Turning back to the canvas Sara and Danny watched.
Nottingham slowed his pace just as he rounded the corner. Just outside of the den door stood Dr. Immo. He was dressed in a white lab coat, his stethoscope hung loosely around his neck, and in his right hand he held his black medical bag. The site of Dr. Immo only established Nottingham's guess of Irons' mood. There was no use in delaying the inevitable.
Before entering the den Dr. Immo stopped Nottingham. "I'm sorry, Ian. Would you like something that would lessen the pain?"
Such form of medication would no doubt help lessen the pain but it would only obscure any inhibitions he may need. Especially when encountering Irons in his angry state of mind. Nottingham needed all of his senses to be keen and his mind clear. Besides he was already numb inside. Sara had taken care of that for him. 'Freak' Nottingham knew no punishments of Irons could ever compare to the pain he had endured by her. 'Freak'
He would gladly embrace the physical tortures from Irons. It was something Nottingham was very familiar with. He has been trained to tolerate such high levels of pain. His tolerance had been one of many skills that made him a dangerous assassin and an even worst foe. It was the one thing he was able to control. Throughout the many years of punishments Nottingham had learned to separate his mind from his body. He would let his mind drift to her. The image of her beautiful face and the sound of her laughter that he so long to share with but knew it was impossible. She was what helped him survive all these years. The same woman who would, once again, provide him with the strength to overcome Irons' ire. Ironically it was the same woman that led him to this fate. A woman that has left him in a far worse state then he has ever been before.
Yet this time the corporal pain would be a welcoming feeling for Nottingham. All from the biting marks of a whip to the solid strikes of a wooden cane. All to escape the unfamiliar feelings he still has for Sara and to have a small respite from the anguish of being a freak.
Nottingham could hear a loud sigh coming from Dr. Immo as he entered the den, ignoring the doctor's offer. The ambiance of the room was rather morbid. The light from the few candles and the roaring fire from the hearth bounced off the walls of the large room, leaving it in an eerie red.
But Nottingham paid no heed to the room. He soundlessly made his way to the center of the den, taking his habitual stance, and awaited Irons acknowledgement of his presence. Irons sat before the fire in his leather winged back chair. With the chair slightly turned, Nottingham was unable to see Irons' face, not that he needed to. Nottingham knew his master was angry. Everything from the doctor's presence outside, to the morbid ambiance of the room. Then to the change of clothes of Irons' customary suits to the black ensemble. Only confirmed what will happen to him. From his vantage Nottingham eyed Irons' clothes. Much like him they both were clad in black. But his master's chose of color was done as a precaution rather then a fashion statement. No use in ruining a fine designer suit over spilt blood.
With his elbow on the arm of the chair, Irons cradled a goblet of brandy in his left hand. The slight movements of his wrist made the brown contents swirl around. Irons continued to move the goblet to catch a glimpse of Nottingham's reflection. He could see Nottingham standing in the center of the room, head bowed and hands clasped behind his back. Nottingham had made no sound as he entered; yet Irons knew he was there. It was simply a matter of time and when Irons was fully ready to unleash his wrath upon Nottingham.
"Where have you been?" Irons' voice remained poised and calm as he questioned Nottingham.
"Paying my respects to Slyvester Marcus." It wasn't a lie but Nottingham knew what Irons meant. He knew where Nottingham had been that night. It was by his influence that had gotten Nottingham out of jail. 'Lack of evidence' was their excuse. But there was no doubt that Irons only knew of his whereabouts and not the reasons behind his nightly visit with Sara.
Nottingham refused to tell him about his profession to Sara and later her rejection of him. It was still hard for him to bear, if Irons knew this he would simply use the information against him to twist the knife that was already in his heart. Nottingham could not bear that kind of torture. At least with the beatings he could concentrate on the pain.
"Yes an unfortunate loss of such a talented young artist." Irons' held no remorse for the death of Slyvester Marcus. It was because of his talents that had gotten the young man killed. Art was indeed imitating life a bit to closely.
"But that does not explain where you were last night, Ian?" Irons voice still remained calm and collected. But Nottingham could sense the undertone of Irons' statement. Finally getting up from his chair, Irons placed the glass of brandy on a near by table.
With his head still bowed Nottingham could see the wooden cane Irons held in his right hand. 'So let it begin' Nottingham thought as he both mentally and physically prepared himself. 'Freak' Sara's bittersweet voice rang in his ear along with the harsh word she used.
Irons began to circle his disobedient servant. All the while rubbing the gold handle of the cane with his free hand.
"Tell me Ian, where were you last night, hm?"
Images of that night ran through Nottingham's mind.
'Relax Sara. I would do anything to please you.'
'I love you, in unguarded moments'
'You want answers, give me your hand'
'With a promise of another tryst like this one you could keep me here forever'
~*~ The images not only played out in Nottingham's mind but also one the canvas that both Sara and Danny had been watching. Sara stood stunned by Nottingham's thoughts, all of which had been about her. She could not apprehend just how much she was on his mind.
~*~ 'If you want to stay close to me just ask, Sara. We can be inseparable.'
'Freak'
Nottingham closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. He realized then no matter how much pain he would endure by Irons or anyone else for that matter. There was nothing that would lessen what he felt then and now still.
"Answer Me!" Irons slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. Much like he had that night he had returned to the mansion without the Witchblade. Nottingham remained silent, his head still bowed, and arms now laying against his sides.
Using the handle of his cane Irons lifted Nottingham's face until passive hazel eyes locked with icy blue ones.
"Shall I will tell you where you were?" Irons once again began to circle Nottingham. Expertly twirling the wooden cane in his hand.
Nottingham slowed his pace just as he rounded the corner. Just outside of the den door stood Dr. Immo. He was dressed in a white lab coat, his stethoscope hung loosely around his neck, and in his right hand he held his black medical bag. The site of Dr. Immo only established Nottingham's guess of Irons' mood. There was no use in delaying the inevitable.
Before entering the den Dr. Immo stopped Nottingham. "I'm sorry, Ian. Would you like something that would lessen the pain?"
Such form of medication would no doubt help lessen the pain but it would only obscure any inhibitions he may need. Especially when encountering Irons in his angry state of mind. Nottingham needed all of his senses to be keen and his mind clear. Besides he was already numb inside. Sara had taken care of that for him. 'Freak' Nottingham knew no punishments of Irons could ever compare to the pain he had endured by her. 'Freak'
He would gladly embrace the physical tortures from Irons. It was something Nottingham was very familiar with. He has been trained to tolerate such high levels of pain. His tolerance had been one of many skills that made him a dangerous assassin and an even worst foe. It was the one thing he was able to control. Throughout the many years of punishments Nottingham had learned to separate his mind from his body. He would let his mind drift to her. The image of her beautiful face and the sound of her laughter that he so long to share with but knew it was impossible. She was what helped him survive all these years. The same woman who would, once again, provide him with the strength to overcome Irons' ire. Ironically it was the same woman that led him to this fate. A woman that has left him in a far worse state then he has ever been before.
Yet this time the corporal pain would be a welcoming feeling for Nottingham. All from the biting marks of a whip to the solid strikes of a wooden cane. All to escape the unfamiliar feelings he still has for Sara and to have a small respite from the anguish of being a freak.
Nottingham could hear a loud sigh coming from Dr. Immo as he entered the den, ignoring the doctor's offer. The ambiance of the room was rather morbid. The light from the few candles and the roaring fire from the hearth bounced off the walls of the large room, leaving it in an eerie red.
But Nottingham paid no heed to the room. He soundlessly made his way to the center of the den, taking his habitual stance, and awaited Irons acknowledgement of his presence. Irons sat before the fire in his leather winged back chair. With the chair slightly turned, Nottingham was unable to see Irons' face, not that he needed to. Nottingham knew his master was angry. Everything from the doctor's presence outside, to the morbid ambiance of the room. Then to the change of clothes of Irons' customary suits to the black ensemble. Only confirmed what will happen to him. From his vantage Nottingham eyed Irons' clothes. Much like him they both were clad in black. But his master's chose of color was done as a precaution rather then a fashion statement. No use in ruining a fine designer suit over spilt blood.
With his elbow on the arm of the chair, Irons cradled a goblet of brandy in his left hand. The slight movements of his wrist made the brown contents swirl around. Irons continued to move the goblet to catch a glimpse of Nottingham's reflection. He could see Nottingham standing in the center of the room, head bowed and hands clasped behind his back. Nottingham had made no sound as he entered; yet Irons knew he was there. It was simply a matter of time and when Irons was fully ready to unleash his wrath upon Nottingham.
"Where have you been?" Irons' voice remained poised and calm as he questioned Nottingham.
"Paying my respects to Slyvester Marcus." It wasn't a lie but Nottingham knew what Irons meant. He knew where Nottingham had been that night. It was by his influence that had gotten Nottingham out of jail. 'Lack of evidence' was their excuse. But there was no doubt that Irons only knew of his whereabouts and not the reasons behind his nightly visit with Sara.
Nottingham refused to tell him about his profession to Sara and later her rejection of him. It was still hard for him to bear, if Irons knew this he would simply use the information against him to twist the knife that was already in his heart. Nottingham could not bear that kind of torture. At least with the beatings he could concentrate on the pain.
"Yes an unfortunate loss of such a talented young artist." Irons' held no remorse for the death of Slyvester Marcus. It was because of his talents that had gotten the young man killed. Art was indeed imitating life a bit to closely.
"But that does not explain where you were last night, Ian?" Irons voice still remained calm and collected. But Nottingham could sense the undertone of Irons' statement. Finally getting up from his chair, Irons placed the glass of brandy on a near by table.
With his head still bowed Nottingham could see the wooden cane Irons held in his right hand. 'So let it begin' Nottingham thought as he both mentally and physically prepared himself. 'Freak' Sara's bittersweet voice rang in his ear along with the harsh word she used.
Irons began to circle his disobedient servant. All the while rubbing the gold handle of the cane with his free hand.
"Tell me Ian, where were you last night, hm?"
Images of that night ran through Nottingham's mind.
'Relax Sara. I would do anything to please you.'
'I love you, in unguarded moments'
'You want answers, give me your hand'
'With a promise of another tryst like this one you could keep me here forever'
~*~ The images not only played out in Nottingham's mind but also one the canvas that both Sara and Danny had been watching. Sara stood stunned by Nottingham's thoughts, all of which had been about her. She could not apprehend just how much she was on his mind.
~*~ 'If you want to stay close to me just ask, Sara. We can be inseparable.'
'Freak'
Nottingham closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. He realized then no matter how much pain he would endure by Irons or anyone else for that matter. There was nothing that would lessen what he felt then and now still.
"Answer Me!" Irons slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. Much like he had that night he had returned to the mansion without the Witchblade. Nottingham remained silent, his head still bowed, and arms now laying against his sides.
Using the handle of his cane Irons lifted Nottingham's face until passive hazel eyes locked with icy blue ones.
"Shall I will tell you where you were?" Irons once again began to circle Nottingham. Expertly twirling the wooden cane in his hand.