DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, Neeko, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves. Oh, and the song lyrics featured in some chapters don't belong to me but rather are the property of various artists.
A.N: Ah, over 20 reviews for the last chapter! *SQUEALS* THANK YOU SO MUCH! I hope you all are enjoying this story as much as you say you are, haha, because then I'd be the happiest little writer in the world! Here's a short chapter for you; do enjoy it! Shout-out's next chapter, kay? Thanks again! *HUGGLES EVERYONE*
~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~
Chapter Six: Temptations
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New York; 1900
I've seen a rainbow yesterday, but too many storms have come and gone, leaving a trace of not one God-given ray. Is it because my life is ten shades of gray? I pray all ten fade away; seldom praise Him for the sunny days. And like His promise is true, only my faith can undo, the many chances I blew when I bring my life to anew. Clear blue and unconditional skies have dried the tears from my eyes, no more lonely cries…
The bordello nestled comfortably in the heart of Harlem upon its landfill of decadence and defilement, this particular night, stunk of mortal flesh drenched in sweat and other sickening bodily fluids which were smeared across the floors of the darkened five-cent rooms as if the waste had been made a deity for worship. Walls no more sturdier than the back of a spent horse quaked violently to accompany the screams of those indulging in fornication between the poorly-built structures, and chips of plaster from the decaying ceilings always seemed to break off when the occupants above became rowdier than expected.
And yet, amidst the chaos of the impure mortals, Spot Conlon lounged back on the mattress where his chosen whore spent most her days and stared at the opposing wall rather intently, his mind in another world. The woman paid to entertain him wore nothing but the black-laced stockings pulled up to mid-thigh, and of course the excessive rouge and make-up blotched across her face as if she were some wretched circus caricature to dance before her customers in clean merriment. She crawled halfway across the bed and cocked her head to one side with a smirk, before speaking in a terribly feigned husky voice.
"Is all well, sex god?" she asked before a bout of giggles, during which she drew nearer to him and traced her painted nails down the bare flesh of his chest.
Spot snatched her hand with flashing eyes and placed it back onto the mattress, wordlessly telling her to leave him alone lest she desired to be inappropriately dealt with. There were far more pressing matters bothering him presently than the whining of a diseased harlot; she hadn't even been that pleasurable to him. He was gravely considering this move to the New World to be a mindless gambit on his part. The cities of this confounded state were more depraved than half the vampires in his brood, and it was hardly enjoyable to corrupt something already gone spoiled.
The whore pouted childishly and threw herself onto her back like a toy doll to be manipulated as he wished, her arms and legs sprawled about as if lifeless. "You always go well into the early morning, and this evening you've stopped at midnight. Does something bother you?"
"Only your incessant carping," he retorted, aware she wouldn't understand half his words. Quite out of nowhere, though, he smirked at her devilishly, sapphire irises sweltering like heat waves along a lake's surface. His sandy locks flopped across his forehead in such a way that made him look no more than nineteen years, when in fact he was almost a thousand times that, and straightening himself up against the beaten headboard of the bed, he presented her with a proposal. "How about we play a little game?"
"Oh?" She, too, sat up and flashed him an intrigued smile. "What kind of game?"
Spot's smirk grew more sinister in nature as he pushed himself off the headboard and started to crawl toward the woman like a wildcat stalking prey. He ravenously licked his lips, his shoulders arching up and down as he progressed on his way. "What if I pretended to be a vampire, and you were the beautiful damsel whose blood I lusted for?" When within reach, he seized her arm suddenly, making her gasp, but only did so much as brush pale lips against her wrist.
"That's the most bizarre role-playing a man has ever suggested to me…"
"Think of the pleasure it would give the both of us," he whispered melodically, his lips traveling up her arm, across her shoulder, and to the fragile skin of her neck, where he lightly sucked on the area behind which stretched a vein. He parted his lips slightly, the ends of his pointed incisors about to poke the flesh when suddenly the door to the room slammed open and in hurried none other than Darien Bailey, breath coming out in light pants to give off the facade of his having been in a supposed hurry when immortals everywhere knew vampires needed not breathe to survive.
Spot lightly growled at the intrusion like a beast defending its respective meal, but pulled away from the whore nonetheless and resumed his position against the headboard to hear whatever it was his ally apparently needed to say. Darien looked at the naked woman with raised eyebrows, quite pleased with the curvaceous figure and already calculating what misery he'd put her through if ever she was in his bed, and cleared his throat. When she didn't respond, he impatiently rolled his eyes and asked her to leave. She, in turn, looked to her current master for permission, and when Spot acquiesced with a nod, she angrily grabbed her robe and marched out the room.
"I would commend your superior mastering of the female gender, but other priorities enslave me." Darien rubbed his hands together briskly and grinned. "So where is he? Where is the infamous Runner Conlon, hmm? So anxiously have I waited for his return to your dynasty." He knew of Spot and Jack's plans to contaminate the mind of their young brethren over a century ago, but too busy with managing his own brood and ridding it of internal anarchy, he hadn't quite caught up with current news from his allies as of yet. Until this night, of course.
"He passed the test," the other replied simply.
Darien's jaw slackened for a second before he gathered his bearings and started to respond, but words too early spoken seemed worthless at that moment, and he instead could only stare at Spot in disbelief for what seemed ages. "He what!"
"The confounded brat is obviously of more strength than I presumed," came Spot's nonchalant reply as he lazily yawned and examined his glassy fingernails. "The test was flawless; everything about it could've shattered the most devout of holy men. But he, in whatever cursed way, triumphed in the end. Needless to say, it's time we take the enemy more seriously."
"But I don't understand! I was relatively sure he'd fall to his knees like a child and beg for right of entry back into our alliance! What could've possibly gone wrong?" He crossed his arms, lost in a deep contemplation, and leaned against the shaky walls of the quarters. "What did the test consist of?"
Spot's eyes grazed across the patterns of the ceiling as if trying to recollect the memories, but in truth, he vividly remembered the events of that night as if they daily played out before his feet. "The first stage was meant to weaken him with anguish…"
1792
Spot cackled as he trotted down the pathway of mortal skulls, each in alternating moments turning to look up at those who indifferently tread upon them, screaming obscenities at Runner while he tried to hurry across their path. It became increasingly difficult, however, for the skulls would shift this way and that in callous laughter, jaws dislocating to shriek out curses or belittlement, eye sockets discharging excrement-based ooze. The younger Conlon hopped from one to another with arms held out horizontally for balance, and just as he was to reach safe lands, a skull rotated and caused the young man to slip and tumble down the muddied slope into a lake below.
Crashing into the foul water, he finally surfaced moments later gasping for breath, the darkness and sense of loneliness weighing heavily upon his shoulders. Spot stood at the shores with a light smirk, and nodded toward something his cousin had yet to see. Runner, shivering as if stricken with pneumonia, turned slowly around to behold this new obstacle. His face instantly paled.
"Da…" It was his father! The man he would affectionately call 'da' in his natural Irish dialect, until vampiric mannerisms had migrated into his heart and all sense of family relations had been lost. The feeble old man trudged through the grime of the waters, holding his guillotined head in his arms, for decapitation was the method Runner had demanded for his father's assassination. The once vampire reached out to the boy as if to welcome him to a fate they'd share for eternity, but Runner backed away with a scream and lost all consciousness before he could consent to such madness.
Darien held out his hands as if the answer had been there all along. "Well then that's it! If he wasn't strong enough to withstand the ghost of his father, then he succumbed, am I mistaken?"
"Unfortunately, you are," said the other. "He was supposed to have accepted the invitation his father offered. Burdened by remorse for having murdered the man, he was supposed to have felt as if all repentance was lost and therefore give in to damnation. But it was his grief that made him pass out, not a compliance with our rules…" He sighed heavily and continued. "Then there was the second stage…bloodlust…"
1792
Spot carried his cousin's unconscious and soaked body into a chamber within his estate, depositing the boy onto a richly-upholstered chair and waiting most tolerantly until his brethren came to. Runner's mind was buzzing like the interior of a grandfather's clock that had just struck the hour, and as he at long last sat up from his recent slumber, he clammed shaking hands over his ears and winced at the excruciating pain. The memories came back to him, then. The exile, the rebellion…his father's murder. He gasped sharply and came to full attention upon realizing he'd just seen the man's ghost, and then looked across the room to find himself being scrutinized by his elder cousin.
"Bravo," Spot replied with a smirk, clapping wholeheartedly. "That was most impressive, cousin. You deserve to be nourished like royalty after such an accomplishment." He gestured to a golden tray laid upon the table aside Runner's chair whereupon sat a glass of red wine, some cheese, and a bowl of assorted fruits. "Take, eat, enjoy!"
Runner took the glass warily, alarmed by Spot's philanthropic demeanor. But extreme thirst alarmed him more and he downed the crimson liquid in seconds. It wasn't until he swallowed the first drops that he came to wonder upon the wine's warmth, and then noting how his senses perked and heart palpitated upon drinking, he suddenly realized what it was he devoured and spat it out as if it were venom, wiping his lips clean of the elixir and dropping the glass to the floor. "Blood!"
He clutched the fabric of the chair as his pulse increased drastically, senses sharpening into a state of sheer ecstasy. He'd forgotten how drugged the blood could make him and how one scarlet drop could enslave him for decades. Spot arose to his feet and approached the boy, picking up one of the glass shards from the floor and bringing its jagged edge to his wrist. With a swift cut, he opened a wound seeping with blood and held it out to his cousin most benevolently. "Take but one swig of it, Runner. You need it, you can't deny that fact."
Runner opened his mouth further, his entire body shuddering at the prospect, and raised his upper lip just high enough to bare those cursed fangs he'd long ago denied. But as Spot came closer, flashes from his horrid past and the future promised him should he reject such evils bombarded his thoughts, surging through his mind like a ray of electricity that made him yell out in pain. He grabbed the sides of his head and wept, shaking away the scent of the blood, the drive for the drinking, and the underlying schemes of his vampiric kindred.
"And so, as you can presuppose, he passed that one as well."
"How unfathomable. I admire the mongrel more and more each day." Darien stroked his chin thoughtfully and further sagged against the wall while he listened to Spot's recitation.
"After his preceding successes, I was naturally enraged, but found some comfort in the frames of his final temptation."
"Which was?"
Spot smirked. "Me."
1792
Spot strolled down the corridors of the mansion with hands clasped behind his back as he gave Runner the grand tour of their renovated estate. Hundreds of acres were its backyard, and towering heights the proportions its walls took upon. "Quite lovely, wouldn't you concur? How I've longed for your return, Runner. The nights aren't nearly as warm as they once were…" He turned around and smirked meaningfully at his cousin.
Runner's heart sank; he instantly knew what the final test would be and utterly dreaded it. He knew these endeavors were not required of him. He knew Father Romanik wouldn't condemn him to hell for not accepting the challenge, but he wanted to prove to Spot and his blasted allies once and for all that he would never again yield to their malice and deceit. When Spot had presented the 'game' years ago, the younger Conlon was yet weary…but he knew he'd eventually have to face his demons at some point or another, and such a time would be this night.
"You look fatigued, cousin," Spot went on, "shall I show you to your quarters?" He didn't wait for a reply. He furthered down the halls and swung open the double doors of a grand suite, decorated just as it had been during Runner's youth. "We've had some things refurnished, of course, but aside from that everything's just as it was when you were our prince."
"Just as it was," Runner repeated in a whisper, sliding his fingers across the polished oak of a vanity. His pulse quickened when he felt Spot place a hand on his shoulders and slowly turn him around so that the two were eye to eye. Surely he'd fail this temptation as he had countless times when he was the ruthless brat of the estate. Surely he'd snap under the beauty of his cousin as he had back in the days when watching quite jealously the way Spot treated his whores…wishing for once he could…
He stepped back against the vanity, heart beating wildly within his chest, and shook his head vehemently. "It won't work. I've washed my hands of your puppetry. I no longer belong to you, Aiden."
"You're gravely mistaken, Lucas," the elder whispered ever so delicately, coming closer until their faces were mere inches apart. "You were my slave the day you were born." Reaching out a hand to caress the boy's face, his tone was softer than a summer breeze but with a sting that could've rivaled any cobra's venomous bite. "Don't you recall, cousin? You were my whore whenever I bid you be my bedfellow, and it will be as so until your rancid flesh is spent by my doing. Your aura reeks of desire…"
Darien hung onto every word, both shocked and delighted by this third method. Surely Runner had to have succumbed to the elder Conlon's sex appeal; there were few of the vampiric race who could resist it! "And? What happened next?"
Spot appeared to be lost as his eyes switched back and forth. "The damned deuce began to pray! I was so appalled by the holy words that I simply had to shove him away from me!"
"He resulted to his faith…what a scandal! We must immediately look into the power of prayer, comrade. Perhaps therein lays a great weapon we might learn to counter."
"In any case, I opened up a vortex and threw him into the cemetery where his confounded lover awaited him. Needless to say, she also defeated her foe." He rested back against the headboard and shook his head angrily.
Darien gaped at him. "A lover? You didn't tell me our precious nemesis was happily fallen into love." When the other shrugged, he only laughed victoriously, clapped his hands together as if the war had already turned in his favor, and closed the distance between them in effortless strides. "You're quite the idiot, Conlon!" When Spot opened his mouth to protest, Darien covered his lips with a hand and grinned. "That's how we get him to switch sides, Spot! Kill the girl!"
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Next Chapter: The Revolutionaries vs. The Aristocrats and the Newsies at long last make an appearance, haha. Also, where have all the elves gone!?