...
Caprice
Chapter XV
Lord Portgas was speechless, his mouth agape, unable to form words to express his revulsion. He had never expected to find a witch in Sabaody, much less one in such a high rank and with such horrific witching capacities.
She swiped a hand over the back of his winkled, aged one, said an indecipherable word, and all at once his hand was back to its proper age. As soon as he was cured, he yanked his hand back to his chest defensively and examined it. It was normal, though it still felt odd. Whether it was his imagination or not he couldn't tell.
"I can make it go the other way too. Keep a person forever young. Some call it eternal youth," the duchess said as they locked gazes. A cold chill swept across Lord Portgas's neck, and he realized that the wind was blowing hard over his cold sweat. They were drifting quickly, and he likely wouldn't need the paddle at the rate they skirted the waves.
The boat began to rock from east to west with the waves the wind kicked up. Duchess Jewelry looked out at the lake with puckered lips, the faintest bit of concern marring her brow.
Of course, she can't swim, Lord Portgas thought. I could easily knock her into the water and she'd flail around and float on her face, then eventually gather water and sink. That's what witches do when they're terrified in water…
He moulded his teeth together behind his lips so she couldn't see his edginess. She spoke again. "Lord Portgas, we could be marvellous together."
"Excuse me?" breathed the lord, not entirely sure where she was headed but none too keen to find out.
"I have a power that few can match," the duchess said, raising her hand. Lord Portgas tried his best not to flinch, or let her know that she had power over him. "We could be King and Queen," she said simply, and it was enough.
It was definitely enough.
She wants me to guide her to the One Piece. She wants to buy her throne. The lord's hands quivered at the thought of resigning himself to a ship bound for Raftel. Not only would it be a perilous journey fraught with unimaginable dangers, but he'd be stuck in the company of the duchess for enough days to make him contemplate jumping over the gunwale or hanging himself from a yardarm. It would not be possible to make the journey with her, and frankly he had no desire to go at it even alone.
"I have a carrack," the duchess said next, smoothing down the front of her dress. "She sails well. She has voyaged to the New World and back."
"That is no small feat," Lord Portgas said slowly. He did not agree or deny the duchess anything; to do either was folly. He knew enough about her to see that she saw her way, and her way only, as fit. Agreeing to sail with her would spell his death; disagreeing to sail would force her hand.
He'd seen enough of her hand changing his skin to last him a long time.
He grabbed for the paddle alongside the canoe and began to steer the ship. Then he took control of the conversation. "A carrack has a capacity of about 60 men, carrying 20 guns. Do you really think this to be enough? While a carrack is steadier and safer for a crew to sail, it is not so swift as the caravel. Perhaps, even, a smaller galleon may be the best choice, as it is a ship that could take on much damage and still maintain course. In fact, the galleon is often credited as the improvement of the carrack, the elongation of the hull and the lowering of the forecastle being–"
"Are you suggesting I have invested in the wrong vessel?" the duchess asked, her top lip curling. Volatile. "Besides, it could carry 70-80 men if we squeeze, as there will no doubt be deaths along the way, and the caravel could not afford that margin. As for the galleon–"
Lord Portgas let her go off on her side of the argument. He frowned and began to paddle, tempering the waves around them that threatened to knock them over. After a particularly large wave knocked a spray over the side and onto the duchess' dress, their conversation ceased altogether and the lord could focus on getting them back to shore. He was quite finished paying the duchess a visit.
They landed on the far side of the lake to a number of servants that scrambled to help the duchess to her feet. One removed a slightly damp petticoat from her shoulders and another put on a fresh one while Lord Portgas hauled the canoe easily over the bank where it wouldn't float off. He looked up in time to see the duchess slap a servant's cheek for trying to put an additional petticoat on her, likely to ward off any chills.
The girl was young still, and Lord Portgas felt the sting on her cheek as if he himself had been struck. They caught each other's eyes and he noticed that hers were an unusual dark violet. That, or the sun that beat down on them all was playing with his sight. Nonetheless, he went straight to her, and the hand that had been raised to cradle her abused cheek dropped to her side obediently.
He could feel curious eyes on his back as he stopped before her. Yes, definitely violet eyes. So he had not been mistaken.
He withdrew a handkerchief and handed it to her. She took it, her mouth agape and her eyes wide. She stuttered something, and he indicated his cheek to tell her that hers was wet from the lake water that had been sprayed onto the duchess' palm.
She rubbed her cheek and tried to return the soft cloth, but the lord just looked at her, this small slight creature, and noticed that she seemed poorly dressed for the weather, long sleeves of heavy dark fabric that hid every inch of her skin except for that around her neck. He eyed her neck, and that was when he realized she was not exactly blushing as he'd first believed.
No, there were definitely scales there, pink and small and hardly noticeable as they remained near the back of her neck near her hairline. Yet, he noticed them becoming more and more prominent.
He looked away and saw that the duchess was fighting with someone else who was trying to get her to change her shoes. They were at enough distance away that he felt comfortable leaning down slightly and speaking with her.
"What's your name?" he asked carefully.
She gathered her shoulders and perked up a little, obviously still in shock that the lord was acknowledging her existence at all. "K-Keimi, m-m'Lord."
"Portgas," he said simply in return. "Tell me, Keimi, do you enjoy serving the duchess?"
He realized the cruelty of his question when she squirmed and just barely managed to squeak out a yes. Obviously she was lying; she could do nothing but in her position. "My apologies, Keimi. I have one more question, however, if you'll be so kind to answer me. Do you know how to cook a decent meal? Be honest with me this time."
He was indeed cruel.
"I know how to cook basic things," she said quietly, and he had to strain his ears to hear her small voice. "I cook for Duchess Jewelry sometimes. I am, uhm, learning, sir."
He nodded, absently, and drew back. The girl curtsied before him and scurried away, and he watched her go with renewed interest as her hair was blown from her back. He could still see the scales that doubtlessly ran down the length of her spine.
He felt the duchess' hand curling around the crook of his arm. "Shall we?" she asked sweetly, knowing fully well he'd been having a rather odd conversation with one of her maids. It struck her as rude, but she did not voice the girl's presence. It was he who did.
"Would you consider selling that girl's services to me?" he asked when they were well on their way back towards the Jewelry manor. "I am in need of a maid. As you well know, my estate is grossly understaffed."
The arm wrapped around his elbow stiffened, and their shoulders brushed. "I shall consider it, though I will be the first to tell you the girl is useless and clumsy. Not to mention she speaks when she should not."
Lord Portgas shrugged, and Duchess Jewelry twisted her lip again.
"She needs a firm hand," she said, and Lord Portgas saw in his mind the picture of a swollen cheek with tears streaming down from violet eyes. It made him grimace. He was not one to apply a 'firm hand' on a lady of any rank. "I don't think you would like her."
"The offer still stands. I'm quite prepared to relieve you of her." Now more than ever Lord Portgas felt a pull to take the girl from the duchess' estate.
He would like to think it was his firmness that made her crumble, but he knew it was in her best interest to please him and answer to his demands, no matter how foolish.
"I will let you have her for what I paid for her at the slavers auction when I was last at Mariejois."
He eyed her grimly and nodded. He could see the duchess had perhaps a hint of sympathy in her, for she had bought a slave only to treat her as a servant rather than a creature fit only to toil endlessly. "How fair you are, Duchess. Both in honesty and beauty."
The reply satisfied her and she gave him a sultry smile that chilled his skin. Their conversation on the lake, or rather, that argument, was forgiven. He was really hoping it would be enough to convince her that it was not necessary to coerce him to do her biding by force. He had to make his getaway swiftly now, and hope that he would be able to gather up his newest servant and pay her asking price by mail.
They entered the duchess' courtyard and Lord Portgas prepared himself to ask for leave. He only got as far as opening his mouth before the duchess let out a noise not unlike the snorting of an upset horse.
"Basil! What on earth are you doing here?" she cried. The lord squinted into the sun, making out the shape of a rather broad-shouldered man with peculiar marks above his eyes. "Basil, speak!"
By the time they entered the towering shadow afforded by the duchess' manor, Lord Portgas had an idea of whom she was addressing. The long, straight blond hair, piercing eyes and unnerving presence were only a confirmation of his guess. "Hello, Mr. Hawkins," he called out, greeting the man in a long, archaically patterned robe who could very well act as his saviour. Perhaps with Duchess Jewelry distracted he would be able to put some distance between them before her witching powers reappeared to manipulate his body.
She hauled him over to Hawkins, grumbling about being uninformed of his arrival.
"I wished to see you, Duchess," Hawkins stated.
"Could it not have waited?" she complained. Hawkins didn't so much as shrug his shoulders, his pointed face doing all the work for him. Her whine bounced right off of him, and she saw she could not win against that sort of impenetrable brick wall. "Fine. Are you coming in? We were about to have tea and some Italian pastries before you interrupted us."
Basil Hawkins looked between the calm Lord Portgas and the woman who was decidedly infuriated by his sudden appearance. Something did not settle in his stomach well when he compared the two. "Lord Portgas, I haven't seen you since we first met, nor exchanged communication. Though that is partially my fault, as there was a death in my family and I have been occupied. You're long overdue for a reading, you know."
The lord blinked and then remembered the banquet thrown by the duchess back when he'd first arrived in Sabaody. "Ah, I have not forgotten, Mr. Hawkins. My apologies, but I hadn't the time to see you before now either. I am sorry for your loss of kin."
"Call me Basil," Hawkins said. "As for my dead uncle, he lasted longer than the cards said he would. I have never been one to honour the tradition of wearing black after a death, so that had also caused a stir within my remaining family." He smiled ruefully. "I suppose we ought to read the cards over a cup of tea, if we are to please our dearest duchess at all."
Duchess Jewelry huffed at being spoken about as if she were not present and set off for the manor, dragging the lord with her. She made a point of not acknowledging Hawkins as he held the door open for her and her victim.
Lord Portgas was rightfully distracted by Hawkins as the duchess barked out some orders to the servants in her home. Despite the heat the man gave him chills all down his arms and along the back of his neck, and he wondered just what he wanted to see the duchess about. He figured he needn't fear the man becoming jealous of the duchess' obvious desire for his company, as Hawkins seemed more concerned with keeping his back rail-straight as opposed to courting the woman of the estate. That didn't put him at ease, however. Where Hawkins wasn't concerned by the duchess, he was instead concerned with him.
"Lord Portgas–"
"Ace, if you may. It is only right."
"Ace, I have to admit your presence in this room is rather strong, even for a man of your status. There is something kingly about it, something very influential."
Lord Portgas pursed his lips. He knows what I am, he thought. He knows. He has to have some sort of power, too. A man who practices cartomancy…perhaps he is something of a magician with an uncanny ability for sensing demons. Maybe he's even a wizard, though I have to doubt that for my own peace of mind.
Basil Hawkins strolled through the manor in the wake of the duchess' heels, and the lord followed him as he clearly had a purpose to his walk. They eventually came upon a large dinning table, and Hawkins took a seat to the left of the seat at the head of the table while the lord sat across from him. Elsewhere, the duchess was busy ordering someone around, her heeled boots clicking against the marble flooring as she stomped this way and that.
"I find you quite fascinating," Hawkins admitted at length, after they'd spent a minute staring across the oak table at one another. He laid his elbows carefully on the table and sat his chin in his palms. "I'm picking up very intriguing colours in the spectrum of your aura. Red is the dominant colour, with oranges and yellows surrounding it, but there is also a small bluish streak to your aura that is highly unusual given the previous colour combination. This blue, it seems to be growing brighter. Flaring, almost. An invading force perhaps?"
The lord didn't really wish to know how his aura appeared to the man. In fact, he'd be happier knowing nothing about his future and not having anyone dig around in his past. That would be ideal, but lately Lord Portgas was not having the best of luck at having his ideals fulfilled.
Lord Portgas watched Hawkins withdraw a deck of cards from his overcoat, his steely eyes never wavering from the lord's own. The deck was placed to the left and, wordlessly, Hawkins drew the top card and placed it directly in front of Lord Portgas.
"Please, flip it over."
The lord turned the card over and peered down at it with little interest. He did not know how to read them as the man in front of him did so it made little difference whether he looked or not.
As it was, the card showed a picture of a sexless being with serpents wound around and between the fabric that clothed it. Lord Portgas suppressed a smile. It appeared like a typical tarot card and he was sure the rest would be equally silly.
"Hmm. I have chosen to read tarot today instead of using an older deck that I do most of my divination with. I am using the Voodoo Tarot of the far South, one of my favourite decks, and not once have I ever drawn this card first. It is Simbi, the Eight of Swords, reversed. Whatever your issue is, there is much negativity surrounding it. It makes my skin twitch with intrigue."
Lord Portgas held his tongue and tried his best not to scoff at the slip of painted paper as Hawkins placed it back in his deck. He shuffled them for a long minute, during which time Duchess Jewelry appeared with a servant that placed tea in front of them and delectable pastries that admittedly occupied the lord's mind.
Meanwhile, Hawkins ignored his tea and the crumbs that were floating his way from the duchess' overindulgence and cut the deck. He drew several cards from the top and arranged them meticulously in a spread that he mumbled was called the Celtic Cross.
"This card that I am about to turn represents your goal, whatever that should be." Lord Portgas took a bite of a tart and raised his eyebrows. Goal? He could think of only one at the moment the card was flipped. The picture faced him this time, and he read the name inscribed on the bottom.
"Madame La Lune," he said, noting the picture of a woman near a lake, her face turned away from the viewer.
"Yes, the Nine of Cups. Interesting this should fall at the top of the Cross, for she represents contentment and satisfaction in romance, friendship, or other relationships. She also is tied with achieving your deepest desires and savouring beauty and sensual pleasures. She radiates fulfillment and bliss, and since this falls at the top of the Cross, you can consider this a representation of the goal that is currently on your mind."
"Oh, so he has a fulfilling romance in the picture?" asked the duchess coyly. Lord Portgas pointedly ignored her by examining the card closely. He dared not touch it, however, as the cards appeared frayed and ready to be ripped if mishandled by ignorant fingers.
"Perhaps," Hawkins replied vaguely. He flipped over the card at the opposite end of the spread. Its picture faced away from the lord, and he knew whatever to come next would be negative. Hawkins took a deep breath, and then with his eyes closed began to recite words that were rapidly forming in his mind. "The card at the bottom of the cross is the foundation on which the situation is based. This card is showing me two faces to this central problem or goal. In the case of romance, we could have a charming seducer who appears innocent and understanding, but is in fact selfish and unfaithful. Whether this is you or another is not for me to divine, but I should caution you to be wary of whom you devote yourself to."
Lord Portgas wrinkled his brow and pictured Marco, who was certainly the epitome of innocent to the lord's lusts yet at the same time oddly understanding of them. But he was never selfish, and his loyalty to the one he served was never questionable. It was then that he decided he would dismiss the card and the whole reading as he'd originally planned. It was silly tricks meant to exercise the mind, and that was all. However, he did not want to leave Basil with the desire to pursue him in hopes of finishing their session, and so could do nothing but wait it out.
The whole day was a waiting game, and Lord Portgas was not known for his patience.
Hawkins hand strayed to the left and he flipped a card whose picture faced away from the lord. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man whose face appeared perfectly emotionless.
"Well, Basil?" the duchess implored after Hawkins said nothing for a full minute. "If you aren't going to read his fortune at least drink your tea."
Hawkins continued to ignore his tea in favour of staring at the spread in front of him and the duchess called for another platter of dainties.
"That's a fairly disarming card," Lord Portgas said with a grim frown. Indeed, the card was ugly, not at all like Madame La Lune's picture. It was a picture of a man painted in shadows and clothed in dark robes, giving the card a sinister atmosphere. Then he realized the design had two faces to it, and it had taken him a second look to realize it.
"Hmm. The card is in a position that represents a passing influence, or something to be released. In this case, it may refer to a victory claimed before it is actually won or satisfaction from sensual pleasures disconnected from any sense of love."
The lord's thoughts drifted once more to Marco and the morning they shared together. There had been something strange that transpired after Marco had pleasured him. He didn't like to think about the depth of emotion he felt for the man and believe that his valet felt nothing at all in return. It was just too painful.
"My Lord, you are blanching," the duchess said, grabbing him as if he were about to topple over and away from her reach. "You look faint!"
"I'm fine," he said, a little rougher than necessary. He lifted the duchess' hand from his forearm and breathed deeply. Then he chastised himself for thinking about his sweet Marco in the presence of one who wished to make a deal with him and another who claimed to possess divinity that would reveal his life.
Meanwhile, Basil Hawkins ignored them both and flipped a card to the far right of the Cross. His disbelief moved the peculiar lines above his eyes. "Good Lord, Les Barons, reversed! This card is supposed to represent an approaching influence or something that should be embraced…but this is quite hard to put into a good light. Les Barons is a Wild Card, quite extreme in nature, and sex, violence, and regret revolve around it. It is an invasion of the everyday by forces that are primal and transcendental. Beware it, Ace."
"Thank you, Basil," Lord Portgas said tersely. He was unsure if the man was indeed a wizard of sorts and knew his true nature, that which was described in the card that had caused a stir in the way Hawkins now eyed him.
He sat through another two cards wordlessly. Both were bleak and reversed to face away from him. It bothered him more than he knew it should have. When Hawkins flipped over the fourth reversed card in a row, Lord Portgas simply shook his head in disbelief and prepared himself to mentally defend against whatever negative meaning this one would have.
"King of Wands, Petro Houngan. This card is in a position that serves to describe your environment and the people around you. A different force is telling me that one description may in fact be you, the rest people you've met or interacted with in some way."
Hawkins stared at the card and placed a finger over the name inscribed at the bottom, his eyes blinking slowly. "An artist whose depraved love of chaos causes him to take hold of destructive ideas and make them appealing to the masses. One who is charismatic and intimidating, using demonstrations of his own skill to dupe others into accepting responsibilities beyond their ability. There is also a dashing and magnetic personality, appearing and disappearing with great suddenness, and leaving upheaval in his wake. I see the dark essence of fire behaving as air. Be careful of whom you let around yourself, my Lord. The fire looks to smother."
He willed his eyes not to stray in the direction of the duchess, who was picking at her nails and looking utterly bored with the lack of interesting gossip that she was used to at her table.
Finally, there was but one card left to be overturned, and Hawkins explained that it was the card that represented the ultimate outcome should Lord Portgas continue on the path he was on. He flipped it over.
"The Hanged Man. Zombi."
Lord Portgas paled once more. "I shall be hanged?"
Hawkins had the audacity to laugh at him, though his laugh was more a tiny chuckle that made his long straight hair swish to the side. "No," he said simply. "The card is facing you, and it is meant to make you think of pausing and reflecting on actions that could be taken. It encourages the embrace of new ideas through sacrifice. By letting go of inhibitions, you could have inner peace, faith in self, and serenity. Think of it as a card of change. This is the endgame."
"Well, that sounds like a nice ending," the duchess said while the lord continued to stare at the table long after the cards had been scooped up, shuffled, and placed back into a leather case in the man's pocket. "Now, I have promised you, Mr. Portgas, that I would show you that painting of the Moby Dick, and I intend to keep my word."
"I will show myself out," Hawkins said, rising. Both still seated were surprised, but the duchess beamed at him after recovering from her initial shock.
"It was very nice seeing you again, Basil," she said sweetly. Underneath the sugary coating the lord knew she was dancing a malicious jig. "Do drop by again, only this time please send advance notice. Next time I may not be home to greet you and that would be a real shame."
Hawkins smiled thinly and departed, however he paused in the doorway of the parlour and stared back at Lord Portgas. Their eyes met and they politely nodded to one another, as was custom. Then Hawkins said, "I do hope you'll reflect on what I have seen in the cards. It was an fascinating reading for me, that much I'm sure you've gathered."
Lord Portgas nodded again with some submission and Hawkins was soon gone, though oddly enough his presence seemed to remain in the room.
The duchess wasted no time jumping up and taking him by the arm. His eyes strayed down to her hand and he knew it was fruitless to try and run. He got a grand tour of her art gallery next, and when he was introduced to the painting she'd written about in her letter he found himself rather in awe. It was magnificent in content, perhaps even more so than the last one, but the inscription made him uneasy.
"Edd War. That was a catastrophic battle," the duchess informed him. "It was between the Golden Lion Shiki's fleet and the Oro Jackson captained by the Pirate King, though Whitebeard got caught up in it by being in the area at the time, or so they say. Anything that is not a first hand account is debatable. At any rate, Whitebeard did not engage in combat, only sailed forward through it. Rumour has it he had precious cargo, though it was not jewels or gold aboard, so I'm curious as to what it could have been."
Lord Portgas sighed and looked at the painting. The Oro Jackson was but a speck on the Edd Sea in the New World, and Shiki's fleet spotted the canvas like little bugs. The main focus was on the Moby Dick, but it was a painting done in a hurry. In fact, the painting lacked a signature, and it came to his attention that the style of the painting was not quite in step with the other works he owned. The brushwork was distinctive.
"This is not Silvers Rayleigh's work," he said firmly. "It is too different."
"It does not have a signature, true, but it is attributed to the man, for who else would be able to paint this scene? All who sailed in Shiki's fleet disappeared and Whitebeard had no painters aboard. No painters that we know of, anyway."
Lord Portgas shook his head. He did not come here to debate with the duchess over a piece of art. Still, he found he wanted a second opinion to confirm his suspicions, and the painting was still primarily focussed on the Moby Dick, which made it all the more valuable in his eyes. "Will you consider selling this to me? I know I have deprived you of one piece of art already, but this I am willing to pay far above the price you have paid to obtain it."
"Oh, you may have it for nothing," the duchess said. "It was a gift to me and thus it shall be a gift to you. I would like to deliver it myself, however, and perhaps you might show me around your grounds when I come by to drop it off."
His eyes widened. "That is beyond charitable of you. Can I not pay you?"
"You will pay me for the girl, but that is all. Like I said, I paid nothing to obtain this painting from Admiral X. Drake." She smiled and he caught something sinister in the way her lips curved. She held from him secrets he was sure he did not want to know. He was glad her hands were covered by the soft lace of her gown, for he did not trust himself to keep from staring at her hands should they appear before him.
"I will send the servant over today. Do not worry about the payment for her; I will collect it personally when I bring my men by to deliver the painting. I do hope you'll find the girl satisfactory after a bit of training." Duchess Jewelry giggled, "I did warn you that she was clumsy, did I not?"
"You did," he replied, trying to feign a smile. It was hard, and his facial muscles tightened further when she suddenly embraced him and lay her cheek against his neck. Her breath in his ear made his insides curdle.
"And please, do think carefully about that offer. We could be…most powerful together, my Lord."
Her lips grazed his jaw with a soft kiss and she drew back to give him a bewitching stare that did nothing to capture him.
She left his side without a backwards glance and he headed for the door. A servant opened it for him and he strode out, noting how late the day was and how far the sun had dipped below the trees. The fresh air was a welcome change, and it had cooled off considerably with the addition of dark clouds overhead. He looked up and wondered if it would rain. Then, his thoughts strayed back to the manor he had come out of and the witch that lurked its insides.
How easily he had obtained the painting. He pursed his lips, letting the cool air temper him, and then furrowed his brow. The sun earlier had somehow made him slow in the mind, for he now knew exactly why she was so willing to gift him with things. She was baiting him, of course, for marriage, and in her mind she must have reasoned with herself that letting him take things from her estate posed no loss to her, as she would simply re-acquire her things by marching him into a church.
He shivered. Marriage was a scary thing that he'd oft had to face when he hadn't made his getaway soon enough from a woman he'd bedded. Ever since hitting a certain age where he got a taste for lifting the hems of dresses he'd been considered a fool by all whom knew him intimately. Trafalgar, for instance, had the pleasure of dealing with his past fallouts.
"Lord Portgas, your horse," said a servant, holding his black charger. He was oddly quiet, the brutish beast, and the lord distantly wondered if this stablehand knew any tricks he himself had yet to discover.
"Thank you." He grabbed the reins and tossed them over the horse's neck, laying them over the saddle's pommel that he grasped with his other hand. However, before he could hoist himself into the saddle, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jolted, not having heard anyone come up to him and seeing the servant who'd brought his horse walking away.
He turned fully and regarded Basil Hawkins with surprise evident in every pore of his skin. "Oh. It's just you. Basil."
Hawkins blinked at him and exhaled a long breath. "I've been waiting. The witch kept you long."
His eyelids peeled back fully and he experienced a second jolt of surprise. "Excuse me?" he said softly, unable to believe that Hawkins knew the true nature of the duchess.
But it was true, and the truth lay in the fine curve of a smile Hawkins freely showed him. "Indeed, the witch. I dared not to tell you a…tangle of words that came to me as I read you. It was something I believed was private and not fit for her scrutiny." He took another deep breath and exhaled. "The card detailing your environment, and those surrounding you, it whispered something else to me and that is why I was silent for so long. Something that is meaningless to me but may hold something for you, Ace."
Lord Portgas waited expectantly, and Hawkins did not disappoint.
"One seeks your fortune, one seeks your life. There is one whom wants to see you in the middle of the night. There are two that have travelled the seas for you, and two that have a desire to set out on another blue." Hawkins paused and his eyes flicked towards the manor containing the duchess. "These people, I wonder what they mean to you. Perhaps it is nothing that applies to you at all, but I feel I should warn you that my readings are impeccably accurate. Good day, Ace."
"Goodbye, Basil." His voice was quiet as he watched Hawkins disappear in the opposite direction he himself was planning on going. With a tart taste in his mouth and a strange heaviness in his gut, he mounted his steed and left the estate of the duchess behind him.
-oOo-
It was morning and he could see dust floating in front of his eyes, something miniscule that told him he was not safe in his own bed at home where any and all dust was banished by his boggart. Dr. Trafalgar blinked at the dust some and eventually turned away, his cheek and much of his face sinking into a luxurious blanket. It insulated his body and he wondered if it were down stuffed, which stopped his heart as he thought of Penguin and the way his feathers had simply fallen away from his skin upon healing that wretched boggart.
He sat straight up in bed and looked about wildly with blurry eyes. No one was suffering. No, that was not entirely true. His limbs, oh how they ached. And, more than that, his insides felt as though they had been impaled repeatedly, which formed his conclusion of where he was and why he ached.
He thoughts recalled the beastly creature, the cambion that had so utterly claimed him. The taste in his mouth repulsed him and he spat a glob of saliva over the side of the bed, onto the floor.
"Your manners are indeed lacking."
He fixed his eyes on red hair and a pale complexion. "You are not the one who should be lecturing on manners, Lord Eustass."
The lord rose leisurely from a chair in the farthest corner of the room, and Trafalgar noted that none of his limbs were shackled or tied down to anything. The idea that he could move freely bounced around in his mind, but his body kept assuring him that to move would cause him extreme pain, so he remained still and focussed on recovering in small bursts. Besides, he was quite aware that he'd been stripped of all clothing. Not that it meant much to either of them, having seen each other unclothed not so long ago. It would, however, be cold should he choose to run now.
He watched the lord move towards him and his muscles clenched, sending an oddly blissful pang through his veins. He really had been used well. He was delightfully sore in certain places. The thought was not as unsettling as it should have been. In fact, he would describe himself as feeling sexually sated, not yearning for anything else.
That unnerved him more than the lord coming to sit near his feet at the end of the bed. Instinctively, he curled his legs up and regarded the lord with a haughty smile. "You just cannot keep away from me, can you?"
"No."
The snappish reply caught Trafalgar slightly off-guard and his smile faltered. "Oh. Well I…"
"Lie down and rest."
"I don't believe I answer to the likes of you," the doctor said with a sneer.
Lord Eustass eyes blazed, but not with the anger Trafalgar had so easily evoked in him in the past. Instead, it was a hearty blaze of cheeriness, though morbid in nature. "Ah, but you do answer to me. You are mine, and I'll do with you what I see fit. And right now, I want you to rest and recover, because I have plans for you that require your physical fitness."
Trafalgar did not like that, not one bit.
"A free man belongs to no one but himself. Go grab one of your guns and shoot holes in both your feet, because only then might you begin grasp the pain you have put me through, you awful brute."
Lord Eustass found this hilarious, and his laugh boomed in the small room that Trafalgar was absorbing and seeking an item in that he could use to his advantage. So far only a broken chair caught his attention, one of the legs having fallen off. If only he could get to it and bludgeon the lord to death…
The thought inevitably led him to imagining further what would happen, all of the blood pooling out of the lord's fat, arrogant head. His imagination caused his stomach to cry out in anguish.
The lord stopped laughing at the odd sound of Trafalgar's stomach churning its empty wasteland for something to absorb and nourish it. "You are hungry," he stated with vague interest.
"Yes. I am," Trafalgar stated just as simply. His reply got barely a response, but the lord eyed his naked chest like a wolf sizing up the revealed meat on a freshly shaved sheep. He did not like being subjected to the eyes of this beast.
"Why don't you have something to eat?"
Trafalgar gaped at him. Had the lord really forgotten what it was that he preferred to dine on? "Your dumbness is staggering," he said at length.
Surprisingly, Lord Eustass did not try to strangle him for that comment. Instead, he moved closer to Trafalgar by scooting along the edge of the bed. Then he tried to strangle him.
Or at least that was what Trafalgar thought as those strong arms reached for him and grasped his sides. He struck out and landed a hit on the man's neck with his knuckle, but he found his arms were soon useless as the lord pulled him into his lap and wrapped his arms around his body, keeping his fists from inflicting further harm.
The harsh movement brought fresh pain, and Trafalgar breathed shallowly in an effort to deal with the currents racing through him. He was distracted by the breathing in his ear, the lord's hot breath on his shoulder. If he turned his face up, he could silence the lord by placing his lips upon the other's. The thought made him grimace.
"Feed, then."
"What?" Trafalgar grumbled, sure he had heard something different than what was uttered.
"Go ahead. Drink, or whatever you call it when you suck blood out of me."
Trafalgar felt himself go pale. This… This he had never expected. An invitation. The likes of which he had never received from another until now. His skin continued to pale with his shock, and he became acutely aware of how the lord nuzzled his cheek against his dark hair. Like an animal rubbing its scent on its possession. Or, its mate.
Oh no, Trafalgar thought. Hell. Is he…? No, he can't be. But then, he was spawned of a succubus. It is very possible that he inherited that trait…
"You are mine," Lord Eustass whispered again, his arms tightening around Trafalgar's body. "All mine."
