#bugs brave & bold stance!

[absentmoon]

making fun of people for liking popular characters. is STUPID!

[chocoluckchipz]

A Bride for the Prince - 14

A03  ~ < Previous  ~  Next >

Lady Volpina’s shriek echoing through the hallways was enough to send any king running as far away as he could.

“We should’ve taken the main hallway, Father,” Adrien groaned behind him. “I’m not in the mood to deal with another of her tantrums.”

“Main hallways are littered with people preparing for your birthday celebration, and it’s less of a hassle avoiding them than avoiding Lady Volpina.”

“Right,” Adrien sighed. “Well, if we walk by fast, hopefully, she won’t notice us.”

And that was exactly what Gabriel had been planning to do, instantly quickening his steps. Yet, as he was passing the slightly open door to the room that the voices were coming from, the words of another lady made him halt in his spot.

“… why don’t you be quiet long enough for Lady Bug to answer. For it seems that she has a far different view on staff than us.”

Gabriel paused at the confident, assertive voice talking about one of the two girls on Adrien’s shortlist of potential brides. Interesting. He walked closer and glanced inside only to see that it was Lady Riposte who was talking, the other girl that caught his son’s attention. She was the perfect candidate for the Queen’s title in Gabriel’s opinion. A competent lady from a distinguished family who, as far as he’d heard, shared a lot of his own values and beliefs.

“Father?” Adrien whispered behind his shoulder. “We should move along before they see us.”

Gabriel raised his finger to shush Adrien and listened. Lady Bug was speaking, and with every word, his heart clenched. He swallowed. It couldn’t be. These words and these beliefs… This exact point of view… He knew it was possible for others of a noble descent to hold those opinions, but it was so rare, he could hardly believe his ears. He quietly stepped into the room to make sure it was Lady Bug who was speaking and not the grief and longing in his heart giving him hallucinations.

“Compassion can be a weakness,” Lady Riposte said, none of the ladies noticing Gabriel’s presence as they continued their discussion. “Show too much and the kingdom will suffer. You must act logically to lead your kingdom the best way possible for all.”

“But how can you possibly know the best way if you do not care to know what those of the kingdom are experiencing?” Lady Bug countered.

“Their needs are ever-changing.”

Gabriel held his breath.

“Having the ability to understand the commoners you rule over is a talent only acquired through associating with those below your rank. Otherwise, how else would you know you are ruling effectively if those you are ruling don’t tell you?”

Gabriel sucked in the air, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. It was incomprehensible, but he couldn’t deny what he heard with his own ears and what he’d seen with his own eyes. No wonder Adrien liked this girl. If not for the fact that she was clearly a different person, Gabriel would’ve thought he’d just gone back in time and witnessed his beloved Emilie serve Lady Bourgeois her ass on a platter, wrapped in a bow.

Thankfully, Lady Riposte took it with more dignity than Andre’s wife ever could. Gabriel hoped he could say the same about Lady Volpina, but the reality was different as the girl snapped and proceeded to verbally attack Lady Bug. Staying as quiet as he could, Gabriel eagerly watched, curious how Lady Bug would handle the brat.

She didn’t disappoint as she managed the situation beautifully and with grace, just the way his Emilie always did. Gabriel glanced back at Adrien. The proud smirk on his son’s face was hard to miss. So was the lovesick warmth in his eyes. It seemed to him his son had made his choice already.

The clock on the wall chimed six, and Lady Bug stood up to leave. She gathered her embroidery, not giving Lady Volpina a chance to retaliate and headed towards them. A confident smile on her lips, a fire burning in her eyes, Lady Bug walked proudly towards the door, halting her steps as soon as she’d noticed their presence.

“Your Majesty! Your Highness.” Lady Bug instantly curtsied before the King and the Prince, her face red.

Gabriel nodded.

“Oh! Your Majesty. And Your Highness,” Lady Volpina cut in, her smile excessively fake as she came from behind Lady Bug. “To what do we owe the honour?” She batted her eyelashes at them, curtsying lower than was appropriate, no doubt trying to show off her overexposed bosom.

Gabriel pressed his lips into a thin line. How did this person even dare to think she was suitable to become a Queen?

“Lady Volpina,” he said, his patience with her wearing thin. “I tend to encourage people of higher ranking to ignore snide remarks when it comes to people’s unsolicited judgement of you. However, in this case, it might behoove you to listen for once.”

With those words, he turned away and marched off down the hallway, leaving not only the trio of girls but his son in shocked silence.

***

Adrien knew his father could be harsh and could humiliate anyone with a single word. Yet, he’d never seen him exercising that ability on anyone who wasn’t his enemy and especially not on anyone belonging to the families that formed his legislature, which Lady Volpina’s family was. However, even his father had his limits, and Adrien was thrilled to have witnessed him not holding back in this particular situation. Honestly, it was rather mesmerizing and highly satisfying to watch Lady Volpina squirm as Gabriel departed the room. Her face red, she clenched her fists, scrambling to compose herself as Adrien glanced her way. Marinette and Lady Riposte could hardly contain their giggles. Adrien would’ve gladly joined them, but, alas, his father wanted his presence at the dinner tonight, so Adrien nodded to the ladies, wishing them a lovely evening, and followed Gabriel’s footsteps.

“That was unexpected,” he said, catching up. “You should’ve seen her face after you left.”

“That was nothing to be proud of,” Gabriel replied. “As a king, I should’ve had more composure, but honestly, I’m rather tired of her presence. Her and her cousin’s Duke Barbot. Thankfully, I won’t have to see them daily anymore soon.”

“I’m eager for that day to come as well.”

They walked in silence for a few moments when Gabriel asked, “Have you made your choice yet? You do realize your birthday is tomorrow? Meaning you must choose a bride before the day ends.”

“I know,” Adrien said, an anxious feeling rising in his gut. He’d gone through most of the laws and regulations with only a few hours work left at most which he’d already planned to complete tonight after dinner. So far, he’d found nothing that could’ve helped him, apart from the lack of a list of eligible ranks for marriage for royalty in general. If it’d come to worst, that might be his only ploy because if the law didn’t specify the ranks and titles royals were allowed to marry, then who was to say he couldn’t marry into any social status, even a commoner one?

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll decide by tomorrow.”

Gabriel scoffed. “It’s plainly obvious you prefer one girl over the other.”

Adrien tensed. He couldn’t put Marinette in the middle of attention yet. Not until he had all the cards in his hands. “You must be mistaken, Father—”

“You know, son,” Gabriel stopped and turned to face him. “I’ve never duelled for your mother, even though sometimes I wish I would have. You, on the other hand, have broken our family’s perfect record without a second thought to defend a woman you are not even betrothed to. Although, after witnessing her just now, I’m certain she didn’t need you to do that. She can perfectly take care of herself. Beautifully and with the grace of a queen, at that. I must admit, I prefer the lineage, family standing, views, and values of Lady Riposte, but who am I to tell you that when I married a woman of a lower-rank nobility who believed the same things as your Lady Bug? So, you do what your heart tells you.”

Adrien held his breath, braving to voice his thoughts only after his father turned to resume his walk. “So, you approve? If I were to choose Lady Bug, and she’ll have me, would you approve of our union?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I already approved of all the ladies in that group, didn’t I?”

Adrien shifted his eyes to the side, nervously chuckling. “Yes. Of course. Never mind, I’m just worried she won’t accept me, so I didn’t—”

“Nonsense,” Gabriel scoffed. “There isn’t a girl in that group who wouldn’t accept your proposal. You’re the Prince. They cannot refuse you.”

Adrien frowned. “That’s not my stance on that. I don’t want a wife to lord over. I want a partner and a friend. An equal. And I want a marriage where we both would be happy and comfortable and loved. I want what you and mother had, and something like that can’t be built without my bride wanting to marry me because of her feelings for me, not because of her love for my title. When I propose, I’ll be asking her as a man, not as a Prince. I’ll be giving her a choice, not an order.”

“And do you think this Lady Bug loves you for who you are?”

Adrien couldn't help a smile, remembering Marinette’s and his encounter at the library. She’d begged the Prince to withhold his attention, admitting to loving another man, a man that, unbeknownst to her, was right in front of her. Not a lot of women would do that, none from the group of the ladies in the running to become his wife. And considering his title and her position, doing so was rather bold of Marinette, which gave him faith her feelings towards him were genuine, something a man of his statue rarely encountered and treasured when he did. “I know she does.”

“Then what are you nervous about?”

His face saddened as he shifted his sight to the side. He couldn’t tell his father yet that he could be the one standing in the way of Marinette’s and his happiness, so Adrien voiced the other reason that haunted his mind. “Her loving me doesn’t necessarily mean she’d want to marry me since, as you know, I come with responsibilities and complications.”

Adrien could feel his father rolling his eyes as he continued to walk in front of him. “Sometimes, you’re ridiculous, Adrien. If she loves you as much as you seemed to believe she does, then she’ll say Yes. If she doesn’t, then you have plenty of others to choose from, but by the end of the day tomorrow you must present a bride to the kingdom’s legislature.”

“Yes, Father,” Adrien mumbled and fell quiet.

They soon reached the dining room, and conversation shifted into a different direction, yet throughout their dinner, Adrien couldn’t stop obsessing over the thought that his father approved of Marinette. He thought she’d been worthy of a Queen’s title based on her actions alone, so maybe they had a better chance to be together than Adrien had thought they did. It made him anxious to go finish his research to find out if those last few books had anything to help him or at least nothing to stop him; anxious to behold his Father’s reaction when he’d reveal he’s fallen in love with and wanted to marry a commoner; anxious to finally take that mask off before Marinette and beg her to marry him. He was anxious for her answer. So anxious it made him nauseous.

“I don’t feel hungry tonight,” Adrien said only fifteen minutes into the meal. “Would you excuse me, Father?”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow, looked at his untouched plate and nodded. “Get some sleep. You must look your best tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Adrien said, standing up. He bowed and departed, heading straight for the library. The faster he’d get through this, the better, and if the food didn’t sit right with him at this moment, why should he waste his time on dinner?

***

His research done, Adrien soaked in his bath, hope warming him more than hot water. He let out a sigh, sinking deeper into the tub. Tomorrow was so close yet so far away. He wondered how it’d go. Would his arguments be enough to convince his father? Would he be allowed—

“Adrien? You here?” Nino knocked on the servant’s entrance door.

“Yeah. Come in. Keep in mind I’m bathing.”

The door creaked open, and Nino slipped in, stopping behind the screen servants used as to not look at Adrien.

“Your coming in from that door means only one thing,” Adrien teased. “How was your date with Alya?”

“Fantastic,” Nino replied. “And I’ve got your answer. About Marinette’s feelings.”

Adrien perked. “And what is it?”

Nino sighed. “Alya said one has to be blind not to see that Marinette’s crushing hard on the Prince and is disgustingly, deeply in love with the guard, which may I mention causes her a lot of turmoil.”

Adrien grinned, his chest filling.

“And don’t you feel happy!” Nino snapped on the other side. “You should be ashamed of yourself. The poor girl is hardly sleeping these days, worrying herself sick, and it’s all your fault.”

“I’ll make sure to properly apologize and compensate her for all the troubles,” Adrien replied, sinking deeper into the water, a lovesick grin shining brightly on his face. “Thank you for confirming, though.”

“Confirming?”

“Yup. I already knew.”

“What? How? Don’t tell me you did something stupid and confessed, Adrien!”

“No, I didn’t. Don’t worry.” He chuckled. “But she did.”

“What?”

“Lady Bug asked the Prince to stop his advances because she was in love with someone else. And when the Prince asked if that someone else was Adrien, she admitted it.”

Nino swore under his breath. “I still think it’s too early to celebrate. What if your father won’t approve? Anything helpful in your research?”

“Only that there are no lists of titles I’m allowed to marry and a few cases of royalty marrying a low-ranking nobility, including my father.”

“But no commoners?”

“No commoners,” Adrien sighed. “Still. I say if the law doesn’t forbid it, the King can’t either.”

“The law may not forbid it, but you know how keen your father is on keeping the traditions, and the kingdom’s traditions say you shall marry nobility.”

“I’ll take my chances. She’s worth fighting for, and this is the only thing I can do here. Unless you can suggest something else?”

“I wish I could,” Nino sighed. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“I’ll go to Father first thing in the morning and tell him everything. Once I have his approval, I’ll go to Marinette.”

“And if you won’t get his approval?”

Adrien fell quiet. “Don’t know,” he eventually responded. “I haven’t thought about that much.”

“You know you’ll have to choose someone, regardless of your father’s decision on Marinette?”

Adrien closed his eyes, his chest tightening. “Thank you for being supportive Nino. Love how optimistic you are.”

“Do you think I enjoy it?” Nino scoffed. “Adrien, I warned you from the start to be careful, but did you listen? You’ve always tread your own path, and I supported you while I could, but I think it’s time for both of us to face reality. You are a prince, Adrien. You have a duty and responsibility to your country and people. Your life isn’t yours as much as you might want. And I know this is unfair, and I wish I could change it for you, but I can’t and… I don’t know!” Nino threw his hands up in the air. “This whole situation sucks, and I just feel so helpless to do anything. You’re my best friend, Adrien. My job is to protect you, but what am I supposed to do now? How do you protect someone from breaking their heart?”

Adrien said nothing, clenching his fists. As much as it pained him to admit, Nino was speaking the truth. His life wasn’t so much about him as it was doing what was best for his country.

“I do root for you two,” Nino added quietly. “And I do pray you can be together. I wish I could do anything to help. You know that, right? But I just… I just think you should consider the not-so-happy outcome as well, so if it happens, it’ll be less of a blow.”

Adrien said nothing. He knew Nino was right. There was a huge possibility…

Ugh!

Who was he trying to fool? His father would forbid him to even think about Marinette once the truth would be out. Adrien was just too much of a naive romantic and an optimist—courtesy of his mother’s influence—to see the reality. He sat up in his bath and closed his eyes. “Can you tell my butler I’ll be out of here in a few minutes?”

“Adrien—”

“Please, Nino,” Adrien said, his voice cracking. “I understand everything. I know you care and want to help, but… I’d like to be alone right now.”

“Alright. Can I just suggest, though, that if the worst possible scenario happens, I think Marinette deserves to find out the truth about you before the bride selection happens? Preferably in private and from you personally. It’ll devastate her to see you getting engaged to someone else without knowing the whole story.”

With no more words, Nino walked out. Adrien clenched his fists, jaw tightening as he grit his teeth together. He shouldn’t assume the worst just yet. He shouldn't, no matter how likely it was to happen. Swiftly, he got out of the bath and dressed from the waist down, heading to his bedroom chamber.

The moment he closed the door behind himself, someone grabbed hold of him before he could react. His eyes bulging, Adrien froze in his place, sucking in a breath at the feeling of a woman’s body pressed against his back. What was going on and who the hell was she and how did she get in here?

“My Prince,” a woman behind him purred.

Adrien cringed.

Lila?

Her voice dripping with seduction, she slowly petted his chest. “You’ve finally graced me with your presence. How kind of you. I should reward Your Highness for such consideration. It’d be awfully impolite of me if I didn’t.”

Shaking the shock away, Adrien pulled Lila’s hands off himself, escaping her clutches, but didn't let go of her wrists, trying to keep her a reasonable distance away from himself. “What are you doing here, Lady Volpina? How did you get in? Weren’t there guards at the door?”

“Oh, yes, they were there, my Prince,” Lila said, leaning closer, batting her eyelashes at him. “But once they’ve learned I was here by your order, they let me in and promised not to let anyone else interrupt us.”

“By my... what?” In his confusion, he made the mistake of loosening his hold, giving Lila a chance to slip her hands out of his.

“Of course, you did, silly.” Lila stepped closer, trying to reach forward to run her fingers across his chest, only for Adrien to move away again. “Wasn’t it you who said after our last meeting that you were looking forward to seeing me again soon? I’ve waited for days—” She swooned so artificially, shivers ran up Adrien’s spine. “—and seeing as tomorrow’s the big day, I’m afraid tonight is our last chance for that meeting. So here I am, my Prince. All of me. Just for you. Any way you want.” Smiling seductively, she leaned closer, stopping only mere inches away from Adrien.

He bent backwards. “Lady Volpina. I’m afraid—”

“Ah, don’t be shy, my Prince.” Her eyes half-lidded, Lila cocked her head to the side, puffing out her chest, as she crooned further. “All I want is to talk about how perfect we’ll be together, how amazing of a wife I’ll be to you, how much love and affection I can give you, my Prince. Believe me, you won’t regret your choice. I know how to satisfy a man the way no other woman would ever be able to. You’ll be happy with me. That I can promise you, Your Highness.”

Swaying her hips, she moved closer, Adrien backtracking her every step. She reached forward, running her finger down his chest. “I heard you want children, right? I’ll bear you all the children you’ll desire, Adrien. Can’t you just see them already? How perfect they’d be? Little heirs and heiresses to the throne.”

She smirked. It sent goosebumps down Adrien’s skin as Lila continued. “With our combined beauty, our exceptional physiques—speaking of which,” she murmured with a smirk, reaching for Adrien’s face. “I suppose the rumours of your facial mutilation were a hoax? You’re very good-looking for someone who supposedly endured a horrific accident, my Prince. Why did you need to wear that awful mask all the time?”

Adrien pried her hand off his face. His voice stern, he said, “I have my reasons for what I do. That aside, I’m afraid you misinterpreted my words and my intentions, Lady Volpina. There is a difference between being polite and meaning things. Saying I was looking forward to our next meeting didn’t mean I’d be actually happy to see you again, but it’s polite to say when parting with a lady and is a requirement for someone of my statue. I’m sure you know that.”

Lila dramatically gasped. “Are you implying you didn’t want to see me, my Prince? Oh, but I’m certain you’ll change your mind once I’ll show you my outfit.” Momentarily, she untied tassels of her robe and let it drop to the floor, revealing next to nothing underneath with even what little she wore being see-through.

Adrien snapped his eyes closed and turned away. “Lila, please. Dress up and leave. I don’t want any troubles for any of us.”

“What troubles are we talking about here?” She suddenly was right in front of him, her hands, her fingers running across his bare chest. “I’m sure there are some we can indulge in—”

“No, we can’t.” Adrien backed away with his eyes closed, immediately bumping into a wall table.

Lila followed. “My Prince, why are you so flustered? Is this because of a little me?”

Adrien creaked open his eyes and scanned the area, avoiding looking at Lila as much as possible. He couldn’t go back to his bath chamber. Per his own order, the servants must be already there, taking care of his bathwater. His jumping out from his bedroom half-naked with an even less dressed Lila behind might give them the wrong idea and start rumours he didn’t need right now. Exiting through his front door would yield the same results, seeing as the guards were always there…

Actually, never mind. Adrien pressed his lips together. Exorcising Lila the same way she came in was probably his best option right now. He’d shove her out, give the guards a good talk about letting people into his private quarters without an invitation and clear his name and reputation. He tilted his head to glance at the door, looking for the best way to set his plan in motion.

“Oh, didn’t I mention,” Lila murmured, catching his line of sight. “That not wanting anyone to interrupt us, I’ve locked the door. I found the key in the drawer of that table by the wall. However, unfortunately,” she sighed dramatically. “The key slipped out of my hand and fell out of the window while I stargazed waiting for you, my Prince.”

Adrien growled, closing his eyes shut. That hussy! If he hadn’t known Theo and Lila were related, he’d sure suspect something by now.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” Lila clung to him, pressing her barely covered chest to his, her arms wrapping around his torso. “I’m just a little clumsy, and the way I feel about you doesn’t help me…”

Trapped against the wall, Adrien got hold of Lila’s shoulders this time and pushed her back. Then, he tuned out the nonsense Lila continued to blubber and concentrated on searching for a safe exit strategy. One thing was clear: he couldn’t afford a scandal right now. Not when he was about to beg his father to let him marry a commoner. And that meant Adrien had to get rid of Lila without servants noticing or at least without anyone having the least of a reason to believe something transpired between them.

Shouting or calling for guards wasn’t an option considering the state of undress and intimate position they both were in at this moment. Not to mention the door was locked and who knew where that key really was. The only other door leading to the bath chamber was out of the question as well… His eyes fell on a balcony door. He couldn’t jump out of the window, no matter how much he wanted to do that right now: his apartment was a little too high in the building for that, and he wanted to stay alive so he could be with Marinette.

But! He could go up to the roof from his balcony! He’d done it before. That was a valid option. He only needed to get the clinging hussy off himself so he could get to that balcony.

“You know what? I think you’re right,” he said, faking his best smile.

“Of course, I am,” Lila purred, leaning closer. “Should we move to a more comfortable place to elaborate?”

“Absolutely,” Adrien nodded, taking a step aside and pulling his hands away from her. “Let me just close the windows, so no one eavesdrops. We wouldn’t want anyone to overhear our secrets, now would we?”

“I have no secrets, my Prince.” She weaved her arms around his torso again. “And it’s awfully hot. If you close the windows, we’ll die of heat.”

Adrien swallowed but mustered a smile, untangling Lila from himself once more. “We could always take the layers off to keep cool.”

Lila’s eyes widened, her lips spread in a victorious smirk. “I like your way of thinking, my Prince. I’m glad we’re on the same page at last.”

“Yes. I’m happy we’re finally getting somewhere as well,” Adrien said, taking a few steps away to the closest window. Lila followed. Adrien pressed his lips together. He had to win some distance or his only exit opportunity might be compromised. “So tell me,” he asked, closing the window. “What place would you want us to take this conversation to?”

Lila looked around ceremonially, walked to his bed, and sat down, leaning on her arms, exposing more of her chest in the process. “I rather like this one. It is spacious and comfortable. Just perfect.”

“Great choice.” Adrien nodded, closing the next window. A few more steps. He was so close. Just keep up the charade a little longer. “And what topic shall we start off?”

“I’m hot already,” Lila said, lightly pushing the strap of her nightgown down. Her sultry look travelled to her shoulder as she let her fingers run over her breasts. “Why don’t we talk about that, my Prince?”

“I’d rather not,” Adrien said as he reached the balcony doors. Quickly, he got outside and closed the doors. Jumping on a banister, Adrien grabbed the nearest ledge and pulled himself up. He continued climbing upwards until he was safely on a roof, just in time for Lila to scramble onto his balcony.

“Au revoir.” Adrien saluted and ran as fast and as far away as he could. In a few minutes, he hid behind one of the towers, pondering on what his next actions should be, ultimately deciding that going back through his front door would be the best option. He could play ignorant and pretend he wasn’t in the room all this time in the first place, playing up the surprise of finding Lila inside. That probably was his best option despite Nino and his servants knowing full well he’d spent the last half an hour in his bathroom chamber just now. He supposed Nino would have his back once explained the situation, and if Nino was on his side, the rest would follow because Nino was a saint and couldn’t lie to save his soul. Everybody knew that.

His mind made up, Adrien stood up to execute his plan, only for his eyes to be drawn to another balcony across from the place he’d hidden at. Marinette’s light was still on. She must be trying to relax after a hard day and that confrontation with Lady Riposte and Lady Volpina. Knowing her, however, she was probably freaking out because of tomorrow. Adrien paused. Maybe, he could swing by while he’s here just to say Hello and see how she was doing? If he’d be quick, he was sure everything would be fine. He hesitated only for a few moments and then, throwing the rational part of his brain aside, Adrien headed away from his quarters into direction his heart was taking him.

He didn’t bother to go down until he’d reach a spot just above Marinette’s room. A few quick tricks and Adrien landed on her balcony. He peeked in, a smile splitting his lips as soon as he caught a glance of Marinette sketching something in her album. His heart swelled. She looked absolutely lovely.

Adrien knocked. Marinette stirred, looking around for the source of the sound. Adrien knocked again, and once she spotted him, waved. She gaped at him for a moment before setting her album down and heading his way.

“What are you doing?” Marinette whispered, her face flushed, as she forced herself to look away. “Where’s your shirt, Adrien?”

“Oh, right,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I was in a hurry. Didn’t have time to put it on.”

“In a hurry? What… nevermind. Wait here,” she said and dashed inside, coming out a few moments later with a cloak. “Here. Put this on. Save yourself some decency.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” He smiled, swaddling himself in a garment that smelled so much like her.

“Do you often run around shirtless?”

He shook his head. “Only when I see rats in my room and have to escape as soon as I can.”

Marinette squeaked, eyes widening. “There are rats in the castle?”

“Yup. Huge ones.” Adrien chuckled. “But don’t worry. They don’t visit lovely ladies.”

She frowned, her brows furrowing cutely in confusion. “How can rats know who lives in a room: a lovely lady or an overgrown man-child who can't handle them?”

Adrien laughed. “The rats nowadays are extremely smart and sneaky, my Lady,” he said with a wink. “But enough about them. How are you? I’ve heard you’ve had quite a day, and that you served someone their rear on a platter.”

Marinette grinned. “I did. I still can’t believe it, but it feels incredible. Even the King and the Prince were there, and I dare to say they agreed with me.”

“I know for sure they did. Heard from a proven source that the King said, and I quote ‘She handled it with a grace of a Queen’. How about that?”

Marinette rolled her eyes despite the blush rapidly spreading on her cheeks. “Well, I wouldn’t put ‘grace’ or ‘Queen’ in one sentence with myself, but I do dare to think I’m getting the hang of this whole ‘being noble’ business.”

“And you’re quite good at it already,” Adrien purred, finding her hand and placing a lingering kiss on top of it. “You’re amazing, Marinette.”

Her face crimson, Marinette nervously giggled. “You know, if I’d been back home, I’d celebrate this with some eclairs and hot chocolate.”

Adrien paused. He had to go back to “catch” Lila in his room. But then, it was, probably, already too late. Lila was smarter than to simply sit around, waiting to be caught. So, it really didn’t matter if he went back now or later. Therefore…

“You know, maybe we should celebrate?”

Marinette’s eyes sparkled. “You think so?”

“Yup. Get ready, while I’ll go steal something from the kitchen. I’ll knock at the door as usual.”

Marinette grinned. “Alright. And get a shirt for yourself while you are at it.”

“Of course.” Adrien saluted and went down from her balcony to the ground. Taking Marinette out to celebrate her victory was a much better way to spend his evening than dealing with Lila. So, he’d just ignore the hussy for now and enjoy himself. After all, they might not have a lot of time left together. Life might break them apart tomorrow, so a few extra hours with each other without the burdens of titles and social hierarchy might be exactly what they both needed right now.

[arthurjdrake]

Painting By Numbers : Lydia & Arthur

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Arthur & @inspirationdivine SYNOPSIS: Arthur and Lydia are hired to restore a painting, little do they realise what else comes with the canvas. TW: None

When Arthur had received a rather cryptic call from Fran about the possibility of restoring a painting she couldn’t outright name that had unfortunately been damaged in transit from the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, his interest had immediately been piqued. There were countless in their collection - a great number of masterpieces and to have a chance to stand near to any one of them for any brief period of time would be an honour. Let alone to add in some small fashion to a legacy that had been revered and deified across the centuries. Apparently, it was such an important piece there had been a second specialist called in to aid in ensuring the job was done to the highest quality.

They were scheduled in for a week possibly more or work on this piece which had been placed in a moderately sized climate-controlled workshop attached to the gallery for any such necessary works. What Arthur hadn’t anticipated after swiping in with his ID on the reader and walking past a couple of security that were apparently an attaché to the painting was to come face to face with the one and only primavera. “Holy shit,” he breathed, the words hushed in reverence as he looked upon the intricate and detailed masterpiece that rested on a stand. Lifting his glasses up for just a moment to admire the piece with his natural sight before returning them to the bridge of his nose with a shake of his head, mesmerised by the piece. “Been a while since I’ve seen one of you…” he whistled under his breath, Fran hadn’t been joking about this one being important.

It wasn’t altogether uncommon for art restorers to collaborate on a piece together, although this was certainly the first time Lydia had collaborated with someone in White Crest. She’d heard of his work before, this Arthur fellow, and had only heard good things. So the call had been entirely welcome, although she wished she’d had a few more details as to the nature of the piece before she had arrived. Lydia stepped into the workshop and set down her bag by the door, before walking over to where the gentleman was that she was supposed to be working with. “Good afternoon. You’re Arthur, am I right?” she asked, offering her hand to shake as she turned to face the painting he was admiring. “Oh, wow, this is a beauty.”

Arthur was completely taken with the piece, it wasn’t often these days he could stand in the same room as something so magnificent. So Arthur was going to take all the time he could to appreciate this piece of work. That said, at the sound of footsteps approaching Arthur turned smoothly and smiled warmly at the woman approaching, “and you must be Lydia, I think we’ve spoken a little online yes?” he greeted in kind. Taking her hand to shake it, though the action while meaningful was brief to minimise skin-contact with him soon retracting his hands and tucking them into his pockets. It was hard to explain to people the excessive heat that seemed to radiate off him at any given time that was exceptionally noticeable on contact so it was easiest to try and minimise it if possible. “It’s stunning isn’t it? Have you seen a Botticelli before? It’s been an age since I’ve stood in front of one.”

“Yes, I believe so! You recommended the lighthouse as a viewing point. You were entirely right, by the way.” Lydia took his hand ever so briefly, thinking little of the warmth she felt ever so briefly. She turned her attention back to the painting, breathing deeply. Oh, you could see the Leanan Sidhe inspiration in this piece too, woven in to the inherent beauty of the piece. “Never for me to work on. I’ve seen one or two in private collections, recently.” She frowned as she heard a faint buzzing sound. “Oh, this is the worst part of summer. Insects get everywhere.”

“I did, yes,” Arthur’s grin brightened considerably to hear that she thought it was a nice place to go, “quite a vista up there wouldn’t you say? And rather peaceful with the waves rolling in.” But their respective attention turned to the masterpiece in the room. “No, I’m not sure that work of this calibre typically graces White Crest’s shores… But in this instance I suppose primavera has come to treat us both.” He stepped aside to where a few sets of gloves were placed alongside the necessary tools for the gouges that seemed to have taken out a fraction of Zephyrus’ face and Venus’ robes. He was pulling on a pair when Lydia spoke and he looked up “bugs? I didn’t notice anything when I came in… And I know Fran is particular about making sure this room is controlled to the best of her ability. Do you think it will be an issue?”

“No, I doubt it does, and certainly not on display that often.” Although Lydia knew first hand now that the inhabitants of Harris Island were sometimes older and much richer than one might assume. Or, thinking of Mercy, that they were more than eager to steal things that weren’t hers. “Do you have the report of what previous work was done on this piece?” She asked, slowly beginning her own analysis of the piece. Previous layers of paint and repairs - the back of the canvas revealed so much, like careful repairs to tiny tears. “I certainly hope not. I know Fran is meticulous, but… it is irritating. Can’t you hear it buzzing around?”

“No, it’s quite a gift. I just hope those that do get to see it can truly appreciate it for what it is,” Arthur remarked tilting his head to look once more at the figures poised within the frame. The classic Botticelli style apparent within their stances and the lengthened stature of their bodies delicate yet bold in its portrayal of the scene of Venus’ garden. “Yes,” he picked up a bound set of plastic wallets. “According to this the last restoration work done on it was around 1978 to restore the colouration of the paint which had darkened considerably over time.” He set the folder down once more, a small furrow appearing at his brow as Lydia drew his attention to focus on the buzzing. It was only when he moved nearer that he heard it, “oh dear… that’s not good.” He squinted wondering if he might be able to see what was making the noise but nothing came to view “can you see anything? I can hear the blighters…”

“I’m sure they will. How can you look at a piece like this and not appreciate it?” Lydia replied, reaching behind her to tie her hair back and out of the way so they could work. She picked up the plastic wallets, flicking through them to see what varnishes had been used and which had been removed. At least the last restorer had been meticulous in their notes, leaving a long trail of clues for Lydia and Arthur to follow up on. "I haven't the faintest idea where it is," she replied, as she heard something buzz right close to her ear. Lydia rubbed the back of her head. She froze, her fingers hovering over the skin just behind her ear, where her skin was swollen. "That horrible insect has bitten me!"

“You would hope so, unfortunately not everyone has the patience art often requires - particularly in this day and age.” It was a shame but not so many people wanted to walk through a gallery and few cared for the interpretation and meaning behind the pieces often put up on display or so he’d found. “That’s strange…” he remarked looking around and trying to spot the blighter, it was at Lydia’s exclamation that Arthur saw the bright emerald green critter just over her left shoulder. “There!” he tried to wave it away from her but it was faster than he’d anticipated, dipping mid-air out of the course his hand had taken and flitting behind him. Turning around to try and spy where it might’ve gone his eyes pivoted around the shop finding nothing but thin air. “That’s strange I was certain it was-- it was--” Arthur frowned, not realising the creature he was looking for had blended in with his own hair a mildly perplexed look crossing his features as a mildly disorentating sensation started to overcome him.

“Hey sweet pea, are you alright?” The woman speaking sat on a stool, holding a paintbrush in her left hand and easel in her right. She was tall and willowy, greying hair tied in a tight bun. She’d been painting, but not all of it was on the canvas in front of her - she’d painted her thighs, the easel, the window by which she sat. The girl she talked to glanced in the window, to find herself amongst the park scene her mother had been painting. It was dark out, so the windows were a mirror. Unlike her mom, her skin glowed. Where her mother had brown eyes, hers glowed blue, her teeth glinted pink, and her wings fidgeted uncomfortably. It was Lydia, still acne ridden as a teen. She held a loaf of bread in her hands, that she was slowly chewing.

“Mommie, I’m so hungry.” Her voice was plaintive, confused. Her stomach felt so heavy and thick, but her body still growled for more. She felt queasy with that gnawing, terrible hunger.

“Your father will be home soon. He’ll explain, my dear. You’ve just started early.”

“Started what early?”

Lydia’s mother stood up. She didn’t share her daughter’s ears, nor eyes, nor wings, but in so many other ways they were spitting images. They held themselves the same, and while Lydia’s hair was made of pearl it was undoubtedly her mother’s colour. Her mother smiled, cradling Lydia’s face in her paint covered hands.

“You know your father can explain better than I can. You’re being so brave, my dear. Just one more day, and he’ll help you.” She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, and Lydia hugged her gratefully.

Her mother staggered, and Lydia’s stomach felt less queasy.

“Oh non, pas encore!” the view followed a disgruntled man in his mid-fifties dressed in a sapphire blue tunic, black breeches and muddied riding boots as he swung down from the back of his mount who pranced with nervous energy. The moon sat high on the horizon illuminating vast farmlands otherwise deserted at this time of night as he walked towards the stone cemetery.

A group of three or four alghouls perched around the dug up remains of a grave busy stuffing their faces with decaying flesh and bone. The man turned moonlight reflecting off familiar features: Arthur, but older, black hair streaked with grey at the temples and a braided beard as he trudged into the space a familiar axe engraved with runes drawn from the scabbard on his back and a confidence of having done this several times before.

“Ça suffit,” the blade glinted in the moonlight before with a crunch it lodged in the neck of the first alghoul and dislodged with a forceful kick the other three hissing in anger and lurching back in surprise at the assault as a second swing had the head cleaved clean off leaving it twitching on the ground. How many times? They never learned.

The alghouls gnashed circling, but kept their distance taking the time to try and flank their prey. But as the second and third darted forwards, the axe was swung again, cleaving one clean through the shoulder near its neck causing it to wail inhumanly and topple ass over teakettle into a nearby set of rocks. But the third was faster, latching on to Arthur’s shoulder and biting down with razorlike teeth and ripping away with a bloody chunk of flesh drawing out a pained cry as he jabbed the tip of his axe forwards to pry the creature loose and shove it away staggering back panting with the effort. The second was trying to right itself, but limped from the tear of the freshly sharpened blade and where it tried to dive forwards Arthur side-stepped and grunted as he drew the axe back and down dispatching its head that rolled to a stop near another grave.

The scene played on, assailants taking swipes out of one another until a bloodied Arthur seemed to come to a conclusion and where he stood in the middle of the cemetery flames erupted around his body. A living pyre of flame and heat in the silhouette of a blazing gold and orange bird soaring up amongst them that had the two remaining alghouls screeching and trying to turn their eyes away as they stumbled, blinded. Using this to his advantage he lunged forwards, and two more heads were added to the pile as the flames died away leaving Arthur alone once more bleeding but alive in the middle of a graveyard. Exhausted, he dropped to his knees besides one such grave touching the piled stones carefully. “You’re safe… I’ll protect you.”

Lydia crumbled to the floor of Fran’s workspace. It wasn’t that the bite hurt, but it was the feeling that she had left something in the other room, although she never had. Something was missing. Unlike memories that faded over time, crumbled, but this was a sudden, sharp loss, something she couldn’t identify. The more she tried to remember, the more she tried to chase whatever it was she’d forgotten, the more she found something else. It sat in her head jarringly. Whatever it was, definitely not hers.

She saw it through his eyes. He was tall, his axe glinting in the moonlight. Lydia recoiled as he charged through the monstrous beasts, slashing into their necks without flinching. She remembered how the adrenaline had charged through him. She could smell the rain and mud as he worked, methodically. Lydia recoiled as she remembered the sharp pain in her shoulder. She - or he - was surrounded, the beasts readying to draw their last breath. She remembered weighing her options, both not what those options were until her skin burned, and erupted into flames. What followed was exhilarating, terrifying. Nothing like Lydia had never seen nor heard of.

Lydia blinked away the memory of the gravestones uncomfortably. “What was that? Did you see that? The man in the graveyard?”

Arthur wasn’t sure how he managed to stay standing at Lydia staggered and fell, perhaps it was the strange sense of fulfilling nourishment that seemed to have filled him as he blinked out of the strange vision that felt so achingly familiar. Away from a place that felt like home to the rather jarring appearance of a painting on a stand and Fran’s workshop.

How had he forgotten about that? No, he hadn’t forgotten… Or had he? There was a keen sense of something missing and yet in such a vast catalogue of memories who could say for certain? He’d forgotten many things over the centuries. His mother and father’s faces lost to the river of time. Yet this felt like an acute and sudden loss and the more his mind chased after whatever it was that felt as if it had been taken the more his head started to ache.

His hand went to his temple rubbing it at the throb and thinking back to the little girl and the painter. “See what? The little fae girl and her mother… She was painting I think,” his confusion muddled his mind enough that it didn’t catch up to what he was saying or who he was talking to. But Lydia’s own statement made him freeze for a moment, searching back because there were many graveyards but… “No... “ he said uncertainty lacing his tone, “what man? What graveyard?“

“What fae girl?” Lydia asked, standing upright sharply. What did he knew about fae? He was just some random art restorer. Except that he wasn’t in any sense of the word, if he knew what fae were. So now the question was how he knew and why. Nosy humans and monstrous hunters knew what fae were as much as every other species, but those were the ones that concerned her. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m misremembering. Do you think… Can you hear the insect? Do you think it bit you?”

The sudden change in demeanor was alarming but the more Arthur thought about the memory and looked at Lydia the pieces seemed to fit together. “I saw you I think…” there was still doubt in his voice but he could distinctly recognise certain symmetries between the girl in his memory and the woman before him even if other features didn’t match at all. But then again fae glamorous were powerful “and your mother? She was a painter too.” But if he’d seen that… Arthur’s frown deepened at her mention of being bitten, a hand going to rub at the nape of his neck in discomfort at the situation they’d been placed in. It was only then that he felt it, the little bump “oh that little bugger” he cursed his eyes widening in alarm at the dawning realisation. “What was he doing, the man in the graveyard?”

“There’s no way…” Lydia swallowed. Except that he was right. She didn’t remember much of her mother, or rather, she chose to forget as much as she could of the human woman who had withered throughout her teen years. She’d been a painter. Lydia still had some of her paintings, hidden in the deepest recesses of her home. “Whatever you think you saw, you’re… surely you’d have to be mistaken. How might you ever see such a thing?” Her stomach turned as she danced too close to a lie. She looked up to him, with deep concern. “Let me see,” Lydia said, stepping behind him hesitantly. “You have two bites. Another… there. The man in the graveyard, he was fighting. Ghouls, possibly?”

The denial earned a crease in Arthur’s brow, “but I remember it… Like it’s right there.” It was strange and perplexing to apparently have someone else’s thoughts at the very forefront of his mind. Like a strange intrusion of privacy that he had no right to view and yet they were stuck right there as if they were his very own. The song and dance Lydia - if she was this fae girl in his mind was understandable, but what was more concerning was what she might’ve seen. “Magic for one. Or a bloody magic bug.” He didn’t protest as she stepped around, pulling the collar of his shirt down and tilting his head forwards. His concern rose at the news he’d been bitten not once but twice, “what? Oh bloody hell…” He stepped away, scrubbing a hand through his hair eyes bewildered at the prospect of revelation by something so simple. What were the chances? They were both in it now. He grabbed a piece of paper and pencil starting to scribble a rough artistic impression of an axe with ornate filigree embedded on its metal turning he held it up. “Was he using an axe? Double headed? Like this?”

Magical insects. Lydia, in theory, knew that they existed, but she’d never been bitten by such disgusting creatures before. She shuddered, grossed out as he grabbed a piece of paper. Peaking over his shoulder, Lydia nodded, her mind going the same way Arthur’s was. She twisted her ring around her fingers as she watched him sketch the piece, cogs clicking into place. He knew something about whatever she had remembered, in the same way that she recognised his own vision’s description, if perhaps not in its entirety. Lydia had spent so much time with her mother when she’d been a child. “Indeed. I also felt an immense fire. Was he, perhaps, you?”

“Ugh,” he grimaced at the thought of being bitten by something foreign and unknown, in the name of Frigg, he hoped there were no magical diseases that could be contracted like that. That’d truly suck. His hand rubbed the little bump uncomfortable with the thought and the other thoughts that weren’t his own rolling around in his head. Perhaps it would have been smarter to play dumb, act like he knew nothing but there was a quiet kind of excitement that came with finding someone else… Someone unique. And her mention of burning well, Arthur huffed as he looked down at the sketch. The question was posed and Arthur lifted his head paper held gingerly as he tried to mentally compare the little girl he’d seen in a reflection to the woman standing before him now. “Perhaps, but I guess that answer would depend on whether you were the fae girl I saw.” Quid pro quo was a funny sort of deal after all. The fact she hadn’t bolted was a pretty telling sign in itself. “But... yes. I think you saw one of my memories… Just as I saw one of yours - you said you were bitten earlier didn’t you?”

“Which is an answer in itself, is it not?” Lydia smiled. “Fortunately for the both of us, neither of us appear to be human. Although I must admit I have no idea what you might even begin to be. You don’t think there are others, do you? I don’t know how to search my mind to find missing memories. Most are just remembered at the most inopportune times, when you smell something or hear something that reminds you of them.” Lydia sighed deeply, sitting down on a nearby work bench. “I hate this. I didn’t really mean to come here today to intrude on your past.”

“Well, sometimes there’s a joy in being mildly cryptic” Arthur smiled a little bashfully raising a hand to rub at a patch of skin just behind his ear in mildly erratic nervousness. “Apparently not… Which I suppose makes this uhhh- beneficial? I don’t make a habit of typically sharing that- well, my secret with strangers.” The claim to not know earned a quiet huff of laughter as the paper was set aside and he clasped his hands together bracing his elbows on his knees. “I’m… well, what some would call a phoenix. But I’ve been called a great many things over the centuries. Messiah, miracle worker, wiseman. It’s funny watching people trip over themselves trying to label what they don’t understand.” His smile turned into a mildly bemused expression as he thought on the question, “I don’t recall seeing any more… You said I had two bites? So it must have bitten both of us twice… And I guess taken and then transferred a memory with each subsequent bite.” His expression softened into something more amicable, “nor did I plan to intrude on yours. But I suppose we’re here…” His eyes glinted amicably as he processed the information, “but I guess we find solidarity in the strangest of places don’t we?”

“No, I don’t either,” Lydia replied, running her finger over the bite on her own neck. Imagine if he’d been a warden. Lydia pushed away the thought abruptly. That was more than enough considering of her death today. It was just a memory, not even the ones she valued so highly, of her terribly human mother. Who would have almost certainly died not long after he’d seen it. So why did her heart ache for the loss of it? Lost in her own thoughts, she almost missed his initial description of himself. Lydia raised her eyebrows very high as he described all the names he’d been given. “I imagine I’ll stick with phoenix, if it’s all the same to you,” Lydia chuckled. She kicked herself off the table, and back on to standing on her feet. “At least it is solidarity.” She smiled weakly. This memory wasn’t hers, and it felt like he’d been robbed of them. She might as well return them. “You were speaking in french. The moon was out, but it had rained recently, you could smell the wet dirt of the farmlands. There were monsters digging through graves. That you fought with that axe. One bit you…” Lydia pressed her hand to her shoulder, to show where he’d been hurt. “But you beat them. You were looking at a grave, and promised that you’d always keep them safe. It meant… The grave meant a lot to you.”

How many more memories would he lose? If not to magical creatures and parasites then simply to the ebb and flow of time. Had it not taken enough already? Arthur couldn’t even recall the face of his mother, or his sister or his brothers… Did he have one or two? There were only ghostly outlines of indistinct people with dark hair and kind eyes. Was that right or just his imagination? He’d never know. At least with more recent events he had a little longer with which to keep the memories. He listened to Lydia speak trying to place the thoughts of where they might fit. French was hardly distinct nor was the act. “I’ve protected too many graves…” a wan look crossed his features but the nearest he could place it was “maybe 12th century at a guess… Our gravesite was always being ravaged.“ Thinking of the memory he had Arthur folded his hands, pressing them together before he spoke in turn. “You were a teen standing near a windowsill with some bread… Your mother was painting… It was beautiful. But you were hungry… She said your father would help when he got home and then she hugged and kissed you. She didn’t look very well though…”

“Twelfth century? That’s… beyond belief. What a difficult memory to lose.” Lydia said softly, her eyes creased with empathy. That disappeared the moment he started describing what he had seen. It was as if a cloud had descended over her. “She would have died not long after that.” Lydia shook her head abruptly. She knew what he could not - that her mother’s hug had been what sustained Lydia. That just being around her had been enough for Lydia to unknowingly and unwittingly drain the life from her. No kiss required. Her father should have known better - her siblings had all taken years to control their hunger, and while growing up in an Aos Sí had protected her well, he should have never let her mother around her for so long. He should have never had children with a human to begin with. His love had killed her better than any knife. “There’s no need to dwell on such things. If you see the insect, let’s crush it before it takes any more.”

“I’d lose it eventually anyway,” Arthur admitted, his expression a little more misty than it perhaps was before. “There’s not much to be done for old age, hm?” A touch of humour in the face of a sad reality. “Oh… I’m sorry-- I didn’t realise...” it was his turn to look apologetic after all how could he, a glimpse of a moment of fractured time that didn’t belong to him, “I’m sure you miss her a great deal.” After all, what child didn’t miss their parents in some capacity? Not that he knew anything of Lydia’s life but the fragment seemed to show a good home with kind people. He grew quiet after that, clearing his throat a fraction “you’re right… It seemed to be coming from near the painting originally wasn’t it? Perhaps that’s where it was hiding.”

“All the same,” Lydia replied, looking into his wet eyes with concern. “I do not wish to discuss my mother, if I’m honest. It was a long time ago. She was not as good a mother as she could have been.” In that she wasn’t fae. In that she had never deserved to be a fae’s mother. Lydia’s heart felt tight all the same. She looked around, wondering if she might spot it wandering along on a surface. She picked up one of her big books, walking around with supernaturally silent steps. Lydia walked half way around the room before spotting it, a big bloated beetle resting against the table. Using her enhanced strength a little too keenly, Lydia smacked it with the book, and it squelched against the counter. “If nothing else, it’s dead.”

“Oh…” Arthur echoed unsure quite how to follow up a comment like that. So he chose to not say anything, sometimes it was better that way. Instead, he helped in scouring the room searching for any sight of the thing that might’ve been responsible. But ultimately, Lydia served the final blow, squishing the bug under a finer points to art book. “Well, at least it won’t be an issue for anyone else… I wonder how many other people it’s done this to.” It was a little disquieting but at least it was dealt with. “I suppose now that that little fiasco’s dealt with… Shall we get to work on this painting?”

“I hate insects ever so much. Which I realise is ironic considering my own beetle anatomy, but eurgh. Keep them away from me. At all costs.” Lydia shuddered at the corpse remains of the insect, squelched on her book. She looked up at Arthur with a smile. “Yes, let’s!” As she picked up her tools to start preparing to remove it from the frame, though, she couldn’t shake the memory of fire bursting from her body. Well, his. That quiet graveyard, and the ones he wanted to protect. He wasn’t fae, so… “Thank you for not pushing on the matter of my mother,” Lydia said softly, before turning all of her thought to their work, and enjoying the pleasant company of the ancient gentleman beside her.

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh quietly at the irony presented and while he could recall the reflection of what she had looked like, he couldn’t help but wonder what she actually looked like behind the glamour. His head tilted a little in acknowledgement, “you’re welcome. I understand some things aren’t the sort of things you want to talk about with strangers you’ve only just met.” He opened a small collection of tools attention focussed there for the time being. They’d need to file the gashes down and repaint from there and he had so many questions he wanted to ask. “I doubt you get much opportunity to not hide your true form do you?” Arthur remarked after a little while of working “I can only imagine it must be tiring… Hiding what you are day in and day out, it’s rather impressive. The capability of fae glamours… I’ve always wondered - does creating them get easier with time?”

Lydia nodded in response to his comment, and let sleeping lions lie. It twisted her stomach enough to just think about her mother, let alone have someone else know it. They worked in quiet for a moment before Arthur interrupted. “It is like maintaining good posture. After a while, it’s second nature to hold that tension in place. It requires thought, but I’ve worn this same face for decades. Same wrinkles around the eyes, pock marks, venation. It’s like putting make up on.” Lydia shrugged. “How does it feel to have lived so long?”

“Huh,” he mused thoughtfully, “it’s something I’ve always wondered… I’ve never really spent much time around many fae considering I know most of your kind prefer to stay in your own communities…” Arthur looked back to the painting considering the work “you think you’ve seen the breadth of what lies on the spectrum of the supernatural and yet there’s always so much you find out you don’t know.” He resumed working, hands moving in slow methodical strokes as he worked the groves down wondering how best to answer a rather loaded question. “Honestly it really depends on the day, some days it’s exhilarating - especially when there’s a new discovery or invention… Other days it feels like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders… It’s easier to begin with - when you don’t remember and life is just… life.”

“We often do, but not always,” Lydia agreed. “Then again, I hadn’t been too sure Phoenixes really existed until just now. Even for us, separating fact from fiction can prove challenging.” When he worked on the canvas, she didn’t, so that they weren’t applying tension unevenly, and didn’t want to knock each other. She focused on the solvents, the paints, setting things up for each next step. “That sounds like an intense existence. I am so old to so many here, but I am a child to my peers. My age compares nothing to yours, and yet it’s hard to imagine another three life times after this.”

“We’re a more inconspicuous type than most, I’ve never met another one of my kind in all the time I’ve been alive” Arthur admitted his brow creasing a little with the admission. How many were out there really? Who could say for sure. “It can be. Considering we have to restart our lives from scratch each time…” His smile grew a fraction, a knowing look passing his features “it takes time but you often end up coming to terms with it eventually… It’s different though - a sustained life and existence over that extended period you know? Fo rme it’s just like someone hitting reset every century.”

“That seems to me to be rather lonely,” Lydia said softly, listening to him curiously as he talked about his rebirth. She could not imagine. “There are many, many things one can get used to with enough experience, I suppose,” Lydia replied, trying to imagine it. Dying and restarting life afresh, over and over. She shed her name with frightening frequency, but she still remembered her past, and did not let go of those she loved. She wondered what Deirdre thought of it, people who died and lived over and over, with each new rotation of the clock. She had such interesting perspectives on death.

“It is, but you learn to move on, you have to or what’s it all for in the end? Plus I often meet people along the way that make it worthwhile. Like today I made an unexpectedly new friend.” Arthur smiled at her, eyes creasing kindly even if there was sadness with the admission. So many lives had flickered in and out of existence. So many friends gone and lost to the trial of time. But today he had made a friend, and in his mind that made today a good day.

She didn’t reply to that. Being Fae was fundamental to her identity, being part of the fae, that she couldn’t imagine being without them. People were fine, but fae were best. They deserved to be around each other. Lydia’s heart ached for people like Jared, and Regan, who had lived without other fae for so long and had ever so clearly suffered it. Lydia grinned back at him. “Boticelli and bugs sure have a way to bring people together, I must say.” She winked, and turned back to her work, cheerfully.

“Who knew?” and so the afternoon drifted on, light chat intermingling their progressive work in restoring the damage done to the painting. It would take around a week to complete but in good company Arthur was happy to take the time to do a job right, plus, if he’d made a new friend out of today’s shenanigans then there was nothing really to complain about. Maybe bugs weren’t so bad after all?

[onthemeander]

A commision for RooneyToony. Interested? then check out me

HERE

Dinner for Three by Onthemeander

  “Napoleon Solo?” A young hostess, with a bit too much Chanel number 5 clinging to her collar, greeted him as he shuffled in out of the hot summer rain. “Yes.” Doing his best to shoulder off his raincoat without getting any water on his pewter gray windowpane suit jacket. The coat rack was already full, so one of the women behind the host table whisked his away silently to be stored safely. Taking a moment, he inspected himself in the mirror behind the hostess stand. He was proud to see that his perfectly gelled hair managed to keep its shape, even having two soft curls grazing his forehead.

“Your party has already arrived, I will show you to them.” Her ponytailed hair nearly snapping him in the face with how fast she swiveled around. His leather Salvatore Ferragamos squeaking over the tiled floor, an intricate netted pattern of Crema Marfil and dark emerald marble. Diners were leaned in close to each other, drinking wine and exchanging stories, all in low lighting from golden teardrop chandeliers.

He saw her just behind a large gold room divider. The distance and geometric metalwork blurring the definition of her face, but he still recognized her. Brown hair, quaffed up top into a ponytail, was far stiffer and more structured looking than the natural soft wave it had only days ago. Now, everything had its place, fitting together into the image of a prim and proper princess in her cranberry red, ribbon detailed, Gucci shift. A bold color that stood out against the golds, browns, and emeralds of the restaurant.

“Miss. Teller, Mr. Solo.” The hostess said like a serf to a queen, delegating all honors to the young woman sipping from a snifter. That was when Solo noticed a man that he is frankly stunned even managed to disappear into the background. He was massive; barrel-chested, straight-backed, square-shouldered, and the blank face of a man hiding too many emotions. His soft navy turtleneck and cinnamon suede jacket did little to soften his hard edges. This man was the Berlin wall personified; barricading posture, barb wire stare, and probably a minefield type of personality.

“How do you know my name?” He saw no point in the pleasantries as he was not in the business of being summoned to random Italian restaurants by fashionable but menacing couples. He took his seat and settled back to convey an air of ease.

“It isn’t hard to find out the name of the most flamboyant fine arts thief in North America and Europe.” She smiled, brushing her curls over her shoulder and out of the way. She looked pleased with herself, knowing more than she ought to. Though the level of comfort in her posture hinted at her being used to this advantage over others. “I’ve yet to make it to South America. Next summer maybe. I’ll have your finest scotch.” He said, waving off the waiter before they even had a chance to open their mouth.

“So, what do I owe the honor of meeting such a beautiful woman again.” He didn’t spare a glance with the pleasantry as he skimmed the menu, it had a wide assortment of Italian food all exorbitantly overpriced for the subpar ingredients the dishes were sure to contain. “Not one for pleasant conversations?” Miss. Teller snarked, flipping open her menu in a huff. “Not with people who somehow manage to slip my locks to leave notes in my home like a common stalker.”

“Watch your tongue.” The big guy threatened, in a surprisingly deep and thick accent. His body was tightening up, coiling ready to spring, his eyes pinning Solo. The only part of his body that was moving was his finger tapping cross the table top.

“What can I get you all to eat?” The group one by one ordered an assortment of overpriced meats and pasta. Quickly, but never quick enough, the waiter scuttled off to inform the kitchen, leaving the unlikely table guests to their awkward staring contest. With no one willing to even fane amicable small talk Solo just bit the bullet. “So again, why are we here? I don’t find that my damsels in distress usually hunt down their princes’ and leave mildly threating dinner invitations on their pillow.”

Her fingers stroked the stem of her wine glass, leveling Solo with a calculating look. Leaning forward, pressing toward his direction with a stare that could make a thousand men fall for her. “I, in fact, would like to thank you.” She finally admitted settling back into her seat. “Thank me for what?” “You know what for.” She shook her head in exasperation, the light bouncing off the fake diamonds inlaid in her acrylic earrings. “I do, but I’d like to hear you say it.”

Pregnant pauses, even in busy restaurants will all the ambient noise of the world, would forever be awkward for those participating in them. The other man seemed to be trying to break the table in half with just the strength of his tapping index finger. Exhaling through her nose she finally capitulated. “Thank you… for pulling me out of the way of that drive by. I would be dead if it wasn’t for you.” With all the grateful tone of an addict to their intervention party.

“You are most welcome, Miss. Teller.” He would let her off easy, not forcing her to change her tone. Counting his luck, either she would refuse or her companion would throw him over the table and break him, and not in the pleasurable way that one would hope for.

“the Vinciguerra family… my family is thanking you and we owe you a debt of gratitude.” He almost sloshed his wine on his best shirt. “Vinciguerra…” Eyeing his companions, he planted his feet just behind his knees, ready to kick off and run. Eyeing the surroundings he hoped the crowd would keep him safe from any publicly overt violence, but now he wouldn’t be able to eat his Spaghetti Alle Vongole. “They are even willing to overlook the fact that you were in the process of ‘borrowing’ one of my families more prized artworks.”

“Why? I’d assume they much rather have a chat with me about it.” Miss. Teller simply nodded in agreement. “Mrs. Vinciguerra is feeling lenient since you managed to save her daughter’s life.” The man beside him finally contributed, his voice deep with that rough accent. It wasn’t Italian but it wasn’t fully American either, even with the proficiency in English. He sounded almost physically pained with such an admission.

With a surprising amount of aggressive grace, Miss. Teller rose from her seat, slinging her mini purse over a shoulder. “I need to use the powder room. Play nice, Illya.” The demand for doing nothing for Solo’s nerves. In fact, the exact opposite, making images of his broken body in a carpet bag and ten feet under became a very real possibility. He had heard of far worse happening to people who crossed the Vinciguerra family.

“Is this when you make thinly veiled threats so the wiretaps don’t catch on?” He was never one for avoiding trouble, in fact, his kindergarten teacher once wrote ‘active and disturbing interest in causing all sorts of trouble for himself and others.’ The man beside him, Illya, tightened his shoulders and barreled out his chest, almost inflating like a parade balloon, taking up more space.

“As she said, the family is in your debt. One time and one time only.”

“Right, because I am some knight in shining armor for her?”

“More like a drunken cowboy who got lucky.” He was glaring pointedly at the last dregs of the drink in Solo’s hand. His thick accent making him sound even more high, mighty and insufferably formal than Solo cared for, like those uppity businessmen that inquire about his services. They ultimately always wanted a discounted price in exchange for telling their other snobby friends at the yachting club about Solo and his skills in acquiring them their new renaissance masterpiece. All of them were practically begged for Solo to knock them down a peg or two… or ten. “Tell me how does a comrade become a family member of the Vinciguerra’s.”

There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as Solo called him comrade, though he kept his face blank and jaw clenched. “Miss. Teller needed a bodyguard and I am very skilled.”

“KGB?” Illya didn’t even bother to respond, instead of adjusting his sleeve cuffs like a posh prat that all good comrades were supposed to condemn. “Clearly you were hired for your conversational prowess.” He kept poking the bear, just waiting to see him snap. The waiter, as if having bugged the table themselves, found the perfect time to deliver their meals.

Unlike himself and their female companion, Illya had no food or drink in front of him. When asked he claimed, “I do not eat while I am working.” Once Miss. Teller returned, they all ate with little fuss, putting out your boilerplate small talk and trying to all appear far more normal and personable than they truly were. The drinks flowed as the conversation became stilted but thankfully it ended quickly. Solo could make his escape from Miss. Teller’s prying questions and Illya’s sharpshooter eyes.

“Please grab my coat,” He told the waiter, who continued in silence to fulfill the groups' whims. “Well, thank you for the meal, if you will excuse me, I will be heading home.” He stated, placing his folded napkin aside and rising from his seat. Placing on his most gentlemanly smile he scooped up Miss. Teller’s soft unmanicured hand. Clean yet slightly smelling of engine oil, was what he noticed as he pressed a steady and cordial kiss to the top of her palm. Returning her hand to the table top he turned and offered Illya a mildly completive handshake.

The pair kept watching him as he accepted his raincoat from the waiter. Aware of how on display he was, he did his best to put on his goat on in as attractive a manner as possible. It would be a shame to leave the audience disappointed. Once buttoned up and ready to brave the storm outside, he turned to leave with his head held high and a swagger in his stance. Maybe he’d even throw that hostess a little wink for the trouble. Suddenly though, he was face to face Miss. Teller’s bodyguard. Her very angry looking, bone breaking, Berlin wall style bodyguard.

“Give me back her ring.” It wasn’t a question at all, It was an absolute, unequivocal, demand. Miss. Teller looked down at her hand, surprised to find her ring finger bare of the Bulgari canary yellow diamond ring that usually rested there. Her eyes darkened, the low light making them to appear nearly black, as she leveled him with an unamused glare. Tilting his head trying to look innocent he weighted his options. how long could he outrun this man? Which escape route would be better, the kitchen or the front door? Would the big guy follow him all the way home? How many broken bones was he willing to risk?

A large hand clamped down on his shoulder, trapping him to his spot on the floor. Well there went all his options. Sighing through his nose, he pulled the multi-million dollar ring out of his breast pocket. She accepted it delicately, putting it back on her right hand. “And my watch.” A single beautifully manicured eyebrow lifted in speculation. Pouting like a naughty child he pulled the watch off his wrist, handing it over to the brick wall. The watch was promptly snatched from his hands and his shoulder was released. “Well, I would like to say this was lovely. However... Good night Miss Teller. Red Peril.”

Miss. Teller let out a loud snort, her fingers just barely concealing her smiling lips. Her bodyguard was less impressed and grouched out “Cowboy,” as he readjusts his watch. Controlling her smile, Miss. Teller watched him walk away with nothing more than a soft and teasing “Good night, Mr. Solo.”

“You really must stop leaving these lovely invites on my pillow. You could give men like me too many hopes.” He started with, tossing the crème color card stock onto her empty setting plate. With a lipstick kiss and all, “some would think you like to tease.”

“How was your dinner with Mrs. Vinciguerra.?” Miss. Teller asked, clearly choosing to ignore any questions of her methods. “Titillating, if not a little shocking to have happened. Is mildly aggressive dinner parties something of a family tradition?” When no one took his bait, raising to the thinly veiled insult, he just kept on talking. “It is surprisingly an interesting business opportunity for me.”

Miss. Teller simply gave a nod to her bodyguard, Illya was sitting beside them and seemingly found the one shadow in the restaurant to lurk. Again, they refused to respond so he just kept on chatting. “I would have apricated the heads up though.” His chair was wobbly against the slightly warped old wood floor, while attractive to the rustic Italian aesthetic, it was a bit of an annoyance. “Being thrown into a car is less than pleasurable, even if the other passage is as striking as Victoria.”

“Yes, Victoria has always been a great patron of the arts.”

“Seems so. She also seemed fond of you. We talked about you quite a bit.” Miss. Teller unattractively snorted into her martini glass at that, even across the table he could see a hint of an eye roll from her. “She is fond of my abilities.” And that tone of voice hinted at a very juicy and dramatic story. He had to know more. “Only your abilities? She sounded like a loving stepmother.”

“A stepmother who murdered my father and forced me to be her daughter.” Fascinating. Well, the family was known for their viciousness when they really wanted something. Whatever the girl had, it was clearly of great value to the family. Though the killing of a father seemed excessive, so he must have pissed them off somehow. But how?

“Gambling debts.” Is all Illya said to answer the unspoken question hanging off Solo’s lips. Miss. Teller, for her part, didn’t seem a bit bothered by the admitted faults of her kin. Though, from that moment on the conversation took a hard steer and avoided all talk of families for the rest of the evening. Instead, they chatted about cars and art and why Solo’s room was littered with every possible type of underthings.

“All alone, Peril? What happened to never let your princess out of your sight.” Illya looked mildly uncomfortable as Solo pulled out the leather mid-century modern moss chair. The man had tossed his suede bomber into the empty chair beside him, forcing Solo to sit across from him. “Powder room. She demanded I come sit. Wanted to make a grand entrance.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to disappoint.” Solo turned in his seat to stare down the length of the restaurant, in the direction of the powder room. A handful of moments ticked by, filled with the waitress pouring them water, strangers walked by on the sidewalk, the clicking of glass and silverware, and Illya’s tapping heel against the ceramic tiled floor. Finally, just as his eyes were starting to lose focus and become bored, she came out.

The door opened wide, her short legs striding as long as possible in an almost glide towards them. She had gotten rid of her winter coat somewhere, hopefully not left in the ladies’ room for whoever decided to use it next.

The sun was bouncing off the fresh snow that has coated the roads overnight, making the windows look like floor to ceiling lighting fixtures. The brightly lit storefront backlight Gabby in the most teasing of ways. The soft harvest gold color fabric of her tent dress was made virtually sheer, exposing her matching bodycon slip underneath. Every subtle curve of her boyish body was on display. Her hips were swaying in an attractive exaggerated figure eight as she came towards them.

He could hear Illya behind him, he had stopped fidgeting and instead was opting to take deep and controlled breathes through his nose. “Grand indeed.” Was all he could think of in response to the beauty before him. In a smooth swift movement, he stood up, ready to pull out the chair like a gentleman. Illya attempted the same, yet managed to bang his legs against the table and slosh water out of their cups. “You are looking stunning, Miss. Teller.”

“Thank you, Mr. Solo.” Her cheeks were lightly flushed, high on her cheekbones, making her look young and glowing. With a wide charming smile, he took up the cabernet bottle, letting the wine flow. The restaurant was romantic and sparkling, with a soft jazz band in the corner and the various anniversary couple necking in the back corner.

Miss. Teller, laughed and teased both her companions this way and that till the wine and the music became a heady cocktail in Solo’s brain. Illya's eyes glittered over top the edge of his wine glass, heatedly staring at them both. Solo for his part even took the chance to hand feed them both from his plate, enjoying the different ways their lips wrapped around his fork. Miss. Teller’s was soft yet determined, smudging glossy coral lipstick along with metal. Illya’s was just harsh enough to remove that stain once again.

The waitress placed the bill between Solo and Illya, which was promptly picked up by his table mate. “Well, this has been a wonderful evening,” Miss. Teller chatted away as Illya pulled out his card, Solo spotted the small square foil trojan package peeking out. Something he is positive he hadn’t seen at any other dinner and was now there for a very good reason. “such a shame to see it end so soon,” He offered up in agreement to her sentiment.

“Mr. Solo, would you like to join us for some drinks? Illya makes a sinfully good French 75.”

“Really? Is it strong enough? I must say I am a stickler for the classics and such a historical drink really should make me feel like I’m being hit by ww1 French 75mm field gun.”

“More like being pinned down by a Steyr SSG… 69.” Suddenly, Illya’s large hand landed atop Napoleon’s, almost completely covering his. A warm weight not so much pinning him down but urging him to not lift a finger without his permission. Rotating him palm he interlaced their fingers together, “That sounds truly wonderful.”

“Gabby, didn’t anyone tell you it’s impolite to wear sunglasses at the breakfast table?” The sun was bright and sparkling against all the crème leather and glittering glassware of the French bistro. Gabby was perched in a white frock against the booth, not so much sipping her coffee as much as chugging ever least drop. Her white oversized circle sunglasses shielded her eyes from the strong sun and even stronger peer judgment.

“You would rather me keep them on than see what will happen if you try to remove them.” She grouched out, pointedly leveling him with her sternest scowls. He seemed content to keep teasing, running fingers along her neck, between her falling hair, pressing at hickies just barely concealed with makeup. Her scowl remained but she didn’t do much to stop him outside of small squirming. “Peril did a number on you too, hmmm? I, for one, won’t be able to wear my bathing suit anytime soon,” He remarked.

“It is November,” Illya stated behind the lip of his cup, filled to the brim with black coffee. “Pity I was hoping to show you.” Under the table, Napoleon toes the strong ridge of Illya’s ankle bone, everything on this man was bold and brash and strong and virile. “You have shown me quite enough Cowboy.” “I cherish the chance to see you in this new way,” Napoleon whispered in the Russian’s direction, batting his eyes ever so slightly for good measure. “More than what you saw last night?” Gabby asked, joining Napoleon’s foot to rub up under the cuff of Illya’s slacks, her Mary Janes curiously missing.

“You two are complete menaces.” He grumbled without a single emotion crossing his brow. His thighs clenched tight, trapping Napoleon’s foot between them. “Why Peril, that is no way to speak to your boss,” Napoleon scolded trying to escape the iron grip of Illya’s thighs. His lip quirked in a suave way as he refused to let go of his prize.

             Their table was cluttered with all manner of messy napkins, used cutlery, lipstick-stained glasses and the remains of a family size bowl of Carbonaro. The conversation was flowing as smoothly as the wine, full-bodied and red with passion, little splashes of laughter, dry with wit and all with the finish of the promise of continued pleasurable company.

“Victoria wants you to acquire something for her sculpture collection.” Gabby let out over the last few bites of pasta, her hard-set stare at the plate belayed her frustration. Napoleon dabbed this mouth with his napkin, humming in interest at the request.

“I want you to take Illya.” She said, before even telling him the details of his new mark. “I thought I did that last night.” The man in question coughed into his fist, trying to hide the sunburnt looking blush creeping up his neck. It looked wonderful on him.

After a silent moment of held breathing, he sighed through his nose. “I work alone.” There was a loud metallic clank as Gabby slapped now her cutlery onto the marble tabletop. “I don’t care what you did. Victoria wants you to steal this sculpture and I want Illya with you.”

He side eyed the man in question, sitting imposingly large, good looks and blonde hair attracting the eyes of lonely housewives and some husbands around them. “Do you even know how to be subtle enough for burglary?” Know the man was made for fights and intimidation but theft required a lighter touch. Both Gabby and Illya scowled at him. “Napoleon. I am serious. I don’t have a good feeling about this. I want Illya there so you can keep each other safe.”

Studying their almost grave faces he relented. “Fine, you can come with me. Wear black.” With that he stood up, only stopping his retreat when Gabby’s surprisingly firm grip wrapped around his wrist. Her eyes were dark cold and steely as they stared up at him. “You both better come back, you understand me, Napoleon?”

“I don’t like this,” Illya admitted, as he ripped apart the slice of bread he took from the basket at the center of their table. “I don’t either, Illya.” She agreed to sip from her wine, keeping a wary eye on the open front door. “He will be fine. He wasn’t hurt.” Gabby hoped he wasn’t lying to protect her. When she heard that the heist went under, she had to be held back by Illya to keep her from going to find Napoleon herself. Every terrible consequence crossing her mind, Napoleon beaten by police, locked in a cell, being interrogated for hours or dead in the street from a cop with an itchy trigger finger

The hostess headed towards them and thankfully behind her was a Napoleon who appeared happy and healthy. “Miss. Teller, Mr. Kuryakin, it’s wonderful to see you again.” he sounded overly jovial, talking much louder than he ever would deem polite in public. “Napoleon, how have you been?” As he went to kiss her hand, she felt the scrape of a paper slide into her sleeve, so subtle she knew it was supposed to be a secret.

“Quite fine, laying low. Taking some time off, a vacation was in order.” He was being weirdly formal, it had been a while since he last pulled out the posh dialect around them. Illya shot her a look, picking up on the oddity as well, “I…  we were surprised when you asked to meet.”

The waiter came to take their drink orders as they continued their stilted conversation. “Yes. I got lonely and tired of waiting so I just took the initiative for once.” He was lying, openly to their face. She knew something was going and hopefully what was in her sleeve would tell her what it was.

“If you excuse me, I have to use the ladies’ room.” Quickly, without either of her men responding to her, she left the table heading to the bathroom in the back. Locking herself into one of the stalls, sitting on the seat, she fished out the paper from her cuff. ‘Wearing a wire. FBI after Victoria and husband. Don’t incriminate yourself. Act normal,’ was scrawled hastily across the paper.

Shit. Double shit. Looking up, her reflection instantly looked tired, her bags peeking out under her concealer. Act normal? Nothing about their entire relationship was normal. Most women don’t get saved by a flamboyant cat burglar from being shot by a rival mob and then proceeds to demand that the man sees you almost once a week for ‘dinner’. They were not nor...

He said to act normal. He meant their normal. Their normal… alright. He wanted to give them their normal than she would give those FBI buggers a real show. Turning on her heels she made a straight line to their table, gracefully folding into her chair. “Did you miss me, boys?” She asked leaning in close, lowering her eyes suggestively and rubbing her foot up Illya’s leg. He wouldn’t know what was happening but hopefully, she could get him on board without uttering a sound.

“Every moment without you Miss. Teller is absolute suffering.” Napoleon’s chair let out a godawful squeal as he shifted it closer to Miss. Teller’s. “You are too kind… Mr. Solo.”  He kissed her hand, which she quickly returned with a peck on the cheek, but dangerously close to his lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man in an ill-fitted pinstripe suit drop the silverware out of his hands onto the floor. His short-cropped hair, comically fake glasses, and solo table setting gave him away as a terrible undercover cop. Well, that and also the plastic the flesh colored wire to his earpiece catching the candlelight.

“So, I was thinking,” He slid his hand up her wrist, playing with the gold Chanel bangles along the way, “Do you think, we could go to your villa tonight?” Hopefully, she could get the feds what they wanted and they could leave them alone to enjoy what was turning out to be a pleasurable leavening. “For a drink, or something a bit… more entertaining.”

Gabby gave both him and Illya a charming smile, her eyes flicking between the two of them. She bit her lips and twirled her hair, portraying every overly girly flirtation the magazines dictated her to know. “Yes, I think so, the Vincequerras are on a business trip until Wednesday. They mentioned something about an Appalachian meeting.” Bingo, she could see a poorly disguised undercover cop whisper rapidly into his own watch.

“That sounds like a wonderful trip,” Napoleon kept going, putting on a façade of over interest. “Oh yes, the mountains must be beautiful this time of year.” Illya finally had something to say, he had a constipated look on his face, so he was clearly thinking.

“Well, it is very nice of them for letting us use their luxuries master bed and jacuzzi bath that easily fits three people.”  Gabby wanted to find the quickest excuse to leave this place. Get this damn wire off Napoleon, get out from under the feds thumb and hopefully get into a warm bed with these two. Gabby placed her hands atop Illya’s as well creating an interesting semicircle of affection. Napoleon smiled to them both, “Afterwards I could even give you a lovely Swedish massage that I actually learned from a Swede.”

The laugh Gabby let out was light and bubbly like the popping of the finest champagne. “You, Mr. Solo, are God’s gift to womanhood.” She positively purred. “Don’t say that Miss. Teller, it is dangerous to stroke his ego so vigorously.” Napoleon's eyes near twinkle in sudden joy at hearing such a poorly concealed innuendo fall from Russian lips.

“Well boys, if you are interested, would you take care of business for me?”

The breeze was warm but brisk as it rushed under Gabby’s skirt hem, keeping her suntanned skin cool in the heat. Her mojito glass sweated, creating a pool for her to skim her fingers across, aimlessly drawing patterns on the table. Napoleon reclined back, tipping down the brim of his Panama hat while scanning the paper in front of him with a smile. A copy of the New York Times was set, folded and neat on the table corner, the bold headline splashed front and center ARREST AT ‘APPALACHIAN MEETING’ OF NOTORIOUS MOBSTER LEADERS subheader: 64 mobsters including Barbara, Genovese and Vinciguerra family arrested in the biggest round up of a National Criminal Syndicate.

“Well, we are lucky that you could drive us across the border so quickly,”  Illya admitted, busying his hands by fiddling with a piece of driftwood like some runaway prisoner stereotype from a cheap Hollywood film.

“We can probably never go back to the US, not with the rest of the family knowing your hand in their arrest,” Napoleon added, picking up Gabby’s drink, finishing it. Only slightly taking pleasure in the outraged squawking their princess made in. “Can’t go to Italy ever again for that matter.” Which was a real pity, he had his eye on a set of Di Vinci sketches at the Gallerie dell'Accademia.

“Well, you finally made it to South America. I hear there is a lovely modern art museum in town if you boys would like to join me.”

[kneesheee]

The Teenage Kingpin

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE, ATTEMPTED MURDER, GANG WARS

|eleven|

Emerald did not plan for her weekend to go this way. Honestly, she had plans to talk to Sapphire and clear the air between them. Look for potential recruits to add to the cheer team. Yet, somehow, someway, she was currently ducking behind a car in the middle of a shootout. She loaded some more bullets into her gun and took the time to look for her friends. Fangs and Sweet Pea were up ahead of her shooting from behind a truck while Toni was shooting from inside a car to the left of her. And Sapphire, oh so brave and stupid and reckless Sapphire, was standing on top of a jeep in front of them shooting with a machine gun.

Despite their unforgiving nature and the fact that some of them have killed before, they weren’t aiming for kill spots. Liable to be injured for months on end or seriously disabled? Yeah, that was much better.

Emerald couldn’t help but to feel grateful though. It was because of her that they were doing this. If she had never gotten so close to Reggie and let her darkness consume him, this wouldn’t be a problem. She and the rest of the Kingpin and half of Sapphire’s den wouldn’t be distracting the Ghoulies while Jughead, Joaquin, and the other half got the Northsiders back to their side of town.

A loud scream emerged through the air. Emerald’s head snapped up and she saw Sapphire falling to the ground clutching at her stomach. The tension in the air turned darker.

And then Emerald was no more.

Meri didn’t have some stupid tension with her gem sister. Meri was the manipulator of the Kingpin. She played people like chess people and she knew in her soul that her sister had a very good reason for murdering Philip Willis. It was just like she knew her sister was right in killing the Willis siblings.

That was why she pushed her way forward and shoved Emerald back. There was no time to be the kindhearted soul that she usually was. She needed to be tougher and braver with a heart of iron. She shook off her tension and relaxed.

Meri needed to create an opening so that Sweet Pea could get to his girlfriend. She cast a critical eye around their surroundings. She could see Nathan trying to make his way to his den leader out of her peripheral. She could feel the seething anger from Sweet Pea even from the distance she was at.

Her phone dinged with a message from Paz. She opened it quickly and it was a google maps street view of the area surrounding them. Another message pinged, and she got schematics of the buildings lingering. Meri grinned when she noticed that she was the closest to an accurate shot at the old gas pipeline. If she got it right (and she would. Her math was immaculate), then the bullet would bounce off the panel and fly towards the pipeline creating an explosion which would of course give them the perfect diversion to get Saph out of the line of fire and let them create an escape.

Meri took a deep breath before lining the shot just like it needed to be. A second passed and she squeezed the trigger. She watched as the bullet soared towards the panel before bouncing off it just like she knew it would. She watched it head towards the pipeline before finally colliding. The chain reaction was immediate and within seconds Sweet Pea was rushing for Sapphire.

Meri and the others shot off rounds in the chaos by the Ghoulies while Sweet Pea cradled Sapphire oh so gently and rushed her towards Fangs’ car that was further down the road. They all shot a few more times before they were taking off running behind the couple.

Meri was pushed down and Emerald relished in being in her right mind again.

She slid into the passenger seat of Fangs’ car hearing the whimpering from Sapphire from her spot across Sweet Pea’s and Toni’s laps.

“Get us to the medic stat,” Sweet Pea growled.

Fuck, she hoped Saph pulled through for everybody’s sake.

--

She did.

Barely.

The private physician for that Sapphire hired for the Serpents performed the surgery she needed. She had lost a lot of blood, and Saph just had to go on and show out how much special she was by being AB-.

She was still mad at Sapphire. She was still guilty by how she treated Sapphire after Toni told her why Sapphire killed Mr. Willis. But seeing one of her best friends… her sisters lying pale and so small, it made their argument seem so insignificant. It just made her wonder what Sapphire had been thinking when it was her lying on the bed.

Emerald couldn’t handle seeing Sapphire like that especially considering it was her fault. Sapphire wouldn’t have gotten shot if Emerald hadn’t overstepped her bounds. She was a Southsider. A serpent. They should have been the only ones she spent time with, but Reggie was so sweet and so different than the norm. She liked the freedom that she experienced when she was with him.

But Emerald would spend the rest of her days in her metaphorical bonds if it meant never seeing Sapphire like this again. Her fellow gem didn’t even have on any makeup. Honestly, she looked like a fifteen-year-old for a change. And even that was a stretch. Bare faced Sapphire looked so much like a child that one would think Sweet Pea was cradle robbing.

Sweet Pea.

He and Joaquin and FP had been here everyday without fail. Each pleading for her to wake up. And as usual, Sapphire proved how stubborn she was by refusing.

Gods of Olympus, she missed her friend.

She missed the way that only people that really knew Sapphire knew how her eyes would light up with excitement with whatever she was passionate about. She missed the fierce determination she had whenever she wanted something done. She missed walking into the gym and seeing Sapphire teaching her den how to fight people or watching her at the shooting range in Stone Manor teaching them how to shoot. She missed how Sapphire would show up at cheer practices with refreshments and food and a fresh set of eyes to make sure they were perfect. How she took days out of her frankly incredibly busy schedule to hand wash their jerseys and uniforms. She poured money into the Southside community as if she was pouring water.

People could say whatever they liked out Sapphire, but no one can deny she cared so much about the Southside and its people. She was insanely protective over what she deemed hers. And that’s what makes it so hard for Emerald to come to terms with what Sapphire did. She knows Sapphire is defensive and overprotective, but she never thought that her friend would kill anyone in her name.

It was too much for her to process.

She settles into the chair by the hotheaded gem, taking her hand and rubbing her thumb across the back of it like she saw Joaquin do. She didn’t know the prayer he whispered, but she hoped the effect was the same.

“You know being mad at you is such a chore…” she breaks eye contact from her hands to stare at Sapphire’s face. “Half the time I don’t think it’s worth it but trying to stay mad at you is just as hard.”

The words are spilling out of her mouth like water, boiling hot water. It hurts to confess to Sapphire when she can’t even hear it. She’s alone in this room with nothing, but her thoughts and shadows.

There’s no reaction on Saph’s face and Emerald wished for a moment that there was, that for some miracle Sapphire woke up for her. Just for her in this silent room and loud thoughts, that she would wake up and the two of them could finally talk and clear the air. She missed her best friend with the fierceness of a lion even when Sapphire was right there.

There’s a dull pain in her chest that hasn’t disappeared since watching Sapphire drop down on the jeep weeks prior. That whatever she wanted to say to Sapphire at the time she could have come clean with her feelings and she wouldn't be left in this gruesome waiting game of ‘can I forgive her or not.’

The back of her head says she already knows the answer. She lost her chance and should have made a stance weeks ago then maybe things could have been different. She buries her face into Sapphire’s arm. She drinks up the contact. She hasn’t been this close to Sapphire since the night she woke up in the Manor under all her guilt gifts.

“You make things too difficult, but you’re...you’ve taken up my thoughts and I hate it.” She laughs. “God Saph, I hate you so much.” A lie.

“Did you know that anytime I saw someone with a bold blue lipstick and clicking heels I would think it was you? I know, you’re a trendsetter and many girls at school kill to copy your style. But you’re my sister and it’s just hard to not to be able to turn around and see you looking so impassive to anyone that didn’t know you.”

There’s a faint sound of crickets that reaches Emerald’s ears through the window, she’ll have to close it when she leaves, who knows how many nasty bugs will crawl their way into the building that way.

“You’re probably ignoring me even in your sleep Saph...but I guess it’s better to say it now then never, I-I forgive you. I’ve forgiven you since the day Jazz Towers mentioned my kidnapping and you spent the rest of first period wiping the floor with her while the others were pulling me out of a flashback.”

Emerald choked back a sob, “For fuck’s sake, wake up. I miss you.”

Finally, she closes his eyes and for once in the past few weeks she falls asleep quickly.

 --

Sleeping in the chair in Sapphire’s room has to be one of her worst ideas. There’s an awful crick in her neck and a dull ache in her back now. It probably won’t go away until she goes to sleep again in the cold comfort of her bed. Emerald’s eyes flutter open and she’s met with the harsh light of the morning sun. Without thinking her arm is already up and covering her face. She hopes that she’s not late for her patrol of the Serpent territory to keep the war with the Ghoulies’ in control. It’s one thing at school where they were all feared and couldn’t be properly contained, but it was different on the streets where all battles could probably be the final one.

She never did close the window either. She prays no spiders made their way into the room during the night, because if they did Saph is on her own.

“You know…you’re the last person I expected to see when I woke up.”

The voice jerks her out of his tranquil peace so fast that the chair tilts and Emerald finds herself screaming. The chair is gone it makes a loud sound as it hits the floor and slides to hit the room wall. Emerald feels like she just finished getting body slammed by Hog Eye when they’re practicing hand-to-hand combat. The pain in her back and head only becomes worse.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Saph’s voice is gruffy from the lack of use and more than likely dry as well.

The princess wants to cry. The universe is out for her, time and time again she’s being shoved with series of happy unfortunate situations with Sapphire. She takes a moment to think, to think what to say, to think of her next moves, but everything comes up blank.

Maybe once she gets a good look at Sapphire she’ll be able to. Possibly think of a concrete thought.  Finally she opens her eyes and looks around. Sapphire is leaning over the small railing of her bed that Grammy Sweets and Nana Fangs demanded to be installed, worry filters her face as she prepares to say something else to Emerald.

Nope. If anything, it completely whips the brunet’s mind of any coherent thought. Like a fish out of water she stutters as she opens and closes her mouth repeatedly.

“Are you okay?” Sapphire says, and she looks so worried for Emerald you could think that past few weeks of unforgiven tension between them never happened.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine, I just--I didn’t think you’d be up, I’ve--everyone’s been worried.” The cheer captain finally finds her voice and she’s a stuttering mess, Sapphire looks like she’s about to laugh her ass off with how Emerald is reacting. A slight twitch to her lips like she’s holding it back.

“You sure? You hit your head pretty hard, it sounds like it hurt.” The raven-haired heiress coughs to cover up the laugh that’s bubbling to the surface.

The best thing to do is always embarrass yourself in front of the person that you need to beg forgiveness from, nice one Emmy.

“It did but sleeping in that chair has probably been the worst thing in my life too.” Good a normal conversation, she sounds normal. Maybe. She thinks she might be pitching her voice and running out of breath a lot faster than usual. This is normal, yes of course.

“You sure you okay Wayne?” The way her name rolls off Saph’s tongue is like music to her ears, she springs up so fast her back cracks and she sees the way Sapphire cringes at the sound.

(It didn’t escape her notice that Sapphire called her by her last name. An occurrence so rare its damn near a myth. It just goes to show how far they’ve strayed and how hurt Sapphire was by her actions no matter how justified.)

“Better than ever, thanks for asking.” It’s rushed out so quickly she can see Saph didn’t understand a word she just said.

“Uh…okay...sure,” She gives Emerald a quick one over just to make sure and settles back into her bed. Emerald could feel Meri pulsing in the back of her mind and reaching for Phire. Emerald knew intellectually that she and Meri were the same person, but it was mainly easier to think of that darker side of her as a different person. It also made Sapphire feel better and that nothing was wrong with her despite being diagnosed with such a mental illness. She could see Sapphire’s unease when she saw the IV dripping with the medicine to keep Phire under control and stabilized.

Slowly Emerald pushes herself up and places both of her hands on the edge of the mattress, leaning her weight into it. “But really, I’m happy to see you awake, you’ve...been asleep for a long time.”

Sapphire blinks and looks up at her confused, “How long?”

“If you slept another week it would have been a month.”

“It’s been that long?”

Emerald nods not looking away from Sapphire, drinking in the sight of the other and their small actions. The way Saph nose scrunches up in thought and the slight pout to her lips. The self-loathing and anger and regret in her eyes for making them wait so long for her to awaken for something as stupid as a bullet wound. She should’ve been more careful. She shouldn’t have let Phire have so much control.

Honestly, if Sapphire was so injured, Emerald would slap the shit out of her to keep those thoughts away.

“Yeah, in that time the Ghoulies have gotten a little more brave though it hasn’t been long, I’ve been training the Northies too.” Sapphire freezes and looks like she wasn’t prepared for Emerald to say that. She could basically see Sapphire’s walls come down. She knew what the other princess thought she was going to say. And while it was a true though, she knew how much Sapphire hated being compared to the Northsiders even though she dressed like them and talked like them and apparently fought like them though she was definitely more vicious. “They’re alright, they have this your dramatic flair I’m trying to get rid of.” Emerald smiles and tilts his head to the side. A dramatic flare just like you.

It appears to be the right answer as Sapphire relaxes and smiles up to Emerald, “Bet they’re nowhere near the level of my den.”

She was absolutely right. Sapphire’s den was a reflection of her and she took great pride in them. The Northsiders wouldn’t stand a chance. Hell, if it were for Emerald’s princess status in the Serpents and being a part of the Kingpin, she was sure that the Saph’s den would’ve tore her to pieces for getting her hurt. She knew that they wanted to demolish the Northsiders especially Reggie, but the war with the Ghoulies took precedence. And they were under strict orders from Sweet Pea to not touch them as he took over the den in his girlfriend’s absence.

“Where’s Sweet Pea,” ah Emerald knew it wouldn’t have been long before Sapphire asked for him.

“He’s been busy with your den; do you want me to find him?” Her voice betrays her, she doesn’t want to leave the other yet. For once in a long time she’s has her sole attention with no one else to get in their way. She wants to take this in, enjoy it for what she can before this is ripped away from her too. Before the two of them have to have the conversation to clear the air between them and Emerald can properly apologize again.

“It’s fine, I’m sure he’ll just know and be here when he can, he’s a complete mother hen.” Sapphire smiles, holding back a laugh.

A part of Emerald wondered why Sapphire was so calm and expressive with her after the weeks of anger and tension between them. Even when they had to present the arc reactor that Sapphire somehow managed to pull off and create for their class project and had the rest of them recite the schematics and how it was built and how the different elements reacted to the power core, there was tension between them. She remembered thinking to herself that some of the elements she was using for the project was rare and did she pay hush money and who she killed just to get it.

Yet here Sapphire is acting as if none of that had happened.

Emerald does too, snorting and placing her hands on her hips. “You’re not wrong. Do you want me to call anybody else in?”

Sapphire stops smiling and thinking for a moment, eyes furrowing in thought. Emerald heart stops and her mind goes into overdrive. Maybe she really didn’t expect to see her and hoped for someone else. Maybe she was just being polite and courteous. But the look in Sapphires eyes were genuine and the smiles she was gracing the room were pure.

“No? I actually wanted to talk to you, since you know we never got to since I ended up getting shot and everything.”

Emerald stops functioning, and she thinks she’ll just prefer to make a break for it. The brunet didn’t think that the other would bring up the topic so quickly.

I’m sure when she wakes up she’ll want to speak with you. Thanks FP.

“Oh...yeah that,” she responds lamely, scratching the back of her head.

“I know we kinda left each other on...a bad note, but I do-” Sapphire can’t seem the right words as she turns her head to look away from Emerald. It hits her like a ton of bricks. It was a well-known fact that despite how caring Sapphire was, she was absolutely shitty at comforting people and expressing her feelings and apologizing. She had been working on it because she hadn’t wanted it to seem like she was some manipulative bitch that got all her problems swept under a rug because she didn’t know how to be empathetic.

It also kept her and Sweet Pea from breaking up every other week.

The brunet decides to save her the trouble, “Hey it’s okay, I was a jerk and you had every right to be one back it’s fine, I’m sorry.”

But Sapphire shook her head, “No, I have to apologize for the stuff with the Willis’. I should’ve told you from the beginning starting with running them out of town. I didn’t expect to care for you as deeply as I do. I didn’t think I would see you as a sister. At the beginning, you were just another girl. Basically, an insurance. Another equal for Toni whenever I had to leave on business. I never supposed to have let you get close enough to have the power to hurt me…”

“…But the night that Candace put those dead snakes around you and I found out Philip was trying to take you in. I knew I had to do something. FP had said that he would handle it, but I just couldn’t wait. Something need to be done soon and fast, so I had manipulated my way around everything and took control of their reigns of life. I just knew I had to protect you no matter the cost…”

“… And Emerald, I am so, so, so sorry that you got hurt because of my careless. And even then, hurt doesn’t even fully cover it, but I don’t regret it. I’d do it a thousand times again if it means keeping you out that creep’s hand and hell if I could, I would’ve gotten rid of the twins at the time while I was at it.”

Emerald knew there were tears streaming down her face. Even without the makeup and still being so pale, the intensity of determination and stubbornness and protectiveness in Sapphires eyes made her look like so normal. Made her look like the Serpent Princess that she was.

Emerald stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Sapphire, “I forgave you a long time ago.”

Honestly, it was one of the best mornings Emerald had in a while.