'Closer, My Darling'
Authors Note: We're slacking on the reviews, my sweets. I use them not for narcissistic gain, but instead for knowledge. I will admit, I didn't entirely have a dead set direction to take this in, and I find my own mind to be quite a bit sicker than that of the general population here. I use your encouragement as assurance that I am taking the story in a decent direction. Without them, I can only bring myself to guess and wander blindly through the labyrinth that is my imagination. Updating becomes slow when writers block happens, and I am most hoping to avoid that. On a side note, I will have you all know how terribly difficult it is writing Logan, since you never really hear him speak 'unofficially' enough to really get a good feel for his personality, so I was more or less forced to guess what a more "casual Logan" might sound like. You know, one who doesn't have the entire kingdom up his ass.
'Say hello to the pretty eyes,
Say hello to the deadliest lies.
You've got the looks, baby, I could die
You've got the looks
You've got a murder style
You've got a perfect skin,
With a Devil's grin.
You've got a perfect skin,
Eyes like sin'
It was a bright, periwinkle blue afternoon outside of the Bowerstone castle walls. The golden sun was shining brilliantly in the cloudless Albion sky, lending its light in through the windows, leaving traces of gentle beams that gracefully warmed the curtains and small sections of the castle floors. Everyone who made the castle a part of their daily routine seemed cheerful and positive, mirroring the pleasant weather that seeped in through the pores of the castle, seemingly relieved that the hanging overcast weather had finally relinquished its grip over the skies.
Everyone was optimistic it seemed with the exception of the Queen, who sat broodingly in her war room, preparing for her inevitable journey. It had been all too long since she had traveled without a small entourage following her, and it would be an even greater task convincing them not to do as much. Her late night trips to Reaver's manor were becoming suspicious, and she was all too aware that forcing her army of elite soldiers to stay behind would only make it worse. She had instead planned for a midday business meeting to discuss the ongoing donation to the treasury, although she realized that anyone with any sort of imagination at all would still reach the same conclusion. It was a consequence she would have to endure simply for her brother's sake. She only wished the entire situation over with and forgotten.
The head of Royal Guard hadn't been entirely too keen on allowing her Majesty out of his sight when she traveled. After all, if something were to befall her, it would fall upon his head. However, she reassured him that the chances of anything being able to overwhelm her were little to none, seeing as she almost single highhandedly led a violent rebellion against Albion's past monarch and was beyond expertly skilled in all manner of weaponry and will. He was reluctant but eventually submitted to her will. Not that he had much of a choice. She was the final say.
It was nearly 3 in the afternoon before she saddled her horse for her journey, kicking in a new pair of charcoal riding boots that rose to her knee over her black leather laced riding pants. She had debated wearing the royal blouse and crown on her trip versus just a normal yet expensive armored tunic. She eventually came to the conclusion that the less of her subjects that recognized her, the better, and the crown was an absolute dead give away, not to mention an acting homing beacon for bandits and all sorts of lowly marauders. So she stood instead in her deep violet highlander shirt and almost obscenely large belt that came with it. From afar, she would appear simply like another vagrant, although upon closer inspection, the clothing was far too finely crafted to be carelessly tossed in the hamper of any sort of vagabond. She felt no need to be formal any longer, so she carelessly tossed her raven locks into a messy riding bun, a few rebellious tresses immediately falling short.
The stable master had picked a fine ebony stallion for her ride. It was a large horse, bred precisely for speed as she had requested. It stomped its hoof anxiously in the dirt as she approached and placed her hand gently on its mane, petting it lightly in an attempt to soothe it. It gave in to her generosity, lowering its head. She lightly stroked its thick black hair as she awaited the stable master. He hurried out a few moments later, petting the horse on its hind side as he approached.
"A fine day for a ride is it not, Majesty?" He was a bald and bold man who was amicable enough, though he had a small, fracture like scar that ran down the uppermost of his forehead, giving the impression that his skin was cracked open like a poorly housed china doll.
"I should certainly hope so." The Queen wasn't feeling too particularly chatty on this day, only wishing to discuss the prospect of a new safe house with her brother, and of course, collect her reward for her attendance at Reaver's party. She longed for the day that her life could continue to normal, whatever 'normal' may be for a monarch. Endless streams of mail, complaints, court sessions, advisory meetings... On second though, part of her wanted to run off and join Lambert and Pinch in their rather unsuccessful acting troupe.
"Aye, Albion has seen it's fair share of harsh weather lately. M' pa used to say it was an omen of sorts when he was a sailor down in Bloodstone. There's a strong wind in the distance, the likes of which is probably harboring fierce storm, and soon. I hope you're planning on returning home quickly." His voice was stern as he adjusted the various buckles and latches on her horses saddle. It was several moments before he noticed her staring at him with a rather quizzical expression.
"Of course, it's all just ol' sailor talk, madam. Runs in m' blood. We all worry about you, that's all. Not safe to be riding the roads on a black moon night. The winds are treacherous, the rain is blinding, and all sorts of devils dance in the shadows." He took her hand and hoisted her onto the saddle.
"There is wisdom in your words. Thank you, horse master, for your concern. It has been noted." She gave him a quick smile as her steed sped away down the hard cobble stone streets. "Rather the devil I know than the devil I don't." She huffed to herself, setting off toward what might as well be the gates of Hell.
Her trip was speedy and uneventful, taking place over the course of no more than an hour or two. By the time she arrived at the posted gates, she felt her horse was feeling rather unforgiving and he huffed and kicked his way inside, no doubt not accustomed to making so far a journey in so short of a time. She gave him a sympathetic look, patting him on the side of his neck as the guard opened the gateway for her and took the horse by the reigns to lead him inside, stopping just short of the stairs leading to the entry way.
She climbed off the large, black beast who simply snorted in response, pulling his head slightly away and slightly dragging the guard with him.
"Make sure he's very well taken care of. He's had a long day today, and he deserves all the finest supplies available. The crown shall pay for whatever items he requires from Reaver's stocks." She stroked his mane, attempting to soothe the spirited equine's foul temper.
"Absolutely madam." The nameless guard gave her a quick solute before leading the bronco off which it violently protested, shaking it's head fiercely and forcing it's hooves into the ground.
'Well, they do say that animals can sense evil, and this is the closest place to pure immorality in all of Albion.' She shook her head, feeling slightly sorry for the horse, and even sorrier for whomever was going to be grooming it.
Turning her mind from her troubled steed, she began steadily climbing the steps upward toward the French styled double doors that held the entrance to the estate that she had seen more times this week than she would have been comfortable acknowledging in a life time. She took a deep, unrelenting sigh as she knocked her fist against the glass, thankful only for the few moments of silence before she entered the manor.
A small, disheveled looking young man with vibrant red hair came to answer the door, though he seemed to make a point to hide his face until the last moment. When he finally revealed it, the Queen couldn't help but gasp.
"Barry? Barry Hatch? You're alive? But I watched you get mauled by a balverine. I was there when Reaver allowed you die!" She managed to stutter the sentence out, far beyond startled to see him breathing, let alone walking and working. He only let out a chuckle, which seemed to pain him.
He looked essentially the same, his violent ginger hair still styled in the same awkward style it had been when they had met previously, but he had a trio of flesh colored scars running down the right side of his face and another small one on the left of his lower chin. His right eye seemed to have lost a small amount of it's brown pigment, turning into more of a faded gray, but his left eye was still very much blue. She had noted his multicolored eyes the first time they met, along with his seemingly debilitating speech impediment. It seemed this poor man was blight with misfortune.
"Well, it would seem that when you get bitten by a bawverine, you mo'e or less turn into one. It's awight though, we awe wild in bed!" He let out another vicious laugh, this time grabbing his ribs in pain. Seraphina stood in the doorway, staring at him in absolute horror. Even in the face of monstrosity, Barry still managed to find the time to make inappropriate jokes. "Don't wowwy though, you' Highness. It's mowe than contwollable with cewtain medicines." He bowed low before her, still grasping his rib. She nodded her head toward him, still slightly in awe of the fact that he had even survived.
"Now, if you'll come wight this way, Master Weavah will see you. You'll fowgive me if I move a tad slow, I'm still in the 'ealing pwocess. It's a slow woad to wecovery awfa a beatin' like that. Least she coulda done is kissed me fiwst. We wasn't even mawwied and she still beat me into submission. I usually like that in a woman." He sent her a small suggestive smile.
"You are one very strange man, Barry Hatch." Her voice was still bewildered. She would have to have a word with Reaver and make sure his 'illness' was truly under control. She couldn't have a speech impeded, ginger, lycanthrope butler running rampantly around and eating nobles by the light of the moon.
He led her down a few hallways, gimping slightly as he did but never the less smiling his slimy smile until they reached yet another grand door in the mansion. He bowed again, holding his hand before the door, no doubt waiting for her to knock. She gave him a small but confused smile as she lightly rapped her knuckles on the oak door.
"And who might that be?" Reaver's deep, melodic voice resounded from the other side of the door.
"The Queen is hew to see you, Masta' Weavah." Barry leaned his head toward the door slightly.
"Oh, but of course!" She heard the tapping of a cane on wood and Barry quickly turned the handle to reveal Reaver lounging in a divan in front of a massive fire place. Barry pushed her into the room almost too excitedly and gave a deep bow to Reaver.
"Do you need anything? A bottle of wine, pewhaps some owderves?" Barry clasped his hands together manically and Seraphina eyed him suspiciously.
"Not now, Barry. Although I assure you I shall rouse you should we need any further service. You may take your leave now." Reaver turned from him and waved him off.
"I'll be wight outside the doow if you need anything, mista." Barry gave another deep bow.
"Barry, if I so much as take one step outside this room and you are anywhere near the door, I shall throw you back to the balverines. I believe the chances of surviving two rounds with the balverine mistress are quite slim, and as I recall, she played a little too roughly last time for even your tastes." Reaver gave him a distinct look and Barry hobbled out of the room as fast as his slightly crippled legs would carry him, shutting the door behind him.
"Useless, absolutely useless. I should have fired that man when he applied for sick leave in the from of bleeding out all over my newly polished floor." Reaver gave a small scowl. The Queen stood motionless for a moment before deciding that it was probably best to not think any longer on what he just said.
"How is he... alive?" She couldn't bring herself to ask any more than that. There were far too many questions she needed answers to and not nearly enough patience to delve into the topic.
"My dear, you seem to know so little about those creatures that you mercilessly slaughtered in my home! You see, when a balverine bites you, you take on some of its, shall we say, 'properties'. The transformation begins immediately after the bite, although you won't fully transform for several hours, and you essentially go on a raving blood lust until such a time allows you to return to human form. After that, you shall transform, typically against your will, every full moon. After enough time spent as one of those beasts, you eventually begin to be able to control the transformations, although the craving for blood seems to be relentless." He stated matter of factually, leaning back in the chair and placing his hands on his cane.
"But I thought he was dead. Many, many people have died from a balverine mauling without ever transforming into one. How is it that he survived? He lost so much blood." Despite his lesson on balverine law, she was still quite confused.
"Oh, like hell I was letting that slippery bastard tarnish my home and not pay for it. Out of the kindness of my heart, I had him properly bandaged, thrown in the pit of misfortune until his little 'fit' was quite finished, and then promptly went about explaining to him how he was to work off the grievous trespass he had made. He was, of course, more than happy to oblige." Reaver held a lofty smile as he explained exploiting his butler.
"I haven't seen him working the manor before. You wouldn't happen to be letting him out to dine, would you?" She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Oh my dear Queen, as charmed as I am that you have spent enough time with me to get rather acquainted with my staff, you do have to understand that Barry is in a rather fragile state. He cannot handle the type of excitement that parties and drinking bring any longer. His emotions are rather.. uncontrollable. So when the time comes that I bring company, he is left to his own devices working where we are not. However, it seems that since you have indeed been spending rather large amounts of time here, I thought it was time that he was able to reveal himself to allow you to get more comfortable with the manor." An arrogant look spread across his features.
"I have absolutely no intentions of getting comfortable here, Reaver." She could feel her lip begin to twitch lightly as she looked on him in irritation.
"Yes, well, that is of course your choice, but seeing as the circumstances stand as they are..." He looked off. "I am, of course, housing your brother at my own risk. I do believe that it's only polite we get further acquainted. At least then I could justify the action as a 'favor for a close friend', where as it is right now, I'm not even entirely sure where this whole situation sits, or how long it shall hold up." He placed his hand thoughtfully to his chin. She released a heavy grunt, instinctively crossing her arms over her chest.
We'll talk more on this later, Reaver. Where is my brother?" Her tone laced with impatience.
"Otherwise occupied." He waved his hand dramatically in the air. She furrowed her brow, a thick sneer overtaking her features.
"Otherwise occupied? He sent me a letter confirming this time, and you tell me he is otherwise occupied? I must say I trust his word over yours." She tapped her foot impatiently on the wood, which Reaver quickly mimicked with his cane.
"Well, normally I pride myself on being a rather strict confidante but since you insist upon knowing, he has holed himself up inside my library and simply refuses to let anyone in. He always seems to be barring himself inside one room or another, be it the war room at the castle or the library here at my very own home. So unsociable, if you ask me." He leaned forward, as if gossiping.
"He will let me in." She turned toward the door.
"Yes, that might be true, but I figured we might take this time null of his presence to discuss the guidelines of my donation." He placed his hands innocently on top of his entwined fingertips which rested upon the hilt of his cane. "And might I say that royal indigo is very much your color. Brings out the brilliant hues of turquoise in your eyes."
"Guidelines? I already attended your bloody ball like we agreed upon, what more could you possibly want?" Her eyes widened and she threw her hands in the air, beyond frustrated. It wasn't entirely true that she hadn't seen this coming however.
"Yes, well, it's quite simple really. The changes are of course in light of certain events and I have the perfect proposal that shall indeed benefit us both, not that you have ever heeded my proposals at all before. I still think the orphanage would make a much better brothel, but that is a discussion for another time." Reaver pointed politely.
"Certain events." She blinked at him several times, her face blank as she sat for several moments. "Certain events." She repeated, her face unchanging. "Reaver, I am going to strangle you with my bare hands one of these days, I swear it. You cannot even begin to contemplate the depths of frustration you arouse in me." She placed her hand across her forehead and placed the other one on her hip, holding back the urge to run him through with her sword.
"Be careful where you place those hands on other people, your Majesty. You never quite know what it can do to a man like myself. As for the frustration, I assure you there are many more pleasurable things that I can arouse within you." He leaned forward even closer, and even though she was still halfway across the room, she felt the sense of uneasiness in her stomach.
"The only thing you're arousing is a blood lust." She did her best to shrug off his comment.
"Well, that's one step closer than we were before." He raised himself from the chair, taking slow, sultry steps toward her. "Blood lust is indeed a form of lust, and there is a very, very fine line between total hatred and absolute desire." He stopped just short of her, the toes of his boots lightly gracing hers. He placed his hand on her cheek and maneuvered her face upward to look at his, peering into her eyes. He stood much taller than she, towering over her like a mere child and intimidating her with his overstepping stature.
She was caught in a whirlwind of emotion, too dumbstruck and angry to even move, but she knew she had mere seconds before this took a turn for the worst. She slowly reached her arm down and placed her hand on the hilt of her dagger, ready to plunge when necessary. He moved his face only centimeters closer to hers and she tightened her grip on the handle before he spoke.
"Now, about the treasury."