"…Later, after I had explained to Annette as much of the truth as I possibly could without clouding the issue with demons and prophets and such, I returned to Humphrey's Peak a few hours before noon and walked back here, where I stumbled into our bedroom and then fell into a completely dreamless sleep that lasted over two whole days, until this afternoon when I overheard the idea to send Virginia and the others on a small trip to Little Rock with Kaitlyn in tow. I hope that they are capable of taking care of her, especially considering Jet is still not fully mobile, with his broken leg and all. I still cannot believe it was only a week ago that I went with the others to destroy that destructive beast in the forest. It seems like it occurred almost a million years ago. That only a week ago… I was completely and totally human, that I was ignorant of my true identity."
The afternoon had waned into night, although the couple snuggled closely to each other barely noticed its silent approach. The Winslett household was cold in it's emptiness, except for the main room, where a few lit candles offered illumination in the darkness. Almost childishly, Clive had found himself resting on Catherine's lap, stretched across the couch in a relaxed position. Clive thought this suitably ironic, as this was similar to the way a dog would lay on their master's legs, but in truth, he was simply too exhausted to care. His tail was curled protectively around her leg, as if to make sure that she would not leave him alone anytime soon, the white tip swaying a little in thought. Smiling, Catherine stroked his dark-green hair softly. "This is all I can remember. There may be more, I am not sure, but the truth will always be that I have been unalterably changed into a being far different, and perhaps, far wiser than my original self." Clive said, finally finishing his long and tragic tale.
"It is quite a story," She crooned, "Had I not been an integral part of it I would find it very difficult to believe." They had gone through so much, in so short a time. Who could ever have guessed that the chains of the past extended so far? Even over lifetimes? And Clive, he had gone from human, to demon, to monster, to a mixture of all three in a procedure that had almost degenerated his soul, and yet here he was, home and lying so close to her body. Safe. It felt so wonderful to know that whenever she lovingly touched him, he would be warm instead of deathly cold, the frost had gone, purged from his heart, never to return.
Thrown over a chair placed next to the couch was his practically decimated trench coat, dirtied from blood and filth with tears in the left shoulder from the fateful animal bite that had started this whole complicated mess in the first place. Slash marks, rips and a countless amount of stains, the fabric was totally ruined and she knew she was incapable of fixing it, no skilled tailor ever could. That didn't matter, though. Clive had changed his clothes a while ago, no longer clad in his usual drifting gear, he wore only a thin grey shirt and dark trousers, his civilian clothing when he was not working or on any kind of drifting business. It hid the bandages well, as the wounds across his body had yet to fully heal.
Absently, Catherine thought of her daughter out there in the wastelands and how much more capable she had turned out to be when fate had tied her to its fickle and mercurial will. Even at such a young and childish age, Kaitlyn had shown traits that even some of the adult drifters in the wasteland lacked, lateral and resourceful thinking. She could not lie to herself about it, Kaitlyn would make a fine drifter someday, one that would make both Clive and herself proud. Catherine looked at the Gungnir ARM leaning carefully near the door, the weapon battered like an old piece of discarded metal. It was need some serious repairs soon. She supposed it was a family weapon now, as everybody was able to synchronize with it. Everybody, that is, except for Clive, it's former possessor.
Now he had that unusual and beautiful sword, a cold and thin blade that seemed to come to life when held by her husband, in anybody else's hands, it became as dull as a butter knife. She had seen him slash through solid stone and ancient metal without resistance, the weapon was so deadly that it was almost scary. But now all it did was lean quietly in one corner of the living room, next to the bookshelf, gleaming a cold brilliance from the polishing Clive had recently given it. Kuronegaiken, the embodiment of the desire Guardian. Her husband had renounced his sniper title, for he was one no longer, promoting himself to a new class and specialty, a swordsman. She supposed it meant that his days as a gunner were finally over, and wondered absently if Clive would ever look back on those times and miss them as fiercely as she did.
Clive seemed to read her mind. He pushed himself back up into a sitting position, next to Catherine. He smiled an unfocussed smile. "Gungnir no longer has a use for me, and I understand why it is so. It has adapted to a new master, though it fills me with dread." The image of Kaitlyn holding the rifle, small arms struggling from the weight flashed through his mind, and Clive involuntarily shivered. He had seen enough of children at war in his childhood, he never wanted to see it all over again. But still, had had an obligation he needed to eventually keep. "I may have to teach her, If she wants to learn. I cannot let a talent like that just go to waste." Though personally, the thought of Kaitlyn ever holding a weapon again made Clive mildly ill. If she could shoot like that with no prior experience, how accurate would she be, if adequately trained? He didn't want to think about it, nor anything else, at the moment.
A long pause, then finally more words. "Catherine?" Behind his glasses, his dark brown eyes connected with her grey ones, easily displaying every emotion that passed through his troubled mind. They showed relief, regret, exhaustion, and most importantly of all, love. Clive's eyes suited him, the strange mahogany hue, but glimpsing for a second, if she looked really hard, Catherine could sometimes see flecks of ruby red within the iris, contrasting together harmoniously. When they were blue, most of the time they held something like a sheet of frost over his emotions, burying and hiding from the world all the darker aspects of himself, things he didn't want anybody else to see. That dark side had festered in his heart and was finally forced out of him, the result, a pair of deep red scars over both his wrists, unable to be completely regenerated. It was a scar that would stick with him until his dying day.
"Hmm?" She leaned into Clive's uninjured shoulder, feeling him move his arm around her back, resting his hand against her hip. There were other things about him that had changed, unnoticeable by most people, and probably only observed by Catherine herself. Clive smelt different, not in a bad way, but something in that area had changed, she couldn't place it, he smelt sort of musky, though Clive still continued to be his old mild self, the same man she had fallen in love with, all those years ago. Catherine could now truly appreciate exactly how much Clive meant to her now, after the bone-chilling threat of having him lost forever. He had almost destroyed himself in his guilt, but had barely, just barely been able to cling to that tiny, flimsy little thread of hope. That hope had been herself and Kaitlyn, the hope that their lives could be spared.
"Thank you." The swordsman whispered sincerely. Catherine raised an eyebrow, why was Clive thanking her? "You and Kaitlyn, you saved my life. I could have died, I wanted to die, but you would not let me go, just as I wouldn't let Ravendor go." Looking back on that time with the new insights he had gained from the past week, Clive suddenly found himself understanding a little more of Ravendor's soul than he had ever thought possible. The wish for death, the urge to die, it could be overpowering, clouding the most sensible of men's judgement. He shook his head slightly, trying to comprehend all the horrible things that had happened, the ones that he himself had triggered. It was simply too much. Clive removed his glasses, his spare pair that he usually kept at home, folding them up in his free hand. "I would be nothing more than a rabid murdering beast if you had not intervened. You saved my life, my humanity, and my soul. I owe you more than I could ever repay."
Catherine smiled lovingly, the feel of the thin material of Clive's shirt pressed against her cheek. Gently, she removed the pair of glasses that Clive had been holding and played with the frame, smiling as she did so. "You do not owe me anything, Clive. All debts are nullified after day you married me, do not forget it." Turning to face him, she looked into his eyes and her smile became even kinder. "Besides," She added, "If the same thing had happened to me, I do not doubt that you would have acted precisely as I did, and you would tell me the exact same words that I have spoken just now."
Clive chuckled, it was the first time he had shown any mirth in days. "I can never argue with your logic, Catherine. Well, if so, then promise me one thing." The Lust Jaw was still on the table, the warm glow of a lamplight setting off its golden sheen. Clive picked up the object and turned it over in his hands, Luceid's signet held a much deeper influence on him than he had previously thought possible. He could only begin to wonder what would happen to him during the next full moon. "If I ever start acting unusually, like chasing the cat around the house or howling at night, could you please take my ARM and shoot me with it?" He asked with the faintest tinge of humor, the beginnings of a lopsided smirk appearing on his face.
Catherine could not help but find herself giggling at this, patting him on the back. "No, I will just hit you with a rolled-up newspaper and chain you up in the backyard until you learn to behave better." She joked, glad to see that Clive's mood had uplifted somewhat. It was so much better than his melancholic mood which he had sustained for so very long. Clive winced at the threat, pretending to be afraid and crossing both his arms over his face, like he expected to be showered with gunfire, then he made a whining noise that was surprisingly close to a frightened or guilty dog.
"That is a little cruel, don't you think?" The sniper-turned-swordsman lamented with fraudulent unhappiness, sinking down into the couch. It was much softer and comfortable than he had remembered it to be. Comforting, like Catherine. It felt better than good to be able to just relax and not worry about anything, he trusted Virginia and the others without reservation and sighed deeply at being able let his mind be at ease. If Catherine threatening him was all he had to fear, then he would just sit here and remain damn well scared of her.
The ex-drifter giggled and picked up the small mass of papers on the coffee table, yesterday's newspaper. Rolling it up into a crude tightly-wound funnel, she tapped Clive lightly on the head with it, like the newspaper was some kind of magical wand "Perhaps," Catherine replied to his protest, "But you knew I was a cruel person when you married me." Clive cracked a smile and swiftly disarmed the newspaper from Catherine's clutches with a deft movement of his hand, then gently placed both the paper and his pair of glasses down on the table, one on top of the other. Catherine folded her hands in her lap, now that they had nothing left to do. "So, do you feel better now?" She asked contentedly.
Clive smiled, but it was a smile that masked yet even more pain, it could not be helped that it still hurt, but the pain was receding, bit by bit. Tonight, the mental healing process had finally begun, and Clive welcomed it heartily. "More than I ever felt possible." He answered, standing up and taking shaky steps over to the windowsill. His legs hurt all over from the incredible strain they had undertaken in the last few battles, and he was still adjusting to moving around with an extra limb to balance himself out, so his walk was precarious. Not to mention how stiff and sore all his muscles felt, he had bruises in places he didn't even want to think about. "Thank you for listening." Clive rubbed his shoulder a little, hoping that the wound would soon disappear. It had been knitting itself together well, it would be gone within a week or so, he reckoned. Catherine noticed that he was agitating his wound a little in this motion and she stood up and moved around the coffee table to stand behind her husband.
Placing her hand on Clive's elbow, she applied a little pressure and coaxed him to turn around, then reaching up and beginning to undo the buttons on her husband's light grey shirt. Clive let her do this without resistance and soon the white bandages came into view, smelling of antiseptic fluid and medicinal herbs. Catherine had changed them yesterday when Clive had been sleeping and unaware, but now they were dirty from use and needed to be replaced. Procuring a new roll of bandages from her apron pocket, she removed the small metal clasp that was pinning the end of the bandage down and gently began to unravel it, making sure to touch Clive's wounded flesh as little as possible. The metal demon tilted his head to one side and glanced away when his bound injury touched the open air once more, the wound still premature in it's healing stage. Clive knew that this had to be done in order for it to repair itself without infection, but it still stung a bit and made him bite his bottom lip as a reaction.
While Catherine was doing this, the swordsman's gaze fell to the floor, studying it carefully before eventually flicking up with interest on something resting on the coffee table, previously unnoticed. It was a letter, small and thin and cheap-looking, unlike the other distinguished ransom note that they had received a few days ago. "What is this?" He asked, his fingers itching to pick up the envelope and discover it's reason for being there. It filled him with a little bit of curiosity, and also apprehension. It looked simple and was made of a relatively cheap material, a tiny square stamp stuck into one corner, an illustration of a giant gold nugget next to the price of the stamp, two gella coins. The address scribbled on the back meant it came from Little Rock, though Clive was positive that he didn't know anybody living in that town asides from Annette. Actually, it made him very curious, overlooking the fact that the words; 'Winslett Family', was spelt wrong on the front. Knowing this, the letter couldn't possibly be from Annette. Besides, he had seen her only a few days ago.
"Oh," Said Catherine, almost finished with the bandages, "It came early this morning. I did not have the time to open it." She held her thumb to the small end of the bandage, and used her other one to pin it in place, the pin beforehand held between her teeth, like a seamstress working on a hem while trying to hold onto plenty of pins at the same time. There, she was finished. The new dressing looked as tight as the last one, and Clive didn't seem to be complaining or cringing over it, so she assumed that it was okay. Now she leant down a little to button up Clive's shirt again, but the metal demon moved back over to the coffee table, picking up the small letter resting there.
The drifter stood there motionless for a short amount of time, his breath deepening, face slowly going grim. He turned his head slightly, as if he had perceived something nobody else could see. "It smells like Dario." He said warily, looking at the letter with distrust. Despite his suspicion, he tore the envelope open, pulling out a single sheet of paper, an almost illegible scrawl running across the paper. Clive read the writing carefully, pausing every few words to figure out what they meant, many of them were spelt incorrectly. Catherine peered over his shoulder but found herself quite unable to decode the messy text, seeing nothing but random gibberish.
"What does it say?" She asked worriedly, twisting the discarded dirty bandages nervously in her hands. Clive lowered the note, finishing reading whatever it had to offer him. He didn't look upset, which made Catherine's heart feel a lot better, but he did look surprised, almost, and slightly unbelieving of something she didn't yet know about. "Honey, what does it say?" She repeated, wanting to know the letter's contents.
Clive folded the paper up with disbelief, slotting it back into the envelope. Looking down at it, he chuckled a little. "It is a written apology from Dario in regards to Kaitlyn's kidnapping. He informs us that the events of the other night strongly affected him and he is attempting a career change. He is," He told Catherine with incredulity, levelly meeting her gaze with a smile, "Taking over Roykman's role as an item merchant. He assures us that he will never bother us again." Clive dropped the note back on the table, resuming his position at the window left open by Jet some hours before, folding his arms in his newly acquired Boomerang-ish manner. The wind outside the house was blowing gently, bringing with it brisk autumn breezes. Clive could almost sense the last lingering traces of dying summer warmth within them, the seasons preparing to make that great big leap into a chilly Filgaian winter.
"I think he may be scared of you." Catherine said, standing by him and looking outside as well. They could see the stars from here, and they were at the height of their ethereal beauty tonight. The ex-drifter felt the cold as well, trying to dispel it by leaning into her husband's side. Golden-brown leaves were dropping in the silence of the night, the trees that bore them becoming pallid skeletons as the season wasted away. Many people would find this sad and a little mortifying, but to Catherine, it was strangely beautiful. It signified needed change, a change that would allow the world to be reborn anew again, when spring would come their way. Catherine couldn't wait to see it again, and spend it with her husband and daughter.
"Can you truly blame him?" Clive answered, sighing a little in faint regret. "In all honesty, if I were in his shoes, I would be just as frightened as him if he were me. I do not quite look so human anymore, so I suppose I should soon have to get used to reactions such as his. I can assure you that I feel no less of a man or a human being than I did before I became like this, and I feel no shame in being what I am. I do not intend to become an agoraphobic, I will continue my drifting journey with Virginia and the others regardless of what other people choose to think. And," He glanced at Catherine with a satisfied glint in his eye, "Whenever I come back home to you and Kaitlyn, you will find that I am still the same person I have always been."
Catherine grasped the frame of the window-covering and pulled it down, closing the window with a slight squeaking as it slid down the built-in grooves down both sides above the windowsill. The cold breeze was shut out, and now the room felt a little warmer than it was before. Catherine turned around and leant against the sill, her grey eyes like a faded winter morning. Her gaze swept up Clive's body, his shirt was still open and she could see his partially fur-covered chest underneath. Clive was definitely not a particularly muscle-bound individual, but he had been exceedingly agile in his youth and his body had built up strength by wielding the heavy Gungnir in battles for years and years on end. He had always been handsome in a subdued gentlemanly way, but now, he was more… wild. More untamed than before. It was actually quite arousing.
Clive seemed to get the message easily enough. Stepping forward, he gently grabbed Catherine and pressed her against the closed window, both his hands enclosed around her wrists and pinned slightly above her head. He kissed her then, gently, at first, but then a little more forcefully and deeply, one of his hands sliding down to rest possessively at the side of her waist. She began to respond to the kiss then, but found herself having to break away, starting to giggle as if she was being tickled by something. "Clive… Stop it, you're tickling me." She said between giggles, pulling away a little bit more. Clive's tail had been brushing up against her leg almost rhythmically and it was making the woman laugh as a response.
"Sorry." Clive apologized with a smile. "I cannot help it. It does that whenever I am happy, I'm afraid." Forcing himself to be still, he flicked his tail out of the way and leant down again, but then paused. His face only a few inches away from Catherine's own. "I love you, Catherine." He said softly, his arms moving around her to rest against her back as he kissed her once more, only tentatively, before moving down and kissing the side of her neck, his left hand toying a little with Catherine's bra strap that he could feel from underneath the fabric of her dress. She flinched slightly when one of Clive's elongated fangs lightly nipped the side of her neck, not painfully, but enough the break the skin and cause a tiny trickle of blood to flow. She absently wondered now if this would turn her into a lycanthrope or not, even though Clive had been cured of the curse. It was a silly thought, but entertaining nonetheless.
The swordsman was beginning to lick up the spilt blood in a mildly canine manner, his mahogany-red eyes lidded with lust. Catherine closed her eyes, letting out a small moan. Clive's hand had found the buttons on the back of her dress and had deftly undone them, sliding his hand inside. A second or so later her bra was unlatched and he paused what he was doing with his mouth to smile almost mischievously, unlike the present Clive of today. Catherine couldn't remember if Clive had ever been so straightforward with her before. It must be the full moon, she thought. "Gods…" She said, her mind a tumult of a million thoughts and emotions, "What on Filgaia have I married?"
The metal demon heard her speak and then let go, taking a step back and bowing gracefully in front of her. "I am a disciple of the desire Guardian, Catherine." He told her, regarding her levelly and evenly. "And desire can take on many, many forms. I happen to enjoy this one very much. May I escort my fair lady to the bedroom, please?" Smiling lopsidedly, he gestured vaguely to their room, not too far away. Clive wondered if he could wait that long as he picked up his shredded red coat that was lying over the head of a nearby chair and tossed it into the corner of the room, the leather garment landing on top of Kuronegaiken and covering it completely, lying serenely all by itself. Clive blinked at a sudden thought, then voiced it out loud. "I just realised," He said roguishly, "That we have the entire weekend to ourselves."
Catherine took his hand and smiled. "You animal…" She said with a giggle, and then closed the curtains for the night.