Wahahha I think this is more satisfactory to me in terms of my writing style l0l. :3 Finally am getting back my mojo from depression's hell.
Chapter Seventeen
If being powerless is evil, is having power justice ? Is revenge Evil ? Can friendship coexist with justice?
-Lelouch Lamperouge, Code Geass
"Erik." Nadir breathes, heaving slightly. Erik flinches, the edges of his mask barely moving. He lets out a feral growl, the adrenaline of the kill in his veins. He has killed before, but never with such rage. The bloody families were all and one the same! Need he care for such scum? His eyes glitter almost gold, dangerously, as he picks up the discarded fedora and paces the room, a rakish figure in the falling darkness. Raoul struggles to his feet, and Erik pushes him to the bed roughly.
"This," he hisses, "is for Christine. She would not want you dead, and likewise, I believe it to be best that you stay that way for the sake of my beloved. As you have seen, I can very well kill you off," he growled out, emphasizing particularly on his ability to kill him off. Erik then pulls out a vial of liquid from his coat, handing it to him.
"This is a substance to help you kick the addiction you've just begun." Taking out a small rag as the Vicomte looks over the bottle, he begins to clean up the blood, staunching the flows from the body. When the floor is remarkably spotless, he picks up the man, slinging him over his shoulder before he disappears, out of the window All this while, Nadir has stood in the corner, in a position ready to prevent Erik from making any more kills. As the imposing shadow of black leaves, the small man makes a polite bow, greeting the Vicomte with the blessing of Allah before he leaves through the door, much more properly than his other friend, Raoul thought.
Erik's pace is almost jaunty as he disposes of the body, sticking to the shadows. Nadir keeps near them, as if looking for his errant friend. Out of a small alley, Erik grabs the slight frame by the back, startling him.
"Damn you, Erik! Whatever could you be thinking? This is not Paris nor is it Persia! What could have possessed you to do such a thing? I thought you were but going to make your peace with the Vicomte!"
"I did, did I not?" Erik snarls, baring his teeth much like an animal, glaring at the shorter man as they continue their journey in the shadows. Erik fingers the lasso on his waist, swinging perkily with his haughty pace. Nadir almost rushes to keep up with the taller man, clicking his tongue.
"Not like that, Erik. You've all but convinced him of the cold-blooded murderer that he sees you as. No doubt you have saved his life, but is that what Christine would want?"
"Who gave you the bloody right to speak of my wife, MY WIFE, in such a personal manner, Daroga?" Erik slows, his pace growing uneven, as he walks on. Nadir shudders to himself at Erik's dark aura, trying to calm him. The phantasmal being all but restrains himself from the dark rages that make him want to kill Nadir, instead heading to a nearby bar, stripping himself of soiled gloves and disposing of them carefully in the alley behind, before setting them on fire as he draws out a second pair. He sits, motioning for Nadir to do so as well, as he calls a waiter over. The boy is but a gangly teenager, whose nerves show of his age and inexperience as he watches his dark, brooding customer with shifty eyes. Quickly, he scribbles Erik's order in a hurried, cacographic font before stumbling off. Erik's green eyes seem to glimmer almost catlike as he faces Nadir.
"Allah have mercy, Erik! Two drinks are way too much even for a man like you."
"The other was meant for you," he spits out, tersely. "To hell with you religion tonight. You need something to calm yourself too." He notes, with the acuity of a man younger than his actual age, and a dark, hypnotic aura to him all. "After all you saw. Like that boy. Maybe he can relieve you of your religious dilemma." He points to the door, where a man stumbles in, almost choking on the thick smoke of it all. Over him, a huge, hulking brute of a man stood, almost blocking his path entirely. Raoul all but managed a small excuse me, half pushing past him. He had not taken but a few steps, when the man stopped him with his arms, beckoning to his other friends.
"Yea, think you're so smart, eh? You milksop pansy, yer don't know what's good for ya!" The man seemed to pick Raoul up, and he could smell the heady scent of alcohol on his breath. He knew, almost instinctively, as he had been dead drunk himself to such extents also. And for the second time that day, Raoul found spit in between his eyes and a man mocking him.
Erik seemed to move with deadly accuracy and with the striking grace of a panther as he stood from the table, springing into action. He slipped out a small dagger from under his vest, slinking over to the brute looming over Raoul.
"Make your move, Monsieur. I cannot guarantee your life after." The blade dug into the man's thick skin, drawing a few droplets of blood. The man hissed in pain, rivulets of sweat dripping down his neck. Suddenly, Erik whipped around, his blade making contact with a man's stomach, the sickening squelch of the flesh against the blade making half the men in their clutch their roiling stomachs to prevent themselves from retching. Erik turned his attention back to the man he had originally targeted, only to find that he had taken to his heels and exited the bar. Erik tossed a bag of coins at the barkeep, nodding as he threw the dead man out of the bar at the back. The man flinched visibly, quaking in his boots as he accepted the bag of coins. Erik wove through the crowd effortlessly, the men parting like the red sea before the masked man and his commanding presence. Raoul sat before him, watching the other and his glittering, dancing eyes.
"I had a sensing you would follow after me." Erik gave a nod, pushing the other mug of brandy over to him. Under the poor lighting and his cloak and wide brim of the fedora, Raoul could but glimpse only the white of Erik's mask. He gulped, not really knowing the reason for following Erik. It was instinct, he told himself. Instinct of tailing this danger for years, for the sake of Christine…
"Tell me," the blonde croaked. "Why would you do such a thing as to save me?"
"It was unfortunate, Monsieur. I had intended but to speak to you, not to kill him." Saying thus, Erik gave a wry grin. "However, think it nothing at all for yourself as I did it for Christine. Likewise, this chitchat with you is for her. As you probably know…I am the Comte de Changy."
Nadir lets out a gasp, and Erik scowls at him. Shooing his friend away momentarily, he sinks back into the seat, well maintained despite the seedy background of the establishment itself.
"That I know." Raoul manages in a strangled gasp. "So, you are here to claim your title then?" He maintains the façade of formality, seeing how this man, this monster, this thing has calmed himself to speak to him! Not to mention that if not for this man, he would be rolling in his grave. Yet, Erik merely shakes his head.
"I but ask that you keep this matter completely silent. And also…" he continues, pulling out a small daguerrotype and fingering it lovingly, "that you never have any more contact with my wife. Do I make myself clear?"
"You—" Raoul starts, the anger in his eyes evident. Erik but gives a placid expression to the Vicomte's heated one, smirking very slightly
"Accept my terms, monsieur. It is but for the best of both of us."
Raoul shakes his head angrily, hands reaching out to strike Erik. Effortlessly, the hands are batted aside, and the blue eyed gaze of the heartbroken gazes into much older, and much more dangerous eyes that glitter with animalistic ferocity.
"You know nothing about her, Monsieur le Vicomte, not like I do. So I pray that you cease and desist all your wishes to sabotage my marriage, not to mention your foolish thoughts. You may consider me your rival, but all this while you have never considered Christine for who she was. All this while it was Little Lotte, Little Lotte your childhood sweetheart. And the exact words she used of you were that she THOUGHT, she but only thought you as her childhood sweetheart. So let her go. Let her make her choice."
"At least I'm not some accursed demon with a half face that stalks her behind mirrors." Raoul spat, although he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
"Do you really think so?" Erik retaliated, his voice laced with poison. "Be gone, Monsieur. I give you three days to think it over, and be noted, should you accept my offer I will bestow upon you the title of Comte, as well as other riches." The mask seemed to glow with a ethereal light as Erik fixated his cold gaze on Raoul's own faltering one, watching as the Vicomte retrieved his gloves that he had unknowingly removed and left on the table, striding across the floor to exit as if all of Hell was after him. And perhaps they were, with Erik's intelligent greenish-golden orbs following the retreating figure out into the night.
Christine squirmed in her chair, soon tiring of the chat with Madame Giry and Meg. Already, not even two hours into her conversations with them and she longed for the welcoming arms of her dark husband! Suggesting that they take a turn about the house, she rose from her seat to walk with them, hoping that somehow, she would find Erik. Where was her? It was most certainly mysterious. Already the evening had begun to set in, the sun falling to embrace the horizon with a passion she longed to feel from her beloved. She gave a small sigh, feigning weariness as an excuse to get away, when in actual fact she wanted to be left alone with her thoughts. Madame Giry couldn't fault the girl after all; she had been as such since she had even entered the Populaire, her head in the clouds with the tales of the Angel of Music. Since she was about a wee girl of ten, her heart had belonged to an angel, be it a man as now he was or a figment of the child's imagination.
Christine curled up in a ball on her bed, the bed she shared with Erik, letting the shell of the phoenix encase her. Winding up the music box, she watched the monkey with its fine Persian robes and the all-knowing gaze, as the song she so knew sung her to her lonely sleep.
Masquerade
Paper faces on parade
Hide your face so the world will never find you…
Christine rolled over in the bed, smashing almost instantly into a hard wall. Sleepily, she rubbed her eyes, barely croaking out Erik's name. He lay on his side, facing away from her, shirtless that his cruel scars were bared to her. Burying her face in his back, she nuzzled it, remembering his exotic scent, the spice of it all. She gently wrapped her legs around his form, clinging to him like a bear as she rested herself against him wholly, having missed him the evening before. Feeling thirsty and seeing that Erik was clearly in deep sleep, she rolled over, slowly getting out of bed to get a glass of water, taking the singular candle on the dressing table. As she walked down the steps, she bit her lip to stifle a soft gasp, a mass of bloodied white ruffled shirt lay at her feet, and beside it was Erik's coat. In the darkness barely lit by the candle, she could make out dark patches on the coat, and smelt the iron in the air from the garment in her hands. A pair of deep brown eyes suddenly was hovering over her, and a kindly and soft voice instructing her to drop the coat. Frightened, Christine did as she was told and fled to the kitchen, muttering a prayer frantically. She snuffed out the candle with trembling hands and replaced it with another longer one, only to meet those kindly brown eyes again. Realization struck her as she recognized Nadir, and it was only then she set down the candle after lighting the kitchen and followed the man, peppering him with questions about Erik. Where did they go? What happened? Was Erik alright? Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of her beloved Angel and husband being on the receiving end of any harm, even if he did deserve it. But no! He would not be deserving of any harm! He had promised her not to kill, not to get into these scruples again, hadn't he? And he was of the light now! Except, it was to be admitted that at times, a rein would need to be put on him to prevent him from returning to the darkness… Frustrated with Nadir's terse and uninformative replies, she snatched the candle and lit it once more, storming up the steps to find Erik, whom she hoped WAS the man in her bed, and not a farce nor a dummy….
And that is it. Another cliffie! :3
/runs happily