~*~
Seven
--
He had failed.
Growing up, he'd played second fiddle to his elder brother. His mother was a maid in the Monroth manor, like her mother before her. It was because Philippe was literate that he received high praise. Warner had always struggled with the books his mother insisted he read. He was made to do chores and clean as his mother did, while Philippe was allowed to pursue higher education in Paris.
He grew up believing he was not meant for anything but polishing silverware and dusting grimy shelves. Wrath began to toughen his heart, like work had callused his hands. After six years of scouring claw-footed tubs and scraping supper dishes, he was given the task of attending to their heir of the fifth Duke of Monroth. Some years later, the ratty, revolting man was no longer an heir, but the rightful owner of everything to his family name. For the first time, Warner felt a sense of accomplishment, despite all that his mother and brother had inflicted upon him.
His tasks were nearly menial in comparison to his previous ones. He accompanied the Duke on outings and took care of merchandise on trips to expensive shops. His wide form and hard face served to properly and completely intimidate others. He provided the Duke with the protection the man would have not acquired on his own, for those who did not know his jealous side saw that he bumbled considerably, and was rather unpleasant company.
The first time Warner had been given permission to hold and experiment with a gun, he'd felt an enormous sensation of power rush through him. There wasn't a trace of responsibility intermingled with the feeling, only a raw urgency to have that sort of control at all times. He knew that the weapon could destroy a life. And destroy it did, bullets stealing the breath of the Duke's manic cousin, the next in a long line of heirs, and one to rule all of Monroth, should the Duke have met an untimely death.
That he could not use the weapon on a more regular basis made him angry. The Duke had always had his every wish indulged. The power that came with the weapon was the one thing Warner desired, and without it, there was a scowl on his lips and unbridled rage coursing through his veins.
Warner traveled with the Duke to different countries, though there stay in such places was always brief. The Duke had never been an indecisive person; he was always firmly set on each of his desires. It shocked Warner greatly to learn that he would be traveling to Paris, where his brother had sought further schooling. He knew of the Moulin Rouge and could not help pausing to wonder if his brother had turned away from his books in favour of being ravished by a courtesan, for he surely must have had the money to do so, after so many years of study and work.
The Moulin Rouge overwhelmed him. Never before had he seen such decadence, even after spending so much time in the opulent manor. He wasn't given time to think of what lay beneath the glittering costumes of the dancers, or behind the closed doors in their lavish rooms. Importance was bestowed upon him once again after the contract was signed; he would carry out the punishment for failing to comply with the Duke's demand.
As the theatre was constructed and rehearsals began, he stayed behind rather than accompanying the Duke on many excursions with Satine. He seemed to serve as a reminder to the cast and crew that straying from the Duke's rules would cause them to be cast onto the dirty streets.
He lurked in the shadows whilst the lovers kissed and giggled together; it made him long to reach for the gun he'd been entrusted with, but he held back. To ruin the Duke's relationship with the Sparkling Diamond would be signing his own death sentence. As much as temptation tugged at his ready hand, he resisted the urge to shoot Christian and watch him crumple to the floor, blood pooling around a wound in his chest.
When the Gothic Tower was alight with candles and dancing waiters, he thought for certain that the romance between the poet and courtesan had been a flash in the pan, a silly infatuation. It was only when Nini and the Argentinean's raw tango commenced in the Moulin Rouge and Satine sang the lovers' duet to Christian at the Gothic Tower that he knew otherwise. The Duke's promise of killing Christian unless the show ended his way brought indescribable joy to Warner's heart. The young couple would pay for their dastardly crime.
He had always carried out whatever order was given to him. Perhaps it was compensation for his lacking in other skills; failure was a threat he feared above all other, and when it did occur, anger replaced the presumed sadness that so many people have often felt in such a time. That anger spurred determination. He would rise above his past mistakes and flaws. He would not leave the Rouge with the poet alive.
Opening Night reaffirmed what his mother and brother had told him all his life, that he was good for nothing.
He'd watched the lovers reunite and claim their victory. He'd held the jangling tambourine and attempted to dance, waving his way through the performers. A sickly satisfied smile had been on his lips the whole time, as he anticipated the resounding shot that would tear apart the poet and the courtesan. There had been so many opportunities to fire the gun, and yet he hadn't succeeded.
The whore with ivory skin and obsidian hair had kicked away his weapon; the bespectacled pyrotechnic with the frazzled grey moustache had knocked him with the sitar and the imp of a courtesan known as Princesse had dropped a heavy sandbag on his head. The gun had subsequently broken the pane of glass in the ceiling and bounced off the Eiffel tower. He'd been left with nothing but rose petals on his bald head and blinding fury. The Duke didn't pay him for months following Opening Night.
Prior to the opening of Spectacular Spectacular, he'd never been unsuccessful. While he'd brought disgrace to his family, he'd always managed to fulfill the wishes of the Duke, regardless of whether or not skulls were fractured or blood spattered heavy drapery and polished floors. The Duke had employed other servants, but like Satine was particularly precious to Harold, the Duke relied on Warner.
When he drank absinthe after the curtain had fallen, the fairy cavorted above him, laughing derisively. She knew he had failed, and she teased him on it, for she was merely a fantasy and couldn't be harmed by the precious weapon he'd lost. When she laughed, eyes gleaming sardonically, he wished for the gun again, but only to use on himself.
--
The end.
Author's Note: The reason this chapter was late is because it was the last. I think somehow the story knew it was ending and didn't want to end, so it decided to give me a lot of trouble. I'm glad that it has finally surrendered and allowed me to write it.
Thank you for the reviews and support. It truly means world to me.
I know there is an order for the seven sins, but I decided to write each chapter in relation to the time in which each character came to the Underworld.
And just in case anyone was wondering…
Harold is gluttony.
Marie is sloth.
Nini is pride.
The Narcoleptic Argentinean is lust (and I had such fun writing his).
Christian is envy.
The Duke is greed.
Warner is anger.
~*~
Seven
--
He had failed.
Growing up, he'd played second fiddle to his elder brother. His mother was a maid in the Monroth manor, like her mother before her. It was because Philippe was literate that he received high praise. Warner had always struggled with the books his mother insisted he read. He was made to do chores and clean as his mother did, while Philippe was allowed to pursue higher education in Paris.
He grew up believing he was not meant for anything but polishing silverware and dusting grimy shelves. Wrath began to toughen his heart, like work had callused his hands. After six years of scouring claw-footed tubs and scraping supper dishes, he was given the task of attending to their heir of the fifth Duke of Monroth. Some years later, the ratty, revolting man was no longer an heir, but the rightful owner of everything to his family name. For the first time, Warner felt a sense of accomplishment, despite all that his mother and brother had inflicted upon him.
His tasks were nearly menial in comparison to his previous ones. He accompanied the Duke on outings and took care of merchandise on trips to expensive shops. His wide form and hard face served to properly and completely intimidate others. He provided the Duke with the protection the man would have not acquired on his own, for those who did not know his jealous side saw that he bumbled considerably, and was rather unpleasant company.
The first time Warner had been given permission to hold and experiment with a gun, he'd felt an enormous sensation of power rush through him. There wasn't a trace of responsibility intermingled with the feeling, only a raw urgency to have that sort of control at all times. He knew that the weapon could destroy a life. And destroy it did, bullets stealing the breath of the Duke's manic cousin, the next in a long line of heirs, and one to rule all of Monroth, should the Duke have met an untimely death.
That he could not use the weapon on a more regular basis made him angry. The Duke had always had his every wish indulged. The power that came with the weapon was the one thing Warner desired, and without it, there was a scowl on his lips and unbridled rage coursing through his veins.
Warner traveled with the Duke to different countries, though there stay in such places was always brief. The Duke had never been an indecisive person; he was always firmly set on each of his desires. It shocked Warner greatly to learn that he would be traveling to Paris, where his brother had sought further schooling. He knew of the Moulin Rouge and could not help pausing to wonder if his brother had turned away from his books in favour of being ravished by a courtesan, for he surely must have had the money to do so, after so many years of study and work.
The Moulin Rouge overwhelmed him. Never before had he seen such decadence, even after spending so much time in the opulent manor. He wasn't given time to think of what lay beneath the glittering costumes of the dancers, or behind the closed doors in their lavish rooms. Importance was bestowed upon him once again after the contract was signed; he would carry out the punishment for failing to comply with the Duke's demand.
As the theatre was constructed and rehearsals began, he stayed behind rather than accompanying the Duke on many excursions with Satine. He seemed to serve as a reminder to the cast and crew that straying from the Duke's rules would cause them to be cast onto the dirty streets.
He lurked in the shadows whilst the lovers kissed and giggled together; it made him long to reach for the gun he'd been entrusted with, but he held back. To ruin the Duke's relationship with the Sparkling Diamond would be signing his own death sentence. As much as temptation tugged at his ready hand, he resisted the urge to shoot Christian and watch him crumple to the floor, blood pooling around a wound in his chest.
When the Gothic Tower was alight with candles and dancing waiters, he thought for certain that the romance between the poet and courtesan had been a flash in the pan, a silly infatuation. It was only when Nini and the Argentinean's raw tango commenced in the Moulin Rouge and Satine sang the lovers' duet to Christian at the Gothic Tower that he knew otherwise. The Duke's promise of killing Christian unless the show ended his way brought indescribable joy to Warner's heart. The young couple would pay for their dastardly crime.
He had always carried out whatever order was given to him. Perhaps it was compensation for his lacking in other skills; failure was a threat he feared above all other, and when it did occur, anger replaced the presumed sadness that so many people have often felt in such a time. That anger spurred determination. He would rise above his past mistakes and flaws. He would not leave the Rouge with the poet alive.
Opening Night reaffirmed what his mother and brother had told him all his life, that he was good for nothing.
He'd watched the lovers reunite and claim their victory. He'd held the jangling tambourine and attempted to dance, waving his way through the performers. A sickly satisfied smile had been on his lips the whole time, as he anticipated the resounding shot that would tear apart the poet and the courtesan. There had been so many opportunities to fire the gun, and yet he hadn't succeeded.
The whore with ivory skin and obsidian hair had kicked away his weapon; the bespectacled pyrotechnic with the frazzled grey moustache had knocked him with the sitar and the imp of a courtesan known as Princesse had dropped a heavy sandbag on his head. The gun had subsequently broken the pane of glass in the ceiling and bounced off the Eiffel tower. He'd been left with nothing but rose petals on his bald head and blinding fury. The Duke didn't pay him for months following Opening Night.
Prior to the opening of Spectacular Spectacular, he'd never been unsuccessful. While he'd brought disgrace to his family, he'd always managed to fulfill the wishes of the Duke, regardless of whether or not skulls were fractured or blood spattered heavy drapery and polished floors. The Duke had employed other servants, but like Satine was particularly precious to Harold, the Duke relied on Warner.
When he drank absinthe after the curtain had fallen, the fairy cavorted above him, laughing derisively. She knew he had failed, and she teased him on it, for she was merely a fantasy and couldn't be harmed by the precious weapon he'd lost. When she laughed, eyes gleaming sardonically, he wished for the gun again, but only to use on himself.
--
The end.
Author's Note: The reason this chapter was late is because it was the last. I think somehow the story knew it was ending and didn't want to end, so it decided to give me a lot of trouble. I'm glad that it has finally surrendered and allowed me to write it.
Thank you for the reviews and support. It truly means world to me.
I know there is an order for the seven sins, but I decided to write each chapter in relation to the time in which each character came to the Underworld.
And just in case anyone was wondering…
Harold is gluttony.
Marie is sloth.
Nini is pride.
The Narcoleptic Argentinean is lust (and I had such fun writing his).
Christian is envy.
The Duke is greed.
Warner is anger.
~*~