His Pound of Flesh

Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh

But I like to keep some things to myself

Being able to sleep in is my token guilty pleasure as of now. No subjects to examine at the break of dawn, no experiments to run, no distractions, unfortunately. When I bury my face in the pillow to avoid the morning rays, the sting in my jaw reminds me of last night's work. I try to fall back to sleep because I don't want to -can't- deal with any of this. Everything that happens in this world seems to be too soon, too much, too fast for my already frail mind. My stomach groans then, a distraction. I wonder how I will eat if Cassian is not going to serve me? I do not need to eat, any ways. I just want sleep, and the stillness it brings. But I never do get what I want. There is a knock, and my door opens before I can proclaim leave.

How sweet, it is my little brother, the last thing I need to see. I ignore Cain, even if it has proven to be an ineffective manner of dealing with him.
"Doctor, I know we are not on good terms-"
"I know that too, Cain."
"but I wanted to thank you for saving Riff. You have no idea how much he means to me." Cain came to gloat, about what love he has that I do not. To think he says I have no idea.
"... So you now want to seem forgiving, Cain?" I get out of bed, unfortunately only in a large blouse that serves as an ill fitting substitute for my yukata. "How do you do it Cain? How have you repressed the memory of that man we killed last night?"
"... I haven't doctor. And unlike you, I never will be able to."
"So you intend to live remembering the face of every man we will kill? How quaint."

I lean on the wall, feeling a predatory grin cross my features. I want that grin to be sharp, sharp as my scalpel. Cain neither shifts nor flinches. It is always wise to be still when confronted by any dangerous creature, isen't it?
"Are you upset because I didn't help when you hit the ground last night, Doctor?"
Doctor, I enjoy hearing my title and not my name whenever I feel like this. It is proud, clean, professional and clinical - valued- everything I would like to be. I am glad that name stuck with Cain, just hearing him say it gives me the strength to go on speaking so coldly.

"That was something I knew would occur, Cain; it should upset you because in that moment you learned that you would rather kill an innocent man than help your brother." In this pristine moment I remember all the better times I've had with Cain. I remember how it feels to be the one who is certain and controls an interaction, while someone else stumbles in the dark. I never could find a way to make those times last, if they even ever existed at all.
"I don't think we need to hold this conversation any longer. I came to talk because I thought it would help you, Jizabel."
They never did last because all along I was being toyed with, by my brother and my father. I slam my arm between Cain and the door, I need to have this conversation. And it is my guilty pleasure that... Father is not here to stop me, to save that wicked Cain.

"Help? Help so that you don't lose me to myself. Because then who will help that corpse you call Riff...
Please, brother, tell me how is it that you have repressed the memory of killing me?"
Cain shifts, a hand slipping to his pocket.
" You are insane, Jizabel Disraeli."
I pin that hand to the wall, for all my illness I am still stronger than a 17 year old noble brat.

"... I know. But you made me this way, so now you have to answer." My voice sounds like it comes from outside my body, cold and soft as it slithers into my head.
"... I can't unmake anything, so how can I answer?" There is such a pretty melancholy in Cain's voice when he says that, but I don't smile at it.
"Correct, little brother. You cannot. And neither can I, thus there is at least one thing our uselessness is matched in."
I release Cain; he moves to go out the door. I have better things to do than stop him.
The little choir of birds is at my window already, huddled together against the cold. I wish somebody had brought me bread for them.

And I've been a fool and I've been blind

I can never leave the past behind

I can see no way, I can see no way

I'm always dragging that horse around

I keep watch of that third story window from under the brim of my cap. Clipping the shears now and again to seem busy.
"You're a pretty terrible gardener, Cassian." I'd almost forgotten that the kid sister, Mary, was sitting on the bench near me. I snort a bit before replying:
"Well, then let's not tell your Uncle that. I need this job, you know." Not so much for the money as for the fact it gives me a disguise and an excuse to stay by Jizabel's window and keep watch on him. Mary walks over to inspect the shrub I've been trimming, or at least attempting to. She doesn't call me out on the fact it's pretty damn far from the little square shape all the other rose bushes have. She does however speak in that sing song voice all children seem to use- which I never used, by the way.

"But as Cain's guest you don't have to pay for food or boarding. Otherwise Oscar would already have eaten himself into the poor house." I snip a leaf or two while talking.
"That's a pretty crass thing for a lady like you to say."
"Oh! Sorry... Um, please don't tell Cain. I don't want to be stuck with Aunt Katrina again. But... why else do you want this job? Is it the Doctor? Because the only plants you ever, um, trim are the ones you can see from his window." She's an observant little brat, but that makes sense, seeing how Cain runs around playing Sherlock Holmes.
"Hmph, smart kid. That might be part of it. However I do need the money so I can pick up somethings at the docks-"
"Can I go with you? Please, Cassian, I haven't been to the docks in ages. Please, I won't tell!" Again, she uses the sing song voice and speaks way too fast.
"No. I am not getting in trouble for losing an Earl's sister; didn't I tell you I just got this job?"
"Fine." Mary walks back to the bench and sits with her arms crossed, ignoring me. A young maid crosses the yard to avoid me, they've all done that since yesterday when I asked one of them to bring the doctor his meals. It's all fine by me.
A red, red rose loses its head when Mary yanks at my sleeve.

"Cassian, look up! You should see him. It just looks so unreal, almost enough you forget that... He looks so much like something from a fairytale that you forget he's so... violent."
Jizabel stands at the window, palms full of bread and birds, ice blond hair whipped about by the beating of tiny wings. And just like that, he's caught anyone who sees in a spell.
"Hey, Mary, have you heard any stories about fairies from the northern isles?" The girl shakes her head no.
"You wouldn't want to. For some time, I lived at a port town. Their tales came from those isles. Fairies in those stories are still beautiful creatures, but they're also wicked ones. They live to toy with humans, use them. They said that if you ever saw one, you would be whisked away, never to make it back to the human world." She's still staring at him and his birds, her face somewhere between awe, joy and fear when she speaks quietly.
"Then that makes him just like a fairy."
"Stop saying those things about your brother." I've put the garden sheers down to watch Jizabel.
"It's hard to forget all the Doctor's done... But I guess there's a reason you care about him, isn't there, Cassian?" Like always, the Doctor, Jizabel, former Death looks beatific, and noting less.
"Yeah, there is."
"... Well, aren't you going to tell me that story?"
"No." I get back to work, while Mary glares at my back until Riff comes by. She rushes to him arms outstretched, proclaiming how miraculous it is that he's better so soon. I don't notice much, too busy trimming the roses. They turn to leave, Riff speaking up right then.
"Cassian,please thank the Doctor for me."
"Thank him yourself."

Our love is questioned, such a mournful sound

Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground

So I like to keep my issues drawn

The day's bloody death streams across the sky, giving the clouds a lovely red shade. Some may call what I am doing watching a sunset. Enough days have passed since Raffit's procedure that I should inquire on him, as a patient. Seven days and a frail deadly doll like Meridiana or a strained one like Mikalia would be failing, but Raffit is unlike them. I never was assigned to manage his maintenance before, at Delilah. That was father's task. However, I do know that he served as the Tower for near a decade, with maintenance procedures being done sparingly. So, he is not as fragile a doll as I am used to monitoring. Thus I do not bother inquiring of him to the terrified maids that bring my meals, and I do not see Cain. It is all the better that I am alone...

Without any other subject to occupy my time, I examine my own wounds. I treat the bullet hole for infection, taking every possible caution so it will not scar - why would I ever desire to remember the Tower? I don't treat my last gifts from father and am even tempted to roll about in filth, so that they may swell and become a raised warm sunset red - just like Cain's scars. Let me belive that father's love for me was the same as his love for Cain. But then Cassian will scold me for all eternity, more so he will be quite upset once he sees those scars. I sigh and mutter to myself. These choices never are easy. I put away my iodine and wrap fresh bandages about my side.

There is a knock at my door. I am composed, and thus proclaim come in.
"Doc- brother, we need to talk. Riff is well now but how long until...?"
"That would depend on Raffit himself. Send him to see me if you want a concrete answer." Cain speaks from the doorway, not having ventured to come any closer this entire time.
"I'll do that then, Doctor. And I had meant to thank you, for everything you've done for Riff... And myself." I look back, Cain is sincere, honest in his gratitude for my killing strangers in the streets of London. What... a farce of familial love.
"...Everything I do and everything I lose, Cain. You can't disregard the last part. I always end up alone because of you. Always." Cain neither rises to the bait this time nor prods further; I am mildly disappointed as he shuts my door while speaking the obligatory.
"Thank you, Doctor. I'll send Riff up with your supper."
I am given this reprieve to return to the view at my window: the barren winter tree where the songbirds roost- now and again they open their little coal-black eyes to view me. What are their thoughts like, I wonder? For how cruel the elements are to them, I am ceratian that their thoughts are beautiful and gentle as their songs. They must dream of flight, while I can only wonder of it. Alas, I do not have wings like them.. I look farther, to the gardens and the man that works them in this cold, then past the stately black wrought iron gate, my last sight is the dark London skyline below the dusk.

Again my meditations are broken as the door opens, a polite silver head peeking in. I speak first.
"What is it, butler?" Riff presses in further while holding silver serving tray aloft between us.
"I have brought your supper, Master Disareli. It is a light vegetable stew, pumpernickel bread, aged sage derby chees-" I've no desire to keep hearing him drone.
"I know what food is, servant!"
"... I understand, sir. However, my name, if you have forgotten, is-"
"Riff Raffit, I have not forgotten you. You are Cain's Riff, the lap dog, the stooge, the martyr... You are my brother's wings." Riff gives a relived sigh as he lowers the tray to my night stand.
"So you are meaning to help Lord Cain? That is good. You both no longer need be enemies, now that you no longer have your father's hatred for you to-"
"Father did not hate me. He was too forgiving to hate me. In the end he was either disappointed... Or was merely indifferent.
Riff, just come here. I had offered to check on something for my brother."
It is impressive how mellow Riff is through out my examination, I had anticipated unease; Justice must have put great care into crafting his persona.

"Tell Cain to see me again tomorrow, we need to plan more about this- well, about you actually." Riff speaks while straightening his suit.
"Master Disraeli, perhaps you would consider joining your family for breakfast tomorrow? You may speak with Master Cain afterwards... Sir Cassian shall be there as well."

And I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

I'm surprised when the kid sister comes to start dragging me by the hand in the morning, whining come eat your breakfast with us, the Doctor is there. This is a pleasant surprise. But if she planed it, then Mary definately overlooked how panicked her uncle will be to find a pair of "Delilah assassins" at his table.

The only vacant seats at the dining table are beside the Doctor, the rest of his family having prefered to keep some distance. He glances at me from the corner of his eye- when he thinks I can't notice- as I take the seat to his left. Other than that Jizabel spends his time staring at his bowl of porridge while moving its contents from one end to the other with his spoon. I try to only eat the parts of my breakfast that won't upset him. The keyword being try. There is only so long that the rest of his family can tolerate taking their breakfast with no conversation. The wheel chair bound uncle speaks up, nervously.

"So, what plans do you have now, lad?"
"Jizabel."
"...I am afraid that I do not understand what you are trying to say, my boy." Jizabel sighs and on impulse reaches for the spectacles he no longer has.
"My name is Jizabel Disraeli, Sir Neil Hargreaves." Neil sputters out his tea. I just watch, because on some level it is honestly hilarious to watch a nobel man with such an aghast expression.
"That is your name? Did my brother honestly name his son that?"
Jizabel stirs his porridge and gives a very bland nod.
"Yes, I am afraid so." Cain and Mary stare from their uncle to their brother, and back and forth again. After a pause the uncle speaks up again.
" Would you rather I called you any other name?"
"...What other name do I have, but this one that our father gave me?" Jizabel's face still seems so flat, however everyone else, including myself, all wear a slight frown. This blows over, like things with Jizabel always seem to. Everyone but the Doctor returns to eating.

Until, maybe in an effort to reach out, Uncle Neil speaks out.
"Jizabel, lad, you may put portraits of your family up on the walls if you'd care."
Jizabel pats his lips with a napkin, despite the lack of need for such, before responding.
" I do not have any." Uncle Neil's expression upon hearing such says he believes he said something terribly wrong.
"I am sorry, I had not meant to-"
"No need to apologize, sir. I would not need any trinkets to recall my family. I am reminded of my mother's face by any mirror, and it feels like my sisters are always with me." The Doctor gives a polite smile; I doubt that any one but me can tell just how wretched that smile is. Cain might, from how he winces at seeing it.
Jizabel arises to leave, giving a polite bow. I catch him by the shirtsleeve and hold out the bowl of porridge.
"Doctor, please take this and eat it, so you don't end up sick later today." Jizabel nods more slowly this time, before accepting it and going on his way.

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

And given half the chance, would I take any of it back

It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone

The honey in the porridge has already congealed from having been left to sit and become cold. No matter. I bring the spoon to my mouth; I can still enjoy the porridge, somewhat. Of all the personal libraries I have been a guest in, this one feels the most grand as I sink into the red velvet arm chair. The Hargreevs' coat of arms is hung in front of me, over the mantel. Only now do I realize how strange it feels that I did not know that crest until now; father never did show it to me. I take another bite of the porridge, wishing I had water for how thick it feels in my throat. My eyes bore into that emblem, searching for any stories or legends I may have heard of my father's family, the Hargreaves. I hastily finish the food Cassian shoved on me. There is nothing that comes to mind. I know nothing more of the Hargreaves than any other Londoner, perhaps even less than nobles like Gladstone. And this should not surprise me as it does; after all, if a nobleman has a bastard son is there any valid reason to show that son the family crest, lest his claims for inheritance be believed? Certainly not; father had always meant for my place to be an obscure one. And it should not bother me to be reminded of that, at all. I set the empty bowl on the window sill- it can be some maid's problem- and continue to stare down that shield as I count the minutes until my appointment with Earl Cain.

"Doctor-" Cain always enters after hardly knocking; it is his house, I suppose.
"You may call me by my first name, or does it make you uneasy, Cain?" The Earl sighs, shifting his bangs a bit.
"It makes me uneasy in the same way that cross you're still wearing does, Jizabel...
You were staring at the crest when I first got here." I look back to that emblem, trying to memorizes the graven details as if it will be taken away, while I speak up.
"I have never seen it before, Cain." I let my hand rise to sweep through the library, towards the crest. "You inherited all of this, Earl Hargreaves" my hand falls to my chest, over where I know my crucifix to be.
"And all I got was a reminder of my own guilt to bear. As if I even needed to be reminded of my sins. You got what you did all because you were his sister's son, and I was not." Cain looks calmer than I feel as he hastily shuts and locks the library door, then moving the bowl off the window sill before taking the sill as his seat. We are so very, very close.

"I find you quite strange, Doctor. You are always saying things like this. Claiming to love me when you torture me, and saying you resent me and want me to suffer whenever you decide to help. Frankly, I don't think you understand the meanings of any of those words." He has that arrogant look that just suits him; I run fingers through the ends of my hair.
"Truly, Cain? I never thought any of it seemed contradictory." His eyes shine, but without malice.
"Then, please explain, Jizabel." He still speaks my name with an awkward unease. I drum my fingers on the chair's velvet as those cat eyes bore into me.
"I wanted to keep you alive along as possible, because without you I would become even more meaningless in father's eyes... I think that, maybe the only things I could have done that would give me any meaning would be to save you or kill you... However, if you should die, the same as if he should die, then I would just cease to exist."
"...Jizabel, father is gone, and belive me that you still exist. But ...if that was what you thought then why were there those times you tried to kill me, or tried to have me kill you?"
"Would you belive me if I said I wanted to be closer to you? Maybe then I could dissect you and see what it was that made you so special that I was forced to love you...
I knew, I lived knowing, that father would kill me. If that was the case- and you were the cause- then at times begetting my own end seemed like the nobler decision. Do you remember that line, whether tis nobler to bear the slings and arrows of fate or in opposing end them? I just could never make myself decide which one was correct. "

Cain treats the silence between us like thin ice on a river he is trying to ford.
"So what do you feel now, without father?"
"And without Cassian, Cain. You can't forget him... it is solely your fault that I lost them both." And then Cain's face says he has thrown all caution to the wind.
"Stop being so self-indulgent, Jizabel. Even at twelve I knew better than you. Do you think I would have Riff and that bond you envy so much if I had made it my goal to push others away at every chance?" Cain should know better than to speak to me like this, I am dangerous. The only people who can act so indifferent to danger are those who have known too many or too few failures. And Cain has not felt near enough, not compared to me.
"I would advise you no longer speak, Cain." Because Earl Cain has not known near enough despair to give him the right to lord over me as he is now.
"Jizabel, where do you think I would be now if when Riff reached out to me I'd have just run back to father? Do you think that I would be any better off than you? I really can't stand how immature you are for a twenty seven year old man. Grow up, Jizabel." Cain goes on with his pathetic childhood story, trying to make it apply to me. "You know, if you can't try to be an adult for your own sake, then how about Cassian's? It's pretty clear, to everyone but you, that he measures his own success or failure according how well you feel. He's too much like Riff in that respect. No matter how cruel or selfish father was towards you, you have no right to be that way with everyone else. " I recall my anger, and all the hate and ability that made me worthy of the rank of Death in the Major Arcana. Wood splinters, glass cracks and Cain is forced to hold onto me for balance after I slam his back against that window. I can barely stand to look upon Cain's face. Those prefect gold eyes and that smirk with its clear look of superiority that tells me he is worth more than me. Just like in that picture of two year old Cain father gave me when I was ten, his bastard son and some toy to him.
"I could gouge out your eyes with my own fingers now, Cain. I could push you out this window, faster than you can call your precious Riff."
And there is that smirk there, still!
"Great, Jizabel... but where would that leave your precious Cassian?"
"Arrgh!"

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat

Looking for heaven, I found the devil in me

It's new to me, being noticed by merchants as I browse the stalls along the dock. Not noticed by a suspecting glance, but noticed as a valuable person, a customer. This body is still pale enough that while I don't seem like a nobel, I still seem someone with the privilege to work indoors. Maybe I look like a salary man buying for his boss? That's kinda annoying. Whenever I came here before, I was seen as a child or vagabond. Now with tall limbs and freshly laundered cloths, all the merchants beckon for me to go over to buy their wares. Every now and again I hear Edelweiss or see a flash of white, an old ghost from Delilah. It's all a trick of the mind, probably. I am going toward the end of the docks, where the ships from the Far East are, when I feel a small presence trailing me. I turn around expecting the Fool, only to find a far worse sight.

"Mary! What the devil brought you here!? Do your brother and uncle know?" The small girl fidgets with her dress' lace.
"I- I'd meant to get back home before they notic-"
"You'd meant? Do you have any idea that you could be kidnapped? Why would a lady of your standing even want to go to the docks, this isen't a playground or zoo for nobles!" she speaks soft enough that I can hardly hear.
"I had some friends here from before I knew Cain, I thought I might see them again... But I can't find anybody that I knew. I really believed I would, but after Crimone... There's just... no one. That's... that's my father's fault, right?"
"A lot of what's wrong in London is your father's fault, kid.
Look, Mary if you're going to be tagging along then keep somewhere I can see you."
"Okay!" I get more than I'd asked for when Mary grabs me by the hand and rushes to the merchant stalls. At least she's dragged us the right vendor.
"Cassian, aren't all those Japanese things, pretty? I've just been learning about that country." I'm not that good with kids.
I turn to speak with the merchant: "Do you have some of those silk dress robes in the right size for someone that is, say, 4 inches shorter than me?" The merchant pulls down a few robes in a variety of patterns. As I look through them, Mary tugs my sleeve and asks
"Are you getting a Christmas present for Jizabel?" The merchant catches on, looking to make a sale.
"If it's a lady you are looking to buy for, sir, could I make some recommendations? Is this family or courtship?"
"No, nothing of the sort. I'm only picking up merchandise for my employer. Please ignore the girl." Mary pouts and the merchant sighs, still wanting to make his sale.
"I see, sir, and apologize for assuming. But if you do have any lady to buy for may I recommend these? All the young women seem to think that the Asians' little carved wood animals are, I quote, super cute. It is such a cheap gift for a man like you, and sure to charm." It's a bit embarrassing, but the merchant's right. The Doctor does love little trinkets like that. I buy the wares, with Mary commenting which to get all along. Three robes, with maple leaves and pine boughs and birds, and a handful of wooden animals. They're all stuffed in a cotton bag that I take with me as I walk back down the docks, Mary in tow.

I speak up to her, as we walk along.
"Hey, Mary?"
"Yes, Cassian?"
"Do you think you could try to not mention your brother? I'm not talking about Cain."
"Sorry, I hadn't thought-"
"It's alright, just don't do it again. I mean it's still a dangerous thing to do, mentioning me and him." With the way Delilah and society are.
"I won't do it again. I don't want anything to happen to either of you." I pat her head, it's nice being tall enough to do that.
"I know, Mary, I know."
We get back to walking, ending up where they vend the workers' food.
"Oh, look, fish and chips! Cassian, can we get some?"
"As long as you don't let your brother and uncle know, yes." On our way to buy the food, Mary stops in front of a stand selling Saints' medallions - to Irish dockhands or those takeing ships to New York, probably.
"I bet he would like the one with a dove! Why don't you buy it for him?"
"That's not really a dove, you know, but, Mary, I think you're right."

There's not much to do back at the Hargreaves' estate. I put my purchases away, and put the room I'm using in order. But then what?
I sit at that garden bench, letting time pass by. I'd been watching clouds when I realize there is another guest on the bench, after spotting tendrils of hair the color of birch bark at my side. I shift a bit to see, and notice that Jizabel was watching the clouds, too.
"Doctor?" He keeps his eyes trained on the white fluff above us.
"Yes, Cassian?" There's a gentle cadence to his voice.
"I... I read some books if you want to talk about them."
"Hm? Which, did you like it?"
"I think it was Orpheaus and Euridycie, and I hated it." Jizabel turns to look at me, a small pout on his lips.
"Ah, that is too bad. I love that story; could you tell it to me, Cassian?" I scratch at my head, seeing where to begin. It's odd, that I'm being asked for stories lately.
"Well, let's see... according to myth, there was once this man, this bard Orpheus. And if you trust those myths, then the world was full of gods that liked to toy with all us mortals. They got a kick out of it, which should sound familiar.
Now, the interesting part happens when someone very dear to Orpheus dies. You see, back then, Hell or Hades was a tangible place, somewhere you could just walk into. That was just what Orpheus did, and it seems he was a damn good bard, seeing that all the gatekeepers and guards let him in after hearing his sob story. By the time he's at the end of his road, he stands before the King of Hades himself.
Now, this King, he finds the very idea that a mortal would love someone enough to brave Hell for them laughable, so he can't take Orpheus seriously. The King tells Orpheus that if he takes the road out, certainly Euridyce will follow, all the while thinking it's a lie. Because the King is so convinced that even if Orpheus and Euridyce care for each other, there is no way Euridyce could find the strength to make the difficult journey back to a world he had made her forget. And on top of all that, to toy with them further, the King says that if either should speak or look back then he'll keep them apart forever.
Euridyce and Orpheus just leave and go back to the world of the living then, because it turns out that the King had a bad habit of underestimating everyone but himself."
There's a soft chuckling to my side, as the Doctor covers his mouth with his hand.
"That... is like no version of the Tragedy of Orpheus and Euridyce that I can recall, Cassian. But... I belive I will remember yours, even if you have not remembered any of the Greeks'."
"I didn't forget, Doctor. I just told you I hated theirs."

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

Well, once this is done I belive I'll have written a novella. This ended up rather long, and even then it only covers half of what I'd wanted it to...

lyrics are from Shake It Out by Florence + the Machine, with a few changes so they match the story's tone.

In Orpheus and Euridyce's myth, they fail.
But, here, in my story, it seems both Cassian and Jizabel have a habit of changing literary works when they tell them. Go figure.