Warnings: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.
Rated: M!
A/N: Back with the following chapter! And just to let you know, Darius' mother favoured Strength above others in this story. She also got on mostly with Hannah, drinking in pubs and whatnot, and so was quite heartbroken when she left. Anyway, this is it – the chapter where Darius fights those dastardly rebels and Reaver reveals something of his past with the Queen. Finally, I adore my simple chapter title. So, as always, happy reading :)
Summary: A few days latter to having rescued Page's men from Reaver's Manor, Darius wakes to find himself and his faithful dog, Rylin, stuck in a cell. It seems like the past always manages to catch up with him. But when an unknown organisation from Bloodstone is bent on killing Heroes and the nobility, the revolution takes on an unexpected turn in its tale. Fable III: Reaver/Prince.
A Light To Rival The Shadows
Chapter Eleven: Remember, Remember
Darius knew what Reaver was suggesting: not that he was incapable of tracking the rebels down, but that he might think twice about killing them. Darius bristled as the thought raced across his mind; he felt his nostrils flare and his lips downcast into a snarl.
"They tried to assassinate my son at my own home, Reaver! Fortunately, since I was there on that day, their only success was in killing his nanny," he growled bitterly. "I can accept their anger – my decision was what ultimately killed her husband, their families, even if it was Logan's doing – but what I won't tolerate are attacks against my son. He's innocent in all of this!"
"Ah, but should your most noble persuasive skills fail, whatever shall you do then?"
"Kill them…" he seethed, "but only if necessary, because Albion can't have such men on the throne. From what we've seen so far, they're out only for revenge; and if they seize the throne, only bloodshed can come of it."
Reaver snorted, "And I suppose you intend on taking the throne through recitals of nonsensical poetry?"
Darius opened his mouth to retort, bursting to tell Reaver to "fuck off back to Bowerstone", but Ben caught his shoulder and barked out, "All right, Reaver, you've made your bloody point about reminding us to all take our gunpowder in case those dastardly, mean rebels think about disagreeing with us."
Ben took his scowling gaze from Reaver and glanced at Darius, smiling light-heartedly at him despite the ire that was evidently pouring from Darius' cobalt eyes. Reaver's long fingers, with immaculately clear nails, remained curved around a partially filled glass, and Darius berated himself as his mind wandered to the time in the ship's hull when those same fingers of Reaver's had seized his hips and pressed teasingly into his skin.
"So…how's about we start making plans for when we invade the rebels' base tonight?" suggested Ben. "I mean it's likely all our plans will go tits up anyway, but where's the fun without that happening?"
Darius forced a smile at him, albeit that it was more of an irritated smirk, as he tried mentally shaking away the memories of Reaver's touch.
"Ben's right. We've found a way to gain entry into their main base by signing up as a recruit," Darius informed Reaver, whose curious expression was marginally hidden behind the wine glass at his lips. "They're apparently hosting recruitments in the cellar of the local whorehouse, so that's where we, err, plan to be tonight."
"Well, no doubt you shall both find yourselves witnessing quite the spectacle then," snickered Reaver, lowering his wine glass to rest upon his knees. "Though the establishment's soirées are quite complacent in comparison to my own, as I am sure you would agree, my Prince."
Darius, although restrained his eyebrows from scowling, observed Reaver's smirking expression with a determined gaze. Indeed, Darius knew exactly what sort of shows Reaver hosted behind closed doors.
"Cut the crap, Reaver," grated Ben, glaring at the man. "Just tell us, are you planning on helping us tonight or not? 'Cause if this is all a joke to you…"
"Oh, I think I can find a way of fitting a little raid into my busy schedule."
Darius snorted. "Yes, you do seem very busy, sitting in here and drinking."
"I wholly object. Why, I am busy with the rebuilding of my estate," retorted Reaver, his voice carrying a tone of both irritation and excitement. He plopped his glass down onto the desk, scarcely avoiding spilling the wine, "Do you know how incompetent the occupants of Bloodstone are? I have even had to hire men from overseas to aid the rebuilding of my beloved Manor."
"One would think you'd be more upset at seeing your beloved Manor burnt to smithereens than over the costs," muttered Ben.
Reaver waved him off. "I have many estates and lands. In truth, that little Manor was in need of a refurbishment. The only think of value that I kept inside were the things that I collected, gentlemen." His eyes, growing solemn, glanced over at his sword beside the desk before turning back, "…But to business, I think. You both are welcome to remain aboard my vessel for the remainder of the day, and then, tonight, we shall all together visit that delightful establishment. Do you not agree that this plan is acceptable, mon petite Prince?"
Darius couldn't fathom what Reaver meant by continuously calling him petite, and he bristled at the thought of it being some sort of insult, but nevertheless, he relented.
"Fine," he murmured, albeit disliking that he actually agreeing with Reaver. "It does make sense for us not to keep too far apart."
Ben nodded, and made to stand.
"Right…well, there's no reason for us to be taking up anymore of your time, Reaver. After all, you are very busy," he jibed, smirking before turning again to face Darius. "Come on, mate – you fancy a game of cards against a few of the crew?"
The notion was an enticing one, but there laid a far greater pull – the chance that he had missed at the Inn to find out about his mother – and it lingered, gnawing away within his thoughts at the back of Darius' mind. It had been lingering there for days now.
"Actually, you go on, Ben. I'll be down in a moment," motioned Darius, with a wave of a hand. He only hoped that his decision would be worth it. "I just want to go over something with Reaver first."
"Right – talking," snorted Ben. "Is that what they call it these days?"
Darius glared at the chuckling soldier as he vacated the room. No doubt, he wouldn't hear the end of it from Ben for the rest of the day now.
He turned back in his seat to face Reaver.
"Is there something more that you perhaps wish to dwell upon, my Prince?" he asked, with a skinny black eyebrow perked. "No ill effects that invigorating brawl in the Inn the other day, perhaps?"
"I'm fine, Reaver. It's my mother I want to discuss," replied Darius briskly. "You promised that you would tell me about her."
The pirate snorted, "I make a great deal of promises. You cannot expect myself to recall all of them."
"Reaver, I want you to tell me about her," demanded Darius, before glancing at the stack of documents on his desk, "when you've some free time."
"My, my, the little Prince does beggeth to gain my time," chuckled Reaver. "But oh, these papers can certainly wait. I hardly think they will scuttle off on their own darling adventures, now, will they?"
Again, he picked up the wine glass from his desk and he sipped it lightly.
"Now then, I am quite sure that you already know your mother was a filthy street urchin in her youth, so I shan't dally on about that," he informed, tisking his tongue and seemingly ignoring Darius' scowling expression.
Reaver hummed pleasantly, and grinned, "…I think I shall speak of when I knew her – yes, those years were very grand indeed. So much more deliciously inviting than any other tall tale that I've overheard. The old Queen – your dearest, sweet mother – you know, still remains the most striking woman I've ever had the pleasure in meeting."
"You admired her, then?"
His expression hardened, and he took yet another sip of his wine.
"No…she was a foolish woman when I met her," he callously remarked. "She had wedded some moronic cretin, a man who relied on his hammer for his sense, from Westcliff some months before her arrival at Bloodstone. Truly, it was only after our dealings with that old boorish Lord Lucien at the Spire and my faithful return to Bowerstone from Samarkand that I came to become closely acquainted with Sparrow, for on my return, amongst my investors, I'd uncovered rumours that your mother's dear beloved husband had turned somewhat into a brute, that being a royal Consort to our Queen had caused him to become lax and power-hungry."
Darius sat in silence, his irked mind registering the information about his father.
"Of course, I, myself, cared little for her marriage at the time. I was beginning to build up a respectable industry business in factories then, as I am sure you well know…and I only ever attended court sessions then to speak on matters of importance with dignitaries. That tiresome mess with Lucien was quite enough for moi, I assure you."
"Was she happy?" interrupted Darius. "Despite being married to my father, was she happy being Queen?"
Reaver consumed the remainder of wine in his glass and refilled it, making to swallow a mouthful from that one as well. He seemed thoughtful, staring at the glass, and Darius waited patiently.
"I think I shall tell you a tale, my Prince," croaked Reaver, before coughing lightly to clear his throat; "…A tale of a time when I was your mother's most dear associate – or a friend, since she lovingly bestowed that frivolous name upon me – and when my businesses were truly flourishing in Bowerstone."
Darius snorted. "Pardon me for saying this, Reaver," he retorted, albeit smiling at the lips, "but you don't really seem the type to be friends with anyone."
"Ah, her husband thought the very same," chortled Reaver, with a decisive wink. "I daresay, there were certainly rumours spread amongst the court about her wanderings with myself, but they were settled once our dear Logan came to be born. But I digress – for more than two years Her Majesty and I merely exchanged glances and simple pleasantries at one another in Court, scarcely choosing ever to speak save for on delicate policies. But oh, during one particular court session, your dear mother leapt from her throne and accosted my person away from speaking with my charming investors. I was completely aghast at her poor treatment of me, but alas, Her Highness must be obeyed and so I willingly escorted outside of Bowerstone Castle and into the petty lowlife streets."
"What happened next, then?"
"Oh, business talk I'm afraid. The journey was most exceptionally boorish to begin with. But as we escaped from Bowerstone, onto Rookridge road, Her Majesty took to a fight with slavers! Ah, as much as your mother despised my present being, she loathed slavers more and was quick to unsheathe her blade," laughed Reaver, enraptured by his own memories. "Your mother was the most striking woman in battle; two years from birthing our dear Logan and Sparrow was every bit as striking as when she had first intruded upon my darling Manor. Alas, those naughty slavers were no match for her blade – and more so, my beloved Dragonstomper."
"You two worked well together? You didn't fight?" blurted Darius. "She didn't even attempt to kill you?"
Reaver wildly smiled, his expression seemingly foretelling something of amusement.
"Oh, after scouring those naughty slavers, we fought. I personally demanded that she return to the castle. After all, one shouldn't risk the life of royalty now. But Her Majesty refused – her mood even sullied, as I recall – and I was obliged to walk her further on into the woods of Rookridge. A most menial adventure it was, trivial, but I obliged our beloved Queen's wishes…and, in time, she inquired if I was in fact happy with my industrious work."
"What did you reply – were you happy?"
"Oh, I was as delightfully happy as any peasant in bed with a whore. I charmed our dear Sparrow with stories of my magnificent wealth, my delicious liaisons to make her laugh, and of my weary travelling in the desert lands of Samarkand, and she smiled delicately towards me and announced a wish that she, too, could have adventures once again like yours truly. It was pitiful…our dear little, oh-so heroic Sparrow believed that her life was monotonous, and I, Reaver, offered so graciously to take her away –"
"You offered –"
"I do not why I offered her…a mere spark, a simple choice of a moment. And besides, your mother refused me. She was foolish to have ever married, to have become so laden in her life, and what with being the grand fourth Hero as she was…and I, when being considered her friend of all the ridiculous notions…"
Reaver's voice broke away. His weary eyes looked from Darius towards his desk and he swallowed a generous mouthful of wine. His eyes returned slowly to Darius, and a smile, perhaps forcefully, returned to his wet lips.
"Of course, she humbly apologised after her refusal, for propriety and the demands of her people required her to remain at the Castle. It made no matter to moi, but one doesn't like to be one a royal's naughty list and so I insisted upon taking her out on many more outings. I daresay I became her favourite advocate after that moment. Our little endeavours pleased her; and even when she became pregnant with you, my Prince –" Darius' eyes widened at the mention of himself – "she still insisted upon taking our business talks outside. Sparrow, or Blade as she'd become later known as, had always been quite the determined wrench – naively kind, but oh-so very bloody stubborn."
"Wait…you knew my mother when she was pregnant with me?" spluttered Darius, frowning suspiciously. "How long have you lived, exactly? I mean, you look damn young for a person of forty or so."
"Oh, I am certainly more than forty, mon petit Prince. But Her Majesty knew of my little secret…and she suffered dearly for it, despite later forgiving me," grated Reaver, drinking once more. His eyes held deadly upon Darius', "You'll forgive me if I do not confess all of my delightful shadowy secrets to you, my splendid Prince. I do have quite the amount, you see. It take quite the age to confess them all and do so despise things taking so long."
Darius snorted. "I'm sure you do, Reaver, with the way you're getting through that wine."
"There are much sweeter things in life to savour than wine, my Prince, as you should well know," smirked Reaver. "But no doubt, you should be tallying along to that rugged Captain of yours now," he continued, "since I am sure he is quite missing your exquisite companionship."
"I…yes, I'll go and check on him," said Darius, rising from his seat and slowly, thoughtfully, making his way towards the door. He paused just before grabbing the doorknob, and turned his head back.
"You've my thanks for the tale, Reaver," he murmured. "It was…nice to hear about my mother from someone that knew her, and that she was not wholly unhappy when she was Queen."
Reaver inclined his head. "I assure you, Sparrow was quite content with her Queenly lifestyle. When Sir Walter was hired on as her personal bodyguard, she was indeed much happier, according to my sources...since I kept a watch on her person, you might say." Reaver laid his elbows onto his knees and leaned forwards into his seat, "…Our friendship was a remarkable thing whilst your mother lived. Those pesky Heroes, whom which she'd dallied about before meeting yours truly, disinclined to ever return after the fall of Lucien."
Darius sighed. "I suppose I should be glad then that she had you around her, at least, even if your reasons were solely business."
"Not entirely business, but yes, quite. However, it was an absolute pleasure to oblige you, my Prince," he added, and winked quite amusedly. "But if you do recall, we do have a business deal between us still, do we not?"
"Yes, we do, Reaver," grated Darius, his grip tightening on the doorknob. "And once my end is accomplished, then we'll complete yours."
"Excellent…and tatty-bye, mon petit Prince, for now."
Darius rolled his eyes and departed from the chamber, albeit feeling mildly numbed. He had dearly wanted to inquire if Reaver was feeling well; he had wanted to ask; but restrained himself and left the man to his papers. Darius disliked the thought of Reaver drinking so much wine, especially if they were to venture into the rebels' hideout by nightfall, but he sincerely doubted that Reaver would have listened anyway.
Still, he found himself thankful for Reaver's knowledge, despite the sweep of sadness that overwhelmed him at the thought of having lost such a kind mother at the mere age of seven.
He sighed, but on observing the main deck and finding only a few scrubbers in sight, his eyes ventured over to the main wheel and settled on the merry sight of Ben and several of the crewmates drinking at a table. Terrie remained at the wheel, but even she was yapping cheerfully as they were engaged in some kind of card game.
Darius climbed the stairs and greeted them. Ben passed him a pint of mead, and, within a few short moments, he had entered a game of Key Stone. Whatever melancholy had overwhelmed him before, in the company of alcohol, cards, and Ben and his laughing companions, all gloomy thoughts were placed aside and he became comfortably settled.
But as the afternoon pressed on, and the men returned to their duties (no doubt, from a foreboding fear of Reaver), Darius found himself weary once again. As he, Ben, and other hands made to return the table and other utensils to below decks, they were thus required to enter the kitchen, which had been reportedly damaged during the storm. Fortunately, according to the men, Reaver had been impeccable in his swiftness to repair his beloved vessel.
"We'll have to have a rematch sometime, eh Gunslinger," blabbered Barney, one of the kitchen-lads and whom had lost only once to Darius throughout the games.
"Aye, sir," said Sam, whose duties mainly consisted of scrubbing the decks. "You're pretty good…and if may say so, you're nothing like many of these douchebags 'round here."
"Oi, you insulting us now, Sammy girl," smirked Barney, chortling away. "I think you just damn broke my heart with that here comment, lass."
"Well at least I didn't break your fingers, not like that last girl you picked up in Bowerstone," she jibed playfully. "Anyway, come on…if Reaver comes out of his quarters, it'll be our hides if he sees us chatting."
The two hands vacated the kitchen, with their spitting voices echoing loudly. Ben made to pour himself a glass of mead, and Darius quickly followed suit. He could recall once being told by Walter that it was difficult to ever find an inebriated Hero, for they had such excessive will power and a high metabolism rate, and Darius was inherently thankful for them. Between Walter and Ben, he spent more than enough weekdays drinking at local taverns.
Darius tossed back the glass and poured himself another.
"So…speaking of Reaver," voiced Ben, with a raised brow, "what were you two talking about, if that is what you two were doing in there? I mean, do you really think its wise for us to be spending so much time around him?"
He sighed. "I honestly don't know, Ben, but Reaver seems to be on our side for now so there's nothing more we can do. And besides, we really were just discussing matters, you know…nothing else happened in there."
Darius seized the bottle of mead and chugged down several mouthfuls. Ben's eyebrows shot up further, and he chuckled when Darius threw him an irritated glance.
"It must have been some discussion," mocked Ben, grinning beneath his blond locks.
"He knew about my mother," continued Darius briskly, before taking another swig; "…he knows much more about her than I ever will, it seems."
"Avo, what did he have to say about her?" said Ben. "The old Hero books mention some short period that he'd spent with her before the fall of Lord Lucien, but nothing detailed. I think most of the authors hated him, really."
"You've read books on the old Heroes?"
Ben nodded. "Yeah – why, didn't you in your youth?"
Darius shrugged. "Walter always put more importance in training, and Jasper just saw to it that I was dressing and eating correctly. The only times I ever studied something was when I found myself with free hours to spend in the library, and usually that was only on rainy days."
"Well, if you don't mind me sticking my nose in, what did Reaver have to say about the old Queen?"
"Nothing much," replied Darius, shrugging. "I already knew all the rumours about my father, but according to Reaver he and my mother were once friends before she passed away. It was…strange to hear."
Ben smiled sympathetically in his direction.
"I've no doubt it was strange, mate," he murmured. "But at least you know something more about her life, eh? That's good at least, isn't it?"
"I suppose."
Darius tossed back the remainder of the mead, returning the glass to stand beside the others on the smashed-up counter. After watching Ben snatch another glass and tossing it back effortlessly, they made to return for the main deck, where the men were once again working tirelessly and Reaver was no where in sight.
/~\
Disguised once again behind a mask, albeit a fur-lined grey one that belonged to Reaver, Darius felt an impending sense of day-ja-vu. He had argued that his makeup and clothing should have been enough to differentiate himself from his princely self, but Reaver had insisted.
Strutting beside him, keening at the slick noises of wrenches and whores, Ben's unmasked expression hid nothing of his interests, despite his muttered objections before entering the whorehouse. Being relatively unknown by the people of Bloodstone, he hadn't needed to wear a mask.
Nevertheless, beneath his mask, Reaver was also evidently at his pleasure, as Darius often caught his lips smirking whilst fingering his beloved pistol at his hip. Truly, the only way they were likely to gain entrance into the cellar was by remaining inconspicuous, since both he and Reaver were worldly known.
By the way he's behaving, though, I'm surprised no ones yet noticed it's him underneath that flaming thing, thought Darius irritably.
"We're here for the, err, meeting, darling," explained Ben. He was speaking with an elderly woman, forty perhaps and with long white hair bound by pins, and who was evidently the owner of the establishment.
"Lots of men are here for meetings, sweetheart," she laughed, her arms unfolding to settle seductively on her hips, "I can set you up with one if you fancy."
"No, err –"
Darius snorted. "Actually, we're here for the recruiting…err, downstairs."
"All right, all right, handsome. There's no need to be getting your breeches in a twist, now," she laughed. "Just follow me, lads, this way and I'll show you where to go."
The woman led them through two rooms, and each echoed different tones of moans and groans from romping in the beds, and not only always beneath the sheets. More than once, Darius caught the sight of a hand gripping at a breast, an arse in the air, and the customers screwing men and women alike. It was cold, hard fucking, and Darius would have perhaps been more intrigued were his interests not completely soured by a lack of privacy available.
Darius was even forced to nudge Ben in the ribs when they walked past no less a couple of young women, who seemed to be pleasuring one another beneath the sheets. At Reaver, despite his drawn eyes, hadn't impolitely stopped to stare.
"My, my, such exquisite sights here tonight, Madam Bryan," voiced Reaver, sounding unsurprisingly eccentric as always. "Surely it is not only your delightful demeanour that is attracting all these wonderful patrons."
The woman laughed. "It's the lads downstairs that have been improving my business. I've been getting all sorts since they've been coming here each Thursday night," she answered coolly, and swayed her body to turn and face Reaver. "But you're well informed, sweetheart, knowing my name. And I'm sure I recognised that comely voice of yours from somewhere."
"Comely? Oh, my voice is all but comely, you flaxen woman. It is far more delicious, do you not think?"
The woman chuckled, evidently amused by the masked man in front of her. Darius glowered sharply at Reaver.
"What my friend is really trying to say is that we, err, aren't from around here, you see, and he gets a tad uppity whenever someone starts mocking his accent," he lied, and smiled sympathetically at the owner, as he clapped a hand humorously on Reaver's back. Reaver shot him an irritated look, but Darius ignored him. "Truly, we're just here 'cause we heard that there's good money to be made."
"There's good money to be made everywhere, sweetheart," she murmured, placing a hand attentively on his cheek and winking, "if you know where to look."
She removed her hand, turned and continued on. Darius recoiled slightly at the notion of her implications behind her back as they walked, and kept from smacking Ben as the soldier threw him numerous smirks. It caused Darius not to dare turning to his right and catching whatever Reaver's expression looked like.
Darius followed her through a door that led evidently into a small kitchen. He watched as she stopped short beside a small table that lay in the centre of the room and pointed to a rotting door opposite her, which was situated by the cooking furnace.
"That door'll take you to the cellar. Just mind the stairs on your way down, boys."
"Thanks for the help," said Ben.
Reaver snorted. "Simply let us have done swiftly with this whole soirée. I grow quite weary of waiting upon you to fulfil your end of our little bargain."
"As soon as we're done here," grated Darius. "Trust me. I did promise after all, didn't I?"
"Promises can just as easily be broken as they are made, my sweet," he seethed.
"But unlike you, my friend keeps his promises," retorted Ben, as he turned from the door to glower at Reaver. "And if you want your business done, hurry up in following me down."
Ben turned the doorknob and slipped through the door to enter the darkened stairway. Reaver threw Darius a cold-hearted look, but then skirted across the kitchen floor and left as well
Darius sighed, and ran a hand anxiously through his brunette locks.
"Quite the group of companions you've got yourself there, sir," remarked the whorehouse owner. "Once your business down there is concluded though, I do hope you'll not be afraid to look for a little pleasure up here. I'll even give you a special discount, sweetheart, if you want."
He coughed. "Err, thanks."
"Such a pretty face you've got as well, you know," she said. "Anytime you fancy a job, come here. I've always got work for a well-spoken lad like yourself…makes the women – and men, mind you – go crazy 'round here."
"I think I'm fine for now."
She smiled cheekily. "Just giving you the option, sweetheart."
Madam Bryan strode out from the room and Darius, scarcely believing the day that he was having so far, drifted across the room and entered the door that Reaver and Ben had previously ventured through. He slammed the door carefully shut behind him, feeling momentarily thankful for the torches that had been fixed onto the stonewalls, which saved him from openly using his Will energy.
He continued on down the staircase for some moments, coming eventually to a round staircase and spotting Ben and Reaver leaning over a railing and speaking in hushed tones. Their conversation immediately halted upon Ben's gaze catching Darius' appearance.
"You took your bloody time," he snapped.
"She wanted to give me a bloody discount," berated Darius, feeling just as – if not, more so – irritated by their current situation. "And I think I just got offered a job to be a ruddy whore here."
"And such a delicious one you would surely make, my Prince," smirked Reaver.
Darius elbowed Reaver in the ribs and vainly attempted to ignore Ben, as he continued to snicker quietly as Darius led them on. Darius was only grateful that neither Walter nor Page was present now; he couldn't imagine what they would have made of all this.
As they ventured near the remaining set of stairs, Darius could distinctly hear the sound of men, likely ruffians by their crude lyrics, singing beyond the wooden door at the bottom.
"So…are we just strolling inside or doing the old gun blazing routine?" whispered Ben.
"Strolling," answered Darius. "I want to see what they're up to before we make any move. And remember, it's their leader we're looking out for most of all. A woman called Formosa, if our information is correct."
"My information is always accurate," stifled Reaver behind him.
Ben rolled his eyes. "Let's just go."
As they strolled towards the door, the noise of merriment grew louder. Darius, in a bout of rising confidence, opened it and stepped inside, and his eyebrows flew up as he caught the sight of no less than fifteen mercenaries singing, dancing and clapping to the merry tune of 'Jimmy's Coming Round Tonight'. Darius only knew the song because he'd heard it sung in several pubs before, but the crudeness of it still made him laugh every time.
"You here to sign up?"
One of the men standing not a few feet away had walked a few paces toward them. The mercenary dropped his cigarette to the stone floor, crushing it beneath the weight of a dirt-stained boot.
"Yeah," replied Darius, setting his eyes coolly upon the mercenary. "Know where we're supposed to go?"
"Yeh to go over there," said the mercenary, pointing towards a man that was simply clothed in a plain shirt and breeches and was sitting behind a desk in the right corner of the room. "He'll give ya yeh info…but just don't go annoying him or n'thing. He's easily riled, mate."
"Don't worry, we'll remember," said Darius.
The man behind the desk brushed the another mercenary away as they approached, though the mercenary seemed quite content, smiling even, despite the unsightly scar that seemed to trek all the way from her left eyebrow down to her collar bone. Darius ignored her and set his gaze on the man, whose sneering grin made his stomach curl up in disgust.
"Name's Jerry Fleabottom," he murmured, scowling at Darius. "And are you here to sign up, lads? Or are you just here for the party like those dancing fools over there?"
Ben snorted. "Your family name 's actually Fleabottom?" he sniggered.
"I'll have you know that's a respectable name around these parts," growled the man. "Yeah, my great-grandfather and my grandfather made a living getting rid of fleas of off the folk 'round here, but my since then my family's been in the mercenary business, including myself here."
"Still – Fleabottom? What'd he do, eat the fleas off of bottoms?"
"Ben, leave it!" warned Darius, albeit trying not to grin himself. It was, after all, a very amusing name.
"Oh yeah, well where do you thugs hail from then, eh, 'cause you ain't no one from 'round here. That's a northern Albion accent, you've got," barked the man, before making to stand and point accusingly at them. "Take off those masks, you two. We've got a show-yeh-face-if-ya-want-in policy in this order, so take 'em off!"
Darius shrugged. "Do as the man requests, Reaver," he sighed.
"Alas," said Reaver, "and I was so enjoying the lack of blood-spattering violence we were experiencing. Such a shame."
Reaver was quick to unsheathe his gun first, and shot the man directly in the head. He fell back over his chair; the clattering noise of wood against stone caught the attention of the rest of the room, and Darius groaned.
Grabbing the two pistols at his hips, Darius then tore off his mask before shooting the two men running towards him with swords. They tripped over their own feet and fell, landing at Darius' feet.
"Hey, that's the Prince – someone nab him!" shouted one of the dancing mercenaries.
Ben cackled. "I bet you just love hearing that all the time," he jibed.
Darius snorted as he slammed his fist into a mercenary's face.
"Oh, I like to think that their shout-outs improve every time," he called, before shooting the man in the face and knocking him down, "…It makes this whole rebel business worthwhile, don't you think?"
Reaver snorted. "These rebels are hardly to your calibre! You despicable fellows do not even realise that the Pirate King is present amongst you," he sneered, shooting another menacingly in the groin before removing the red mask that adorned his face. "I was beginning to feel quite offended by your idiocy – and I do so detest being offended."
The smoke from the gunfire filled the cellar, drifting and causing his eyes to water. But the smell of alcohol and wanton sex sent Darius' adrenaline reeling, his senses heightened and urging him to be quicker to the trigger.
He began to count in his mind. One man…two men…a woman…five dead, until he could no longer keep track and resumed himself to shooting cold-heartedly.
When the smoke cleared, and the shouting had all but died down and only voices, men choking and clinging to life reached his ears, were left, he made sure to see Ben and Reaver before seizing the nearest dying man by the collar, kneeling to bring the rebel only inches from his face.
"Where is Formosa – tell me," he seethed angrily.
The sound of a gunshot pierced his eardrums.
Darius turned, his eyes falling upon Ben's crumpled body not a few feet away from the table. Blood now stained his breeches and he was moaning, and Darius swore there lay a gaping wound in his left leg.
His eyes scanned the room to see Formosa standing in the exact same doorway that they had entered through, with a smoking pistol grasped in a tilted pale hand.
"Well," she said, "one can't let the minions have all the decision-making fun. After all, you would know about making life decisions, eh Prince Darius?"