Riff flicked a speck of dust away from his lordship's shoes, neatly and professionally. These were one of his lordship's spare pairs, the lord himself out solving a mystery, as was per the usual.

He hummed to himself, trying not to worry. It was normal for his lordship to be out for more than twenty-four hours, especially if a lady was involved. Not that Riff meant that in any lewd way. His lordship just had an excellent nose for ladies in dire need. And an excellent taste in lovely ladies in dire need.

Riff paused in silent admonishment to his impolite thought. No manservant should ever think that way about his employer!

Well... then again, he wasn't exactly a manservant. Just an aspiring doctor press-ganged into his lordship's service. How... odd.

"Riff! Dammit man, where are you?"

Ah. There was his lordship now. "Is there anything that I can do for your lordship?"

An irate gold-green glare was tossed his way. "Riff, run a bath for me. A hot one, mind you."

He bowed his head meekly. "Yes, my lord."

Cain stopped dead in the act of flinging his overcoat across the entry hall. "Riff? What's wrong?"

He removed the sodden coat, draping it over his arm. "Nothing, my lord. There's tea and brandy in your room."

Cain touched the taller man on the shoulder in what could have been taken as thanks or dismissal. "I'm sorry, Riff. I'll tell you about the case once the bath is ready."

He took that as his cue to buzz off and do as he was ordered to do. He silently padded out of the entry hall (all servants were able to walk silently – it was a trick of the trade necessitated by finicky nobles) and up to the second floor where his lordship kept his personal quarters while in Town.

Cain stared moodily at the puddle his was currently making/standing in. Silly Riff, the man should have mopped this up by now... oh, yes. I sent him upstairs because I'm in a foul mood and I feel like taking it out on the poor man.

He growled at himself, at the overly-polite and accommodating Riff, at the world in general. He stomped upstairs, pretending that he wasn't the responsible, charismatic, and intimidating Count Hargreaves.

Riff, by virtue of excellent training and years of service, didn't even blink when his lord and master thumped into the bathroom with his own portable storm cloud. "Bubbles, my lord?"

"Very funny, Riff."

"I was being entirely serious, my lord; the chamomile bubble solution is soothing, or so the women at the shop tell me. However, if it displeases you, I shall give it to Mrs. Trapp."

"No, it's fine. I'm just being... look, I'm in a horrible mood, and I'm sorry for taking it out on you. It's been one of those days."

"Of course, my lord. It's only natural." Riff quietly began to divest his lord of clothing, folding them neatly and putting them in the laundry basket. "I'll need to trim your hair again, my lord. Shall I bring tea in while you bathe?"

Cain ignored the abrupt conversation changes. "Sure. And when you're done, I'd like to talk to you."

"Of course, my lord."

When Cain was finally sunk up to his chin in steamy hot water with a few handfuls of bubbles piled on top of his head, Riff padded soundlessly in. "Riff...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You're aware that arsenic is completely harmless when taken dry, correct?"

"Of course. You've spoken to me several times about such a property."

Cain sank lower into the bathtub. "And you know that if a man acclimates himself to dry arsenic up to several grains at one time, then he can take approximately half his tolerance in the wetted version."

"I am aware of that peculiarity, yes. Some of the side effects of immunization are quite unique."

"Huh?" Cain looked fuzzily up at his manservant. Bubbles and foam oozed their way down the side of his face.

"The tone of one's skin changes and there's a specific way of testing for arsenic utilizing hair and nail clippings."

The younger man sat bolt upright. "What?"

Riff blinked innocently at him. "I thought you knew, sir. If hair grown in the presence of unusual amounts of arsenic is tested, then one can determine exactly how long one has been trying to immunize oneself. I believe there was a murder in New York City that was solved in precisely the same manner."

Cain sunk back down, thoroughly dejected. "I just wrote that off as the police using some nonsense to catch a man they had been wanting to hang..."

"The fact that the murderer was a city commissioner no doubt lent its assistance to that assumption." Riff leaned over and wiped Cain's face. "You needn't look so demoralized, sir."

"You needn't try to salve my wounded conceit, Riff. I'm perfectly capable of surviving a blow to my pride."

There was no way Riff could reply to that without breaking some rule of decorum, so he just kept his mouth shut.

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... I guess we can say that this is an alternate storyline from right about... let's just say the end of Godchild 1 to cover my favorite part. Any and all Count Cain fics from me will follow this line. What can I say, I'm in denial. It's so comfy once one wears down all the little chafing bits!

I'm assuming that Cain doesn't know about the quirks of arsenic – from what I've seen of the character, he just knows how poisons kill people and how to dilute them, not about the weird (and sometimes amusing) physiological side effects of certain drugs.

This is my first Count Cain fanfic, and I enjoyed writing it. If you have any qualms with my characterization, sod off and chalk it up to me loving to write AU fics. This is probably going to end up as a chaptered story. (sorry, I have a nasty habit of not leaving well enough alone...)

... has anyone else noticed the eerie resemblance between Riff and Bunter from the Peter Wimsey books?

chibi!Riff: ...

chibi!Bunter: –absolutely scandalized at the fact that he's a chibi–