(A/N: Howdy folks! I just need to say that the poem Ravendor quotes is a famous Australian composition by Edward Harrington, I certainly did not own it or write it. Also, in regards to Antonio's weapon, I suppose you can think of Wolverine from X-men, but with the claws coming out of the gloves instead of the hands directly. Oh yeah, and Happy New Year! ^_^)
"Ghost stories!" Kaitlyn exclaimed loudly after spending a lengthy amount of time gazing into the fire, the conversations of her band of kidnappers flying over her little head. She had thought about the things she had always wanted to do on a camping trip, and the telling of bone-chilling ghost stories was one of them. There was just something about telling spooky stories by the campfire that just enchanted her. "It's a good time for some ghost stories! Uncle Ravendor," She turned to the dark-haired man sitting next to her, "What do you say? Can you tell me a scary bedtime story before I go to sleep, please?"
Ravendor was neatly putting away all the implements he had been using to cook dinner as he was addressed, and briefly paused to acknowledge her plea. Cleaning the wooden spoon off with a rag, slightly stained (And if you looked closely enough, a little charred) with the chilli he had cooked up, he set the tool down and looked to his minions, the three brothers all lying down and staring intently at the overcast sky, as if their collective willpower could somehow force the unwanted clouds to leave. It was almost time for them to sleep, even though it was still rather early. They had a long and tiring day ahead of them tomorrow. "A bedtime story?" He asked, "I know many stories, but I do not think that they would be suitable for you, Kaitlyn."
"Oh, come on!" She huffed, crossing her arms. "I'm not that little, you know. I like scary stories." She had a huge collection of them at home, in fact, only two days ago, during Halloween, she had just re-arranged them into her bookcase, from the most frightening to the least frightening. Did Ravendor think she was a baby, or something? Well, he was wrong. He finished packing away the cooking utensils and regarded Kaitlyn evenly, as if he was trying to determine her exact age. The girl thought it would be best to tell him and end his ignorance. "I'm seven, turning eight next month, okay?"
This surprised Ravendor mildly on the inside, he had made an educated guess that she was about six at the most, but he supposed he should have guessed that Kaitlyn was older, both Clive and Catherine had always looked to be younger than their age when they were little kids. It must have been the passing on of their genes, family resemblance. "The stories I tell are for adults, but I may be able to think up a harmless one, if given the time." He admitted, smiling a little.
Romero had finally begun to recover from his act of unnecessary courage, able to move around and speak again, albeit with a slight lisp on his tongue. He honestly thought that it had been thoroughly burnt, and no matter how much water he drunk, it still would not go away. Rubbing his scarred eye slightly, he thought he could detect a slight thinning of the clouds above his head. That was good, he didn't like the idea of being rained on. Looking very carefully, he could just barely see the faint outline of the white full moon through the increasingly translucent clouds. Pulling his bandanna up to cover his burnt mouth, he watched the sky with silence. Dario stepped over him and was organising the blankets into a proper sleeping area, humming something soft to himself in tune to his movements. He nearly bumped into Antonio who had just gotten up and slipped into his training routine, shadow-boxing the air contentedly. Everything felt like some kind of calm before a great storm, but Kaitlyn was, ironically, the only one who noticed this.
Kestorael cawed quietly, more than half asleep on Ravendor's shoulder, and the dark-haired man himself had his eyes closed, like he was trying to recall lost information. Because he was sitting across from the still roaring fire, it made him look very eerie. Kaitlyn turned to watch Antonio for a while, the way the foreign bandit seemed to move about showed a peculiar ambidexterity with both his arms and his legs, it must have taken him years to learn how to move like that. Of course, she had no basis for that opinion, but she had read a book about fighting artists before, and Antonio seemed to be one of them. Yes, she thought that true, Antonio was a martial artist.
Kaitlyn had gone into a game of throwing small rocks into the fire when Ravendor spoke at last, looking like he had thought up a suitable story to tell. Motioning for the other bandits to join him around the fire, he smirked evilly, having no problems assuming that guise. "I have thought of something," He said ominously, looking over to his minions, "A tale that may even catch the attention of you three, a predominantly mild ghost story of the phantom bandit team, forever cursed to ride across the land in search of their gold. Are you interested?"
The blonde bandit scoffed gently but was elbowed in the ribs by Dario, shutting the younger man up. Kaitlyn nodded happily, clasping her hands together. Carefully, Ravendor liberated a small stick from the fire, burning at one end, but still intact at the other. A few flames clung to the burning end, like a wand wreathed with sparks. Moving his hand in a slow motion, he drew a circle in the air, fire moving with the stick and momentarily illuminating the shape. "The Kelly Gang are long dead, but that does not stop people like me from telling their tale…" His voice dropped several tones, to a creepy whisper. "Even though they say a storyteller uttering their names are cursed by them, forever and ever." He set the twig back into the fire, adding to the effect of his narration by scanning the camp steadily for intruders, his smile simply disturbing.
"Really?" Kaitlyn asked with wide eyes, already absorbed into his words. "Cursed? Wow…" She trailed off, wanting to hear the story more than ever now. Ravendor certainly had a great talent of mental persuasion, his charisma was almost overwhelming at times. If he were to put his mind to it, he could convince anybody he wanted to believe anything he said, that was his effect on people, and one of the reasons why he was so dangerous. "Go ahead, tell me. I'm listening." She breathed, radiating intrigue. Boldly, she turned to the three bandits, shaking Romero by the shoulder until the blonde ninja grumpily got up, muttering something inappropriate under his breath. Dario and Antonio were already listening.
Antonio made a soft chilling ghost howl, getting into the spirit of things. "Ooooooooooooo! And ghosts be big scary white things, with red glowy eyes and…" He raised both his gloved hands, crossed at the wrists and pulled a hidden mechanism under the leather attached to his thumbs, a spring catch releasing the true power of his favoured weapon. Like a cat showing off it's claws, thin blades of steel popped out of the front of the gloves, extending from each knuckle. The weapon made a slightly metallic noise as it was triggered, causing Kaitlyn to jump in her seat. "Big scary beast claws!"
Dario whapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't overdo it, bro." He warned, the only person in the team who actually had some experience with children before. But Kaitlyn still looked happy, she giggled as Antonio held his clenched fist to Dario's neck, then moved down and poked him lightly in the side with the claws, giving off one quiet 'meow'. Dario rolled his eyes exasperatedly and easily knocked the smaller bandit aside, the little man chuckling cheerfully.
"Ghosts don't look like that, stupid." Romero disagreed snidely, folding his arms, "They look like regular people, 'cept they're see-through and are all bloody from their killin'." Antonio showed his difference of opinion by snorting and looking into the fire, liking his own concept much more than his younger brother's. He relaxed his hands and the artificial claws slid back into place, the spring catch resetting itself.
"I would offer my own opinion, but it would not be welcomed, at least not in the midst of a ghost tale, so I shall remain silent." Said Ravendor, ever sceptical of the existence of ghosts. He simply did not believe in them, the idea was just too far-fetched. But, he was willing to suspend disbelief tonight, because he did enjoy frightening people, at least in jest. "Now," He began, brushing away his fringe for a second and changing the sound of his voice to a humming sing-song one, "My tale; The Bushrangers…"
Four horsemen with aspects forbidding and strange.
They were booted and spurred, they were armed to the teeth,
And they frowned as they looked on the valley beneath,
As forward they rode through the rocks and the fern -
Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne. Ned Kelly drew rein and he shaded his eyes -
'The town's at our mercy! See yonder it lies!
To hell with the troopers!' He shook his clenched fist -
'We will shoot them like dogs if they dare to resist!'
And all of them nodded, grim-visaged and stern -
Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne. Through the gullies and creeks they rode silently down;
They stuck up the station and raided the town;
They opened the safe and they looted the bank;
They laughed and were merry, they ate and they drank.
Then off to the ranges they went with their gold -
Oh! Never were bandits more reckless and bold. But time brings it's punishment, time travels fast -
And the outlaws were trapped in Glenrowan at last,
Where three of them died in the smoke and the flame,
And Ned Kelly came back - to the last he was game.
But the Law shot him down (he was fated to hang),
And that was the end of their bushranging gang. Whatever their faults and whatever their crimes,
Their deeds lend romance to those faraway times.
They have gone from the gullies they haunted of old,
And nobody knows where they buried their gold.
To the ranges they loved they will never return -
Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne. But at times when I pass through that sleepy old town,
Where the far-distant peaks of Strathbogie look down,
I think of the days when those grim ranges rang,
To the galloping hooves of the bushranger gang.
Though the years bring oblivion, time brings a change,
The ghosts of the Kellys still ride from the range."
As an end to his cryptic fable, Ravendor unexpectedly drew his pistol with cheetah-like reflexes and fired one ambient shot into the night sky, holding his arm vertically up and keeping it like that for more time than was necessary, making everybody in the campsite jump instead of just Kaitlyn. Gradually, he lowered his arm and holstered his weapon, the previous motion a tribute to all the bandits who had died by the hand of the law. It was a subtle way for a bandit to pay his respects without seeming too… religious.
"Those poor bastards," Said Dario, shaking his head, "But I guess they got their comeuppance, eh? Oh crap, knock on wood…" Finding no wood around except for the stuff burning in the fire, Dario selected the next best thing and rapped on Romero's head, getting softly decked as a result. Ravendor gently stroked his sleeping familiar and pried the bird off his shoulder with an expert skill, managing to do it without the animal waking up. Holding Kestorael with one arm folded across his stomach, he looked up at the night sky and saw an open patch of cloud, showing several sparkling stars. The sky was finally clearing up.
Kaitlyn was ecstatic. "Wow! I knew you'd tell me a story, Uncle Ravendor, but I didn't think you could rhyme as well! That was great!" She smiled sweetly while nodding, but after a moment she went a little more serious. "But…" She added, slightly confused, "You said that calling their names was a curse, so why did you repeat them over and over again? I don't understand."
My word… she is a bright one…Yes, of course, she is Catherine's daughter. Kaitlyn, my reason is a simple one, I have been cursed so many times in my life that a few more will not hurt… no… not at all…Maybe even the pain will be a comfort… to know… that I am still alive…and I do not fool myself into believing otherwise…
He chuckled, ignoring the coldness that clung to his heart. "Did I? Well, that is just how the story goes, the way the travelling bards have recorded it. I have no need to worry, a few ghosts cannot hurt me." He gently placed Kestorael on his own old grey blanket, crumpling up the cloth so it resembled some kind of crude nest. "As for the rhyming, it is something I have always been able to do, so it is really nothing special." He glanced at the other bandits. "Turn in soon. Tomorrow I shall awaken you all before dawn." The bandits yawned and stretched at the same time, lumbering over to their own rudimentary sleeping places and making preparations to go to bed. It was still pretty early, but they were all tired enough not to complain.
Kaitlyn's attention immediately shifted elsewhere. She looked into the bare patch of sky and pointed to the stars, a glistening cluster that was framed by the slowly retreating clouds. It was very pretty, the exposed sky an inky black, dotted with shimmering whites. "What are those stars called? Every one of them seems to have a name, so what's that one called?" Ravendor untied the extremely old black ribbon keeping his hair back and looked up to where the little girl was pointing, a little amused at her tendency to illuminate fundamental information.
"That is the Hiades constellation." He explained while removing his jacket, tossing it to the side of his sleeping area. He wore a dark short-sleeved shirt underneath and languidly breathed in the air, the night wasn't as cold as he had thought it to be. "It is a cluster of stars in a galaxy far away from here. Why do you wish to know?" Those stars also had a long and upsetting history, but it was not something to be thought about right now. The war had been fought and won eons ago, it no longer hand any bearing on the present day.
"I dunno." Kaitlyn confessed with a tiny shrug. "It's just that I've noticed when Daddy looks at the sky, he always looks at those stars, and I was wondering why. Hey…" She slowly drawled, realising something, "Hyades? That's what's written on your arm, isn't it?" The girl said while pointing to Ravendor's left arm, pale in the firelight. She could just barely make out the inked word 'Hyades' amidst the rest of the sentence that was too far in the shadows to be read. In an incredibly rare occasion, Ravendor went a slight red and rubbed the tattoo absently with his other hand, moving over non-threateningly to Kaitlyn's side.
"I can assure you that it means absolutely nothing, Kaitlyn. Nothing at all." He lied self-consciously, "Now, it is time for you to go to sleep. Here," He held up a length of very thin rope, "I am very sorry about this, but I have no choice but to tie you up before I can let you sleep. Please understand that I have no choice in the matter; you are still my hostage. Hold out your arms." He instructed, trying to sound like he did not want to do it, which was certainly true.
"Oh yeah," Said Kaitlyn softly, voice going sad, "I forgot that you were kid-napping me. Okay, I don't mind." She held out her hands obligingly, feeling the relatively slender cord being wound with care around her wrists, much more tenderly than the bandit leader had done before. She felt a little sting where the rope touched her chafed skin, but continued to ignore it bravely, forcing herself to think about something else. "Uncle Ravendor?" She asked, lowering her hands after the deed was done.
"Yes?" He answered.
The girl blushed. "I-um… Have trouble getting to sleep at night without having a stuffed toy or something," She disclosed to him privately, "You don't happen to have a- No, no, of course not." She laughed without mirth, awkward. Kaitlyn always tried to act like a grown-up, and confessing to an experienced drifter about such a babyish thing was beyond embarrassing.
But Ravendor merely smiled. Taking the girl carefully by the shoulder and leading her to a blanketed spot near Dario and the fire, he set her down and disappeared over to his spot for a second, returning with something black and warm in his arms. "This is hardly a stuffed animal," He replied, "But I am sure that neither you, nor he shall mind. Be careful not to wake him up, although he is quite a heavy sleeper." Kaitlyn laid down and rolled over to one side, keeping her bound arms near her face. The bandit leader placed Kestorael close to her side before covering her over with a blanket, glad that most of the events during the day had gone smoothly enough. "Good night, Kaitlyn." He said, looking slightly to one side.
"Good night, Uncle Ravendor." She replied from under the blanket, feeling the slight bulk of the sleeping bird pressing against her side. Exhaling softly, the girl closed her eyes, trying to go to sleep. Kestorael cheeped once, then was silent for the rest of the night.
Making no noise at all, Ravendor moved back to his own spot at the campsite and sat down heavily, scanning the area to see if all the bandits had clocked in. Everything was quiet, deathly quiet, except for the chirping of crickets and the crackling flames. Yawning, Ravendor rubbed his sore shoulder, the muscles slightly hurt from his spasm at the quarry, his hand going over the many scars he could feel through the thin fabric of his shirt. He hated those scars. Lying down himself and setting his hands behind his head, Ravendor waited patiently for sleep to claim him.
Unbeknownst to all of them, Romero was still sitting up, his one remaining eye focussed on their defenceless hostage. He grinned, and that was grin was lecherously corrupt. "Me parce muy bonito…" He whispered, rubbing his chin underneath the green bandana, "Such a pretty little blonde… and she's all tied up too… Heh, how interesting, very interesting…" He sniggered to himself for a few personal seconds, taking note of the facts he had learnt tonight. His team still had two more nights of taking care of the brat, and his boredom and perversions were giving him the dregs of an incredibly wicked idea.
But for now, Romero went to sleep.