Warning: Mild violence.
Disclaimer: These characters are used and abused without permission. But they enjoy it. =^_~=
~~~~~~~~~~Episode Ninety-One: Black Raincloud
"We experience moments absolutely free from worry. These brief respites are called panic." ~Cullen HightowerAugust 27th, 1903
Soon after the confrontation with Milliardo, when she learned exactly what he thought of her, and of Heero, Lucrezia found she could no longer live under the same roof with a man who didn't trust her. Sally was more than willing to put her up for a few days while she decided what to do next, but staying there was equally unbearable. The last several years of her life suddenly felt like a total waste, and the manner in which she left her family in Greece thoroughly burned her bridges. She needed some time and space to think; Sally understood, and let her go, though neither one really knew where she was going to end up. All she took with her was one ratty suitcase, the same one she had hauled all over Europe hiding from her aristocratic parents.
Unlike Dorothy, who had been frequently cash-strapped but unwilling to do anything about it, Lucrezia thought nothing of doing some odd jobs for the elderly over the course of three days, in order to earn a train fare to somewhere. Once she felt she had enough, there was also the problem of where to go. She couldn't face Duo and the others just then, she couldn't go home, and she couldn't imagine any place on earth where she could make a truly fresh start and forget her past a second time. Then, standing on the platform of a bland and dreary train station, she looked up and saw a name written in chalk on the destinations board, and recognized it. It was the name of the largest town within walking distance of a tiny village she used to know, and it beckoned to her. She boarded a train, and throughout the journey the memory of her last words with her beloved haunted her, to the point where she very nearly cried.
~~~~~~~~~~They stood in the foyer to Sutherby House. They had barely gotten past the front door when the argument flared up again. Relena retreated quickly to her room; she had already heard what they had to say and didn't care to hear it again. At the end of her rope, Lucrezia tried everything to be listened to, but it wasn't working. Milliardo was intent on defending everything he did and, as a bonus, also seemed to be highly critical of Lucrezia and her pacifist attitude. He seemed to be implying that she picked it up from someone else, and when he stopped implying it and tried to actually say it, he caught himself, unwilling to hear the words come out of his own mouth. "Never mind," he muttered in disgust, turning away.
Lucrezia angled around him, poking an angry finger in his face. She knew what he was trying to say, and she didn't like it. "No, I want to hear this. If you're hinting at something, why don't you save us all the trouble and just spit it out?"
Suddenly he wished he had let it rest an hour ago instead of stoking the fire as much as he did. He sighed and made a half-turn toward her, holding back a snarl of contempt. "You and Heero were living in the same house for a long time before I returned...and you seem to have the same 'philosophy' toward my efforts. I can't help but wonder--"
"Okay, stop right there," she spat back. "If you think I would court someone else behind your back...you are out...of your mind. And if you think I'd want to be with someone that much younger than me, just to spite you, you don't even have a mind to be out of!"
Again, Milliardo turned away. "I'd rather not discuss it if it's all the same to you."
"You brought it up!" shouted Lucrezia, as angry as he had ever heard her. Then she calmed down, paced a bit in either direction, and looked up at the back of his head with a scowl. "You know what? .....if you don't trust me...maybe we shouldn't be working together."
And then came the terrible confirmation. "Maybe not."
That was that. She packed her bag with everything she had before he returned from South Africa, leaving the rest behind, and left the house that very night. Not for a moment longer was she about to live with a person who looked down on her for something that she never even did. It was too much.
~~~~~~~~~~By midday, Lucrezia reached the village north of London where she found some of the first kind English folk willing to take her in. It all looked remarkably the same, except the pub had a new sandwich board on the sidewalk advertising the daily specials. The quaint flagstone cottages with thatched roofs were still there, and so was the broad, circular fountain in the centre of town where some ducks were wandering, looking for breadcrumbs to scoop up with their beaks. This is where it started...for me, at least, she thought with a mixture of nostalgia and trepidation. Jeffrhyss, Giorgenson, the underground war...everything. A few people recognized her and said hello as she wandered down the cobbled streets that swooped up and bowed down with the ever-changing grade of the landscape, but she didn't stop to talk to them, choosing instead the most direct route back to the post office, her old hideaway.
Lucrezia stepped through the door of the gray stone building and indulged in an unexpected sigh of relief. Mavis Trimble, the dear old lady who gave her shelter in her time of need, was still there, selling stamps and newspapers from behind a little wooden counter as she always had done. Her husband was nowhere to be seen, but his muddy boots were on the mat by the door. Two more little old ladies were at the counter, gossiping over their purchases, but as soon as they said their goodbyes and Mrs. Trimble looked up, her eyes glowed joyously. "Lucy! Dear!" she exclaimed, rushing out from behind the counter to give her former lodger a gracious hand clasp. "Oooh, we did miss you! Where've you been 'iding yerself?"
There was so much she wished she could have said to the old woman, who had almost served as a mother figure in some odd way, but details were precious, as well as dangerous. "I didn't mean to disappear like that..."
Mrs. Trimble seemed to know that something was wrong, and looked her over like a naughty child. "Be honest...it were Lord Jeffrhyss, weren't it?"
Lucrezia sighed deeply from the shoulders on down, her head hanging at the floor for awhile until she could muster the strength to drag it back up again. "He can be very persuasive."
"...'ere, 'e dinnit make you into a skivvy, did 'e?" Mrs. Trimble asked in a half-whisper, out of fear for Lucrezia developing washday-red hands or housemaid's knee.
Lucrezia counted her short list of blessings. "Secretary."
"Well! Fate's a fine thing, lucky you turned up when you did! I were jus' about to chuck these in the bin!" Mrs. Trimble let go of the young woman's hands and trotted behind the counter again, bending down with a slight grunt to retrive a sizable cardboard box from the bottom shelf. As she arose, Lucrezia saw that it was stuffed full with letters and telegrams, and tied together with string so the whole mess wouldn't spill over the sides. "For months and months there ain't been nothing, then all of a sudden this! They've been pilin' up fer weeks, an' nobody comes to collect 'em no more." She handed the box to Lucrezia, who still didn't understand what it was for, then stepped back and wrung her hands questioningly. "I suppose you've got to rush back to 'im and deliver these..."
Holding the bottom of the box with one hand and flipping through the letters with the other, Lucrezia noticed a startling similarity. Every single piece was addressed to Lord Jeffrhyss. She herself knew that he had vacated the farmhouse by the mill a long time ago, so it was terribly odd that so many people would still be writing to him there. Something's wrong...I need to have a good long look at these...she obviously thinks I was sent here to get them, so there's no harm in letting that lie slide, but I need to rest awhile before doing anything else. She looked up at Mrs. Trimble and smiled. "I've got time for a cup of tea." Mrs. Trimble smiled also, and put the 'Closed' sign up before leading her into the back room.
Mr. Trimble was in the back when they surprised him, and he was equally glad to see the young lady again. The three of them sat down to dinner with tea and sweet rolls, exchanging stories about where they had been and what had gone on since Lucrezia disappeared from the village. Then, they let her have some quiet time in her old room, where she was boarded during her stint as deputy postmistress. Perching on the bed and tucking both feet underneath her, she completely untied the string from the large bundle of letters, telegrams, and hand-delivered memorandi, inspecting them closely. The dates on the postmarks stretched back for months, and the frequency had been increasing of late, until there was a new letter or two almost every day. Sneering on the inside, she picked a few letters at random, and opened them. The messages were brief, but eye-opening.
"Still awaiting instructions. Window of opportunity is narrowing. Reply appreciated."
"Have obtained blasting materials, but transport did not arrive. If the plan has changed, please advise me."
"Where are you? I waited with the package for six hours, but you never arrived. Master Ok-kyun is livid. He directs that if you do not come forward with a written apology soon, he will sever diplomatic relations."
"Please respond. Have tried you at Wight, Charleston, and Grenoble base without success."
"Your Lordship, I cannot accept that you are continuing to ignore me, not after everything I've done for you. Remember Lake Nipissing. That is all I should need to say."
"What's going on? Nobody can find you. Where are you?"
They went on and on, just like that. Dozens of complaint letters all very confused and troubled that they could no longer find, contact, or converse with Lord Jeffrhyss. It didn't make sense. Was he in hiding? Was he ill? Had he taken a secret vacation? And why would he do so and not tell all these people that he would be out of reach for that time? It seemed an abnormally shoddy way to run a previsiously clockwork operation, in her mind, and she stared blankly into the walls of her room for awhile, struggling to comprehend it.
Finally, she decided that she had to bring the letters to the attention of Duo and the others, but didn't feel ready for the flood of emotions that would bowl her over upon returning to London. She tucked the box under her bed and went back downstairs to spend more time with the Trimbles. A decision regarding the letters would come later.
**********Relena had a rough time of it after the train incident. It was all traumatic as a whole, but watching what happened to Heero was the worst. About a dozen men with horses corralled him, fought him, and eventually knocked him unconscious and hauled him off in a rickety cart, tied up tightly with brand new ropes. It was so stressing that she had to take a few days off from her duties at Sutherby House, which was nearly finished all renovations and preparing to accept its first bookings for the autumn. Marcus came to visit her frequently, as he had done since arranging a temporary apartment for himself in Southampton, with his parents' blessing. Since that afternoon bore the first patch of sun the region had seen that whole week, he persuaded her to take a walk with him about the grounds, and used the time to gently needle her about giving him a job at the hotel, so they could be close to each other more often.
"Now, I don't want any special consideration just because we're...very well acquainted," he said as they shoofed their feet through piles of leaves lovingly raked together by the groundskeepers. "Just give me a chance to interview for a position like anyone else would! I'm not a golden child with a silver spoon in his mouth, I can actually work for a living. Father had me working in the stables when I was six! I know there's plenty of things I could do around the hotel, I just..." They stopped, looking away from each other shyly. "I want the chance for us to be.....near each other."
The subject hardly registered with Relena, not in the spirit in which it was intended, but she managed to sound sympathetic anyway. "I know you do..."
"A porter! Can you use an extra porter? I can carry one bag in each hand, and a third with my teeth, see?" With a silly grin, Marcus swooped down and grabbed a short, thick twig off the ground, then held it in his teeth like a suitcase handle. Then he mimed picking up two other cases and squatted, bobbing back and forth comically and stopping to scratch his head and under his arms like a trained monkey. Just as he hoped, Relena laughed, at least for a little while.
She picked up a bright red leaf and began tearing little bits off of it as she walked. "I've...handed over the staffing arrangements to the new manager. I can't seem to concentrate on it right now."
"You could put in a good word for me, though," Marcus prodded. "I know...I'll be quality control. Checking to see that there's a fresh cherry on top of every fruit cocktail, and making sure the mints for the pillows are properly wrapped. And after that, I can wash the floors, dust the ornaments, shine the little brass room numbers on peoples' doors, and those are all things I could do quite well, I might add." He squinted at Relena with his hands in his pockets. "Are you listening to me?"
"Sure, sure...you want to wash the pillows with fruit cocktail."
"What?"
"What?" It took her a moment to catch up, and when she did, she turned faintly pink like the fading petals of the summer's last rose. "I'm sorry...I'm not myself lately."
"No, I can see that you're not." Marcus then did something very out of character; he began to get worried. "You're not...having second thoughts, are you?"
Relena scoffed and sighed at once, glaring up at the sky in frustration, then looked at him like the daft little boy he usually was. "Don't be silly, I want you here....you're my cool breeze by the seaside. I need your calming influence to keep me sane."
Marcus made a sour face at the horizon. "Why would you want to be sane? Sounds bloody boring if you ask me..."
They talked and chatted the rest of the way up to the house, though Marcus still did most of the talking. When they reached the new front foyer of the hotel, they were greeted by some of the new staff, a pair of chambermaids, a real hall porter, and they even got a glimpse of the manager. Then a boy in uniform came out from the inner reaches of the house with a bundle of mail, hand-delivering each piece to the persons in question. He had about half a dozen letters left and a box roughly one foot in length, perhaps a little more, and when he spotted Relena, he approached her meekly, handing her the brown paper parcel with due deference.
"Maybe you could make a new position for me," Marcus went on without noticing. "...'Chief Executive in charge of Candle Snuffing'," he said regally, drawing his hand across an imaginary brass plaque on an imaginary office door and chuckling.
Relena wasn't listening. The box had her full attention, and she couldn't understand why. Something about the handwriting on the label was oddly familiar, and there were problems with the address. Whoever wrote the label knew where Sutherby House was, but didn't know the postcode. Judging by the marks in red ink from various postal workers, it had floated around at least one sorting office while they tried to figure out where it should go. Fortunately, some astute person had located the proper code and written it in, making the parcel deliverable at last. There it sat, in the recipient's hands, teasing her.
While Marcus continued to babble about nothing of importance, she untied the string around the box and removed the lid. Inside, wrapped in delicate tissue paper, was some kind of toy, a stuffed doll in the shape of a bear. It had an adorable fuzzy brown face with black button eyes and a hand-sewn leather patch for a nose. It was wearing a tiny waistcoat made of rich red velvet and brass buttons, and his limbs appeared to be poseable. There was also a notecard in a small white envelope, resting beside the bear. Relena picked it up, read her own name on the front, and a wave of nausea shot up from her stomach straight to the back of her throat. She knew that handwriting after all. It was Heero's.
By now, Marcus was looking over her shoulder, sensing once again that her attention was waning. He saw the bear in the box and hummed with interest. "Dear me...someone's got an admirer," he cooed jokingly.
It was a blessing that her back was turned, for she could feel fresh tears stinging her eyes. She flipped over the lid to the box and read the postmark, confirming that the package had been sent the very same day that Heero was captured. He must have known they'd take him...maybe this is his way of saying.....goodbye... She put a hand firmly to her mouth, to keep from sobbing out loud, and then quickly composed herself before Marcus could notice that she was in distress. "I'm just...going to go powder my nose for a minute...a-and then we'll...see what kind of job we can find for you to do, okay?" Then she quickly trotted away, up the stairs and out of sight, leaving Marcus to wonder if he'd done something wrong.
**********It was just as well that Bridlewood had Merlyn to fall back on in the kitchen, because when Duo got back, he was utterly useless. Grief-stricken, he was unable to concentrate on even the simplest tasks, and carried a little black rain cloud everywhere he went, hovering just over his head so that anyone who stood too close would get just as drenched in sorrow as he. Then, he underwent a dramatic and frightening change, his sadness transmuting into blinding red rage. His temper became terrible, and his mood swings unpredictable. He took to slamming doors everywhere he went, and other miscellaneous abuses of inanimate objects in order to let off steam without belting someone. Heero was gone, and blame had to be cast.
He spent yet another miserable day stomping around the manor, feeling more and more helpless by the minute. He drank a bit, but no more than he could stand, for he found he had a bit of a weak stomach for the stuff when he was under severe stress. Last night, he'd had just enough to give him a bit of a headache the next morning, so he was stomping through the kitchen looking for a glass of water to take a powdered painkiller with when he slammed a cupboard door shut and Merlyn let him have it with a vicious glare. "Steady on, I've got a soufflé in there!" she whispered harshly, pointing to the oven right next to the cupboard.
Duo couldn't be bothered acknowledging her remark. He filled his water glass, choked down the medication, and stomped away again, heading for the cold storage room where he was still sleeping on the floor. His old room up in the attic had some plaster cracks fixed in the ceiling and was declared fit to use again, but he couldn't stand the thought of sleeping there alone. Quatre and Trowa were there waiting for him; they had set up a small folding table and a few chairs, just to make it livable as a meeting area, and they stood around staring at the walls for several minutes. Until they got some information from their roving agent, Hilde, they didn't know what to do with themselves. They tried to file a missing person report at Scotland Yard, but weren't taken seriously by the desk clerk. The whole thing just reeked suspiciously of a setup, and since Wufei was the only one of their happy little group who ran off and couldn't be contacted, Duo had his suspicions.
At last, they heard the back door open, and in a few moments, their scout sludged into the storeroom, worn and haggard. Trowa and Quatre were up out of their seats in a flash, and Duo whirled around also. "Well??" they all asked, overlapping each other slightly.
Hilde took off her little flowered hat and ruffled her hair back into place, clearly exhausted. She had been out all night and the day before, telling her friends on the street to watch out for Wufei. "I put the word out from here to Piccadilly. If anyone sees him, and he shouldn't be hard to spot, they'll tell him he's wanted."
"Too right, he's wanted," Duo grumbled. "Wanted like a hole in the head..."
Always the peacemaker, Trowa insinuated himself into Duo's airspace, holding his hands up in placation. "He'll show up, and when he does, I'm sure he'll tell us anything he's managed to find out."
"You think he's out there looking for Heero!?" Duo snapped with ire. "Get over yourself! He probably knew all along that this was going to happen, and now that the deal's done, he's taken off with whatever they paid him! Dammit, I knew we shouldn't have trusted that jerk!!" He stomped off to the side, running his hand through his bangs over and over. In reality, he blamed himself as much as Wufei; after all, he was second-in-command, and should have had a stronger grip on his team.
"Don't beat yourself up," Trowa said quietly, padding up and putting a hand on his shoulder. "If, and I really mean if he had a hand in this...then he fooled all of us."
On the other side of the room, Quatre folded his arms and shook his head. "I'm still not convinced he knew what was going to happen."
Duo snorted. "Oh, pull the other one, why doncha..."
"No, I'm serious!" Catching himself before he revealed too much, Quatre delicately calculated how to get his point across safely. "Don't ask why, but...I'm a pretty good judge of character, and I can read people very well, and...I just don't think Wufei's responsible for this. If he'd been planning Heero's capture all along, I think I would've known about it."
It was difficult to doubt Quatre's sincerity, but Duo just felt it was wasted on the likes of Wufei. After running away from his duties the way he did, and the sudden appearance of all those men on horseback who seemed to be lying in wait for their team leader, what was Duo supposed to think? He shook his head at the floor. "You believe what you want. Until I'm convinced otherwise, he's not worth the dynamite it'd take to blow 'im to hell."
While they all stood around feeling very much afraid of Duo at that moment, there was a slight bustling outside in the kitchen. A door opening, followed by voices, followed by footsteps. Almost immediately afterwards, Wufei came sauntering in the cold room door, frowning. "Alright, can you make this quick? I've got--"
In a brown and white blur, Duo bounded over to him in what seemed like a single leap, slammed the door behind him, grabbed him by two handfuls of his white tunic and slammed him hard against the windowed wall. He was inches away from throttling him, but the others managed to restrain him in time, pulling him back to a safe distance. Wufei was taken aback, unsure of what he had done wrong until Duo started flinging furious accusations at him, all while struggling against his captors. "You stinking traitor! You sold us out!" he screeched.
Understandably in shock, Wufei plastered himself against the wall, finding it the only remotely safe place in the room. "What are you talking about!? I didn't sell anybody out!"
"How much did you get, huh!?" Duo snarled. "How much for telling them where to find Heero!?"
Wufei straightened up, looking to the side thoughtfully as if suddenly remembering the last number to a complicated combination lock. "...so it's true."
From his place at Duo's left-hand side, latched onto his arm and not letting go, Trowa narrowed his eyes. "What's true?"
It looked like the others might have unleashed Duo after all after hearing his half-admission, so Wufei threw up his hands defensively. "I didn't have anything to do with it!"
"Do with what!?" Duo hollered, leaning forward against the arms barricading him.
Guiltily, Wufei glanced at the floor, and an eerie calm befell the lot. Duo stopped struggling, and everyone let go of him so he could hear what the boy had to say. "I...overheard it from a couple of agents. Heero was repatriated by Jeffrhyss." A chill shot through the room with those words, and the group's collective spirit began to sink. "They were talking about how disappointed they were that they didn't find him first. Apparently there was a hefty reward on his head, and--"
"Heero told me that he asked you to listen to the agent grapevine for anything suspicious, and you and I both know he suspected something was going to happen to him." Duo had broken away from the others by surprise and strode forward to poke Wufei's shoulder angrily. The other three weren't too sure what he was talking about, but it seemed reasonable for Heero to confide in his most trusted friend if he thought he was in danger. It was sadly poetic, in a way.
"Well, I guess my contacts aren't as loyal to me as I thought," Wufei whined. "What am I supposed to do about it?"
Trowa stepped forward, folding his arms sternly. "So...you've known almost since it happened that Heero was in serious trouble...and you didn't come back and tell us?"
This in particular got badly on Wufei's nerves, and he bristled. "Pardon me for having things to do."
Duo walked away briskly, rubbing his temples with both hands. "I can't believe this. It's not happening, it's a nightmare. I'm gonna wake up in a minute next to an empty box of cheese danishes."
"What are they going to do with him?" Hilde asked in a high-pitched voice.
Somehow, the sight and sound of Hilde got through to Wufei in a way that none of the others could. He seemed to slowly respond to her fearful voice and plaintive eyes, first with a twitch and then by ducking his head shamefully in her direction. "He was declared a berserker weeks ago. Berserker status means the organization can use any means necessary to bring him under control. It means they considered him a threat to their security...and also a traitor to the cause."
Quatre was getting an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, so he just had to ask. "What's the punishment for desertion?"
To their surprise, Wufei answered, but he kept looking at Hilde the entire time, as if she was the only one in the room. "You get thrown in 'the pit'. It's a stone-walled dungeon underneath headquarters, like a jail cell. All of the worst offenders get tossed in there, but berserkers go to the very bottom level." He paused, and everyone knew that there was more, perhaps the worst news of all. "Once you're locked up...they don't feed you."
That made Duo turn around and take notice. Up until then, he had been facing an empty corner of the room, trying to convince himself that he was hopelessly drunk and the whole situation would go away as soon as he got some strong coffee into him. He swallowed. "For how long?"
Only now was it beginning to sink in with Wufei that he might have dropped the ball a little on the last mission. He looked away. "For as long as it takes."
Hilde squeaked. "You mean...they're starving him to death? Right now?"
Just when they all thought Wufei was becoming more sympathetic, he shrugged. "I wouldn't have thought so...I mean, Jeffrhyss is no fool, I can't believe he'd just throw away such a valuable prototype."
That was the last straw. Duo leapt on Wufei, grabbing his shirt with both hands, and actually lifted him up off the ground, pinning him to the wall. The others tried to pry him away, as before, but this time even their combined strength couldn't budge him. "Now, you get something straight right now!!" he yelled up at Wufei's paralytic face. "Heero's not a machine, he's a person! He's changed! He doesn't take orders from a deranged megalomaniac anymore! He works just like normal people, goes to restaurants and picture houses just like normal people, he's even got a cat! Finds bits of yarn and string for her to play with! He likes honey on his toast, and beef stew with potato fritters! He cracked a joke once while we were in the park and we laughed about it for days! He plays the piano, he appreciates art, he even told me that if he survived past the age of eighteen he wanted to visit his ancestral home and look for his family! He is a thinking, feeling person! He is NOT a 'PROTOTYPE'!"
Quatre had to take a few steps back during the little speech, for Duo's extremely elevated anger levels were giving him a headache. Wufei, once he shut his eyes, swallowed, and decided he was too young to die right that minute, looked down at his assailant calmly. "Put me down, please."
Trowa kept a firm grip on both of them, by the arms. "Duo, put him down."
Grudgingly, Duo put him down.
Though she was shaking a bit, Hilde was taking the news remarkably well, probably choosing to break down at some other place and time where she couldn't be observed. "So, how do we get him out?"
Wufei glared. "There is no 'out'. Headquarters is a stronghold like no other. Most of us don't even know where it is!"
Duo felt his anger bubbling up again, but kept his distance this time, simply pointing. "You left your post when we needed you. You disappeared when Heero needed you most, and now you're gonna make it up to him. You find out where that base is, as quickly as possible, because if you don't, there's won't be a safe place for you to hide! Not anywhere!" He left no room for doubt in the matter, and left the storeroom soon after, leaving the rest of them to see the traitor to the door. Quatre watched him leave with a sinking feeling; the Duo he used to know was slipping away bit by bit, he could feel it.
**********As impressive as the underground compound on the Isle of Wight was, it couldn't hold a candle to the true center of operations for Lord Jeffrhyss' empire. It had actually been drilled into a mountainside, somewhere between the borders of France, Italy, and Switzerland. Only the highest-ranking officials were generally allowed into the control center, so it was surprising to most if not all who were present when a young man of about eighteen knocked on the door of the innermost war room. He had armed guards with him. He had a signed letter from Lord Jeffrhyss permitting him to go anywhere he pleased. He had a bad attitude as well, and it showed.
Byron set up shop in the mountain stronghold long before Heero was ever captured. In Jeffrhyss' absence, his power seemed absolute. Anything he wanted, he could have. Anyone he didn't get along with, he could send packing. Behind closed doors, there were tremendous rumblings against their missing Emperor, wondering how he could have the audacity to leave such a greedy, grasping, snivelling twerp in charge while he played hooky for weeks on end, but no one had the courage to say so in front of the newer, younger despot. When word came through that Heero had been found and was being brought in for the promised reward money, Byron kicked his maniacal manipulations into high-gear, preparing for the arrival of his broken nemesis.
He gave remote instructions on how to deal with Heero without actually meeting him, as he wanted to savour that moment later. The fallen agent was tied up and blindfolded for the journey into France, smuggled across the channel on a cargo barge as usual, and upon reaching the stronghold, was handed over to Jeffrhyss' goons and given a sound beating just for the hell of it. It was little more than he had ever received on any other occasion, but they were careful not to do any permanent damage; Byron made it very clear that he wanted Heero alive.
Then came the time when Byron decided he would meet with the accused before sentencing. He waited in the great hall of the stronghold, a medieval-looking place with hewn stone walls, floor and ceiling, but not after making a few changes to suit his ego. He had the electric lights in the hall replaced with flaming torches, just for effect, and moved the large meeting table and all the chairs out of the way to make it all seem more ominous. As a finishing touch, he had an antique, gilded, throne-like chair put in, just for that one meeting, and he lounged in it shamelessly while his underlings milled around, sweeping and polishing whatever they could to make the room perfect. While watching them toil, Byron took a sip from a triangular liqueur glass, scowled, and then shot a nasty look at the servant who brought it to him. "You call this a Manhattan!? What am I paying you for!?"
The servant in gray rags slunk away, taking the drink and tray with him. It wasn't at all unusual to get yelled at by 'Lord' Byron, but as long as he had that signed letter from Jeffrhyss, he could treat the workers any way he wanted.
Then, the pre-appointed time came. Byron began buffing his nails on the lapel of his new business suit just as the great wooden doors to the chamber opened, and electric light streamed in from the hallway beyond. In walked two great burly brutes in black uniforms, dragging a worn-out Heero between them, practically lifting him off the floor by his upper arms. He was wearing the common rags of a grunt, plain grey and torn in various places, and each of his limbs was chained to a matching limb on the guards beside him. The bruising he'd received on his first night was slowly wearing away, but there was a new problem; he had not been fed for three whole days. Behind the trio were three more guards, each carrying a rifle. Even in his exhausted state, Heero was still considered one of the absolute most dangerous agents in the whole organization, and they weren't about to take any chances with him.
Byron smiled and rose from his throne with a smirk. "Ahhh, the return of the prodigal son," he purred, opening his arms wide. "Welcome, friend."
Heero was tired, but still very much coherent. "How about a friendly couple of hours alone with my lawyer?" he snarked.
"Ooooh, clever," said Byron, "but you know...if I thought it'd do you an ounce of good, I'd pay his fee myself." He clasped his hands in front of him, looked Heero up and down, and shook his head, clucking his tongue. "You don't look well at all."
The captive tossed his head a little to throw a thick strand of dusty hair out of his eyes, since his hands were out of commission. "If you have a minute in-between your manicures and your snooker tournaments, maybe you could talk to the catering staff around here. They're a little slow with the lunch cart."
"Let me explain one or two things to you," Byron said in a pleasantly sarcastic tone, shoving one of the guards aside so he could sling an arm around Heero's shoulders. "A member of our magnificent family has stabbed us in our collective back and thinks he can get away with it. We don't take kindly to that sort of treatment. The family...doesn't deserve that treatment."
Heero sighed a bit. "Tell me I'm adopted..."
"I know that underneath that shabby veil of sarcasm that you are very much aware of how much trouble you are in," Byron cackled. "You're a berserker! The most glamorous kind of troublemaker Jeffrhyss could come up with. You should be proud...there hasn't been one since before either one of us were born."
"And he put you in charge of dispatching me?" Heero asked disbelievingly. "I'm rather surprised he wasn't here to discipline me in person. You can't duplicate that kind of...relationship.....overnight."
Byron stood back, folded his arms, and smiled at his own ingenuity. "Of course not." Then, tired from all his hard gloating, he turned away, going to sit back on his throne for awhile. "See our 'Guest of Honour' back to his suite, would you?" he asked the guards.
They took Heero away. They took him down so many stairs that they couldn't be counted, and the air grew colder, and staler. Lights were placed further and further apart, until one had to be guided by one's own intuition to find the way. Underfoot, the stones grew slippery with the constant dripping of ground water, encouraging the growth of slime and other noxious substances that were toxic to the breathing passages. There was no other sound in this, the lowest level of the tall, narrow prison complex, of which Heero was now the sole resident. Not even rats could survive so deep, with so little to subsist on. This was the darkest, dankest, most soul-numbing place in the known world for a person to be.
This was 'the pit'.
~~~~~~~~~~
Next, in Episode Ninety-Two: Duo undergoes a gradual and frightening change as he vows to retrive Heero from Jeffrhyss' clutches. Wufei continues his psychological torture of Treize, and finally appears to make a dent in his confidence. Noin comes forward with the clues she found up north.
Poor Hee-Chan! ...I seem to have a fetish with confining him in cold, dark, stone-filled spaces, don't I? It appeals to my sadistic side. *evil authoress cackle* Well! It certainly is good to be (reasonably) back on schedule! Without futher ado, I'm going to set a date of November 12th for the next installment, and don't forget Nov. 11th is Remembrance Day in the Commonwealth countries. Buy a poppy pin from a veteran and do your bit for Queen and country! *salutes*