Disclaimer (because I've forgotten to write one in a while): Santa did not leave the proper legal documents to turn over any copyrights to me (silly man grabbed the wrong form, I think) so original credit still falls to M. Leroux and Co. Congrats. Plot and other unrecognized characters would happen to be mine though...growl
Gah, my muse has been hopping between projects lately...and it's just been crazy. I really do get these out as soon as I'm finished and check it over once or twice.
Hope everyone had/is having a fantastic holiday. (I can't believe that I have to go back to school in 6 days, ugh...but I really do miss people.)
Hope you like it.
"A three and I'm out," Raoul declared triumphantly as he won yet another hand at cards.
The Baron tossed his hand in playfully in mock disdain: "I've never seen such luck in my life. I believe that it's your turn to deal, you great cheat."
Raoul merely smiled his boyish grin and took in the cards. Christine laughed and tossed hers in as well, exceedingly grateful that the discussion was not again wrapped up in the dark creatures of the night and all of Raoul's assurances and precautions; bless his heart, he did tend to get carried away…to a more staggering degree when Erik was involved it seemed. She sat with her elbows on the card table, chin supported by her hands. Raoul had a generous heart and such likable manners. It didn't seem fair; why did two men have to proclaim such feelings for her? No matter what she did, she knew she would be hurting someone, even should she choose neither…but then, she mused, they could unite in a common cause. Christine thought and stared vacantly as the Baron, Meg, and Raoul were talking about something or another, choosing to nod every now and again so as to appear attentive. It all came down to a choice. Raoul had never harmed her in any way and would never be unfaithful so she couldn't find any true reason to quit him. Erik was something more (or possibly less) than human but he had been there when her world had fallen apart and taught her to sing…well that and her soul was ensnared by him, all of him, and she had no wish for her heart to be removed from that perfect spell.
"Christine, are you alright?" the Baron Castelo-Barbezac questioned.
She smiled warmly at his concern. "I'm fine. I was just thinking of how I shall miss the grandeur of your lovely home," she covered smoothly.
"I can assure you that you are most welcome to return."
"And you, my dear sir, will always be welcome at our home," Raoul offered genially.
"I shall have to take advantage of your hospitality someday."
Meg, not to be left out, piped up, "Our home is always welcome as well." Madame Giry, quietly knitting with dark yarn on a large elegant red couch, gave a small smile, having already suspected that her daughter would not wait long to extend her own invitation. She was enjoying the simple observation of the scene, almost like one of the fates observing the mortals whose threads she spun as if her knitting were something more; regardless, one can learn a lot should they just sit back and watch and more if they know what they were looking for. Madame Giry kept her analysis to herself but continued to watch the delightful raillery, vaguely noting at how late it was; surely they all should have been in bed a few hours ago.
She was about to suggest as much when a thunderous and hurried knock at the door brought all attention in its direction as the originator of the sound, a frazzled-looking servant, rushed into the room.
"Gabriel, what is the matter?"
"A thousand pardons, Master, but there is a matter that will require your immediate attention."
The Baron didn't ask but bid his guests a hasty goodnight before following after his servant.
Madame Giry took the opportunity: "I think it's high time that we all go to bed."
"I believe so," Meg stretched out in the middle of a rather unladylike yawn.
The group dissolved and headed for their own bedrooms. After Raoul had dropped her off at her door and kissed her on the cheek, she heard the echo of the Baron's voice along the hallway: "Katherine, we'll need some fresh bandages and be quick about it!" The poor maid scurried down the hallway moments later and nearly flung herself at a closet as Christine watched with interest. She fumbled with the handle for a moment before yanking out as many linens and a few other items as her arms would allow and then nearly colliding with Christine after turning around.
"Pardon me, Miss! I daresay that the Master needs these urgently."
"Do you need any help?"
"Ah, that's kind of you to offer but I can manage."
Christine looked at her skeptically but as a bottle of ointment (judging by the label) nearly smashed to the floor, she spoke again, "I insist." She unburdened the maid of about half her load and started down the hallway before she could book any more protest. The maid caught up quickly and gushed a bit of thanks, though Christine didn't have time to say much back when she saw the gentleman in the main hall: a well-built man leaned against the wall, his pallid features contorted slightly in a grimace of pain and he clutched his arm tightly though the residue of the blood from whatever wound he covered was still easily evident.
"Christine! You ought to be in bed," the Baron reprimanded instantly, paling slightly.
"I realize that but I thought I could help."
"Really, Christine, you should head back to your room. We will see to this."
"John, I really can help," she tried one last time. "I've had to help Meg's mother with enough sprained ankles to know a thing or two about first aid." She didn't bother to add what she had learned in her father's last few months of life, what an infection could do to a person.
He sighed but was obviously too tired to fight much more. "Alright, Christine. We'll all go into the main parlor."
The injured man refused assistance and wavered for a moment before taking a few small steps. Another man from the shadows emerged and assisted the injured gentleman into the other room. Christine took a good look at the previously hidden man and recognized him from earlier that evening as one of the men who had spoken with the Baron. Suddenly wary, she followed regardless.
The Baron led them wordlessly into the room and quickly shut the door behind the group. "Do what you can for now, Christine. I'm sure we can find a proper doctor in the morning." He excused himself after that (Christine thought perhaps to get a drink to soothe his nerves) claiming that he had another matter to attend to though the strange uninjured gentleman followed directly after. The maid stood meekly in the corner, awaiting orders, as Christine turned her attention to her temporary patient.
His arm was still bleeding steadily, despite the pressure he had been applying to it even though it was likely that his strength was slowly waning. He was a well built gentleman to be sure and with pleasant features were they not contorted in worry and obvious pain. While coaxing him to display his wounds for her judgement ("It's just a few scratches," he muttered weakly), Christine kept half a mind on the raised voices on the other side of the door:
"What are you doing back here?" the Baron's voice rang out.
The other man waited a moment before replying in a silky and enviously calm voice, "We ran into a few minor complications."
"Complications? There is a man bleeding in my parlor, for God's sake! I don't want any trouble."
"Neither do we."
"Then why do you insist on dragging me into it?"
"We had little choice."
"And what choice have I? I ought to turn you all out now."
"I would advise against that," replied the voice with a definite threat etched into his tone.
Worry then broke into the Baron's tone: "What is going on? Will you at least tell me that?"
"We are trying to save our own and others from the same fate we helped you escape. And on that is where I invade upon your generosity."
Puzzling over the implications of the discussion, Christine was brought back to her surroundings when the wounded man nearly flinched out of her grasp. There were other words tossed between the two men just on the other side of the door but one quick glance at her patient—whose face was still managing to grow paler, despite its already impossible shade—reminded her of what was more important at the moment.
She took another look at the gash: there were a few smaller cuts around the injury but the main problem looked like the bite of some vicious animal or another. Christine held her breath glancing at the damage and noting how deep the scratches really were. She peeled back the bloody shirt gingerly, glancing up at her charge to be certain that he was not only still alive but still conscious.
"How did this happen?" she asked quietly once the maid had returned with the hot water and a basin.
"It was just an accident," he whispered roughly.
She began to cleanse the skin as the man hissed softly. "What is your name?"
"Ethan. You don't need to know any more than that."
Slightly put back and her reserve of courage used up for the night, she chose to accept his answer and say nothing more as she dressed the injury, even though it was still bleeding too much for her liking. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the chair, making Christine all the more nervous as she glanced back several times to make sure he was still breathing.
The Baron and the other man entered the room again and Christine breathed a small sigh of relief.
"Well?"
Christine took another good look at the strange gentleman before answering. "He needs stitches but there's too much swelling now. I wrapped it as best I could. We need to find him a doctor."
He waived off her prognosis: "There will be no need for that. We can handle stitches later if they are needed."
Ethan slowly opened his eyes and raised a weak hand toward his companion. The other took it and helped the man to his feet.
Christine, mildly miffed from her rebuff, shook it off and started to protest. "This man shouldn't be moved. I'm sure that John would not mind sheltering him until we can find a doctor."
The man glanced over his shoulder but continued to act as a crutch for his companion. Seeing that he was not inclined to listen to her advice, she turned to the Baron. "Can't you do something about this?"
"I'm afraid not," he replied, without much emotion. "It's their decision."
"Well, what do they intend to do?"
"I cannot say."
Christine didn't push any further, noticing the drawn look about the Baron. Instead, she suggested that they both make their way to bed and deal with their guests in the morning.
∞†∞
Erik glanced at Irving who still hadn't moved since he'd plopped down in the corner upon their return. Aleta had tended to his wounds but he was nearly catatonic, refusing or unable to respond to anything; he only stared off into another world of his own making.
Annabelle sat down next to Erik and wordlessly pushed back his shirtsleeve to inspect his cut.
"It's fine," he stated exasperatedly. Surely he'd had enough injuries to know how to care for them on his own, a process of trial and error since no one else cared to take the time to instruct him but for what he could find in books. "What's wrong with him?" he gestured toward Irving.
"He's in a bit of shock." Erik glanced at her with a look that read 'well I could see that' and she continued, "That's the first time Irving's had to face a werewolf since his brother died. I didn't imagine he'd take it well." Erik looked perplexed and she sighed. "His brother Thomas was massacred by one of their kind some few years ago. I'll spare you the details mostly because I'd rather not remember them myself. There weren't enough pieces left to bury and he saw it all. Donald might tell you that Thomas's gift was being able to track nearly anything but really," she exhaled and closed her eyes briefly, "I think he was Irving's sanity. After it all happened, Irving disappeared for a few years. We found him half-starved and sun-sick and since then he's slowly come back to his old self."
Philippe sat down ungainly next to them. "Does anyone here have a story that isn't so annoyingly depressing? It's a wonder we're not all a bunch of moping and sulking children."
"You can't be damned and have a happy story," she replied simply.
"Why not?"
She smiled slightly. "It just doesn't follow."
The door smacked against the wall as it was flung open and Donald helped Ethan hobble down the steps. Dane took Ethan's other arm and led them over to a makeshift bed to let their charge lie down. He didn't look well, that was certain, and his bandage was already nearly stained through; concern managed to break through even Dane's shell.
"Make him as comfortable as possible," Donald ordered to Dane before turning his attention to the rest of the group. "Nothing is conclusive. We don't even know if he's infected and with any luck we won't discover until the next full moon. Whatever the werewolves have down to boost their transformation will not go unchecked. We will rest here for today and seek a cure for Ethan. Then the Hunt will begin again."
Irving raised his head and watched Donald during his speech then closed his eyes as his posture slumped in resignation.
Hugs for Irving! (I'd add some better quip or something here but I haven't the time to be brilliant right now.)
Take care everyone. Love it or hate it, please let me know!