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Caprice

Chapter II


Lord Eustass' grandchild dropped into a wicker chair dressed in red silks, eyes trained on Dr. Trafalgar's bemused face. Abruptly, his grandsire rose and left the room, and Trafalgar noted how he refused to so much as glance in the direction of his own flesh and blood.

"You are the doctor, then? I'm surprised that as a physician you don't wear the full-bottomed wig," said the man. Now that Trafalgar was looking him over from his seat on the divan, he could see the grandson was delightfully young, perhaps just having reached his early twenties. Curiously enough, the hair that sprouted from his head, brushed back from his face in a haphazard fashion, was of a deep reddish brown colour. No, the closer he scrutinized it, the more it appeared as if dark locks were mixed with light reddish ones, casting a strange trance over the eyes and blending the colour into a fiery mix of carmine.

It reminded him, oddly enough, of a field of daisies drenched in the blood of soldiers after a war.

Why he thought of such morbid things, he did not quite know. It was his true nature pestering him, he supposed. That, and his experiences were coming back to haunt him. Regardless he took a liking to that hair. It appealed to his more primitive side.

Dr. Trafalgar stood and approached the other, intent on getting a closer look at this phenomenon. "I find the wigs too drab and the title of physician too limiting. I am, primarily, a surgeon; secondarily a physician; and only tertiary an exorcist, that title being given to me just today I'll have you know."

The man eked out a brutal laugh that battered the ears, then folded his hands in his lap and bowed his head, seemingly making peace if it weren't for the wicked grin that graced his ruby lips. "I see. The old man believes he can get someone to free me of my sinful ways. He has brought everything from a priest to exorcists here, and none have managed to make a dent on my composition. And you shan't either, doctor."

Trafalgar skimmed the top of his mouth with his tongue to produce a soft cluck and shook his head, moving past the wicker chair in which his patient sat and coming about to stand behind it. "Tell me, sir, what is it that you want?"

Even from behind, Trafalgar could see the furrows that erupted on Lord Eustass' brow. "What I want? What I want is of no concern to you, Doctor."

"What you want," Trafalgar rejoined, "is to keep your ways and seize this estate. I can tell from the way you carried yourself into the room and glared defiantly at your maker that you're a treasonous brute of a fellow. Have I not determined your character?"

"You can tell such things just by looking at me?" the young Lord asked, a hint of surprise in his tone. Any and all surprise was glossed over with a harsh snort. "My, you are a perceptive bastard, aren't you?"

"I have mastery over mind and matter, having spent many years refining my study of the human body and many more in the courts of the North. My father was a duke who met an unfortunate end by murder," Trafalgar divulged, reaching his sinewy fingers up to grab at tense shoulders. Lord Eustass startled as those feather light touches made contact, but did not yet turn his head. He remained still, allowing the doctor to push against his flesh and move up his neck, eventually pressing into the warm area beneath his jaw. Trafalgar could feel how Lord Eustass clenched his teeth together. "Now, I should like to examine you closer…if you will remove your upper clothing and lie yourself down on the divan…"

Much to Trafalgar's surprise the young lord did as he was instructed, as the whole farcical affair amused him to no end. He shuddered out of the confines of his suit and laid it over the silken drapery on the chair. Trafalgar watched the muscles of his back flex as he walked, turned, and laid his body down on the long, low sofa with no back or arms.

Knots of discord disfigured his back, but they were not noticeable to the naked eyes of a human. Trafalgar, however, saw with more clarity than most. "You are quite the specimen," he said, eyes climbing the peaks and descending the dips of the man's musculature. "Have you served at sea?"

"For a time," the man replied, staring straight up at the beams that held up the ceiling. "But the Navy did not want to keep me, for even I was too devilish for their ideologies."

At this Trafalgar smiled jovially. "Ah, well, we have much in common for I, too, was dismissed by that blasphemous Navy. I was aboard a wondrous ship-of-the-line as the surgeon, on a campaign from Sabaody to the farthest reaches of the sea, to what is known as the Redline. Beyond that lies the New World as you must know. But my good-natured experiments were too drastic for the insipid captain in charge of maintaining the crew. And thus they set my feet down on dry land. Last I heard the ship was blown to bits by chainshot hitting the magazine and setting it alight, courtesy of a pirate fleet under the infamous Blackbeard. It sunk off the coast of Elbaf. Tragic, really."

"A shame," Lord Eustass agreed with a careless wave of his hand. "It takes so much time and effort to produce a ship of such high calibre."

He made no mention of the souls lost to a watery grave and continued to stare at nothing of remark as Trafalgar made his way over and set his medical bag down next to the edge of the divan. "Now tell me, my Lord, if you believe in these demons your grandfather has ranted on about in the letter he sent me."

A grumble of a laugh escaped those rouge lips, and the intriguingly pale, nearly invisible eyebrows of the man twitched a few times as if annoyed by the thoughts parading through his mind. Then a deep frown became engraved into his flesh. "I believe in only what I can see with my eyes. Show me a demon and I will believe. He has yet to prove a thing to me. If my bloodlust is abnormal, then that is the fault of my nature, not some ethereal force. I have twice killed men in fits of rage, several in each instance, but I cannot remember the details. You tell me why, doctor."

"Sudden unexplainable madness? That is an absolutely fascinating case, Lord Eustass," Trafalgar said with a jovial smile. The red-haired man seemed slightly miffed that the doctor wasn't in the least perturbed by his confession of multiple counts of murder. "Perhaps these events have been greatly repressed by the inner crevices of your mind. This could be but one explanation, however. Another, and one you may not take so kindly to, is that you aren't quite as you seem on the surface."

"What are you insinuating?" growled the lord.

Laughter met his inquisition, and soon Lord Eustass felt hands upon his body. They were cold hands, but not unpleasantly so. Rather the smooth hands of the doctor brushing over his skin, up and down his chest, were like a touch of morning dew on grass. Wet in the morning, but gone by noon. They were the unblemished fingers of a higher class, leaving a chill in their wake.

"Tell me what it is that you really think, doctor," commanded Eustass. "You must. I entreat you to."

"Very well. Tell me of your parentage, my Lord. I shall make my assessment after I draw from you your bloodline."

"Why would you wish to know something like that?"

"Why not?" Trafalgar shot back. "Why ever not? Are you questioning the practices of a man of medicine?"

Eustass rose on his elbows, wicked eyes glaring at the other man as he withdrew, walked to the other side of the room, and dropped into the wicker chair. "Fine. I have nothing to conceal, and I'm surprised that the old man did not tell you all that he knows. My father was a general under the king. An admittedly dull-witted military man. He always badgered me to follow in his footsteps, but I had no interest in organized fighting. It is too tedious. There is nothing about it I enjoy."

"And your mother?" Trafalgar asked.

"I don't remember her well. But the old man has told me I take after her in looks only."

Trafalgar ran the tips of his fingers through his short hair and rested his tired eyes for a moment. He wondered whether he should reveal what he had found in the subtle curvature of the man's body, or whether he should continue to play completely and utterly ignorant.

His thoughts were answered when he opened his eyes and found the man bowed over the divan, rummaging about carelessly in his medical bag. The doctor frowned and leapt to his feet, intent on snatching his belongings away. Before he could get very far across the room, the man pulled from the bag a bottle in which a milky liquid dolefully swished about. The caprice serum.

"Some strange healing tonic of yours, doctor?" the man asked, holding it up to the light. He could see glittering bubbles forming within the liquid. No, they were much darker in shade, and seemed to him to be precipitate rather than trapped air. "It looks like a ghastly acid of sorts."

Trafalgar watched as the man continued to study it. At length, he said, "It is something of an acid, but more natural than you would think. None of that nitric acid the scientists have been experimenting with in the exhumation of bodies. It's a thing that gives life to others at a grave cost." He found Lord Eustass was barely paying his warnings any mind, and that in turn vexed the doctor. He raised his voice. "Would you like to try its effects out? Just a drop would do."

Lord Eustass startled at the unexpected offer, his eyes widening and his brow lifting. Then he looked back to the glimmering liquid, his eyes alight with something else. A strange, brutal longing came about the lord, and he popped the lid off.

"Just a drop?"

"Just a drop," Dr. Trafalgar repeated. His smile grew as he saw the lord sniff the uncorked bottle, inhaling the scentless, yet tempting odour that the doctor knew was irresistible. Like pheromones, undetectable by humans but somewhat sensed by demons. "Place it on your finger, touch it to your lips, or anywhere else you wish to slather it. I have a hunch it will not affect you in the least. You needn't fear, my Lord…"

The liquid was sluggish when exposed to air, and Eustass tilted it at a severe degree to force it out. When it did land upon his fingers, it was much more than the pinprick that Trafalgar was accustomed to administering.

As the lord brought the liquid to his lips, he sniffed it again. His lips curled and heavy lines of concentration marred his forehead.

It was to be now that the truth of the matter would be revealed. Should the lord slouch back with glazed eyes, mind trapped in a warped, weightless wasteland that would hold him captive for weeks, Trafalgar would have discovered nothing remarkable. Should the great gob of caprice serum leave him unchanged, the answer would be relatively simple. Then, of course, there were the unexpected consequences, all of which would excite and delight him. He sat back down in the wicker chair with the poise of a nobleman's cat to observe his newest experiment doing all the work for him and mentally drew up his hypotheses.

Lord Eustass closed his mouth and smeared the whitish, pasty substance across his bottom lip. It sunk in quickly, and the effect was not so immediate but yet happened at a rapid pace. His breathing intensified and his eyes dilated, then swept across the room languidly to settle on the doctor, who watched with intensity. The serum caused his mind to warp, and he found himself light-headed. Next he felt a horrible weakening of his limbs and, finally, he began to recede back onto the divan, glad that he was already halfway down.

When his back was flush with the upholstery, he became aware of a tightening of tendons in certain muscles, and in particular a pleasuring feeling that started in the pit of his stomach and spread downward like fire catching dried kindling. The doctor's dark eyes appeared in his sight, but his teary vision blurred the tan face and made it horribly disfigured. He opened his mouth to speak, but no intelligible words would come forth.

"A most curious reaction, Lord Eustass," the doctor commented, lips moving too quickly. He tried to watch those lips move, but the skin was too close in tint to that of the rest of his face and the colours muddled together. At last, the lord closed his eyes and a deep sigh shook his body. The not so alien heat he felt in his slacks intensified, and with a hazy start he realized the doctor wasn't done physically examining him.

He hadn't felt the doctor pull his charcoal trousers down his thighs, but with a slight raise of his head he could see the doctor examining him with a wry smile dusted onto his face. He could also see how wholly aroused he was, but he could not figure out why that would be. Numbly he became aware of foreign fingers touching his skin, and he shivered at the increase in sensitivity of his body. But the doctor was quick to finish his assessment, and quicker still to replace his trousers upon his hips.

"A most curious reaction," the doctor whispered again. His dark eyes and hair once more appeared in Eustass' view, and he groaned as he felt a hand press into his most responsive appendage through the fabric of his trousers. "Unfortunately, I must leave now. I have somewhere I must be. I shall drape the silken fabric on that chair over there over your body to ward off the cold, and I will return in a few days to check up on your health. You have nothing to fear; the substance does not affect you in completely adverse ways, rather it plays with the pleasure seeking part of your brain. Right now, since this is first time you've experienced the drug, your body is in shock and you are unable to speak. I hypothesize that you will return to normal in a matter of hours, so do not fret. At least not excessively."

The doctor gathered up his medical bag, pried the bottle from Lord Eustass' fingers, which had clamped around the glass with an iron grip, and replaced the lid. He slipped it inside the bag, covered the man with the silken sheet that pressed down on his body, and then smoothed the material of his coat so everything lay perfectly flat as he liked it.

"It was an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Eustass."

Dr. Trafalgar heard a deep, rollicking groan rise up out of the throat of his newest patient when he left the room.

-oOo-

The older man woke him at precisely 9 o'clock with a gentle, yet firm touch to his shoulder. Lord Portgas opened his eyes to see Marco, one hand balancing a tray from which a steady plume of steam rose up. His morning tea.

"I admire your punctuality," the lord said, voice groggy with sleep. He drew back the blankets and sat up, stretching wildly. Marco diverted his eyes, surprised to see his master had forsaken the nightgown worn by most in favour of sleeping bare. His covers bunched around his waist, and Marco had to force ingrained curiosity from his mind as he wondered what the rest of his master looked like.

"I shall bring up the rest of your breakfast, if you don't need me presently. Do you bathe in the morning? I have not drawn a bath as of yet. We heat the water in a large cauldron over a fire that can be lit upstairs. It's actually quite efficient."

"No, no; I shall come downstairs. Please don't trouble yourself too much, Marco. And I'll forgo the bath today. I'd rather eat this morning and do little else. Please bring my tea downstairs."

Marco did not argue and retreated to the kitchen with his shoulders tense at the tone of the orders he had been given. Here he gathered up the poultry he had cooked, and the bacon and eggs. The tea was just beginning to cool slightly, but it was still steaming, and he piled that on his serving platter as well. Then he brought the meal to the parlour.

The parlour was a smallish room compared to others in the manor, but one that Marco had maintained to the best of his ability as it was his favourite spot in all of Sabaody. In one corner a mahogany piano sat idle, ivory keys gleaming, and in another the fireplace glowed, with multiple, intricately carved potteries on the mantelshelf. They had come from foreign lands in the New World. The fire he had started early this morning warmed the room, yet the multiple paintings of ships sailing rough seas lent a subliminal coolness to the air. There were days he fancied he could feel a breeze wafting through the room, though the windows were usually shut at the insistence of his former tenet.

His old master, Lord Gol, had been fond of oil paintings depicting ships, but the last person to live in the house had wanted them brought down, deeming them drab and dated. Thus, Marco had moved them to a safe abode and only this morning restored them to their rightful places upon the walls. He dearly hoped his new master would not want them removed again. He had a certain fondness for the ships.

They reminded him of the time in his life where he experienced a momentous shift in perception.

He placed the food and tea down on the mahogany table topped with a frilly white cloth and backed away, admiring the paintings that had been absent from the parlour for far too long. He was still deep in thought when Lord Portgas strode in, thankfully garbed in a black nightgown.

"Marco, my friend, you will be joining me, no?"

Marco startled at the proposal, then shook his head. It would not be wise to overstep any bounds of class so early on in this relationship. It would only breed bad habits that could be punishable. "My Lord, I don't think that would be at all appropriate. If you need me, you need only ring that bell there. I will retrieve your letters shortly."

Before the young lord could object, he left the room and hurried down the hall. He really should have grabbed the letters earlier, but he was glad he held off on it because he didn't know what other excuse he could have used to squirm his way out of breakfast with his master.

The mailman had left several letters in the communal box when he got there, and he skimmed over them first. Normally, a servant wouldn't bother, but Marco was a literate man and he could afford to indulge himself in this fact every once and a while without anyone knowing. He saw Lord Portgas had a letter from the last man to have lived in the manor, an invite to a banquet thrown by Duchess Jewelry, who was always throwing parties of one sort or another, and a letter from a man by the name of Dr. Trafalgar Edward Law.

He recognized the name immediately, as well as the odd wax seal on the back, which depicted some sort of nondescript face imposed on a medical symbol, one that seemed almost chilling. Regardless of this strange seal, Dr. Trafalgar was the man in everyone's good graces, and he could be counted on to take good care of the gentry who needed him. He was the doctor the wealthy called to their doorsteps, but who also made a point of visiting the poor. Marco had never seen him this almost phantom figure, this man that seemed to be everywhere at once, but the letter he held in his hand hinted that maybe he'd finally catch a glimpse of the doctor everyone was so keen to discuss and praise.

He brought the letters back inside and took his time getting to the parlour. The large platter of food he'd set out for Lord Portgas, sure that the man would be unable to finish even half of the food, had been reduced to crumbs so meagre that sparrows would not bother to give them a peck. His master caught him staring unabashed as he handed him the letters.

"I tend to eat voraciously," the younger man admitted, slightly sheepish. "Please do not think I have starved myself, for that could not be further from the truth."

"I-I see, my Lord. Well. I shall just have to prepare more next time. Or are you still hungry? I can–"

"No, no, I'm quite fine. This is a good amount for a breakfast. I don't want to overeat and end up looking like one of those dukes in the courts of the North. But next time I must ask that you sit down and join me. It gets lonely when one dines alone. I cannot stand it." Marco opened his mouth, to offer some servile excuse, but the lord continued and did not allow him time to opt out of this arrangement he was so keen on. "Now, you have to tell me about these paintings. There are so many of them in this room…"

Marco tensed, afraid that he would have to bring them down and store them carefully in the basement. Or worse. Take them down and sell them off, as they belonged to the Gol line, to Lord Portgas himself. His heart flipped at the very thought of selling even one of the masterpieces. "Well, they are a part of a large collection by a seafaring painter, Silvers Rayleigh. He is still living–"

"They are quite beautiful. I adore seascapes, and I was, at a time not so long ago, the captain of a crew in the Navy at the insistence of my grandfather, a vice-admiral. It was not the life for me, though. There were too many rules to adhere to, and the cruelties of the Navy are too numerous to come out with a clean conscience. It should almost certainly be better to be a pirate." Lord Portgas closed his eyes, then shook his head as if to clear it of an unpleasant string of thoughts. "These paintings, how long have they been here?"

"They've been in the manor for over twenty years. They were your father's before he passed."

Lord Portgas' nose wrinkled as if a pungent odour had passed into his nostrils. "Ah, I shall have to try hard not to dislike them for that fact."

"That they were your father's?" asked Marco in disbelief.

"Aye. The demon. I hope you will refrain from mentioning his name in my presence. I can't bear to even hear it. You'll have realized I have not taken his name, and it is not without reason that I've done so. I owe everything to my admirable and brave mother, not the demon that spawned me."

Marco bit his lip to keep from speaking out of his rank and stooped near the fireplace to add a log to the dwindling fire. While he was down there with his back to his lord, he discretely crossed himself. Demons were not something to speak about so sweepingly. Not only that, but Lord Gol had been a man he deeply admired, and to hear him spoken of in such a callous light brought colour to his cheeks and lit a flame in him that he knew he ought to extinguish before he acted out in a most unbecoming manner for a servant.

This man, he decided, was quite peculiar. Perhaps he was mad and had fallen prey to the horrid lead poisoning that had been troubling some of the residents of Sabaody. Then again, he didn't look the type to apply a whitening powder.

Meanwhile, Lord Portgas had wandered over to the window with his letters and was hastily reading through them. After the second letter he asked, "Do you know of Duchess Jewelry? What sort of a woman is she?"

"Oh, she is an amiable woman, from what I've heard."

"Is that the truth or the lie the gentry have made up to keep in her Duchess' good graces? I request the truth, Marco. I will not think ill of you."

Marco smiled a little; his new master was observant to the norms of the time and had obviously detected a slight hesitation in his words. "Well, my Lord, it is half the truth. She is amiable, but only when she has a heaping platter of pork or some Italian dish in front of her. At other times, she is a severe woman. However, her parties are always the talk of Sabaody."

He managed to elicit another breezy laugh from the lord, which hit him like a pleasantly warm wind. All feelings of unease left him, and he soon forgot about how ill this son spoke of his father. "Then I shall have to go to at least one of her banquets. Marco, I will read that letter from the tenant later, so please leave it be on the table here. I think I would like to go for a ride around the property…"

"I shall saddle a horse for you then. Did you turn the one you brought out into the paddock with the palomino?"

"I did. But Marco, my horse is a wilful thing. He won't come easily to be saddled, and he cannot be bribed by food. He is much too intelligent for that. Besides, I would much rather saddle him myself. There is some satisfaction to catching that brute." Marco nodded, even though it pained him to see a lord unnecessarily dirty his hands. Yet he had assumed this would happen. This man was not at all like any he'd ever had the pleasure or rancour to serve.

"Oh, but Marco, could I ask a favour of you? Could you come along with me through Sabaody? I haven't been here since I was a young child, and I wish to see some of the sights without getting terribly lost."

"Certainly, my Lord. I shall just clean up here…"

Lord Portgas smiled at him, the slightest hint of awe creasing the corners of his eyes as he watched Marco gather up all the plates and cutlery into an artful heap upon his arm. Rarely the abilities of another impressed him, but when it came to handling multiple things at once he was quite readily schooled and therefore easily captivated. "I suppose I shall brush and saddle the palomino for you then?"

"That mare is the only beast here at the moment, besides your own horse."

The lord nodded and left Marco to his task, exiting out the main entrance. He had examined the stables yesterday, but it had been late and dusk had already fallen, so he hadn't paid particular attention to the building. Now he could see the cracks that snaked their way up the walls of the stable. He would have to see if there was a mason in town willing to work on the foundation. He imagined Marco would know where to go to find someone to do the work. The estate needed repairs and he intended on being swift in getting the work accomplished.

He was glad Marco had chosen to stay. It made everything much easier, and he was good company. Or he would be, once he warmed up to the lord. He hoped this ride would ease the man's nerves.

Catching the palomino's frayed halter was easy. He had to only walk up to the mare and she surrendered fully to him. Took the bit of the bridal and even lay her ears back until he had passed the leather over them, then flipped them up again, blinking at him curiously. A friendly, good-tempered creature. Catching his own steed was more eventful, for the horse kept his distance, no matter how he cooed and coaxed him to come closer. A wilful, ill-tempered creature.

At last he resorted to an old trick. He turned away from the animal and stooped low, then pretended to be fixated on something that lay on the ground. He brushed his hand over the grass, pawing at it. Soon he heard light steps as the horse's inquisitiveness won out over his more lacklustre qualities. The lord seized him, forcibly got the bridal over his nose, and tied him off to the fence while he got the saddles.

By the time he brought them out and laid one on the fence, Marco was making his way down the path, hurrying along as he saw his lord was not quite done. Wordlessly he took the saddle on the fence and cinched it around the rather pudgy belly of the palomino, while the black charger that he could see dancing in place received his own tack.

Lord Portgas began to chat aimlessly about the agreeable weather while Marco simply nodded and prepared to mount. But, as he put his hand up near the mare's withers, the black horse next to them let out a shrill whinny and threw up his massive head, obviously displeased.

"I had no idea he would come by today…" Lord Portgas muttered as he tried to calm his horse. The whites of his black's eyes showed, and the horse directed his gaze towards an approaching figure in the distance.

A man on a snowy horse was plodding down the path towards the estate. He rode a massive animal, dwarfing both of the other horses. Marco could only conclude that it must have been a plough horse of sorts, but its legs were thin enough that he wondered if it had ever seen a day's work. They were more the legs of an athlete.

"Dr. Trafalgar sent me a letter this morning, telling me he wanted to meet up sometime for a quick chat, but I didn't think he meant today," mused Lord Portgas, loud enough so that his servant may hear this explanation. His horse was absolutely livid by now, tossing his head about and neighing, quite in hysterics. Marco's palomino was prancing in place, but she did not have the springiness of youth to attempt a dash by loosing herself from Marco's hands. Not like how the black seemed to be seconds from fleeing.

The object of their uneasy was, quit plainly, the visitors. The mountainous beast blinked at them from afar, head bowed and slightly tilted to the side in an obtuse manner, reminding Marco of a wolf caught too close to the city gates. Its rider wore a black ulster, sharp collar and hems trimmed with the spotted fur of some foreign creature. Hanging from his right side was a rather striking walking stick. It was long like a staff and decorated elegantly with a dash of fur near the top, but its most striking feature was the slight curve to it that suggested it served a purpose different from that of the gentry conforming to the high fashions of the time.

"Marco, I must meet with this man. Can you take the horses and walk them about? I shan't be long."

"Of course, Lord Portgas," Marco murmured, grabbing a hold of the black and turning his head roughly around. Taking away his sense of vision seemed to calm him slightly. He hoped a few turns in the paddock might improve his jumpiness.

"Give me ten minutes, and I will meet up with you here again," his lord told him before vaulting over the fence with practiced ease. Marco couldn't hold in a gasp of surprise. Not many of the nobles conducted themselves so casually. But Marco did as he was told while the young man rushed off to meet with the doctor, whose coal hair shimmered in the morning sun. He guessed they had to discuss matters of utmost secrecy. Health matters, in all likelihood.

He couldn't help but wonder what prompted a visit from Dr. Trafalgar and his white ghost of a steed. He prayed it wasn't sickness that brought him to Lord Portgas. Especially an incurable disease, the likes of which killed the man's father. He feared he wouldn't be able to bear the heartbreak of losing another master to a sickness he couldn't do anything for.

He focused on diverting the attention of the horses, the herd animals that had by this time taken up the full mentality of prey in the face of a predator, hind quarters twitching and awaiting the opportune moment for flight.


A.N.: Thank you everyone who left a review for the first chapter! They were lovely and I enjoyed reading each and every one of them.

This will be a long fic, one that should be updated either every Thursday or Friday depending on what I've got going on for those two days. It should also be noted that this fic will have very rated 'M' scenes later on, but I don't think it's anything y'all can't handle if you've read my other fics.