...
Caprice
Chapter VIII
Staring down at the corpse on the bed, Trafalgar was careful not to do anything overly offensive to it. Ten people were diligently watching his hands at work.
"He lived a long life, doctor," said a middle-aged woman dressed in black. She was the dead's younger sister or his daughter, if the weeping earlier had been any indication. "His life would have been much shorter had you not come to attend to him."
"That is true," Dr. Trafalgar conceded solemnly. The irony being that it was certainly true. This particular man's body would have shut down hours sooner if it weren't for Trafalgar's caprice serum. It tricked the body into a state of euphoria, and did not allow Death to come near.
For a time.
"We humbly thank you for all you've done," another black-garbed person said.
"Have the funeral preparations been done?" he asked instead. He disliked being thanked for murder a great deal.
Someone told him they'd been taken care of and with that sorted out, Dr. Trafalgar got to his feet with the intention of making a hasty exit. He received payment for his time and well wishes, and the words stuck to his conscience like rapidly drying mud, cracking and falling off of him with every step he took. He didn't want to hear them. He was presently in agony. He hadn't eaten a drop to sustain himself since…well, it must have been since suckling on Lord Eustass in the fountain.
The very thought of that despicable man made him kick Bepo in the side a touch too sharply when they set off.
"Ouch! That kind of hurt with your heeled boots, Master."
"My apologies, Bepo. I'm not in the best of moods. I think I shall swing by the estate of Lord Portgas, if you wouldn't mind turning around and heading east."
His steed rounded a bend in the cobblestone road and dug his hooves into the rocks, grinding to a stop. When riding a horse or a bear, the head decided the direction, and so Bepo's head swung in an arc wildly and they headed back in the direction they'd come. After a few minutes of horsey cantering and snorting in the direction of mid-day strollers that waved to them as they passed, Bepo decided to question his master. He could feel the dark waves of depression and irritation bleeding down from the vampire into his fur.
"Were you not given a chance to extract some of that victim's blood? Is that what has irritated you?"
"Oh no, Bepo. It is much more dire than that."
"More dire, Master?"
"Aye. I have lost my appetite."
Shocked, Bepo swung his massive head around to try and assess his master's expression, and nearly ran headlong into a fence. Some pheasant maid screamed as Bepo launched himself into the air at the last possible moment, landing on the other side rather than obliterating the wooden pickets.
"Bepo! Watch where you are going, you brute!"
"I'm sorry, Master! It's just – you can't lose your appetite! It's impossible! Don't tell me, was it…the scent of garlic?!"
Trafalgar sighed and held onto the pommel of Bepo's saddle as they sailed over the other side of the fence, exiting the yard. The strange behaviour would be all over Sabaody tomorrow. He could hear the whispers already. Dr. Trafalgar's crazed plough horse, frothing at the mouth, had a habit of leaping white picket fences in a state of complete delirium.
Somehow, he could care less about his reputation right now. He needed to see Lord Portgas to seek help in confirming what he feared was amiss with him.
-oOo-
Duchess Jewellery arrived in a Landau carriage and four, driven by a muscular man who brought the promised painting of the Moby Dick inside the manor of Lord Portgas.
Earlier on in the day he'd sent Marco on a daylong trip around Sabaody, delivering letters and picking up goods on the tame palomino mare. It had been a planned affair, as the lord did not want Marco around while the painting was delivered. He wanted it to be something of a surprise for when he returned.
He only hoped he could be rid of Duchess Jewelry before that allotted time came to pass.
"What a splendid estate!" the duchess cooed. "A slight bit worn around the edges, but I suppose that is to be expected since you've only just begun to occupy it, Mr. Portgas."
Lord Portgas looked upon his manor, bemused. The vines were growing rampantly away from their trellises and the landscaping was nonexistence. There was a fountain in the front yard that remained devoid of water and the trees were untrimmed. It looked a wreck, really.
They had gone inside and the lord had indicated where he wanted the painting to be hung. He chose to put it near the entrance so it could loom down at visitors in its full magnificence. When that was settled, they took to the nearest drawing room.
"Is there anything I can get you, duchess? My servant is out and I'm afraid I'm the only one here at the moment to attend you." His words were all civilities, brought about by the basic fact that it would be rude to kick out the woman who'd let him have the painting plainly titled Pirate Flagship: Moby Dick.
"You have no other servants?" the lady cried, aghast and glancing about in perplexed wonder. "No cook, no footm–"
"Not a one," the lord said with an amused smile. "I have but a single, well-mannered valet. A gentleman's gentleman he is. Now, can I get you a glass of wine, perhaps?"
The duchess took her time to respond. At last she said, "If you would like, I could send some of my servants over here…"
"That is not necessary. A drink?"
"No."
With that settled, the lord sat and crossed one leg over the other, smiling expectantly. He did not wish to be the one carrying the conversation.
Duchess Jewelry picked up the hint and they talked at length of the manor, of the residents of Sabaody, and of the people they knew. For the lord, it was beyond dreary. Until, of course, a certain name was mentioned.
"Gol D. Roger, your father, often drove by my estate on his way in to town. Or so my father said."
"I don't like to talk about him."
But the duchess continued as if she hadn't heard his words. Perhaps she really hadn't, as the lord had ceased listening to her and it would not have surprised him if she'd in turn quit listening to his short replies, too scarce to be of any substance. She was certainly an excessive chatter, and it would not be shocking if she were a woman who only had ears for her own voice.
"Your father, he was very fond of my father's gardens, you know. They are beyond a doubt the most beauteous in all of Sabaody. Lord Gol was–"
"I don't wish to speak of him. He's not–"
"Sometimes, he would be too busy to join my papa for a chat, but he was also such a jovial man. Or so people tell me. They said he was a privateer, and that he was one of he king's greatest assets. They said he conquered many pirate crews and the king allowed him lots of gold–"
"They were wrong. He was no privateer, he was simply a demo–"
"They say he bought this estate as a–"
"Enough!"
Duchess Jewelry pursed her lips, Lord Portgas' outburst silencing her and bringing a flush to her cheeks.
"You know nothing about the man! Nor will I tell you about him, because he is not someone I wish to discuss!"
As Duchess Jewelry, by now very red in the face, began to stammer out an apology, a shuffling in the doorway of the drawing room caught their attention.
"My apologies, Lord Portgas, Duchess Jewelry Bonney. I hope I haven't interrupted anything too intimate."
While the duchess glared at the man leaning on the doorframe with utter contempt, the lord smiled, all of his anger slipping away. "Dr. Trafalgar. Always a pleasure. I'm glad you simply let yourself in."
"This Marco man is away, I presume?"
"Indeed."
"I see. I settled Bepo in the yard where he won't get into trouble."
"Brilliant. How is he?"
"Amiable, though his gut is always yearning for food."
"And how are you?"
"That we shall discuss in length later."
By now, the duchess was fed up with being ignored, and tried to insert herself into the pleasantries. "Yes, how are you, Trafalgar? You look a little under the weather, being somewhat pale for once." Trafalgar's eye twitched at the insult, as he was all too aware she was likening him to a servant. "Perhaps you should have stayed home?"
The implications were clear in that.
The doctor smiled tightly. He was so sure of a change in skin tone but he was fully aware that his eyes were more hollowed out than usual and the blackness that surrounded them was rapidly expanding. He was beginning to wonder if people would come up to him in the streets and instruct him to seek God, or an exorcist, because the face he wore was certainly one of a man infested by demonic spirits.
If that actually did happen, he would laugh so hard at the irony that he likely would end up dying of asphyxiation.
However, the assertion that he was not well irked him into saying, "Miss Jewelry, I regret to inform you that as I passed by your estate earlier, I happened to notice a great commotion. It seems as though some of your pigs got loose. They are running rampant all over your garden, eating up flowers and what have you. An unfortunate occurrence. I do hope your estate does not suffer too terribly."
Duchess Jewelry gaped most unladylike. "And you did nothing to help contain them?"
"As you well know I am but a physician, not a swineherd. What could I have done? Though I must admit it appeared as though your men were beside themselves with not knowing what to make of the situation. They seemed to crave some direction."
The duchess promptly got to her feet, hiking her dress up to expose her ankles, being the scandalous woman that Trafalgar thought her to be. She turned to the lord and before he could protect himself, snatched up his hands in hers. "Lord Portgas, my apologies, it seems as though I must be going."
She appeared genuinely sorry to be out of his company, and the lord walked her to her waiting carriage, giving her a hand up while the doctor waited against the doorway of the manor. When he returned after the carriage and four sped off, the corners of the doctor's mouth went sailing upwards.
"She will certainly have me fried in sulphuric acid for that."
The lord closed the door behind them, glad to be relieved of the duchess. "Why's that?" he asked.
"I lie using metaphors."
"You are a terrible, terrible man. Let me guess: she was the pig running rampant in my gardens?"
"Oui. That is my French for damn right. You know, I love to lie about how many languages I speak."
Lord Portgas sighed wistfully and rubbed the back of his neck, as it had gotten stiff from sitting and listening to the duchess drone on and on and on. They took a seat upon a nearby chaise together and it did not escape the lord's notice that the doctor appeared more flabby than usual. Not fat, no. Never. Just weaker in stature.
"You came just at the right moment. She was beginning to question me about that man. And whenever he is mentioned his apparent riches follow."
This brought a snicker out of Trafalgar's throat. "Either she genuinely adores you, or she is a sycophant looking to contrive a great deal of knowledge about the One Piece." The doctor chuckled in amusement at his friend's face, wrinkled with disgust. "I'm sure we can agree that her motives lie in the latter."
"I know nothing about the One Piece. You know more than I do of its whereabouts."
"I just know it's out there," the doctor admitted with a shrug. "I searched for it once, but after nearly dying a few times all the riches of the world lose their appeal. Besides, I am content here. Or at least I should be content."
Lord Portgas sat up a little straighter. "You seem sullen today. I noticed it in your horrific posture."
Slouching deeper, Trafalgar admitted, "I'm more hungry than sullen, I think."
A flash of alarm crossed the lord's face. "Hungry? Hungry?"
"Relax. I'm not going to eat your dearest Marco or anything. You can keep your human." Lord Portgas visibly relaxed, his shoulders arching forward ever so slightly. "But I have to ask you, Ace, whether or not you'd be willing to help me out."
"I will always try my best to help a friend," the lord said with a shy smile. The word friend, the doctor knew, was a label he was not quick to use. It denoted the highest honour.
So the doctor asked his question, knowing that it would be hard for Ace to disown his friendship, since it was not in his nature to let go of people easily so long as they were not a romantic interest of his. "Can I taste a few drops of your blood?"
Lord Portgas blinked stupidly at him.
"Was that too forward?"
Ebony hair was sent into a whirlwind of action as the lord shook his head. "No, no, I just…did not expect you to ever ask that of me. Is that…even safe?"
Putting his palms together, Trafalgar twiddled his thumbs. "The reason I'm asking you this is because I…well, I have a patient whom…you remember me mentioning Lord Eustass?" The lord nodded, his features scrunching up as he recalled that conversation not so very long ago in the doctor's home. "The old Eustass, I imagine you can find his bones in the backyard of the Eustass estate, but he's not really what I have concerned myself with. Or who, rather. The grandson, he's an entirely different breed from his grandsire. But the curious part…"
Trafalgar took in a deep breath of air and let it out slowly through his mouth. "The curious part is that he reminds me somewhat of you. You two have very similar drives, if you know what I am implying. Violence…and sex."
"He is an incubus?"
"I don't know. I thought he was a descendant of the Nephilim at first, but those creatures are extinct as far as I know."
"What are the Nephilim?" asked the lord, thoroughly perplexed. "Some sort of demon? I've never heard of them."
"They are the product of a fallen angel and a woman. They're born with an inherent wickedness and capable of incredible sin. Lord Eustass, he told me many things that led me to believe he was one of their race, but that is impossible given the family structure of the Eustass clan. Nephilim are always male and always corrupt. His grandfather was strictly human, and the traits don't pass down through daughters. They are only inherited by sons. His mother's side of the family is unaccounted for, but for this particular hypothesis it hardly matters. Besides that, the race was known for gigantism, and while Lord Eustass is certainly over the average, he is not a giant by any means."
"You have given this a lot of thought," the lord said. "But where do I, and my blood for that matter, come into all of this?"
"Let's go back to the fact that you're an incubus. Full blooded. Your father was what you are now. Your mother, you have told me, was also of demonic blood, but she charmed plants and that was the extent of it. Her powers were more of a benevolent witch's."
Lord Portgas smiled sadly upon the mention of his mother. Though he'd never met her, she was someone he held dear. Some ingrained memories were within him, memories that had been given to him before even his birth. Sometimes, he could hear the wind blowing through blades of grass and a part of him would liken it to her voice, even though he'd never heard it. At least not before he was born.
"So they made you, another incubus, and your father's traits were…Ace, don't give me that look, I know you don't like talking about him, but I feel I must explain this. A demon and one with magic in their blood like your mother creates yet another demon it seems. But what of a demon and a human? What does an incubus and a human create?"
"Nothing," Lord Portgas said, almost cheerily. "Because it is almost a given that all incubi are…sterile when it comes to trying to impregnate human women, since the human isn't strong enough to carry the demonic creation. Though I've heard of those that have done it, but I don't know how it's accomplished."
"What about a succubus and a human male?" asked the doctor.
"Cambion, same as the supposed child between an incubus and a woman. But they usually get killed by…well, a variety of things. By either of the parents who are disgusted by it, neglect…I don't know everything there is to know, I've just heard they appear as dead infants, as in they have no pulse or breathing pattern for a few years, and they usually end up killing their mothers by sucking all the life out of them, even if the mother is a succubus. So the succubus side rarely allow themselves to become pregnant. It's very strange."
"That's the legend," the doctor said, having already known as much himself.
"That's the legend, yes. That's all I know. They're a whole other creature and I don't fancy I'm much like one of those."
Trafalgar snorted, "I beg to differ. Lord Eustass displays some incubus traits that I cannot ignore. The relentless libido being the most prevalent. But he is violent, much more so than you. And another thing: my caprice serum seems to only enhance his desires. It doesn't slid off of his skin like it does you, it absorbs through the skin and into the blood. But unlike humans it doesn't seem to adversely affect him, even in larger quantities."
"That's bizarre."
"Very." The doctor scratched at his goatee, making note rather absently that it needed trimming. "And his blood, it tastes of something that is not entirely human, but I don't know if it's pure demon blood either. I've never bit an incubus, or a shapeshifter, or a–"
"You wish to compare?"
"Yes."
"You could have just said that outright."
Lord Portgas eyed up the nodachi that leaned against the divan, almost forgotten. "Are you going to kill Lord Eustass with that?"
"Perhaps. I'd like to know what he is first, though, before I swing my blade horizontally across his neck."
The lord shrugged and got to his feet, disappearing into his home only to come back with a clear wine glass. He held out his other palm to the doctor. "I'm curious what a tempered demon-slaying blade feels like. Here, use it to nick me and I'll give you a sample of what I'm made of."
"You don't want me to do that. Any injury I give on a demon's flesh with this blade won't ever heal. You'd eventually bleed out and die from the tiniest of scratches."
Lord Portgas shrunk away and let his hand fall limply against the upholstery. "On second thought, let me get a knife from the kitchen."
"No biting then?"
The lord shook his head, lips curling as if tasting something sour. "I don't think I'd like that much. I'd rather slice myself open, thank you."
"No, thank you," Dr. Trafalgar said softly as his friend went away and came back with a glinting silver knife sharpened to slice meat cleanly. He drew the blade across his palm, holding his hand over the cup. Trafalgar watched the red drip down into the glass and felt the first stabbings of arousal. Not for his friend, of course, but for his friend's blood.
"Let me bind that for you," the doctor insisted, already reaching for some wraps in his medical bag, his constant companion. He withdrew the supplies and received the glass of red from the lord, setting it down on a nearby table. Then he set about binding the tiny wound.
His ears picked up a breathing pattern that did not belong to either him or the lord.
He turned his head until he was right around, and Lord Portgas followed the direction of the motion, his eyes alighting on the person who'd just walked into the doorway of the room.
"Marco…you came in through the back door?"
"Y-yes, my Lord. I have, uh, completed the errands."
Dr. Trafalgar could only imagine how this must have looked to the man with the blond hair, whose eyes darted between him, his master's profusely bleeding palm, and the glass that contained no small amount of blood. It must have appeared very strange, so he said; "I'm only removing some of your master's blood for therapeutic purposes."
The valet nodded slowly, but the tenseness in his shoulders did not dissipate.
"Well, Ace, I shall get back to you on all matters health related. Yours and mine." The doctor picked up the glass of rouge after finishing tying off the bandage. "Goodbye for now."
"Shall I show you out, doctor?" asked Marco, still nervous.
"I'll show myself out."
The doctor moved around Marco, who gave him a small bow, and took note of the utter plainness of Lord Portgas' next conquest. There was nothing that that struck him as special about this man apart from his impressive musculature. Then again, he'd been surrounded by the unusual all his life and likely anyone who wasn't extravagant was lost to him. He could see the charm of lusting after a plain fellow after bedding a collection of dolled-up mannequins, and so that was what he chalked the lord's peculiar choice up to.
"Goodbye Law," the lord said, clutching his palm where already the blood was seeping through the bandage. After he left, Marco cautiously ambled up, concern written in his gaze.
"My Lord, why don't you sit? That was a bloodletting, right? It may be wise for you to have a seat–"
"I don't think I'm going to faint, Marco. I am certainly no maiden. It's just a little bit of blood. Less than half a pint for sure." Marco could not conceal his distress, and so Lord Portgas added, "Besides, I have something I wish for you to take a look at. It's in the front lobby…"
He took off before Marco could creep too close and assault his senses. Just the appearance of Marco was enough to make his heart flutter a few thumps faster, and he was glad of Trafalgar's quick departure. Normally the doctor would have stayed and likely would have teased him about his attractions ever so subtly in front of Marco. But he had left, which to the lord spelt out his gratuity for the blood he'd been given more clearly than words could have.
Marco followed him, and he took him to the location of the painting, stopping before it and diverting his attention to Marco's face. At first, there was confusion, and perhaps there was an element of disbelief, with Marco's facial muscles finally settling on awe as the appropriate expression to don.
"…Wherever did you get this?" Marco asked in a hush, for once forgetting formalities. "It's…that's the Moby Dick."
"It's a painting by Silvers Rayleigh. Is he not your favourite artist?" asked the lord, feeling smug that he'd managed to get Marco to loosen up.
"That's the Moby Dick," Marco repeated. "The Moby Dick."
"You…know the ship I take it?" the lord asked, perplexed. "I mean, that is the name on the metal plate but…"
"I was once on that ship," whispered Marco quietly, his eyes blurring with a curtain of water. But just as suddenly as the wet film had appeared it vanished. The painting was no longer Marco's focus.
"Ah! My Lord, your hand! How it bleeds!"
Lord Portgas looked down at his side, where his arm hung loosely. When tears had appeared in Marco's eyes he'd unknowingly clenched his hand into a fist, released, and then clenched again. The result was another stream of blood that had gotten onto his slacks and dripped onto the floor.
"Oh," he muttered, not really all that interested. He wished to ask Marco of the ship in the painting, of what he had been doing on a ship whose crewmembers freed slaves and then blew the slavers that had carried them to bits and pieces.
His thoughts were abruptly staled when he felt a warm hand on his upper arm. He startled, for even though Marco's skin was not touching his, he could still feel the heat and energy through his clothing. He felt his body grow fiery hot as his desires surfaced. By now, Marco had tugged him to a nearby chair and had gently bid him to sit in it.
Then he ran off and returned with two small linen cloths and a bowl of water.
Lord Portgas saw what was to come and hurried to put a stop to it. "Marco, please, I can fix this myself without your help. It's alright."
Marco gave him an incredulous look and didn't cease reaching for the lord's bloodied bandage. "It is impossible! You may be able to wash your hand but you cannot bind it tightly enough yourself!"
Ace let his guard down for only a moment, and Marco grasped his bare wrist. The euphoric effect on the lord was enough to subdue him into leaning back against the chair's headrest. He closed his eyes to block his vision in an effort to calm himself, his breathing short and quick.
"Are you alright?" Marco asked, further alarmed by his lord's strange behaviour.
"I'm fine," the lord managed to say, struggling to get his breathing under control. He almost had it when Marco's fingers began to dance all over his hand, untying the bandage Trafalgar had put on. Then, gently, Marco lowered his hand into what must have been a bowl of water.
Then those fingers began to gently rub against his flesh, cleaning him, and the lord nearly lost his thoughts. All he could concentrate on was Marco and those deft fingers, so careful and caring. Eventually he felt Marco lift his limp hand from the bowl and dab the water off with one of the linen cloths. The other was carefully tied around his hand and bound tightly.
But Marco did not let go, and finally the lord lifted his eyes and found Marco staring all too deeply at him, his dark eyes running over his face with concern.
The sight was too much for Lord Portgas.
As Marco began to voice those concerns he had, the lord leaned into the space that separated them and kissed Marco, right in the middle of his forehead. It was bliss, absolute bliss for the lord, to finally put his hungry lips to skin. At first, Marco didn't budge, and the lord let his kiss linger, but all at once both men pulled away. Lord Portgas stood, his hand relinquished from Marco's grasp.
"T-thank you, Marco, for your help," the lord managed to say shakily before quitting the room to retire to his bedchamber upstairs. He did not come down for the remainder of the evening, even when Marco forced himself upstairs to ask him down to supper, acting as though nothing had happened.
Marco left a platter of food outside the door and returned to the kitchen to clean up. Then he relocated to the front lobby, where he seated himself on a bench and stared at the Moby Dick eternally crashing through a multitude of waves on the ocean.
The second he'd laid eyes on it he'd known that the painting had been personally selected for him. He should have known, too, that it was not such an innocent gift.
A.N.: Summary of this chapter: Trafalgar kills someone, obtains Ace's blood through friendly coercion; Bepo jumps some fences and scares someone, too; the duchess is compared to a pig; and Ace and Marco get awkward.
And Eustass? Well, I forgot about that Kidd. (I kid, of course!) He'll have to come back next chapter I suppose. Yes, yes he will.
