Chapter 4: Mid-Night Rumble
Reaver experiences a wild and crazy night of the kind he's not so fond of.
Reaver ascended the stairs to the second floor slowly, sipping the sweet, sweet alcohol as he went. He was pointedly ignoring the damage below him, having almost convinced himself that it was Sparrow's manor, and therefore his problem. Almost.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, signaling he was no longer alone. Reaver cast a glance over his shoulder, one eyebrow raising at the sight of his new companion. "You know, I do believe that since our little venture you've spent more time shadowing me then that 'master' of yours. Why not bother him for awhile hm? Wouldn't want him to get jealous of me getting all your attention."
Smiles continued to follow him in silence, eyes trained on the pirate's head. Reaver sighed. "Very well, if you must, follow away. However I advise you not to get it into that furry little head of yours that we are anything other than captive and captor. Gods forbid you find yourself under the notion that you and I are friends." He threw the balverine a condescending look as he turned to enter his room. The balverine snorted, unceremoniously pushing his way past the pirate before he'd managed to get the door closed.
"And just what do you think you're doing?" Reaver eyed the white monstrosity currently padding circles about his room. Being followed everywhere was one thing, having his inhuman stalker sleeping in his room was another. "As much as I adore your company, I think it would be better for all if you were to sleep on the other side of this door. See? This here?" He moved the door back and forth a bit, then pointed lazily at the creature. "You-" He pointed out into the hallway. "Go out there. Am I being clear enough?"
Apparently he wasn't, as instead of doing as he'd been told, Smiles stopped his pacing to stand insolently next to the foot of the bed. Knocking back the rest of his drink, Reaver strode swiftly back out into the hall, moving to lean casually against the railing. "Oh Sparrow, love, do be a dear and come get that beast of yours out of my room."
Sparrow visibly jumped, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to look up at him. "What?"
"Come now, don't play coy with me."
Sparrow huffed. "I'm not bloody playing anything with you Reaver. What do you want?"
"Oooh, touchy are we?" All he got in response was a murderous look, and decided that, being unarmed, he should at least attempt to meet his jailer halfway. Well, halfway to halfway anyway. "Your pet. My room. Out."
The gypsy gave him a confused look, before shaking his head and swiftly climbing the stairs. "You know, for a man of such refined language and all that, sometimes I can't figure out what the hell your trying to get at. Y'shud work on that."
Reaver huffed indignantly as Sparrow strode past him. "Well perhaps that's the problem. Your uneducated mind simply can't process the level of intellect I have to offer. Shall I dumb it down for you?" He paused, waiting for a reaction that never came, then continued on anyway. "Tha' pe' ah yers be in me ro'um Spahrah. Ge' I' ou'."
Sparrow stopped, turned, and looked at him with a blank stare that was both comical and informative. Apparently, he'd used the wrong plebeian dialect.
"I think you may have dumbed it down a little too far."
Reaver waved the statement off, walking slowly towards the hero so as not to put him on guard. "Yes, well, it has been ages since speech so unrefined has passed from these lips, and I dare say I may be a bit rusty. However be that as it may, I was still being quite straight forward with you, and yet I am no closer to alleviating my problem then when this conversation started 10 minutes ago. Now," He grabbed Sparrow by the shirt and proceeded to pull him along as one would a wayward pet. If he couldn't get the point across through words, then he'd have to go the nonverbal route used primarily on uncomprehending children.
The pirate lord stopped just short of his doorway, pushing the younger man ahead of him so as to give him an unobstructed view. "Do you notice something that does not belong?"
Sparrow looked back over his shoulder, eyebrow quirked at the semi-furious man that had shoved him into the enclosed space. "No. What exactly is it I'm supposed to be seeing?"
Reaver stepped around the hero, gesturing with more force than was really necessary at the furry intruder. "That. Kindly remove it from my room, or I will be forced to do so myself."
Smiles looked innocently between the two of them, curling himself up tighter amidst the nest of blankets he had made for himself in the center of Reaver's bed. His eerie yellow eyes met those of his master, head cocking as if in question.
Sparrow walked lightly to the bed, offering the beast a gentle pat on the head before turning to a now very annoyed Reaver. "He stays, Reaver. He can't watch you if he can't see you."
"Of course he can, it's not as if I can go anywhere, what with this room lacking a window."
"My point still stands, pirate. He stays. Deal with it." With that, Sparrow turned and made his way to the door.
"Well then at least get him off my bed."
The gypsy made a vague gesture over his shoulder. "Sorry love but I fail to see how that's my problem." He cast a mischievous glance back into the room. "Pleasant dreams, Reaver."
He continued to stare at the space Sparrow had just moments ago occupied, looking as though he'd just been slapped across the face. Not only had he been denied, but he'd been mocked. He turned slowly towards the Sergeant, who was watching him through half-lidded eyes. "You."
A yelp, a thud, and a great deal of cursing followed the grinning hero of Bowerstone all the way to his room. It didn't bother him in the least that it sounded like the two of them were trashing yet another part of his manor. In fact, envisioning the great hero of skill trying(and failing) to chase a balverine from his room, unarmed and half naked, lifted his spirits quite a bit. Maybe if he was lucky it would serve to help humble the pirate, although he wasn't holding his breath on that one.
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Reaver shifted, kicking out in an attempt to get more comfortable. He was met with a half-cocked growl and a jerk of what he assumed to be a shoulder. Scowling, he rolled into a new position and gave the blanket a tug, hoping to free some of it for his own use. Unfortunately it didn't move an inch, the weight pinning it exceeding his strength. All he got for his trouble was a gravely huff and a smack to the shin. Grumbling unintelligibly, Reaver flipped himself over as violently as was possible, jamming his one and only pillow over his head in an attempt to block out reality. Specifically that he was not sleeping in the same bed as a certain blanket hogging balverine, was not being forced to scrunch into a peculiar angle because the aforementioned beast refused to move from where it was currently sprawled, and most importantly that he had not been bested in his initial fight for his damn privacy. Needless to say, the large, warm lump causing the mattress to sag and the bed frame to occasionally protest was effectively thwarting his attempts. "Bloody balverine…."
The Sergeant yawned, the snap of his jaws closing prompting another jab from the bed's other occupant. His response was to roll over onto his back, landing him right atop at least half of Reaver. A string of colorful cursing and violent flailing convinced the stubborn balverine to revert to his previous position.
The second he felt the weight pinning him leave, Reaver threw his protesting body into a sitting position, his back colliding with the headboard somewhat painfully. A crash across the room drew his attention, and after a bit of blank staring, his mind registered what'd caused the noise. He looked down at the hand which had previously been clutching the pillow to his head, wondering when exactly he'd thrown it. And, for that matter, what it was he'd just managed to break.
He eyed the white creature with disdain. "Don't give me that innocent look, this is entirely your fault." He made a vague motion in the direction of the whatever it was that'd broken. The balverine blinked drowsily before burying his head back between his forearms. Exasperation searing away any thoughts of sleep from his mind, Reaver flipped the covers from his legs and climbed moodily from his allotted space.
Smiles dislodged most of the blanket from his head where it'd settled with a shake, one blazing eye fixed to the retreating back. The pirate was rifling through dresser drawers, more than likely in search of a shirt.
"Hmpf. Gone for less then a decade to come home and find all of my things replaced." He released his grip on the sleeve of a rather depressing looking black peasant shirt before closing the drawer with a sharp click. Eyeing the cocooned balverine, an idea came to him. "You know, I was rather fond of the way our dear Sparrow clothed himself when he first appeared on my doorstep…" Yes, he mused, the Hero certainly had had a flare for turning heads, back before the world no longer had a use for him.
Smiles huffed, stretching his jaws unseemly wide in a yawn before disappearing beneath the scarlet bedcovers.
With an undignified roll of his eyes, Reaver sashayed out into the hallway, humming tunelessly and wondering if a lack of sleep was getting to him. He made it to Sparrow's room(aka his room) without running into any rearranged furniture in the dark. Foregoing formalities such as knocking, he waltzed into the darkened room, pausing to take in his surroundings. Sparrow had changed little in the manor itself, but here he truly saw the hero's influence. His bright scarlet and gold color scheme had been replaced with one of onyx and deep crimson, the pictures and trophies replaced with monstrous bookcases and armoires. The large bed was closer to the wall-consuming window then he remembered, and was no longer sporting his signature bedding, now currently drowning a certain balverine. The bed itself was empty, putting the pirate on alert. A quick glance around verified his solidarity in the room, something which Reaver immediately took advantage of. Within moments he was sifting through the nearest unlocked armoire, only slightly put off by the lack of weapons hidden within.
"What are you doing, Reaver?"
Said pirate jumped, not having heard the hero enter. However he quickly regained his cool, glancing coyly over his shoulder while continuing to thumb through the glorified closet. "Why Sparrow dear, I was wondering where you'd gotten off to. You really should be getting some beauty sleep; Why, is that a wrinkle?"
The hero rolled his eyes, moving to drop listlessly onto his bed with a sigh. "I'm not in the bloody mood, Reaver. Take whatever the hell you're after and go away."
The pirate paused, looking, really looking at the man gazing tiredly at him. The hero was slumped forward, leaning his forearms on his thighs. And for the first time since the man had waltzed into his parlor all those years ago, the hero looked well, human. For the first time Reaver read weariness in the usually strong posture, the eerie crimson eyes dulled over, fiery passion absent. It unnerved him, a bit.
"Come now, is that any way to treat a guest?"
"You're a guest now? Hmpf. Whatever you're trying to pull, it's fairly transparent. I think you're the one who needs to go to bed."
Reaver pulled a random garment out to inspect, grinning cheekily down at the red dress shirt as he spoke. "Well why not join me hm? Kill two birds with one stone…or something like that." He ran his fingers suggestively over the silky fabric as he glanced up to catch the other man's reaction.
Sparrow let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "It seems even lack of sleep can't sidetrack that dirty mind of yours. Take it and the damned shirt and go back to your own room."
Throwing on the shirt carelessly, Reaver stalked slowly towards the bed, watching the eyes watching him. "My my, what has become of my dear little bird? Where's all that fire I remember? Hm? The proud, blood soaked Hero that blew into my home on the head winds of a tempest?"
Reaver stopped in front of the hero, watched as the dull gaze slid off to the side to stare at nothing.
"Gone."
"Gone? Where?" He slid easily into the smooth tone he used on wenches and particularly nasty opponents alike.
Sparrow's eyes hardened, sparking momentarily. "Dead."
The thief raised a brow at the harsh voice, genuinely curious. "Really? And how is that, exactly? You seem to be quite alive. I should know, being that I've ended so many…lives, that is."
Sparrow glanced moodily at him before staring fixedly at a blank piece of wall.
Perching lightly next to the now disgruntled hero, Reaver prodded further without a thought to the fact that the man could burn the whole bleeding place down without lifting a finger. "Here now, tell uncle Reaver what happened to the big bad Black Banshee."
Referring to the old title worked exactly as Reaver had planned it would. Sparrow turned his head to look up at the thief through his hair. "You really have to ask?"
"How would one know anything if they didn't?"
Normally there would have been some sort of humored response, but this time his remark was, for the most part, ignored. "Reaver, I haven't been that person since the night you introduced me to the Shadow Court. After that…well, I went back to being just…Sparrow. When I came back, I held onto his ghost just long enough to finish what Lucien started. If it had been the Black Banshee in the Spire, there would have been far fewer people here today, and far more ghosts. People hailed it as the unveiling of a heart they believed that man, that Hero had. But really, they were celebrating his timely death."
Reaver was quiet for longer then he was accustomed to, mulling over the confession of sorts. Curiosity sprung up amidst his ponderings, and he found himself speaking before he could twist the words in his usual way. "What would he have chosen?"
"Love. The loss of my sister…The need for revenge was what fueled me, what made me into the person they dubbed the 'Black Banshee'." The statement was delivered softly to the carpet, plunging them again into momentary silence.
Reaver made to say something, but found himself cut off as the hero shook his head and beat him to the punch.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore. You got your shirt, now leave me alone. Go pretend to be compassionate someplace else."
Reaver feigned hurt at the cold comment, but was silenced with a look. The threatening flare of the fire in the hearth had a bit to do with it as well. He stood smoothly, walking silently to the door where he stopped to look back at the man now staring at the yet-again dying fire. "I'll leave, but if you want to talk later, well. You know where to find me." He threw as much innuendo into his words as he could without breaking his 'caring' tone.
Sparrow waved dismissively, turning to lay with his back to the door to accentuate his particular feelings on the matter.
With a shrug that was more for his own benefit than anything, Reaver retreated back into the hall. And was met with a furry wall that, oddly enough, smelled faintly of ginger of all things. Taking a step back, he turned his gaze up to the furry muzzle, and the unnaturally bright orbs above it. "Finally vacated my bed, have you? If I had known all it would take was annoying your master, I would have done it ages ago." He moved around the beast as he spoke, fully intent on claiming back his sleeping place.
He heard the balverine turn, silently hoping the creature would decide to leave him be in favor of his master. But alas, no sooner had the thought formed in his mind did the sound of claws padding over carpeting reach his ears. He picked up his pace, managing to make it to his destination before his furry shadow could follow. Upon closing the door, he realized it locked only from the outside(not one of his better ideas, it would seem) Thinking quickly, he went to grab a chair to shove under the door knob. Perhaps a dresser for good measure. He laid hands on the chair only to hear the door creak open behind him.
"Oh for Avo's sake…"
He swiveled, crossing his arms and glaring at the smarter-then-average monster who, he realized, was almost too large to fit through the doorway. It would have been funny, if the creature wasn't annoying him so at the moment. "And here I thought you not being a complete buffoon would be entertaining. Apparently, I was wrong."
Smiles maneuvered himself into the room, to which Reaver sighed, exasperated, and moved to throw himself onto the vacant bed. Stretching out on his back, the thief drew an arm over his eyes. "At least close the door behind you."
His response was a deafening, if muffled, boom that rattled anything not nailed down.
The pirate's body jolted upwards on pure instinct before he could even register what had happened, eyes snapping to the hallway. Without pausing to remember he was unarmed and running on very little sleep, Reaver found his legs carrying him swiftly out into the hall, Smiles right behind him.
The scent of burnt wood and explosives found it's way to his nose, the closer he got to the main hallway (who's railings overlooked both the den and the parlor), the thicker the air got. Turning a corner, he was met with the sight of a positively feral looking Sparrow, sword drawn and eyes blazing. He caught himself pausing under the glare leveled at him, before it moved to the chaos below. Without breaking stride, the hero threw himself over the railing, seconds later the sound of cursing and clanging echoed up to him.
Reaver made it to the rails, casting his first glance to the den, where he knew the explosion must have come from. Sure enough, the hidden doorway to his rear passage was no more then a smoking hole in the wall, scorched books littering the floor, amongst other things.
When he turned his attention to the parlor, he was met with the sight of a sea of bodies, writhing here and there as if caught in the grips of a storm. Sweeping his eyes over the scene, he quickly found the source of the tumult. It came in the form of whirling white and singing steel, the hurricane that threw the waves about as it pleased..
The hero's lithe form moved with a cat like grace that his clunkier opponents couldn't hope to match, limbs moving to the tune of the violence, ducking around one attacker to assault another.
Reaver grabbed the railing, leaning over it enough to un-obscure his vision without looking too interested in the affair below. Although truthfully he was, entranced by the deadly whirling dervish Sparrow had become. He hadn't seen the man fight with anything other then his pistol since the confrontation with Lucien's men on the beach, and at the time he'd been rather too occupied to pay more than a passing glance when they found themselves within an arms length. But now, to see it from on high as his men went down one by one, was like a punch to the gut, reminding him how deadly the man was, behind the odd behavior and semi-insane tendencies.
"Note to self: Never challenge Sparrow to a sword fight…or get within an arm's reach of those nasty pieces of metal…"
"Cap'n!"
Reaver spun to face the man that had made it up the stairs, more then a few of his mates right behind him. Deafening shots that could only come from one pistol rang out, the men at the back of the group on the stairs dropping in quick succession. By the time he'd managed to find Sparrow in the chaos, the Red Dragon was back in it's holster, both of the hero's hands occupied with katanas yet again.
He turned back to his men, whom were advancing toward where he stood. The man at the front, who's name escaped the pirate at the moment, pulled a second pistol from his coat and made to throw it to him. Before it could leave his hand, the man was bowled over by a snarling mass of white fur. As Reaver looked on, the rest of the men found themselves eviscerated with little fanfare.
Smiles turned to face the thief, the bloodied balverine a truly fearsome sight compared to the passive giant Reaver had become familiar with. The Sergeant stalked silently to the Pirate King's side, a living, breathing, barrier between him and the men who'd come to free him from his 'imprisonment'.
Resigning himself to his crew's failure, Reaver went back to leaning on the railing, taking stock of the damage. Most of the men lay either dead or dying, the few still on their feet exerting all their energy just to keep their limbs intact. Though he was disappointed, he couldn't say he was surprised.
"Well as fun as all this has been, I think it's time to cut our losses." He watched as his men tried to juggle paying attention to their captain, and fending off the Hero of Bowerstone. Dropping his chin onto his fist, Reaver added more of a point to his tone. "Well? I know you heard me." He waved lazily toward the door. "Shoo! Be gone! Live to be slaughtered another day, as they say."
The few remaining men looked from him to one another, before shouting out various versions of 'yes sir' and doing their best to high tail it out the front door without loosing any vital body parts.
Reaver turned his gaze back to Sparrow, who was standing stock still in the middle of the graveyard he had single handedly created, face upturned to look silently at him. Reaver grinned lasciviously back. "Well wasn't that fun. Bit of mid-night exercise to get the blood flowing." He chuckled softly at his own words, pointedly ignoring the gory maw currently breathing on him.
With a scowl, Sparrow stuck his sword between the ribs of the pleading man at his feet swiftly, and pointedly. Apparently, he wasn't as amused as the thief. Flicking the blood from the blades at his side, they found their sheaths as their owner stalked off towards the hole in the wall. The hero made a vague gesture to his pet, who immediately leapt down into the den.
As Reaver looked on in mock boredom, Sparrow disappeared down the rear passage while Smiles grabbed hold of the nearest bodies and began hauling them out into the courtyard, where the pirate had a sneaking suspicion they'd be dumped over the cliffs into the waiting sea below.
"OY! THE BLOODY 'ELL 'AVE I TOLD YOU! NOT IN THE HOUSE!"
Reaver blinked, having been lost in thoughts of the usefulness of cliffs when it came to disposing of unwanted…evidence. Sparrow had reappeared, and was currently stomping towards a very guilty looking balverine, motioning wildly towards the front door.
"BLOODY EAT THE FUCKERS OUTSIDE!"
Smiles opened his jaws, the thigh he'd been munching on as he worked falling with a squishy thump between master and monster.
"Ugh, great, now I have to clean up balverine slobber on top of everything else. Thank you, Smiles."
Reaver chuckled, greatly amused at how swiftly the man's mood could change. Not to mention the way it seemed as if cleaning up a mass of bodies from the parlor was an everyday occurrence for the two. That right there said something, although what, exactly, he wasn't quite sure.
He watched as the two disappeared outside, deeming then an appropriate time for him to slip away, barricade the door to his chambers, and sprawl out amidst his, probably hair covered, bedclothes.
"Not so fast, 'Pirate King'!"
Reaver cringed, slowly turning to look back at the hero, who was standing in the doorway motioning for him to join in the festivities.
"Your men means it's your damn mess too. Get your ass down here and help me chuck them into the rocks below the cliff where they belong."
I've got to say, writing this has been amusing me greatly. I've got more ideas for putting Reaver through semi-degrading situations then I can, at the moment, fit into the vague plot I've outlined for this. So, not being one to stifle my own, er, personal brand of creativity, I've decided to create a sort of spin off story thing in which to put them all. Sort of a, everyday life with a "room mate with a dog" kind of thing. If you see it, and want to add to the fun and/or mayhem, feel free to throw me ideas!
deadpan-riot