master. Red waited until he was out of sight down the long hall and beyond a corner, before he darted out from behind his curtain and followed.

The baker found that he had to jump behind curtains (he had to be careful, because though they hid him from the other man's view, anyone outside could see him very clearly and the last thing he needed was a mob to storm the mansion), alcoves (when one came by, of course) and conveniently placed suits of armor (thank you egotistical knights of the past) as he made his way through the count's mansion. There was one close call when he knocked loudly into something, and he had to make a sort of squeaking noise to throw off the man he was shadowing, but on the whole he remained undetected.

There must be an easier way to go about this, the baker thought miserably to himself, as he readied the bottle of holy water he had acquired. Only now did he realize through a belated spurt common sense that he hadn't armed himself with anything that would have actually killed a vampire, like, say, a stake and a mallet to drive it into the supposed vampire's heart. Or maybe a crossbow with silver tipped bolts. He didn't know where he could have gotten one with such bolts--and silver really was only for werewolves--but if it kept anything that had a possibility of killing him far away, he wouldn't complain. He mentally cursed his lack of foresight, but continued onwards. There would be no point in wasting time by leaving and then returning once again when it was later in the day.

Red licked his lips in anticipation as he tiptoed carefully, basket secure at his elbow, bottle of holy water in hand. Let's see those damn villagers call him a vampire now! The man truly wondered how the townsfolk of Maple Town would react to him taking down the count. Would they have some sort of loyalty to the man regardless of his vampiric status? Or would they wonder if Red would take over as the head vampire or something equally as stupid? Either way, his was a thankless job, and one he did grudgingly and with very, very clenched teeth.

I'll have to discuss with Godmother about getting some sort of grievance pay--risking my life like this is not good for my health or mental stability, Red mused.

The red-cloaked man was snapped out of his reverie when he heard a door snap shut, and he cursed himself for getting distracted so easily. Looking about furtively, he quickly scurried forward without being seen, which was considerably ridiculous as there didn't seem to be anyone in the large mansion at all, except for the man he was following so intently with the vague hope that he would lead him to his target. He gripped the holy water, wishing that it was in one of his squirt bottles. It wasn't a crossbow, but at least the idea that he had some distance between himself and Imminent Doom (with capitalized letters) made him feel somewhat better.

The muttering manservant entered a room, and Red sidled up to the door frame, crouched, and peered through the opening. The room beyond was as dark and still as—Red cringed at the metaphor, but could think of nothing more appropriate—a tomb. He could just make out a vague, man-like shape sitting at a table next to one wall. It was this shape that the servant addressed.

"My lord, the men have just finished preparations for tonight," he said. Red could see the shape shift slightly, and it appeared as though it was turning to face its servant.

"Very good, Robert," the figure's voice was deep and somewhat scratchy. It didn't sound at all like what Red had both heard and imagined a vampire's voice would. Before the servant could respond, the figure seemed to pose dramatically, clasping its hands to its breast. "I'm so sorry, my beautiful Hannah!" it exclaimed, much to Red's surprise. "But we must get to the bottom of this most puzzling of mysteries! Please be patient a little while longer, my immortal angel of –"

"Hadn't you better go to sleep soon, my lord?" the servant interrupted, irritation plain in his voice. Red wondered if these over-exaggerated dramatics were a common occurrence.

"Ah, dearest Robert, if only it were that simple!" the figure, who Red realized could be none other than the count, dropped his dramatic pose and moved closer to the servant. "But as you know only too well, I spent all of last night in a sleep...most satisfying." His voice dropped in volume until it was only a husky whisper, but Red could still hear plainly enough. "I'm afraid I find myself wide awake at this unnatural hour...and with nothing to occupy my attention until night-fall but my most faithful of servants..." he trailed off and leaned even closer to Robert, who stood with his back straight and stiff as a poker.

"You know I am always more than happy to indulge you, my lord," he said, his own voice hardly louder than a whisper. "But I'm afraid that now is simply not the time, as there is one other concern on my mind which I have yet to mention."

"Oh?" The count seemed more interested in Robert's neck at this point than in what Robert was saying.

"Mmm...it involves the little mouse listening at the door," Robert said, seemingly unfazed by his master's intent scrutiny of his body.

"What?" The count's head shot up just as Red whipped his own head back around the corner, cursing silently. So he had been noticed! Bloody hell! What was he supposed to do now?

"Little mouse? Come out, my dear, and tell us what you're up to," the count ordered, his voice much harder than Red had thought possible, considering the slightly stomach-twisting scene he had just witnessed moments before. He briefly considered making a break for it and forgetting the whole thing, but he thought of the orange fairy and what he was going to have to do with the prat if he ran off now stopped him. Clutching his bottle of holy water firmly with one hand and his basket with the other, he stood and, heart pounding in his throat, turned and stepped into the doorway.

The manservant, Robert, had moved over to the table and lit a lamp, so that Red could see his foe properly for the first time.

Count Victor von Verkoltenstein didn't look like a vampire. Certainly, his skin was very pale and his dark hair and eyes gleamed in the lamp-light, but he didn't possess that eerie, unearthly quality Red had seen before when he had glimpsed vampires from afar. That, and he had never heard of a vampire with dark circles under his eyes. Of course, Red would be the first person to say to anyone who cared to listen that appearances are deceiving. He hadn't spent the entirety of his twenty-five years of life being mistaken for a young girl without learning something, after all.

"Well, young lady?" the count prompted. Red wanted to bash his head against the nearest solid object. Being mistaken for a young woman all the time was really beginning to get on his nerves.

"I'm not a girl!" he exclaimed, suddenly and irrationally angry. He popped the stopper from the neck of the bottle and flicked the water in a rather impressive arc over the small distance between him and the count, splashing the man full in the face.

There was silence for several moments after this, during which the count failed to melt or explode or whatever it was vampires were supposed to do when splashed with holy water. Instead, he blinked several times and looked incredibly confused. "Um...?" he said. Red wasted no time in digging out his cloves of garlic, which he flung with as much strength as he could muster directly at the count, who had the sense to see them coming and duck. Red was somewhat confounded by this point – the man seemed immune to both holy water and garlic – and rather desperately dug out his cross, which he held in front of him as though it were a shield.

The count looked positively flummoxed at this point, and Red was vaguely aware of Robert somewhere off to his right, muffling sniggers into his palm.

"Don't come any closer!" Red exclaimed, glaring at the confused and wet man before him.

"Robert, do try to contain yourself," the count admonished absently as he continued to stare at Red, or, more accurately, at the cross in Red's hand, and stood perfectly still. Red almost sighed with relief—the holy water and garlic had failed, but it seemed as though the cross at least had some power over the undead noble.

"Where did you get that!?" the count demanded after several tense moments, springing forward before Red could react and wresting the cross from his hands. "This cross is a family heirloom, stolen some twenty years ago!" He brought it close to his face, examining the intricate and rust-coated carvings with care for a time before turning his dark gaze back at Red. "Explain yourself. Now."

Red, bereft of all of his defenses, once again considered simply running away...but to what? To that blasted Fae, that's what. He had a very pessimistic outlook on his chances at correctly guessing the grinning bastard's name, and was even now resigning himself to the loss of his virginity to the smarmy wanker. Given what he had to look forward to, being infected with vampirism or even being killed didn't seem like such bad alternatives. If he were a vampire, perhaps he could take some sort of revenge on Neil for being such an arse, and if he were dead...well, he wouldn't care any more if he were dead, now would he?

"The count asked you a question, young man." Robert's voice snapped him from his depressing thoughts about his equally depressing future. He felt the man's strong hand wrap around his arm in a vice-like grip, and knew that running away was no longer an option.

"I have to kill you so you'll let Hannah go free," he said finally, dully. He was trapped and cornered by circumstances beyond his control, and his chances of escaping unscathed appeared to be next to nothing.

The count didn't seem to know what to make of this statement. "You know my angel Hannah?"

Red blinked. That was the second time the man had referred to Hannah as his 'angel'. He was beginning to get the feeling that he didn't know the whole story to what was going on. And since it didn't look as though the count or his manservant were getting ready to kill him, or worse—yet—he wondered if there might be a way to learn the whole truth.

"I'll tell you everything if you'll answer me one question before hand," he said, staring critically at the count, who raised an eyebrow.

"I hardly think you're in any position to be bargaining, young man," he replied.

"Just the one question," Red insisted. "Why did you lock Hannah up?"

The count drew himself up and stared impressively down at Red. "Not that it's any of your business, but I admit to subjecting my beloved to such base treatment in order to dispel the terrible rumors her boor of a father was spreading about her. Once I have proved that she can spin straw to gold as her idiot relation claimed, I shall take her as my bride, and she will reside with me in my manor here, her reputation intact."

"So you were never going to kill her?" Red asked, aghast at the implications it would mean for him if the answer was negative.

"No, of course not! Wherever did you get such an idea?"

"I believe it was the bit where you claimed that if she did not produce as required, her life was forfeit," Robert answered for Red, his voice full of amusement.

The count frowned. "Of course I had to say that! I am Count Victor von Verkoltenstein! Such drama is necessary to maintain my image as a cold-hearted and aloof ruler of peasants and ignorants!"

Robert snickered, but Red was less than amused. He felt as though his stomach had dropped to his knees, and then decided that that was not low enough and continued on to his feet. There was absolutely no purpose to his being here. His godmother had sent him on a wild goose-chase which had resulted in him basically promising his virginity to one of the very last people in this world he would ever have considered giving it to otherwise. All because of some idiot who was more concerned with filling his life with unnecessary drama than in maintaining a quiet and peaceful village.

It was official: Red hated his life.

-----------------------

"I'm...nervous."

"Don't be," Red assured her. I should be the one pacing around like a trapped lion. "Everything will turn out for the best--it usually does." Empty words, really. But who was he truly trying to cheer up? Hannah or himself? He rubbed his arms a bit, frowning as his brown eyes anxiously glanced around the clearing outside Hannah's cell for any sign of the lecherous fairy who wanted his virginity.

"I find...that...a little hard...to believe," Hannah stated, a frown on her own pretty face. "I've been thinking...What will happen...once this is all over?"

The baker looked at the miller girl, but did not give her an answer. He had contemplated what would happen to her--hell, he knew exactly what would happen to her once this whole orange Fae business was over and done with. No matter the outcome of his naming game, Hannah would get swept away by a handsome man (said handsome man being the Count Victor von Verkoltenstein) and then they would get married in a grand ceremony (probably at night, considering the aforementioned count's habits) and live happily ever after with lots of adorable little undead children of the night and cute little puppies--or bunnies. Bunnies were good, too. Yes, bunnies of the night.

As for Red? Things were a lot more uncertain. Should he succeed in figuring out the perverted fairy's name within the allotted time frame he was given, he could go scott free and with his precious virginity intact. However, should he fail (and with circumstances as they were, he knew this was by far the most likely option) he would be subjected to only Apple knew what sort of horrors as the fairy took advantage of his innocent body.

Red looked at the darkening sky with a raised eyebrow.

Alright, well, maybe not that innocent. Mind you, despite himself and his prudeness, he was still a healthy twenty-five year old man who experienced all the things men did at the peak of their life--minus copious amounts of intercourse, naturally--but he had enough distractions (i.e., imminent doom) to keep him from pursuing such things on a regular basis...

"Don't worry," Hannah said, snapping Red out of his reverie, "Wolf will pull through."

Wolf! It always came back to that man, didn't it? He was always leaping in unexpectedly and saving Red's hide recently, often at great personal risk. And for what? The only answer Red could come up with was that Wolf still wanted to get into his pants, even after ten years of rejection and discouragement. One of the last things he'd said to Red before he'd taken off again proved that much. Even with this knowledge, Red still could not fathom why the man continued to hang around him; certainly there were other people from whom he could extract the same satisfaction? Why had he set his sights on Red specifically?

Constant puzzling on the topic still yielded no answer that made even a tiny bit of sense to Red, so he decided to put the entire matter out of his mind and focus on the problem at hand.

"How do you know Wolf, anyway?" he asked.

Or as out of his mind as he could push it.

"We met...a few months ago," Hannah told him. "I shared dinner...with him, and he slept...in the barn."

Red blinked at this information.

"By himself?" he asked, almost incredulously. He had trouble picturing a man as obviously horny as Wolf passing up the chance for a free lay—especially when he appeared to have run into a young woman whose practical outlook on life did not include such old-fashioned concepts as 'chastity'.

"Just so," Hannah agreed.

"He wasn't interested in...erm..." Red didn't know quite how to word his next question, so he trailed off awkwardly, blushing.

"He...might have been," Hannah admitted. "But he said...very firmly...that he didn't want to."

Red was, to put it lightly, rather confused by this information. "Didn't want to?" he repeated, but before Hannah could respond, their private discussion was interrupted by a new voice.

"Good evening, my beautiful Hannah, my charming Red." In a flash of orange citrus sparkles, the gold-spinning Fae appeared, grinning smirk firmly affixed to his handsome features. Red felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prick at the sight. And he'd always thought the self-satisfied leers he'd gotten from Wolf were lecherous! The silver-haired man's ogling could be more closely associated with love-sick gazes when compared side by side with the looks he was getting from this creature!

"Don't look at me like that," Red growled, clenching his teeth tightly. The fairy batted his eyes innocently, and floated disturbingly close to the baker, their faces a mere few inches apart. He had the urge to step back or run away even, but stubbornness and pent up emotions from years of this sort of treatment made him stay his ground for once and glare back with the force of a hundred angry, raging bulls (or two hundred and twenty stampeding unicorns; or maybe even six hundred and sixty-six very large, rabid pink bulldogs on steroids) and all the ineffectiveness of a small toy poodle yipping madly from behind a large fence. The Fae backed away very slightly and tutted at him.

"Now, now, now, my dear...is that any way to treat Hannah's savior?" he asked coyly, examining his well manicured fingers with slight disinterest. He slinked an arm around Red's shoulders and let his free hand lift up the baker's chin. "I have been very generous up until now, my delectable little beauty, and it is out of the goodness of my heart that I'm not...ravishing you until the light of day right here and now."

The obnoxious orange fairy had a point there, but that did not mean that he would willingly submit like some bloody tart in one of those trashy romance novels.

He none-too-gently shoved his elbow into the fairy's gut and stepped away. The action had the expected effect Red wanted, but only for a few seconds. The other male simply laughed afterwards, remarking on Red's feistiness.

"I am looking forward to our approaching tryst! What fun we shall have!" he said dreamily, clasping his hands and staring off into space.

"Pedophile," Red muttered.

"Come now, come now!" the orange Fae said, snapping out of his daze. He either hadn't heard Red's last remark or was choosing to ignore it, for he wrapped an arm once more around Red's shoulders. Before Red could so much as protest, he was engulfed in the over-powering citrus scent and accompanying sparkles that the Fae employed in abundance, and when his vision cleared, he saw that he was standing inside the dungeon, next to Hannah.

"I did say I'd give you a fair chance to guess my name, and I'm a Fae of my word, so tonight I shall spin and listen to your guesses, my dear. Tomorrow we can carry on elsewhere, once dear Hannah is settled nice and safe with the gold." The Fae seated himself at the spinning wheel and began feeding straw into it. Red glared at him for a moment, arms crossed, before a thought occurred to him.

"But won't it be distracting, me calling out names willy-nilly all night?" he asked. "Maybe we should post-pone the beginning of the guessing game until tomorrow evening?"

The Fae looked up from his work, orange eyes gleaming in the dim light and a knowing smirk dancing about his lips. "Ah, ah, ah!" he chastised. "Trying to stall for more time, are we? Clever, my dear, but it won't work. You may begin guessing now, or you may wait until tomorrow night, but if you take the latter option, you will only have two nights to guess instead of three." He waggled his eyebrows at Red and returned his attention to the spindle, which was spitting out fine gold thread at an alarming rate under his expert ministrations.

Red glowered silently for several moments. He jumped a little when Hannah put a hand on his arm, and turned to look at her. Her expression was difficult to determine, but he felt she probably meant it to be encouraging. Scowling even harder, Red plopped himself down on the hard-packed earth floor and crossed his legs.

"Terrance," he said.

"Not even close."

"Milliard. Pierre. Ashley. Vernon."

"Keep guessing."

"Neville. Dudley. Harold. James?"

No, no, no, and no."

"Ronald, Dean, Thomas, Fredrick, Charles, Arthur, Percy, George, Lee, Jordan, Cedric?"

"None of the above."

And on it went.

The night progressed, with Red blurting out any name that came to mind. Hannah piped up occasionally with an offering or two of her own, but all guesses were met with the same answer.

Near dawn, Red was getting frustrated. "Look," he said. "How do I know I can trust you? What if I've already said your name and you lied and said I hadn't?"

"You haven't said my name," the Fae assured him. "And I would not mislead you if you had. I set the rules of this game, and I must abide by them as much as you. But now," he said, as he fed the very last of the straw into the spindle, and watched as it emerged in a string of the thinnest, purest gold from the other end. "My task for the night is complete, and I must bid you both a very fond farewell. I shall see you again tomorrow night, my sweet, and you may continue to guess then." And with an elaborate bow and a kiss blown in Red's direction, the Fae departed, leaving behind a pile of gold, a fresh citrus scent, and...

"YOU LOCKED ME IN THE BLOODY DUNGEON, YOU PEDOPHILIC PONCE!"

------------------------

To say that Victor von Verkoltenstein woke up to a glorious morning would have been a gross overstatement. The fact of the matter is: the man was just not a morning person—or a daylight person in general. It wasn't as if he had a skin condition that prevented him from venturing outside during the decent hours of the day or anything. It was just that he preferred the night, and death to anyone who got him up before the sun fully set.

Then again, this morning was not at all glorious to begin with at any rate, so he was pretty much jerked into a very awkward state of awakening involving him blearily trying to swipe at his manservant, Robert.

"It's too early to be awake, Mommy," the count mumbled, falling back into his coffin with a muffled thud. He turned on his side and tried to curl up into a ball, only to realize that he was not talking to his mother (Overpower forbid that the barmy woman got within ten feet of him) and that it is nigh impossible to curl up in a stiff coffin. The man, after a sufficient amount of reflection (translation: goading on Robert's part), rolled out of his coffin to meet the blasphemous day…or, at least, tried to, as rolling out of a coffin was about as easy as trying to go into the fetal position in one. Falling gracelessly on the floor, his 'bed' came tumbling down after him, landing open end first with a loud crack that echoed throughout the mostly silent room.

Victor said something.

"What was that, sir?" Robert asked, looking rather smug as he stared down where his lord and master laid prostate. "I can't hear you past the three-inch thick wood this morning. It's muffling what you're saying." The servant watched as the casket was unceremoniously kicked aside—something his master was surely to regret once his temper cooled—and Victor was soon rising from the almost early grave like the undead.

"Nice boxers."

"Shut up, Robert," the count snapped irritably, looking around for a clock. When he spotted one, he groaned pitiably and fought the urge to smash his head repeatedly against the wall at the utter unholiness of the hour. Nine in the morning was no time for him to be awake—for any sane person to be awake. He had long ago given up on the world around him being the least bit rational, but at least people respected the fact that he couldn't stand daylight and wished to sleep into the late hours of the afternoon. He was sure not even the mention of his Hannah would—

"The third night is over and Hannah is successful again."

—wake him up any faster than it already did. He snapped to attention like a private in front of his drill sergeant.

"So, it's finally over?" he asked, his eyes lighting up. He clapped his hands together, suddenly very giddy and happy. It was over! Hallelujah, the charade was almost to an end! He could finally cast aside the many facades he had put up in order to keep this elaborate plan in motion. No longer did he have to hide behind a wretched white mask (wearing it casually, though, was an entirely different story). He could look upon his darling and she could gaze back upon him in return. "May I finally be able to take my lovely Hannah into my arms? May I listen sweetly to that angelic—"

"Uh, there is one other thing," Robert interjected quickly, stopping Victor in mid gush. The man positively fumed at him, but he continued on nonetheless as they were short on time had more important matters to attend to. "The matter of Mister Reaper…"

The count cringed. Ah, yes. The man who would…

"I suppose that I can safely assume that not everything went very well last night, hm?" he asked, and received a nod in reply. The noble sighed and ran a hand through his untidy hair."Well...I suppose the least we can do is offer to help him again," he said, recalling the encounter even as he spoke. Red had seemed so terribly opposed to the idea of consorting with the mysterious Fae who had been so generous to his Hannah, Victor couldn't help but empathize. "But first!" his thoughts turned back to the matter at hand, the matter which was clearly the most important: "I must propose to my beloved! Come, Robert!" And with that, the count swept dramatically out of his room. Robert, rather than following, waited patiently for several seconds, and, sure enough, Victor returned to the room somewhat sheepishly a few moments later.

"Stop laughing," he ordered as his manservant moved to gather suitable clothing, snickering as he went.

---------

"I'll help you...make a list," Hannah said to the very furious and frustrated Red, attempting to get him to emerge from his self-induced pity-party, which he was currently holding seated in a corner of her cell. "We have...all day...to think of names," she continued, crouching next to him and placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. He jerked slightly at the touch, and his eyes focused on hers. She smiled at him in what he supposed was meant to be an encouraging manner, and he tried his best to return it.

"Thanks, Hannah," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He'd been awake all night, and was now very sleepy...

BANG! Red nearly jumped out of his skin as the door to the cell opened with a dramatic crash. A moment later a man strode into the cell. Red recognized the count at once, though half of his face was hidden behind a white mask. Hannah straightened from her crouch calmly, where almost anyone else would have leapt to their feet.

"It's...you!" she said, surprise evident in her voice.

The count approached Hannah and swept her into his arms without saying anything, and kissed her straight on the lips. She stiffened at first, in surprise or fear, Red couldn't tell, but after a moment he saw her relax into Victor's arms and begin to return the kiss. Watching the two, Red couldn't help the stab of envy that seemed to twist in his heart. Victor eventually pulled away, and Red could sense his reluctance, even from across the room.

"My beloved Hannah," he began, staring soulfully into her eyes from behind his mask. "I am about to reveal my identity to you, as I have wanted to many times in these past few months, but first, I must ask you a question,"

"...Yes?" Red thought she sounded a little breathless.

"Beautiful Hannah, celestial maiden of song, I must know:" he paused dramatically, and Red rolled his eyes. After several moments, the silence extended beyond the realm of the dramatic and tripped almost apologetically into the realm of the slightly awkward; it appeared that the count had become lost in the soulful contemplation of Hannah's dark eyes.

"...Yes?" Hannah asked again, though this time she sounded less breathless and more amused, as though she were well acquainted with this act. Red could see a very small smile on her face. The count seemed to blink and return to himself at the sound of her voice.

"Beloved Hannah," he began again, visibly steeling himself from becoming lost once again in her eyes. "Will you do me the great honor of consenting to become my wife?"

The expression on Hannah's face could now be mistaken for nothing other than a smile, and a very beautiful one it was too, Red had to admit with some surprise. The expression changed her entire countenance, from vaguely unsettling to unquestioningly lovely. "I would be delighted, my lord," she said, reaching up with one hand and removing Victor's mask. The face of the man beneath looked both immensely pleased and somewhat surprised.

"When did you figure it out?" he asked, a somewhat mysterious question to Red.

"Just now, when you came in," she told him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leaning up to kiss him on the corner of his mouth. "Though I admit, I have suspected for some time now..."

Victor continued to look both surprised and delighted, and Red was interested to note that the hesitation with which Hannah usually spoke disappeared when she addressed the count. He also noted that her usually reserved behavior (well, it seemed rather reserved to him) had flown out the window when she pulled the noble down for another kiss, and the baker had to cough several times before they did the deed on the pile of golden thread in front of him.

"Red! Bless you; I didn't see you there—"

"I wonder why?" Red asked sarcastically under his breath.

"—in fact, I hadn't expected to see you there at all. What are you doing here?" the nobleman asked, too happy to remember the earlier words of his servant. He was just so elated that his darling miller girl had agreed to marry him; he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. When he felt, rather than saw, the heated glare point at his head, he paid extra special attention to the very disgruntled look on the other man's (he would have thought 'boy', but he had already been told of his past woes for being mistaken for being a young girl once and did not wish to repeat the experience again) face.

"Oh, I just let myself in, is all," Red said in irritation, hands on his hips. "I was brought in here by the fairy that is helping your 'angel' and he left me here to be found by you." He threw his hands up in frustration as he remembered exactly why he was stuck in a situation that could have just cleared itself up had the man not speaking to him has just simply asked the girl of his dreams to marry him instead of going through all of this senselessness. "And, by the way, I'm lovely, thanks."

Victor cowered behind Hannah. "I was just asking…"

------------

The day passed by with everyone generally sleeping the hours away. Well, mostly.

While Hannah napped with Victor, Red had been enlisted in the kitchen to help Robert whip up a wedding cake for the future festivities. The count had been dead set on marrying his bride-to-be as soon as possible—later that day was what he was aiming for—so this meant that lots of preparations had to be made. And since someone had let slip that Red was a baker, he had been asked to help. He couldn't very well say no when the miller girl had asked him so very nicely and had promised to help him with his current situation, whatever that entailed.

After several hours and the completion of the first three layers of the cake (Victor inexplicably wanted a seven layer cake), the future newlyweds come down from the upper floors of the mansion, looking thoroughly disheveled and very giddy about something. Red could only guess at what had happened between them when they should have been sleeping, and several dirty images sprung up to mind, but he blamed that on the fact that he was so tired at this point that he was seeing two Victors instead of one.

He let Robert take care of the last three layers in the oven as the other three were left to cool down on an iron rack, with instructions to get started on the frosting so he could start decorating the cake when he returned to the kitchen.

"Ah, Red, there you are," Victor said much too jovially for the baker's liking. He regretted all over again his lack of planning which caused him to forget to bring a stake and mallet with him on his vampire hunting excursion the prior day. Of course, as Victor was not actually a vampire, he would have been charged with murder once the authorities found out, but that certainly would have been better than having to deal with a perverted fairy who wanted his virginity and a silly nobleman with plans so complicated even a philosopher would have blown his brains trying to figure out the reason behind them. "Hannah—the lovely and wise—and I have come up with something to help you with your plight, as you have helped us quite a bit."

Red's mood perked up; he looked at the couple expectantly.

"We came across…the idea when we were figuring out…names for our future children," Hannah began, smiling happily all the while. Red smiled in return, only guessing at the joy a child would bring to this household. "And as Victor suggested...calling our firstborn son Erik—"

"A fine, strong name of sentimental value," Victor interjected.

"—I thought that, maybe it might be…a girl, and we might have to...call her Erika...instead," the dark-haired woman finished good-humoredly, rolling her eyes at her future husband. She looked at Red eagerly, and saw that her friend was rather confused and went on to clarify what she meant. "What I mean is…we…thought maybe…that you could try girl's names instead?"

Red blinked, and, despite his hopelessly tired state, almost immediately saw the logic in Hannah's proposal. The smarmy Fae seemed very confident that his name was un-guessable, which meant that it was either terribly uncommon or horrendously unlikely. He nodded, stifling a yawn as he did so.

"That sounds like a good idea," he said, smiling gratefully at Hannah. "I'd better get started with that list..."

Hannah frowned and stepped up to him, taking his arm firmly in her hand. "I rather...think not," she said. "You've been awake...all night, and I...understand...someone...has...drafted you into baking...a cake...instead of allowing you...to rest." As she spoke, she tugged him after her away from the kitchen and into the mansion, and he went meekly, waiting for her to finish speaking. "You are going...straight to bed...Victor and I...shall worry about...the list of names."

Red tried to protest, but was foiled by another yawn. When he finally managed to close his mouth, he tried once more: "That's very kind of you, but—"

"No buts," Hannah interrupted. "You're going to be...awake all night...tonight as well, guessing. You must sleep...sometime." And with that she very firmly ushered him into a guest room. The heavy velvet curtains were pulled shut over the window. On the large feather bed, he could see that the comforter was turned down and the pillows were fluffed.

"Well," Red said, as he saw the luxurious quarters awaiting him. "Maybe a couple hours wouldn't hurt..." He probably wouldn't be able to sleep at all, or he wouldn't be able to sleep well, what with the imminent doom he had hanging over his head and all.

"Yes," Hannah said firmly, tugging him all the way to the bedside. He sat on the gloriously soft mattress and kicked off his boots, and that was really all he had time to do before sleep snatched his last conscious thought away. Still wearing his wrinkled and now somewhat dirty clothes, he fell back into the soft embrace of the feather bed, literally asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Hannah smiled in satisfaction and tucked him in gently, and then left the chamber, softly closing the door behind her as she went.

-------------

"Good evening, my lovely one."

Red was jerked most unpleasantly out of his dreams, in which black leather seemed to feature very prominently, to discover that stretched out next to him on the bed as if he belonged there was the orange Fae.

"HANNAH!" Red shouted, almost in a panic, as he rolled away from the Fae and onto the floor.

"That's not my name," the Fae smirked gently. The bedroom door burst open, and Hannah entered, a sheaf of papers clutched in one hand.

"Red, I'm sorry...I didn't realize it had gotten so late...Oh." She had caught sight of the cause of Red's panicky yell.

"Good evening, Hannah my dear," the Fae smiled languorously at the miller-girl.

"Good evening," she said back, politely enough. "Red, are you...alright?"

Red was sitting up from where he had landed on the floor with a groan. "No," he muttered. "I'm not." Hannah hurried to his side and helped him to his feet.

"I convinced Victor...to postpone the wedding," she told him. "He's agreed to wait...until the day after tomorrow,"

"Great," Red groaned. That was just enough time for him to not guess the orange Fae's name and lose his precious virginity to the perverted wanker.

"Here," Hannah offered him the papers she had come in carrying. Red took them and glanced at the top page. It was covered with neat rows of names, mostly girl's names from the looks of things. "Have faith," she said, giving him a small hug. The fairy coughed to recapture their attention, idly tracing circles on the bed sheets with one well-manicured finger as he lounged upon the bed.

"As much as I love the fact that we're this much closer to…making love together, sweet Red, I'm afraid that I must adhere to the rules of fairy fairness and tell you that you're burning sun and moon," the orange-clad male told the dark haired-pair before him, looking for all the world like he could care less. "You've already wasted about an hour and a half…let's get started shall we?" he proposed, sitting up on the bed.

And so the guessing game began for the second night. Red used Hannah's list right off the bat, trying to say each name without looking embarrassed. After all, he was reading off a list of girls' names to a male fairy, who had obviously slept with people thusly named in some sort of exploit he'd rather not have the displeasure of imagining...

"...Betty, Penelope, Noah?"

"On the table, in the kitchen, on the kitchen table..."

Red blanched.

"Ruby, Jessie, Misty, Lily, Daisy?"

"Near the sea, over the sea, in a boat, in a boat under the sea, in a boat on fire on the sea..."

The baker swallowed hard, sternly ordered himself not to vomit, and had to take a small break to drink down the water Hannah brought him.

"Sabrina, Whitney, and, dare I ask, Claire?" The dark-haired man spared a nervous glance from the list of names and saw the insufferable fairy (who had definitely gotten around) leer at him.

"On her back, on my back, and on the back of a horse," was the orange-haired fairy's gleeful reply. Red grimaced and looked over the next name.

"Uh...Juliet?"

The fairy raised a brow. "What do I look like, some blind woodsman?" Red had no idea what he meant by that remark, but continued on with the list well into the night, until he ran out of names and had to resort to picking them out himself with Hannah giving her two cents every once in a while for support.

In the end, though, the sun was peeking through the curtains much sooner than Red wanted it to, and the orange fairy took his leave, promising to return that evening for the final round. Red felt his stomach twist in a normally anatomically impossible manner, and he stared dumbly at the spot where the Fae had disappeared.

"Red, don't worry," Hannah said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We still have...tonight...and...Wolf had not come back yet."

Red gave a hollow laugh. Wolf. What had he said? "I won't return until I bring with me his name." And it was already the morning of the third day. Did that mean he wouldn't be returning at all? That was more than likely—with the sort of luck Red was having with his guessing, he couldn't imagine that Wolf was doing any better. But...if Wolf didn't come back with the Fae's name, did that mean...he wouldn't ever see him again? The thought caused his stomach to perform further heretofore thought-to-be-impossible contortions, and he scowled.

"Do you want...to go back to sleep?" Hannah asked, dragging him out of his thoughts. "Or would you like...to help with a new list?"

Red blinked, and stared at the bed upon which the perverted Fae had been until recently sitting.

"I'm not tired," he said in response to Hannah's question.

"Alright," she said, and stood up from the chair she'd been sitting in during the guessing and stretched. "Why don't you...join me...for breakfast?"

"Thanks."

-------------

The Ironic Overpowers were at it again—or as 'at it again' as an angel and demon could be, anyway. One really couldn't expect those two to live absolutely peaceably with each other in total utter bliss—uninterrupted moments filled up to the brim with cheesy metaphors and not-so-subtle subtext—without a few, untimely, irrational spats or two. Or, in their case, the need to become incredibly lovey-dovey with one another as they were wont to do…which makes the earlier statements rather irrelevant, so the narrator apologizes if the reader expected the following scene of the two lounging in their favorite spot in Who-Knows-Where to be a bit more exciting and filled with heated words.

Therefore, the narrator will simply get things over with so that the reader can stop reading irrelevant filler statements that only serve to make the word count go up. Unless the reader would wish to allow the narrator to procrastinate further by continuing to read this utter drivel instead of just skipping ahead to the good bits involving the reader's favorite characters...Then again, as tempting as that might be, the reader might be worried that if they just simply skimmed past the bit involving the two true ruling powers of this strange and magical world that a piece of information crucial to the plot might be missed, which will inevitably lead to confusion for the reader instead of understanding in later scenes.

But, then again, foreshadowing has never been a great forte of modern literature—or if it were some sort of favored tool used to write twenty-first century stories, it would probably be so heavy it could make a killer whale appear as some heroine addicted fashion waif who was actually thinner than a tenth of a nanometer—and no, that was not an exaggeration. Half of the readers of this fair story have probably at least guessed as to what sort of ending the Ironic Overpowers have in mind for our heroes, and the second half could probably tell the first half exactly what will happen, and in very explicit detail besides.

These explicit details are, of course, the flights of fancy of several depraved fan-girls who should, in most cases, get out more often and find real romance instead of hanging onto the fictional homosexual romances of two fairy tale characters turned gay. What is hoped for and what is to be actually written are often two different things, and the Ironic Overpowers hate the idea of becoming predictable over a period of time. Plus, one can only find and type out so many euphemisms for the word 'penis' without snickering at the computer screen like a demented loon (and, for the record, neither of the Overpowers is demented nor loony, but it's the thought one puts into a compliment that makes them love their adoring worshippers evermore).

And also, what is this fascination with graphic scenes within a story? What is its necessity? Many have asked this question—to others as well as to themselves—but no one has made an even half-decent, reasonable answer that can earn it the title of ineff—er…'beyond words'. The best one can expect as an answer to this nigh unanswerable conundrum is that 'it gets ratings'. Perhaps the Overpowers know why a writer would stoop so low as to graphically write about fornication in all of its explicit glory, as it is the beginning and end of all cosmic jokes, but it would be highly unethical to reveal such things to mortal eyes, so the narrator, once again, apologizes to the reader for even suggesting such a thing and therefore piquing interest when there isn't actually any call at all for that sort of thing at this point in the story, canonical or otherwise.

This brings this narrator back to the point of the matter, of course, which is what the Ironic Overpowers are doing in their place not held by the rules of Time. As expected with such a scene, the angel is once again drinking her tea, while the demon is chugging stereotypically away at her cream soda.

Oddly enough, they were up to nothing at the moment, and were simply enjoying a moment of repose after a long and hard day at work, weaving the threads of the story together in immaculate and strange patterns.

So whatever was currently happening in their world was, in no way shape or form, their fault.

And this, dear reader, is called irony.

-------------

Victor and Robert both insisted on helping Red and Hannah work on tonight's list of names, and would not be deterred by Red's protests. He supposed, as he trudged away from the manor's front door and into the surrounding woods, that he was grateful for their help; Robert especially had had some interesting ideas involving more exotic names, and they were all written down neatly in a large bundle of papers that Red clutched in one hand.

He was walking out into the forest by himself. His cynical outlook on life gave him very little hope for success, even with the large list his new friends had helped him compile, and he didn't want anyone keeping him company to have to leave when the inevitable happened. He also did not want the inevitable to happen in the count's manor. He wanted it to happen as quietly and as discreetly as possible, so that he could slink home afterwards without having to face anyone.

Red was more or less resigned to his fate now; he wasn't happy about it at all, to be sure, but...at least the Fae in question wasn't bad-looking. He had that to be thankful for, at least. Actually, if Red would just admit it to himself, the striking orange fairy was really quite handsome, and if he had not known what a terrible git the Fae was, Red might have found himself attracted to him.

He sighed as he settled himself down on the ground, with his back to a large tree. He supposed he was being silly, trying to save himself for that one special person—whoever he may be—especially considering that most maidens didn't even bother with that sort of silly nonsense nowadays. But still, it would have been nice if his first time had been with someone he cared for, instead of with someone he absolutely loathed.

"Good evening, beautiful Red. On your own tonight, I see?"

"Casper," Red snapped.

The orange fae blinked, and grinned. "That is not my name," he said.

"Melchoir?"

"Try again."

"Balthasar."

"Way off. This is fun."

Red allowed himself a brief moment to glower angrily at the Fae, before turning his attention fully back to his papers and began to read off names in earnest. It was dark in the forest, but Red's memory was good, and the shadowy prompts of the names written on the paper were enough to get him to recall what was written there.

"Panzimanzi, Gilitrutt, Batzibitzili?" Those had been some of Robert's suggestions; he was, Red had been surprised to discover, apparently a very well-read individual.

"No, no, and...ew."

And on it went. The hours went by, and even the thick sheaf of papers Red had carried with him was soon exhausted. He was running out of time, and running out of ideas. Long periods of silence stretched between the two. The orange Fae was reclining against a tree near Red's, his legs crossed and his fingers laced behind his head. He jiggled one foot and smiled serenely across at Red, who sat rigidly with his back to his tree, glowering at his feet.

The silence stretched longer and longer, only occasionally broken by the Fae, who hummed a cheerful tune to himself from time to time. Red had more or less given up completely at this point; he was now busy trying to mentally prepare himself for what lay ahead. He shivered, wishing he had thought to bring a blanket or something. The night had been cold, and somehow Red was getting the impression that the Fae across from him was going to insist upon claiming his virginity as soon as the sun had risen in the east, and that there would be no time for silly nonsense such as looking for a more suitable place to 'do the deed'.

Red swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The silence that stretched over the forest in the pre-dawn hour seemed incredibly oppressive. The baker flinched slightly at the sound of a twig breaking somewhere behind him and looked up, but the orange Fae had not moved. He was quick to notice Red's motion, however.

"Well, my sweet? Did you want to begin early?"

Red glared and opened his mouth to respond, but stopped short when he heard a whispered voice:

"Over my dead body."

The Fae's long ears pricked, and he sat up, a frown replacing the lazy smile. "What was that?" he demanded.

Red blinked. "Wolf?" he whispered, glancing around in order to find the silver haired man. He was back? He was back! Did that mean that…?

Silence settled quickly, and Red stared dumbly as the Fae narrowed his eyes at a figure standing near.

"Hello, Red." The familiar voice came from his left, and he whirled about and stared into an equally familiar pair of amber eyes, which glowed smugly above a self-satisfied smirk.

---------------------

Kiwi's note: In other parts of the world, the character 'Rumplestiltskin' is known by many different names; Panzimanzi, Gilitrutt, and Batzibitzili are three such. We thought it would be amusing and ironic to include them in the list of names Red guessed, and so we have.