A/N: Ack, sorry for my lateness! Six months...but you'll forgive me, right? With this I tried to drawn out the different personalities and interactions as well as provide a base for the real plotline to swing through... Well, enjoy!
Thursday was always the day when the servants would have half the day off. Not all at the same time, though, of course; the house would be in complete disarray if that was the case. Rather, half the staff had the morning off and went to work in the afternoon, when the other staff half would have their turn at freedom. Of course, they all vied for having their afternoons free, so scheduling their times off was a difficult and frustrating task.
Naturally it was Riff who did it.
Through the week he would file the various requests and by Wednesday evening he would post a list of everyone's times in the servant's quarters. It was an efficient system to everyone but Riff who absolutely dreaded Thursdays; he also rarely scheduled a time off for himself. There was always a servant or two disgruntled at the fact that their requests were not met and Riff hated dealing with that. He knew you couldn't please everyone and he felt there was no sense in even trying, but on Thursdays he always felt rather on edge.
It was Thursday.
Riff was edgy.
Already with nerves shot, the pedantic butler was in no state that morning to deal with anyone, much less Jezebel. Of course, it shouldn't have been to anyone's surprise that the estate doctor was there to harass him on his worst day of the week. He always was after all.
"After scheduling me for an afternoon, I'm rather surprised that you didn't take this morning off for yourself," Jezebel mentioned in passing as he approached Riff rather meaningfully in the hall. Though his tone faked conversational, Riff knew that Jezebel never said anything for the hell of it; he had had the unfortunate opportunity over the past years to underestimate and dismiss enough of the doctor's words to know that to do so would be a mistake.
Naturally, Riff hated making mistakes.
"Yes, yes, what is it that you want?" the butler asked shortly, opting for getting straight to the point today instead of beating around the bush in hopes that the doctor would just give up and leave him alone.
Riff didn't know why he ever did that; he never got his way.
Jezebel simply materialized a slightly wrinkled note from his crisp and clean jacket. Attempts had been made to smooth the piece of paper out, but it obviously didn't work. "The master requested that I give this to you..."
When the Duke of Acheson ever wrote letters or notes of any kind, it was always with the utmost uniqueness. Any of the countless noble men of his status or even lower would have written with graceful eloquence, but not the duke; his notes were entirely different.
As Riff took the scrap of rumpled paper off Jezebel with his slender fingers he unfolded it to read the short message hastily scrawled with a leaky pen. It only took a few seconds to rapidly read and process it all, and it was apparent to Jezebel when he had done so for a fine and pale eyebrow arched from its place in what was characteristic as irritation.
Jezebel let out a mirthful chuckle and mused, "Any normal man, Riff, would be all too pleased to receive a note like that from his superior..."
It was then that Riff took the opportunity to read the message aloud:
Riff
You are a cranky terrier. Go away.
Dudley
As the doctor's chuckling increased, Riff reiterated curtly, "...Cranky terrier. Go away," which only served to fuel Jezebel's glee further.
Running his fingers through his wavy hair with that unusual smile still plastered on his face, Jezebel commented as he attempted to stifle himself, "I must say, Riff, that it's not every day you get a message like that, eh?"
"Not at all, if you're lucky," the butler murmured as he neatly folded the paper and stuck it inside his breast pocket. "And what would that ridiculous note translate to in the master's incomprehensible language?"
Jezebel's smile turned almost smug as he looked Riff squarely and answered, "He wants you to have some time to yourself and take the morning off to go to town like the rest of the servants." When the other man opened his mouth to protest, as it was anticipated he would do, Jezebel continued, "It is an order from the Duke of Acheson, after all. It wouldn't be professional to refuse."
That was logic Riff never felt comfortable arguing with, but it never hurt to try. "I wouldn't be able to enjoy the town fully with this blinding headache I have, so it would be better if I skipped going to stay here and --"
Definitely the wrong thing to say to a doctor.
"Headache?" Jezebel asked in sadistic exaggeration as he pointedly grabbed the extraordinarily reluctant Riff and near dragged him down the hall. "Why, we can clear that up in no time, and you'll be able to go with the rest of the servants..." He opened a familiar door to the pantry and dragged Riff in with him. "I believe I have something to cure that headache of yours..."
Riff immediately protested verbally for the first time. "Oh...no, no, don't waste your materials on me; I'll just --"
"Nonsense! You must get out of the house, Riff. Here, take some morphine and --"
"Morphine? No, ah...I think my headache's gone. See? I'm all better now, so I'll just -- mmph!"
Needless to say, the doctor was quite determined.
As Riff walked down a normally busy and prosperous path in London, he held his head delicately and groped along the walls of the buildings he passed for support. To onlookers it appeared as if he were merely some drunkard, and so no one thought to stop to check on him. In reality, though, the fact was that Riff had a horrible headache and was, in truth, quite nauseas...most likely from the bit of morphine the good doctor had administered. Such drugs seemed to have a rather adverse effect on him...
He had crept alongside so many buildings that Riff hardly had any idea of where he was anymore - a sad fact, and perhaps an indication of how poorly he felt, considering he had grown up in the very area. Struggling with himself to simply remain upright and conscious, he barely noticed the idle stranger lingering against a brick wall until he had in fact bumped right into him.
Even in times of extreme discomfort, as Riff was obviously experiencing, the Duke's butler still had the innate reflexes to apologize profusely to the stranger. "My sincere apologies, kind sir," he went on, bowing to display his lower status. "I had no right of unintentionally bumping into you like that, sir, and I'd just like to--"
It was an obvious mistake to bow like that in Riff's disoriented condition.
"Are you alright?" the stranger asked in concern, already taken aback, as he had to catch the butler before he fell embarrassingly to the ground. "You look quite ill... Shall I fetch a doctor?"
"Ah..." Riff murmured as he clutched his head and shut his eyes tightly. It was one of the many times he would regret ever lying to Jezebel; an event the doctor always made sure he paid for... "I'm alright...I just need to...ah...rest for a little bit..."
Leaning the butler against the cool brick wall, the stranger stayed beside him and asked softly, so as not to cause Riff even more discomfort, "Are you sick, sir?"
"N-no," Riff answered swiftly with closed eyes as he leaned his head against the wall. "It's just... Well, I didn't exactly want to go out today, but a friend insisted on it. I tried to get out of it by telling him I had a headache, but, well...he happens to be a doctor and a terribly willful one at that..."
At Riff's brief story, the stranger emitted a soft chuckle and mused, "Not to offend, but he doesn't exactly sound like the ideal friend."
"Well you're absolutely right, he's not," the butler agreed quickly with a short laugh. His eyes fluttered open, but then resumed their closed position, like an after-thought. "I'm the butler now of Duke Acheson's estate, but while we were in India he, my master's physician, would give me these absolutely awful herbal and medicinal concoctions that left me feeling worse than I had started out with. ...Of course, not to say that I never did anything deserving of his wrath, but...I don't suppose anyone deserves a scorpion in their boots, do they?"
"Depends on what you did, I suppose," the stranger said at the tail end of his chuckling. With the same mirth, he continued, "That sounds rather awful, though."
"It was," Riff murmured, "though, I have to admit, he's gotten much better since coming back to England. Hardly any huge and godforsaken insects to torment me with here, right? ...Though...he finds ways... They all do, it seems."
As Riff sighed, the stranger asked, "What do you mean?"
"Oh...it's a rather boring story with the master's inheritance and all, but the bottom line is that we are here instead of in India, and the staff perceives it as my fault. Though I have no idea why...they rather enjoyed it there. Even Master Acheson... Believe it or not, he actually wanted me to go to the royal family's ball this Friday in his place since he doesn't want to go... That's absolutely absurd, though, isn't it? A mere steward going in place of his master?"
With a shrug that the 'mere steward' never saw, the stranger replied, "Oh...I don't know... Sounds like a wonderful opportunity, does it not? And since your master gave you permission and actually requests it...I rather think you should go."
"R-really?" Riff muttered in surprise as he opened his eyes slightly; he kept them down, however, to shield from the bright, yet oppressive, morning sun. "You...honestly think a lowly servant such as me should go to a ball where all sorts of high nobles...and even the queen will be in attendance?"
"It's what one would call...the opportunity of a lifetime. I happen to know of a person - a very fine nobleman - who, like you, isn't quite sure he wants to go. I think, though, that he could be persuaded to attend if I told him about you. I've known him for a while so I have an idea...of who would and would not please him, and I think you very well could be the one he's looking for..." the stranger said softly with subtle nuances imbedded deeply in his voice.
Whether it was all color draining from his face or leaping into it, Riff couldn't tell as he brought his eyes up to stare at the strange man for the first time, "W-what are y--"
"I have a gift for knowing...these things, after all," the stranger continued with a sly and secretive smile.
With a wave of his hand, Riff shook his head and said dismissively, "This has honestly got to be some strange dream... I mean, look at you, you look like a fairy!"
In his rather eccentric garb, the strange man did, in fact, look like a supernatural creature of sorts. "Well, then," he said as he edged closer to Riff, "perhaps I'm your fairy godfather..."
"Perhaps you're ridiculous," Riff muttered as he clutched at the wall, obviously flustered.
A smile gracing his features, the stranger agreed mirthfully as he extended his hand, "Perhaps. I'm Dominique Clehadol, a spiritual medium. You'll have to forgive my...odd dress, as I was just on my way home from an exorcism."
"Ah..." Riff said as his cheeks reddened in mild embarrassment. "Please forgive my rudeness, sir. I'm a servant of Duke Dudley Acheson's, sir, Rifel Raffit..."
"Save it for a noble, Mr. Raffit," Clehadol advised with another odd smile. "As spiritual advice, I advise you to heavily reconsider your decision to not attend the royal ball. After all...as a medium, I have a gift for knowing these things..." Just as it seemed the servant would respond, though, Clehadol put a hand on Riff's shoulder as he walked off, "Adieu."
Headache seemingly gone, Riff stared after the medium until he had long been gone out of sight. "...What a mysterious person," he muttered softly. Though, like with most things he couldn't actively see, he wasn't quite sure he liked 'mysterious.'
Riff had no trouble arriving back at the estate; his headache was gone, and aside from the usual weariness of Thursdays, he felt just fine. Trouble only came once he was on the estate premises.
Trouble that went by the name of Dr. Jezebel Disraeli.
"My darling Riff, how was your much-needed outing into the city? You've arrived a little earlier than expected...and I trust that it's not due to illness. After all, perhaps that dosage of morphine I gave you wasn't strong enough..." the doctor said, immediately accosting the butler with a noticeable smirk on his fine features.
"No, no, it was fine," Riff replied quickly as he attempted to give his 'friend' the least satisfaction he could. "Wonderful day out, in fact. It was simply the calling of duty that brought me back so early..." He picked up his pace as he walked down a long hallway, intent on seeing Master Acheson. To his dismay, though, Jezebel was easily able to keep up alongside him.
Almost challengingly, Jezebel remarked, "Well isn't that nice, selflessly putting duty before your own personal interests... Exactly as someone so competent as yourself should do, am I right? All work and no play makes Jack...ah...have more pay."
Riff rolled his eyes as he corrected with a spark in his eyes, "My friend, I do believe you are mistaken, for it is All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy..."
"Mm, Jack is very dull indeed, in that case," the doctor muttered absently, his eyes showing much more than he would have liked; they were like glass windows to his mind, the turning gears clearly visible.
Growing uneasy as Jezebel continued to follow as he made a sharp left into another hallway, Riff decided to simply be frank with him, favoring blunt clarity to vague misinterpretations on this occasion. "I hardly think I have the time for this, Jezebel, so tell me right now what you're getting at."
"What I'm getting at?" he repeated as he abruptly ceased movement, briefly unnerving Riff as the butler chose to stop and face him.
Nodding, Riff replied, "Yes," as he took a step or two towards the other.
Riff honestly didn't know why he expected anything more than the extreme blunt end from Jezebel; it never happened, anyway.
"I want to go in place of Dudley to the ball."
Perhaps it was because of the absolute glare of repulsion he received from Riff for wasting his time, but he honored the steward by explaining, "There will be many influential persons in attendance including the king's own royal physician of whom I'm very eager to be acquainted with, but although you've already refused, Dudley still has his heart set on you going in his place. This morning he talked very extensively on various plans he has concocted to try to persuade you to go, and quite frankly it unnerves me...because I don't know you."
"What do you mean you don't know me?" Riff said hastily in a sharp tone, as a warning to the doctor to embrace logic once again. "We've served Master Acheson side by side for countless years - shared many laughs and arguments - so what do you mean you don't know me?"
Jezebel simply shrugged and responded with an intuitive flicker in his otherwise cold eyes, "I know you well enough to know that I don't know you. You do things you don't want to simply because you should, but I see how you frustrated you become sometimes; I see those little inconsistencies in your behavior. They lead to something deeper. They want something more."
Flushing, Riff faltered and barked, "They want some peace, quiet, and order - that's what they want..."
"I think they want something that it's not proper to have..." Jezebel muttered, perhaps hinting at something grander, Riff couldn't tell. It was often difficult to tell such things with the good doctor.
Turning heel, Riff's back faced the other as he said, almost haughtily as he stood straightly, "Well, it seems you know me fairly well then."
With that he began to walk away, but Jezebel was undeterred. Following him, he remarked, in contradiction to his earlier statement, "That I do, and I have an inkling that you rather could be easily persuaded to go...if you haven't been already."
"So what," the steward began with a harried sigh, "you're trying to persuade me not to go, even when I've already stated that I wouldn't?" Outwardly, he hoped that his nuances would persuade Jezebel to think that he was beating a dead horse, but inwardly, he figured that, well, the doctor was actually right about him. In reality Riff knew that it was inappropriate for him to take his master's place at the royal ball, but yes...he did, in fact, want to go. That nagging feeling of unexplored adventure had awakened upon meeting that mysterious medium, feeding on subtle hints and hidden desires. It would be a lie to say that he did not want to go, and it would also be a lie to say that he was not going to go to his master with news of his sudden change of mind.
As Riff reached the closed door leading to the master's study, Jezebel shot a hand out to grasp the fabric of the butler's sleeve, halting him with a start. "No," he simply answered, the dawning realization, only clear to one so sensitive to all things minute, painted beautifully in his eyes, "I'm trying to persuade you not to go because you do. You're an awful liar, Riff, to yourself and others."
Stiffly, the other murmured as he gently tried to free himself, put on edge by the doctor's words, "So are you."
Searching his face to confirm this hint he had been given, Jezebel caught a glimpse of something in Riff's eye and reluctantly let go of the sleeve, stating more than asking, "So you really are going to walk in there and tell Dudley that you'll take his place at the ball? Even when I offer myself to go in his stead?"
With a sigh, Riff admitted, "Yes."
"Because..."
"Yes," he repeated.
The two men exchanged glances before Jezebel broke out into a lazy, conspiratorial smile and said, "Your little inconsistencies...surprise me...but I doubt he'll read too much into them in his excitement over what you wish to say. ...Of course, assuming you have the opportunity to say it."
Mentally, Riff kicked himself for even thinking the slightest bit that Jezebel would make things easy on him. He remarked, almost as if in a challenge, "I'd like to see you try and stop me."
"Then just watch," Jezebel smirked as the two of them reached for the door handle, pushing the door leading to the study wide open in the progress.
Duke Dudley Acheson, startled by the sudden intrusion, looked up from toying with a spinning globe at his two close friends and employees, struggling as they attempted to prevent each other from getting his attention...which they obviously already had.
"Master Acheson!" the butler announced, with Jezebel's clear voice trailing behind him by only a little. "I wish to inform you that--"
"Don't listen to him," Jezebel interrupted swiftly as he tried to push Riff away. "He doesn't want to go, remember? Instead--"
Undeterred, Riff continued, "--that I have reconsidered your offer and--"
"--let me go--"
"--I would like very much to go--"
"After all, I--"
"--in your place to the ball," Riff spouted in a rush, trying to keep the doctor from edging in another word further.
There was silence between the them as Acheson, a bit overwhelmed, simply stared at the two. Eventually, though, he broke out into a wide smile, looking quite like an excited child. "You'll go, then, Riff?"
The butler nodded swiftly.
"Wonderful!" the duke exclaimed, clapping his hands together in glee. "What made you--"
Interrupting Acheson, Jezebel made one last effort, "He cannot go to the ball."
Duke Acheson attempted to contort his face into a scowl, but that rarely worked for him, as he asked pointedly, "Why not?"
Grabbing mentally for something - anything - the doctor answered, "...Because...he's a morphine addict!"
"What?" Riff said tersely. "I am not!"
Responding to the morphine-addict-in-question, Jezebel said quickly, "He is, too. In fact, this morning before he went out he took some without my permission to feed his dangerous addiction!"
"You gave it to me!"
The doctor didn't miss a beat. "Of course, how could I refuse someone as dangerous as him? He's very frightening when he wants something."
In complete understanding of the latter, the duke nodded in agreement.
"What the--I am not!" Riff retorted with a slight growl, bordering on anger as his face flushed red.
Duke Acheson simply stated, "You give me the willies."
A moment of silence passed after the brief declaration, in which Riff spent perfecting a death glare.
Taking advantage of the stillness, Jezebel continued, "So you see, my lord, why it is inadvisable to let that man attend such an important social function. Instead, I would like to suggest--"
"Oh, I disagree," Acheson said suddenly with his characteristic grin. "He wouldn't be as stuffy or proper under such influence, and, dare I say, he might actually have fun. I say let the morphine addict go to the ball!"
With wide eyes, Riff protested, "But I'm not..."
A disarming smile across his boyish features, Acheson said in mock patronization, "Of course you're not, darling. Now, be sure to take a little morphine before you go so you can have a little fun."
Irked at his lordship's reaction, Jezebel changed his stance suddenly and without much reason, "He's not--"
The duke would have none of it, however, as he said with his eternal smile plastered on his face, "Now, now, no need to cover for him, Dr. Disraeli..."
"No really, he's not--"
Without caring much to hear his two 'friends' debate on whether or not he was a morphine addict, Riff simply decided to leave, attending to much more important household matters. What he perceived as their childishness didn't concern him much since the burden of giving his master the final answer was lifted from his shoulders. It was relief, he told himself, nothing more. Not like he was actually looking forward to the ball...
However, with the knowledge that he was attending it, there was a noticeable spring in his step and a gentle lilt to his voice as he hummed a forgotten tune.
Written: October '03 - April '04
Words: 3842
