This is just another one-shot related to this fic that I decided to write in order to practice with our OC, Clive Edwards... professional douchebag, self-proclaimed ladies man, and one of Marlowe's many lovers before she got together with Talbot. He sure gives Talbot a hard time... and is the main antagonist of a longer fic I've been working on. I hope you enjoy our edition to Tallowe Land.

Midnight Snack

Talbot rubbed at his dry eyes, realizing that he'd been reading the same paragraph of his book several times in a row. It was that time of night where his cognitive functions began to slow and his vision became a bit unfocused. Marking his place with a tassel,Talbot closed the leather bound book with a thud and stood, stretching out his aching limps. The muscles in his shoulders were tight from his hunched up position in his armchair. Though it was plush, it couldn't save him from the discomfort that accompanied hours of endless reading and very little movement...

His stomach gave an unexpected growl, which seemed unusually audible in the stark silence of the library. Talbot threw a quick glance at the grandfather clock resting against the far wall. It was nearly 3am.

On most nights, Talbot would have merely crawled back into bed and attempted to sleep off his sudden bout of hunger, but he'd skipped dinner in favor of catching up on some research. Though he wasn't typically allowed to visit the kitchen after hours, he assumed that the servants, or Marlowe, wouldn't care... what they didn't know couldn't harm them, after all.

Stepping into his slippers, Talbot crossed the room and soundlessly exited the library, making his way towards the main staircase that lead into the foyer. Down the stairs and through the hallway, the temperature dropped noticeably. Wearing only a pair of lounge pants and a tank top, goose bumps were sending shivers down his back. As he shifted his book against the crook of his elbow, he rubbed at his bare arms to fend against the autumn chill. He made a note to bring his robe the next time he wandered through the Manor late at night. Talbot turned the corner, surprised to see that the kitchen lights had been left on.

As he entered the lavishly decorated room, he wondered if perhaps the maids had been cleaning on their nightly shift, and so he was a bit startled to see the hulking figure of a blonde man standing a few feet away from him, with his back turned and a glass in hand. Talbot cleared his throat, demanding the man's attention as he placed his book upon the nearest counter. His broad shoulders turned, sluggish yet casual, and a wry smile was immediately upon his face.

Clive Edwards, as Talbot had learned his full name only recently, was one of Marlowe's gentleman callers. He'd met him only once, an encounter he'd much rather forget entirely, and had seen him in passing on more than a few occasions. From an outsider's perspective, Clive showed up just as often as Marlowe's other business associates. Nothing unusual, or so it seemed... the only difference were the noises emitting from his employer's chambers in the early morning hours. He felt ill at the thought.

On this particular morning, Mr. Edwards was looking rather laid-back, favoring a half-unbuttoned dress shirt and slacks over his full suit. His tie had been removed and his blonde, coiffed hair was uncharacteristically mussed. Talbot had a few guesses as to what had occurred before their current meeting. At least this time, he hadn't been around to hear it for himself.

"Hey, kiddo! Long time no see." Clive was grinning in a stupid sort of way as the deep red liquid sloshed around in his sparkling glass. He leaned his weight with his back against the counter and glanced at his wristwatch, squinting before he arched a single eyebrow. "Say, isn't it a little past your bedtime?"

His words were slurred, the faintest signs of inebriation to his otherwise whimsical tone. Without missing a beat, Talbot replied moodily:

"Isn't it a bit late to be consuming Marlowe's personal supply of alcohol?"

He wasn't a child, and didn't appreciate being treated like one. Clive's full lips twisted into a lopsided smile, only slightly less sincere than before.

"Geesh, what are you, guard dog of the kitchen? It's not as if I didn't have permission. Katherine trusts me enough to roam around as I please. "There was a brief and somewhat dramatic pause as Clive took a moment to look him over. "Can you say the same?"

Talbot couldn't help but bristle at the fact that he referred to Marlowe so casually. He'd been under her wing for years, and he wouldn't dream of calling her by her given name. Perhaps ignoring the man was a preferable tactic. He'd just grab a snack and head back to his room... in and out. Marlowe absolutely hated when he brought food back to his bedroom, but in order to avoid speaking to one of her "associates", he'd make an exception.

Clive was tapping his fingers against his glass, directing his gaze from Talbot to his book upon the counter.

"Readin' anything good?"

Talbot was rolling his eyes at the feeble attempt at conversation after such an awkward comment. He doubted Clive had ever read an entire book in his lifetime. Unless, perhaps, pornography counted.

"Why should that concern you?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"What, I can't get to know Katherine's little golden boy a bit better? Well, excuse me for being amicable."

At that, Talbot scoffed. He wondered if he truly knew the meaning of the word. Again, doubtful... and again, he winced at the use of Marlowe's first name. He wondered if he was doing it on purpose in order to get a reaction out of him.

"I'm sure she's told you enough about me," he said, attempting to skirt the subject entirely and just be on his way. Talbot didn't particularly enjoy talking about himself, especially not to the likes of Mr. Edwards... and at three in the bloody morning, no less. It made him uneasy.

"Actually," Clive shrugged his broad shoulders. "She hasn't."

Brow furrowed, Talbot waited for an explanation. Somehow, he was sure that his expression was confused enough without any kind of verbal reply.

"She barely even mentions you," Clive continued, burying his free hand in the pocket of his trousers. "I mean, what, I've known Katherine for several months now. And the night you were caught red-handed was the first I'd heard of you. It's almost as if she doesn't want anyone to know about you."

There was an unwelcome sinking feeling in Talbot's stomach, like a pile of rocks settling there. Curse his stomach. Suddenly, he was wishing he'd just retired to his chambers and saved himself the whole ordeal. Though he tried to deny it, to rationalize it in his logical mind, Talbot was reeling at a dizzying pace... as if every bit of truth he'd ever been told was suddenly a searing white lie. It burnt hot like a brand, and hurt just as badly. He didn't want to believe what he was hearing. Surely there must be some mistake...

The only thing he could do was deflect and attempt to defend himself.

"Is that so? Well, perhaps it's for a good reason."

After all, secrets could be good things, right?

"Could be," Clive said, taking another contemplative sip of his wine. Talbot watched as his prominent Adam's apple moved as he swallowed... and he found himself absentmindedly bringing a hand to his own throat. "But you like her, don't you?"

Casting his gaze towards the sparkling marble floor, Talbot frowned as he pursed his lips at the rhetorical question. The clock tick-tocking on the wall seemed to be keeping rhythm with Talbot's pounding heart. Of course, his affections for Marlowe should have been obvious by now. He couldn't deny that he hadn't necessarily made the best impression upon first meeting Mr. Edwards. It was a fatal piece of information, one that he hoped would never be used against him.

He could only pray that the lull in their conversation was enough for Clive to simply shut up and be on his way, to forget about the entire exchange, but he should have known better.

"It just seems natural for me," Clive continued, "you know, since I've been around the block once or twice, that when somebody appreciates someone, they'd at least have the common courtesy to mention them once in a while."

Talbot crossed his arms over his chest, a defiant quality to his tone as he narrowed his eyes in what he hoped was an intimidating stance. He couldn't help but feel a bit inferior standing only a couple of feet from Mr. Edwards' massive, muscular frame.

"Are you saying I'm unimportant?"

"Hey, hey... don't jump the gun here, kiddo. I didn't say that. I'm just saying that facts are facts. You've been in cahoots with Marlowe... how long again?"

"Far longer than you have," Talbot retorted.

"Wow. Touchy, are we?" Clive said, with a sympathetic shake of his head, though he was still smirking. "Regardless... that doesn't seem a little odd to you?"

Talbot didn't utter a sound as he stared at Clive, jaw clenched. He honestly hadn't considered it. His mind flashed back to the first time he'd met him all those months ago. Marlowe's words were still so vivid in his mind:

"You see my friend over there? He's very important to me, and I've told him only the nicest of things about you."

"You... have?"

"Mhmm. So, I think it's best that you don't make a scene... Wouldn't want to spoil your perfect little reputation, now would we?"

"No, Marlowe."

"Good. We can't risk that with such a promising future, after all."

He could still feel the softness of her fingertips as she'd tipped his chin and sent him on his way, gazing into his eyes and leaving the scent of her intoxicating tropical perfume lingering in her wake. He'd been so ecstatic, so content that he'd made a good enough impression... good enough to warrant her mentioning him to her clients. He felt worthy, he felt secure... he felt like someone with a future, a future beside Marlowe. He had a chance. A strong, fighting chance. But now, the fact that Marlowe had lied to his face so effortlessly made it feel as if the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. If he couldn't trust her word, then who could he trust?

Until now, he'd never second guessed her. What reason had Marlowe ever given him to doubt her? She had taken him in, trained him, given him a home. He was always under the impression that he was indebted to her... striving to make the best possible impression at all times in his constant quest for Marlowe's approval. The fact that she never openly appreciated him had never even crossed his mind. But now that he thought of it, she never had... and he was left wanting something that he hadn't even realized was missing.

She had believed in him, and until the current moment, Talbot felt that fact alone was enough. Was it terrible of him to want more? Was he an awful person because he secretly longed for her to talk about him, to be proud of him and openly show it? To even mention him once in a while or show her thanks? In a matter of minutes, Talbot's entire perspective was changed. He wasn't sure what he desired any more, and that thought alone was incredibly depressing.

Talbot's next instinct was to place the blame on Mr. Edwards, who was still casually sipping at his nearly-empty wine glass, but something about the man was disturbingly nonchalant in the sincerest of ways. Somehow, he couldn't help but believe that he was being honest and truthful. To him, Talbot was a nobody. He had no reason to be insincere.

With a final tip of his glass as Talbot continued to stare in a state of bone-deep numbness, Mr. Edwards finished his drink and casually pushed away from the counter, moving a few feet forward to pat Talbot on the shoulder. His entire body immediately stiffened at the unwelcome contact.

"Hey, whatever you do, just keep your chin up, Sparky," Clive said genially, as he looked Talbot directly in the eye and squeezed his shoulder. "Maybe one day she'll look down and notice you curled up at her feet when you bring in the big kill."

Before Talbot could utter a reply, still left quite speechless, Clive had looked down and noticed the wine glass still in his hands. With a shrug and a look of feigned embarrassment, he handed it to Talbot. He blinked a couple of times before he realized that Mr. Edwards was handing him the dirtied glass. With seemingly no other choice, he relieved him of it.

"You probably know where this goes better than I do. Seeing as you live here and all, and I'm just a guest."

"... right."

"Sayonara, kiddo."

With a wink and a ruffling of Talbot's already-unkempt hair, Clive had exited the kitchen, already jovially on his way down the hallway and towards the main foyer. When Clive was out of earshot, Talbot mumbled under his breath, probably sounding more like a growl as he expressed his annoyance and frustration. He reluctantly placed the glass in the sink, half-tempted to throw it on the ground and watch as it shattered, but he refrained. Brooding in his dark thoughts, Talbot retrieved his book before switching off the light.

Not about to forget what he'd came for, Talbot snatched an apple from a fruit bowl upon the counter. He'd save it for later, as he was no longer hungry. As he sulked back to his chambers, shoulders slumped and head spinning, for the first time in a long time, Talbot was left feeling as if he'd bitten off more than he could chew.