#i just love enchante and will jump at any chance to insert it
Text
selfless (to a fault?) [nowdateables]
CW: allusions to past toxic relationships.
brothers here!
Diavolo
So. Diavolo might not notice right away. It’s not ignorance! He’s just very busy, and public appearances are important to keep up, so one of the ways he keeps up with you happens to be exactly what you have trouble accepting. Large bouquets sent to the House of Lamentation when you’re there, a word sent out to any of his staff out where you may be to make your life easier however possible (Mammon tries to tag along with you all the time, hoping to hear the magic words: “His highness has graciously waived the fee for all exchange students’ purchases today!”) - and he’s not even there to see the way your smile looks a little more like a grimace, or the way you stare uncomfortably at the little gift.
He seems to love that you are so willing to try and help him out - even if there isn’t much you can do, since he handles a lot of sensitive documents and information. But, considering he’s so lonely, when it comes to reciprocating he sort of follows your lead?
He knows, on a surface level, how to be in a relationship, but considering you’re a human AND he doesn’t have a lot of interpersonal relationships for practice...he sort of follows your lead, and hopes your way of giving love is the same as your way of receiving.
You’ll have to bring it up to him, which is a nerve-wracking experience on its own, eased only by the fact that you know Diavolo has done his best to make sure you KNOW you can bring up any issues you have. He is very good at opening his ears to you and helping you problem solve, and when dealing with the things he cares about (yes, YOU) he is very direct about problem solving.
The moment you stand before him, Diavolo notices the way you fidget with your hands and almost refuse to look at him directly. He immediately stops what he’s doing, putting everything down and turning in his seat. If he’s at his desk, he gestures for you to come to his side and asks you directly - “What’s wrong?”
It seems terrible to directly accuse the prince of wanting to manipulate you, so instead you ask, “What did you want in exchange for those gifts?” And for a moment, he does not know what you are talking about. First of all, WHICH gifts, there’s so many, and secondly did he come across as wanting something in return other than your happiness?
No matter what he was doing before, he will set aside all of the time he needs to at least start to communicate to you that he has no ulterior motives with his gifts to you. If you’d like him to stop with such blatant displays of affection, he will, but it’s more important to him that you know he is only trying to communicate how he feels when he cannot do it directly.
Barbatos
This is a relationship where you might have to bring it up before you even start dating. Either that or he WILL get a hint before then. He’s a butler! Not only is he normally serving other people, he is a master at standing in the back and watching people. He notices the way you awkwardly hold your tea cup after he gives it to you, or decline anything that he offers you when given the chance. It just comes up by nature of who he is.
Before he is interested in pursuing a relationship, he simply brushes it off as the unfamiliarity of having someone wait on you. Perhaps you’re particularly independent, or you just never really are in a situation where someone waits on you like he does. Either way, it isn’t really much of his business.
But...it is very obvious in a relationship. He just...defaults to helping others. Sure, he knows how to separate work and his personal life (though, to be fair, there is not much of a “personal life” there with how much time work takes up, so maybe that needs to be revisited. some day...) but even with that separation he enjoys providing solutions for people and helping out. It brings him joy to help make your life a little easier if he can help, and it’s something he’s good at.
Still, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and he definitely doesn’t want to make you think that he’s treating you the way he treats people as a job. If he wanted to, he could most likely peer into different timelines or even into your past, try to figure out what’s bothering you...but he knows better than to creep into places you haven’t explicitly told him you want him. Besides, communication is important, and this seems a prime opportunity to put that to use.
So he asks you one day when you visit him at the castle, after he notices your hesitation to respond to him when he offers to help you with something you were complaining about. “Why does it make you uncomfortable when I offer my assistance to you?”
You freeze for a moment. “Wouldn’t you be able to find that out on your own?” “Would you like me to?” “...no, not really.”
He isn’t one to press you for information, or to ask a thousand times if you know he’d never use any of his attempts to make your life in the Devildom easier against you. Barbatos will listen to what you have to say intently and do his best to mesh to what you think you’re most comfortable with. He does intend to help you accept help as much as he can, but it’ll be so subtle you’ll hardly even notice. With the little amount of time he already gets with you, he’s already practiced in making the most of it - what’s one more little task to the greatest butler in all the realms?
Solomon
See, this is a relationship that doesn’t necessarily depend on the whole “acts of kindness” thing. (Like, it does to the same degree any relationship does, but considering I think you’d both be pretty independent people and the helping each other aspect normally comes from things you’re doing together anyway. If that makes sense.)
Still, he does notice how...surprised you look when he surprises you with a flashy spell he learned, or when he hears you complaining about your course load or Lucifer’s expectations for you. You decline every single offer he gives you to help, and you never look as happy as he hopes you will when he shows you his spells. (Depending on what stage you are at in the relationship, how is he supposed to impress you if you never want him to do things for you !!!)
However, he is accustomed to holding information close to his chest, and he isn’t always the best at asking about people’s emotions. So, even though sometimes you jump at the opportunity to help him collect ingredients for potions or find one book in massive libraries or craft things for enchantments and spells but you REFUSE to let him help you study for a class he could pass without even listening to one of the lectures, he silently suffers and hopes you’ll breach the subject on your own.
Which you do. Kinda. He’s trying to convince you to let him help you with paying back the debts of one of Mammon’s schemes he dragged you into - figuring two bodies on the job will get it done faster and, in turn, he can have more time with you later - but he makes the mistake of rationalizing it with, “Well, since you help me out so much, maybe I could-”
“Don’t! Don’t...say that. We don’t owe each other anything.” You give him a tight smile that’s OBVIOUSLY fake. “I help you because I want to.”
“And I want to help you. Why won’t you let me? What’s up?”
The conversation is...uncomfortable. Solomon isn’t the best at handling vulnerability. But he doesn’t judge you for a second, and he gets the fear that you have in the back of your mind. Especially since people keep telling you not to trust him and that he’s shady...this relationship is pretty dependent on a thorough trust between the two of you. But he doesn’t mind proving himself a little more, so long as you’ll be gracious enough to give him a chance.
Simeon
Simeon is really good at vibing out somebody’s boundaries and comforts. Call it angelic intuition, but he also has a feeling about you that makes a little too much sense when he notices how you shy away from any offers of assistance.
A little thinking, and suddenly the way you stretch yourself thing to help the brothers at any moment makes a lot of sense too. (And, of course, he is pleased to know everyone considers everyone to be family. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t two main causes!)
Angels naturally want to ease the strife of the humans they come across, and even though Simeon knows that it might make you uncomfortable, he finds himself unknowingly putting you in awkward positions with how often he reaches out to make your life easier.
Bringing you homework that you missed, being your escort when the brothers are busy, buying you lunch just because - he’s a bit of a sweetheart and it’s in his blood to do these things, and he only remembers how it hurts you when you uncomfortably shift before taking the only option he’s given you - accept what you don’t want.
He sits you down one day, letting you know it’s bound to be a healing conversation between the two of you. Fortunately, he has a knack for making you feel comfortable and safe, so he has a slightly easier time getting you to pen up to him.
The moment you even hint at him having ulterior motives, you feel stupid. Even when he assures you that it’s alright, saying it out in the open feels...wrong. That doesn’t shake the feeling or ease your fears, but it does make addressing things a bit easier.
Simeon has no problem helping to draft a plan for re-affirming your trust in genuine love and kindness. He also inserts himself directly into the plans - what, you thought he wouldn’t? Simeon will remind you what it feels like to be cared for with no expectation of return. don’t get him wrong though, he’ll take a lil kiss or something if u want...
Luke
You can’t say no to him. Unfortunately, he bakes a LOT and he is all too eager to be your personal guard dog guardian angel.
When you do decide to let him know why you look so uncomfortable when he tries to do something for you (giving him an abridged version, of course) - and he, in all his energy, does not seem to get the hint to STOP ASKING - you can see him literally just chill out. One minute he’s vibrating with pure energy and the next he’s just. Still.
He half wants to get indignant on you, but he knows that’s not a good response. Instead he just sort of stands there, watching you for a minute, until he blurts out with zero grace - “What would I even have to do that for??”
He realizes it’s a terrible response the moment it comes out of his mouth, but you seem to be okay with it if your awkward chuckle is anything to go with. Luke starts pouting just a little bit, more upset with himself that he’s completely failing at handling this situation. “I’m just nice to you because you’re nice and you deserve it. There’s nothing else to it.”
He’s a sweet boy, and he doesn’t wanna lose his favorite taste-tester. He’s got the spirit.
#not me hoping to god barbatos' is alright#i'm falling in love with him more but i still don't know how to vibe him out AHHH#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me swd#swd obey me#obey me diavolo#swd diavolo#obey me barbatos#swd barbatos#obey me solomon#swd solomon#obey me simeon#swd simeon#obey me luke#swd luke#diavolo#barbatos#solomon#luke#simeon#mine#diavolo x reader#barbatos x reader#solomon x reader#simeon x reader
181 notes
·
View notes
Text
“The Three Broomsticks” || YEAR 3 – Ch.20 (HP au)
Chapter List
<-- Last Chapter Next Chapter -->
Day posted: 9/15/2020
Word count: 2, 706
Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)
Rating: E for everyone
Warnings: none
-----
A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.
This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D
-----
~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~
Heather stepped out into the road outside of Honeydukes and jumped behind Harry and Hermione, shielding her face from the whipping wind and stinging snowflakes being thrown around them. They quickly ran down the street and entered the tiny inn before they froze in the blizzard.
The bartender woman smiled at them as they entered and went back to serving a loud group of wizards in the back, calming them down with another round of drinks and chips.
“Butterbeer’s two sickles.” Ron opened his hand.
They stuffed their hands in their pockets and pulled out the coins before making their way to a corner table while Ron got the drinks. They slipped in beside a Christmas tree and sat at the table. Heather looked out the window at the blizzard and shivered in her chair.
The inn was nice, far nicer than the Leaky Cauldron, and cozier too. There was a warm fire next to the bar and the heat radiated all the way to their back table in waves that followed the flames.
Ron came back holding two tankards of butterbeer in each hand and sat down next to Heather. “These’ll thaw us down.”
Heather slid her tankard in front of herself and hummed happily, keeping her hands on the warm wood and feeling the blood return to her hands. She tipped it into her mouth and drank the toasty liquid and set the tankard down with a clank.
“That’s amazing!” It was the most delicious drink she’d ever tasted. Better than eggnog even, and she loved sneaking sips from the Dursley’s eggnog cartons.
Now that their lips weren’t so frozen, Hermione reminded them of why they were there.
“Right… So,” Harry started, looking around. He leaned in and waited for them to do the same. “Fred and George gave us a map that shows all the secret passages out of Hogwarts.”
Ron’s jaw dropped. “They what?”
“They said they didn’t need it anymore, having memorized it all and everything,” Heather said quickly, seeing the face of betrayal Ron was making.
“It’s a secret map too, enchanted to look like normal parchment and everything. It’s really amazing.” Harry avoided Hermione’s eyes when speaking, seeing the look of shock wash away and concern replace it.
Hermione turned to Heather. “You’re going to turn that in immediately, aren’t you?”
Heather pressed her lips together, knowing that would be the right thing to do, if only she didn’t find that map incredibly useful, especially since it had come in handy once before and would come in handy way more, now that she was used to the idea of sneaking around the castle. “Well…”
“Well what?” Hermione demanded. “Do you three have any idea how dangerous that map is right now?” She lowered her voice, “With Sirius Black walking around TRYING to get in?”
“Succeeding, remember. He doesn’t need that map,” Ron reminded them.
“Exactly. Besides, if I handed it in, I’d have to tell on Fred and George. I’m sure Filch realized it was gone and would ask me where I got it. They’d get in trouble.”
Heather nodded in agreement, but knowing that was a horrible excuse. “And, Hermione, do you really think Professor Dumbledore doesn’t know about any of these passages? He knows everything about the castle – ”
“Except the Chamber of Secrets,” Hermione crossed her arms.
“R-right… but that’s different…” she bit her lip and looked to Ron for help.
“Uh,” Ron started. “A-and they came in through Honeydukes! We’d’ve heard about a break-in there if he knew about the secret passage they took.”
They all looked at Hermione who did not seem very happy but couldn’t argue against all of them.
Ron finished the discussion by pointing to a notice posted to the window, reminding them all of the dementors roaming around the village after sundown. “He’d have to break into Honeydukes during the day or risk getting caught by those things at night.”
Heather gasped suddenly, as she spotted emerald green robes walk past the window. There was a rush of air that pulled on their hair as the door opened with a ding of the bell and closed behind Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.
Ron and Hermione pushed Harry and Heather under the table, hiding them from view. Heather watched their feet walk over to the bar, turn, and walk towards them. She heard Hermione whisper ‘Leviosa’ at the Christmas tree, levitating it several inches off the ground. Heather quickly took out her wand and whispered ‘Mobiliarbus’, helping Hermione move it over to cover their table.
Through the thick lower branches of the decorated tree, she saw four sets of chair legs move back at the table right besides theirs and heard creaks as they all sat down in their seats. A pair of sparkly high heels came clacking down to them.
“Gillywater, Minerva?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Four pints of mulled mead?”
“Ta, Rosemerta,” said Hagrid.
“Dry cherry soda?”
“Thank you, thank you!” Professor Flitwick squeaked.
“Your rum then, Minster.”
“Rosemerta, thank you m’dear. Won’t you take a break and join us? It’s lovely to see you again.”
“I’d love to, Minster.” There was a final thump and another chair got pulled back. The sparkly heels moved in front of the chair legs one at a time and with a creak of the chair, Rosemerta sat down.
It was the last weekend of term for the teachers too, and it looked like they were going to enjoy their time in Hogsmeade with the rest of the students. Heather looked to Harry, both knowing this meant they’d have little to no time to make it back to Honeydukes before it closed at sundown.
“What brings you down here, Minister?” said Rosemerta.
There was a pause and in a hushed tone, Cornelius Fudge responded. “I’m on the business of Sirius Black, m’dear. You heard what happened up at the school on Halloween, did you?”
“There’s been rumors.”
“If by rumor you mean Hagrid…” Professor McGonagall sighed.
“Is Black really still in the area? Is that why you’re down?”
“I’m absolutely certain of it.”
Hermione lightly kicked them after hearing the Minister’s words.
“Which means the dementors will be staying,” Rosemerta sounded annoyed. “They searched my pub twice last week – scared nearly everyone away.”
“I am sorry about that, m’dear. I don’t like them any more than anyone else does – those awful creatures – but they are necessary to keep everyone safe. I’ve just met a few and, well they’re in quite a mood. Dumbledore won’t let them in the castle and – ”
“And why would he?” Professor McGonagall cut in. “How can we teach with those horrifying things floating around above our heads? You know how many wizards experience severe reactions to them. Let alone young students.”
“Oh absolutely could not teach with them in my classroom,” Flitwick agreed.
“Yes. But however true that is, the dementors serve a purpose. They protect from something much, much worse. Remember what Black’s capable of.”
“We remember,” came Hagrid’s somber voice.
“I still can’t believe it. All these years and I just can’t,” Rosemerta sighed. “Sirius Black… of all people? I remember him and his friends back when they went to school… If you’d’ve told me any one of them could turn to the Dark Side I’d’ve said you had too much to drink.”
“You know he’s far worse than people realize.”
“What’s worse than murdering all those people, Minister?”
“You remember his best friend, don’t you, Rosemerta?” Professor McGonagall asked.
Rosemerta laughed. “How could I not? They were joined at the hip! Thick as thieves those, two. There was never one in here without the other. Oh, and they were the funniest pair of kids I’ve ever had in here. Quite the double act, those two… Sirius Black and James Potter… What boys they were.”
Heather choked on her breath. She squeezed her mouth between her elbow and coughed. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. She stared at the sparkly heels and shook her head.
“A couple of troublemakers those two, but exceptionally bright – very bright minds. They were the ringleaders of their little gang. Those four…” Professor McGonagall trailed off.
“They were all good as brothers,” Professor Flitwick added.
Professor McGonagall continued. “Inseparable. He was best man at James’ wedding… In fact, James made Sirius godfather to his children.”
Rosemerta’s gasp echoed that of Heather and Harry’s. Why hadn’t they been told any of this? That’s why everyone was so weirdly intense about it all around them. That’s why Mr. Weasley thought they’d go looking… Because Sirius Black was they’re father’s best friend.
“Can’t imagine how that’d torment them to know,” Hagrid murmured.
“Because Black was on the opposite side as James? Black was in league with You-Know-Who?”
“Worse, m’dear. Far worse,” Fudge spoke up. “The Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore had many useful spies, and one of them tipped him off about it and he immediately alerted the Potters. He told them their best chance at hiding from You-Know-Who was the Fidelius Charm.”
“What’s that?”
“The Fidelius Charm,” Professor Flitwick put on his teaching voice. “Is a complex spell that conceals a secret inside of a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside that person and is impossible to find… unless that secret keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the secret-keeper never opens their mouth, the information could be right under your nose and you’d never find it in your lifetime or after.”
“The Potters made Black their Secret-keeper then?” Rosemerta whispered.
“Of course,” Professor McGonagall tapped her foot. “Naturally. Dumbledore offered to be the Secret-Keeper for them… but James told him that Black would rather die than reveal their location, that Black said he’d go into hiding for them… Dumbledore was still worried, however.”
“Did he suspect Black?” Rosemerta asked Heather’s question.
“He suspected someone among them – someone close to them – was keeping You-Know-Who informed. Everywhere the Potters hid, Death Eaters were not far behind.”
“And yet he insisted on having Black as his Secret-Keeper?”
“He trusted him,” whispered Harry.
Heather turned to him and stared into his eyes. He was too focused to notice.
“He did,” Fudge said slowly. “That only lasted a week of course… Just a week after the Fidelius Charm was performed… Black turned them into You-Know-Who sometime that week. Of course, little did You-Know-Who know that’d he’d meet his downfall facing little Harry Potter. All weak and powerless, he fled and died who knows where. With no master, Black was put in a very serious position. He was a traitor with nowhere else to go.”
Hagrid growled. “I met him that day. I musta bin the last to see him! I went down to rescue Harry an’ Heather from their house. It was me what took them to safety. I’d gotten there, seen all that ruin an’-an’ their parents lyin’ on the floor in front o’them… Harry with a big gash on his forehead. Then here comes Sirius Black, in that flyin’ muggle motorbike. He was all white an’ shakin’ in his boots, he was. AN’ I COMFORTED THAT MURDERIN’ TRAITOR!” Hagrid roared.
“Shhhhhh.” Professor McGonagall kicked him under the table.
“He wanted them, y’know. He asked me for them. But I said no. I’d had me orders to get them to their aunt and uncle’s house. He gave me his bike ter use. Said he wasn’t needin’ it no more.”
“It would have been too easy for the Ministry to trace,” Fudge said.
“At least the Ministry caught him next day,” Rosemerta said after a long pause.
“If only we had. One of their friends, Peter Pettigrew got to him before we did. Furious at him for betraying them. Fought Black as soon as he found him…”
“He had always been a poor duelist,” said Professor McGonagall heavily.
“Took a team of highly trained Hit Aurors from Magical Law Enforcement to take him down. I was a junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes… It was a sight to see. The giant crater and Black standing there… right in the center standing over bloody robes and… the remains.”
There was a long pause.
“Well, there it is, m’dear. Took twenty squad members to bring him into Azkaban, where he stayed for twelve years.”
“But he must be mad now, spending all that time in Azkaban.”
“You’d think that. No, I met him my last visit to Azkaban… Everyone else normally sits in their cell, muttering wildly to themselves, rocking back and forth, staring at the walls… Not Black. He spoke to me quite clearly. So normal, it was unnerving. He asked for my newspaper, ha! Must’ve been bored… How he managed to stay sane is beyond me. He was the most heavily guarded… dementors posted outside his door and barred window day and night.”
There was another pause and a clink of glass on wood.
“Minister, if you’re dining with the Headmaster today, we should get going,” said Professor McGonagall.
One by one they all got up and pushed in their chairs. Professor McGonagall’s emerald green robes swung back into place just at her ankles and slowly everyone but Rosemerta left the inn.
There was a flurry of snow that had blown in as the door swung closed, and Harry and Heather stayed sitting there in shocked silence. Heather was shaking her head, unbelieving everything they’d just said. She pushed everything away, hating it all. She hated knowing about her parents and their past, hating thinking they existed without them.
They were names and words, sounds without meaning. And now she knew her father had a best friend, and a group of loyal friends… and he was a troublemaker and a brilliant wizard and… he’d trusted his bestest friend with his life… and the life of his family… ‘Quite the double act, those two’… She shook her head again.
“Heather?”
“Harry?”
Heather and Harry looked up at Hermione and Ron, poking their heads down to check on them. The tree had been moved back and it was clear to come out. They sat back in their seats and sipped the butterbeer in silence. Ron and Hermione never spoke a word the rest of the time.
“We should head back,” Harry pushed his empty tankard away.
Everyone nodded and they slowly got up. They exited the Three Broomsticks and ran back to Honeydukes. They were told they were closing soon and the first chance they could, Heather and Harry snuck back down to the cellar, leaving Ron and Hermione standing worried and awkward alone at the door.
The tunnel walk back to the castle was quiet between them. She knew Harry had a million questions and wanted to talk to her. He kept glancing at her as they walked in the light of their wands, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the rocky ground.
When they were younger, she had always rejected the idea that their parents had died in a car crash. She’d told Harry stories about how they were simply dust clumps come to life for the sole purpose of annoying the Dursleys. And now she couldn’t stop thinking of two young boys running around Hogwarts, throwing dung bombs in the halls and getting yelled at by Filch. About a boy that looked very much like Harry, wearing ruby red robes and flying around in the Quidditch Pitch. About people laughing at his jokes.
She was brought back from her thoughts by Harry asking for the spell to open the witch up again. She mumbled the spell and let him lead her out.
In no time at all she was lying on her bed, face buried in her pillow, trying not to think about what James Potter would have been like as a father. He was a bright wizard… would he have been proud of her? She crawled under the covers and stayed there through dinner.
In the end, she decided it made no difference. She closed her eyes for bed as the other girls blew out their candles. If she didn’t care what her grandparents or great, great, great grandparents were like, why should she care what they were like?
~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~
Chapter List
<-- Last chapter Next chapter -->
-----
@lokilover-39
@halcyonrogers
@krazykatkay456
@lady-of-black-roses
@writingmi
-----
#harry potter#heather potter#severus snape x oc#severus x oc#snape x oc#severus snape x reader#severus x reader#snape x reader#pro snape#snape fanfic#snape fanfiction#snape fan fiction#fanfic#fanfiction#fan fiction
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Second Chances - Ch. 19
Putting the past behind
Warnings: swearing, smut
Word count: ~10,200
Masterlist
Read on AO3
The next morning, camp is still sedated. The loudest sounds come from the river as egrets nest and the alligators hunt. You suggest to Arthur over your morning coffee to go into Saint Denis.
“Why?” he asks. “Thought you hated that place.”
“I do, but I feel like we need to go somewhere with life in it. Just for a bit.”
He nods and puts his tin cup into his satchel.
“We can do that. I have something to do in town anyways.”
“What’s that?”
He sighs and rubs his neck. “Few days ago, I bumped into some French artist. Helped him get out of a spot of trouble so he invited me to the gallery displaying his art. You wanna come?”
“I never been to an art show,” you say optimistically.
“Me neither if I’m being honest. But, I should warn you, this feller’s a bit of a… well, I ain’t too sure, but you might want to keep your distance from him.”
“Why?”
He sighs awkwardly. “He’s, well, he’s got a real strange way with people. Just stay by me and you’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” you say curiously.
Arthur grabs your hand and leads you over to the horses where you mount up. He bids Lenny a quiet farewell as you both pass him, heading out of Shady Belle. Once you’re through the trees, your mood lightens considerably, although the hot and humid air still cloaks you.
You walk Rannoch side by side with Artemis into Saint Denis. You’re just passing a fenced pond where you see a man on the boat dock, acting thoroughly agitated. You see a strange box with coiled wires sticking out of it sitting on a table on the dock.
“What is that?” you ask, nodding your head towards the man.
“Let’s go find out.”
Arthur stops Artemis and the two of you walk into the park, casually strolling up to the man who continues to rant, tearing up a piece of paper.
“You okay, buddy?” Arthur calls to him. The man jumps and looks back at the two of you.
“Fantastic! You Americans,” he gestures to you both, speaking with a thick accent you can’t place, “are nothing but shysters and traitors and slippery tongued ball suckers!”
Arthur grabs his gun belt and huffs a small laugh. “I’m inclined to agree with ya.”
The man waves a hand at him angrily then turns to a box set on the pier. Arthur stands beside him as he opens the box and pulls out a small boat.
“Back to work with a bloody smile,” the man mutters to himself. “No problem, Marco. You are a great genius so we shove the hot poker up the ass! Say thank you, Marco!”
“What are you talking about?” you ask as you try not to laugh at his continued ramblings.
“Nothing! Just how much I love this goddamn country of yours!”
“What are you, some kinda toy maker?” Arthur asks, gesturing to the boat.
“No, I am a fucking genius with a poker up the ass.” He hands Arthur the boat and takes two rods, inserting them into the top of the boat. “Toy maker. Hello? Do I look like I should entertain children?” He glares at Arthur.
“No,” Arthur replies heavily.
You’ve no idea how Arthur doesn’t laugh, you have to cover your mouth. You hide your snicker by pretending to cough.
“No, he says,” the man ignores you and takes his boat back. “I am the savior of mankind, buddy. Professor Marco Dragic. The one the silver tongue American betray and not pay the total money to. He total shit, man!” He places the boat into the water beside the dock.
“So what’s this toy about?” Arthur asks as you compose yourself. He begins reaching for the elevated box you had seen earlier with the coil rods sticking out.
“It is not a toy, big nuts!” Marco says, gesturing for him to stop. “It is a demonstration of my genius, about my ideas of the source of life.”
Arthur approaches the toy boat, leaning down. “Ah, it’s a toy boat!” he says enthusiastically.
“Yes it is a toy boat that I can power remotely!” Marco sneers, fidgeting with the box. You smile and approach the other side of the dock, looking over the water. You spot several floating devices in the water and tiny colored sailboats.
“I’m using electricity and waves you cannot see!” Marco continues, cranking a lever on the side of the box.
Arthur stands up, shaking his head. “Waves I cannot see,” he mutters skeptically.
You suddenly look at Marco curiously. Could he power the boat with nothing attached to it? The idea is certainly entertaining, though doubtful.
“Still the investors will not come,” Marco says, acting as though he hadn’t heard Arthur. “Just a couple of old ladies and a moron.”
He adjusts a few more things on the box, flips a couple of switches. You hear the sound of people behind you approaching. All three of you turn and find a man accompanied by two women, one slightly older than the other.
“Ladies! Gentleman!” Marco says energetically. He rushes forward and kisses one of the women’s hands. “Enchante. How is the piles?” The three people look to each other, clearly pondering if they should be offended. Before any of them have a chance to react, he continues. “Yes, yes good. My friends, you are about to witness history. A demonstration of my infinite insight.”
He pushes Arthur out of the way, who had been inspecting the box. Arthur stands next to you, clasping his hands in front of him. You smile at him, grabbing his arm, curious to see if the man’s experiment will actually work.
“All of us, we feel old,” Marco begins to the visitors. “You, you are old!” he points to the older of the two women, who huffs. “But maybe I can make you immortal!”
He chuckles and then moves over to the boat, clearly pleased with himself. “Using waves you cannot see, I will power this boat-”
“You’re a goddamn fraud,” a man interrupts. Your entire group turns to see him standing a few yards away, smoking a cigar. He sneers at Marco. “And this buffoon dressed up like a buffoon,” he motions to Arthur, who looks down at his clothes questioningly, “is his stoolie. I watched them conspire, you morons.”
You glare at the man and then back to Arthur. You lean over and tell him you think he looks handsome in his green shotgun coat, red vest and black shirt, his collar popped up. He pats your hand on his arm.
“I never met this buffoon before two minutes ago!” Marco says incredulously. He stands beside Arthur and gestures to him. “Isn’t that right?”
“Which part of it?” he asks, clearly still offended.
“Professor,” the man with the women says. “Show us your magical toy boat, but let the buffoon try it out.”
“No, this ain’t nothin’ to do with me,” Arthur says.
“Go on, Arthur,” you encourage, patting his hand. “I bet it ain’t that hard.”
He turns to say something to you when Marco reaches for him. “Come, please.” He takes Arthur’s arm, dragging him away from you and situates him in front of the box. He motions to two handles, explaining how they work in order to control the boat.
“Any moron can do this,” Marco says, gesturing to the women and looking back at Arthur, “and I am about to prove that.”
Arthur gives you an annoyed glance before grabbing the handles. He twitches them and the boat stirs in the water. He moves them again hesitantly and the boat glides forward.
“Ha ha! Excellent! Now keep going,” Marco says.
Arthur steers the boat through the water. Marco advises him to stay away from the floating blobs, which seem to be attracted to the boat. He explains they have magnets built into them and will explode upon contact. Arthur carefully guides the boat through the water, chasing the colored sailboats as per Marco’s instructions.
“I have loaded the boat with torpedos. Blow up the sailboats!”
Arthur does so. You watch the waves of water as the torpedos launch from the boat and strike the sailboats, amazed. After a few moments, he destroys the last one and brings the boat back to the doc.
“This is really remarkable,” the man says appreciatively.
“Like I say, any fool, huh?” Marco laughs.
“What is that?” Arthur asks, a big grin on his face. You smile over at him as well, moving closer.
“LIke I say, it is the stuff of life!”
“It’s incredible.”
“No, no. Incredible is in my lab. So, can I count on your support?” Marco asks the man.
“Well, I don’t know. This is expensive.
“It is immortality! Maybe perhaps we discuss over lunch?”
As Marco and the man talk, Arthur reaches up and touches one of the balls atop a coiled wire. You hear a jolt and he hisses, waving his hand.
“You okay?” you say, hiding your giggle.
“Ah yeah,” he takes your hand, tapping Marco with the other. “Alright, we’re going.”
“Ah of course,” Marco says to him happily. “Listen, if you are ever up near Doverhill, pay me a visit, huh?”
Marco returns to his watchers and babbles on. You laugh softly as Arthur offers you his arm and walks you back to your horses. You mount up and continue on deeper into the city.
He leads you down to the main street of Saint Denis. A man plays a trumpet beneath the tall bronze statue of a man. You’re glad Rannoch has become so used to following Artemis’s large form, you’re busy looking around at all the buildings, the architecture, the people. Men and women of all races and classes walk on the sidewalks and the streets. You thought Blackwater was a large and bouncing city, but it is nothing compared to Saint Denis.
Arthur leads you slowly up to the main street. Halfway up, he turns left and heads down a broad and nearly empty street aside from a trolley car making its slow way up. On the left, you see a building with a circular corner, the dome rising high, the words “Theatre Raleur” lit in golden lights under a fancy logo. Farther up on the opposite side of the street is a large park, a fountain playing near the west side, flowering bushes along the curving walkway.
“Come on,” Arthur says, hitching Artemis.
“What are we doing?” you ask, doing the same to Rannoch.
“Supposedly this is the nicest park in Saint Denis. Figure if you want to see the city, ya ought to see this.”
You smile, not believing him but humoring him all the same. He proudly offers his arm to you as he walks you into the park. You both pass the fountain, where a man in a white suit offers pamphlets about Chelonianism. Arthur points to a large house across the street on the west side.
“That’s Bronte’s house.”
“Quite… mundane,” you say, gazing at the large mansion. Arthur chuckles, patting your hand on his arm.
“Y/N?” a soft, tinkling voice rings behind you. You turn, looking for the owner.
A woman about the same age as you walks up. You immediately recognize the bold red hair, fair skin and blue eyes of your cousin Emma. It’s been nearly ten years since you’ve last seen her; she’s grown more beautiful since then. She wears a large, pale green dress completely covering her arms and neck, a large hat covering her head. She clasps her hands in front of her, her gold wedding ring glints in the sun.
“Oh my Lord, it is you!” she cries out happily.
Before you have time to react, she grabs your calloused, dirty hands with her soft, clean ones, her nails polished and finely shaped.
“Oh my, Y/N,” she says, her smile flickering slightly. “I heard about your parents and your husband. Such a tragedy!”
“E-Emma?” you stammer.
Arthur looks between the two of you curiously. You suddenly feel extremely self conscious in front of him, knowing you look hideous in comparison to her. Your hair’s unkempt and in need of a wash and a trim, your face sunburnt and dirty. You’re more muscular than Emma is and you’re taller than her as well. You feel like a troll standing next to an elf.
“That’s right, Y/N,” she grins. “Oh, I must say I have worried about you so since I left Blackwater. I hated that town so much, I wished you had come with me here. I sometimes think about how you could have been so much happier. A girl like you could have made out like a criminal in this city!”
Arthur suddenly clears his throat beside you. Emma looks at him as though she’s just noticed him.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” her eyes rake over his form. You can’t tell if she’s impressed or not. “Forgive me, I am Emma Caulson. Perhaps Y/N has mentioned me to you?”
She holds out her hand, as though expecting him to take it and kiss it. His eyes narrow slightly. “Oh I’ve heard of you, alright.”
Emma lowers her hand when she realizes he isn’t going to take it, her smile suddenly shaky. She turns back to you.
“So, Y/N,” she says, biting her lips. “When I heard word of your family’s deaths, I was told you were wanted for questioning. May I ask why?”
You swallow, hesitating. “I don’t know. I was away in Armadillo working my job as a seamstress when my husband was killed. By the time I returned home, I heard my parents were dead.”
“And you have no idea who did it?” she asked, clearly not believing your story.
“No. I couldn’t tell you.”
“I see. I heard your father sold you to your husband. I was sorry when I heard that. He got the idea from my own engagement, I’m sure. However,” she takes a step towards you, straightening to her full height, which is still shorter than you. “It doesn’t justify what I’m thinking you did. Your parents were good people, Y/N.”
You’re just about to say something when Arthur takes a step towards her. You barely reach his chin; he towers over Emma. It doesn’t help that he’s so broad. The sight is intimidating.
“Ya better watch your mouth, girl,” he says calmly.
Emma looks to him, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon, sir. This conversation doesn’t concern you.”
“It concerns me because you’re threatening my girl, miss, and I won’t tolerate it. Now, she may be guilty of certain crimes, but they ain’t nothing compared to what I done. You open your mouth about her to anyone, I’ll come back to get ya.”
Emma’s eyes are as large as saucers and she takes a step back. Arthur continues to glare at her, his eyes unblinking.
“Forgive me, sir,” she says, her voice shaking. “I… I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“No, course you didn’t,” Arthur growls. “You only did your best to humiliate her ten years ago. Only now, she’s got me. I’m also gonna tell you this. If she killed her family, what makes you think she’s above killin’ you?”
You smile as she looks over to you, her face pale.
“That’s right, Emma. I killed those awful people. Don’t make me add you to my list, otherwise I will find you. It can’t be hard to track down a fat coal miner in Saint Denis and his pretty little wife.”
“Y/N,” she says, swallowing. “Forgive me. I… I wish you both a good and long life.”
She walks away quickly, pushing her way quickly through the small crowds of people in the park as though hoping to disappear.
“Well, well, well,” Arthur chuckles beside you. “Ya finally settled things with that awful cousin o’ yers, darlin’!” He turns to you, his face split in a large grin.
You smile back but then it fades. “You don’t think it was a bad idea telling her I killed my family, do you?”
“Nah,” Arthur shakes his head. “She looks like the cowardly type. Think the message sunk in. You’ll be fine.”
You sigh in relief. Arthur knows better than anybody about scaring people into silence. He looks over your head across the street.
“Come on, let’s go,” he says, taking your hand in his and leading you down the street. Just as you’re about to mount up, he puts his hand on your shoulder.
“Hey, you ever been to the theater before?”
“Huh?”
He points up the street and your eyes follow his finger, falling upon the Theatre Raleur. You see a few people filing inside before shrugging your shoulders.
“No, I honestly haven’t.”
“Ah, well then let me treat ya!”
“Mr. Morgan,” you giggle, taking his arm as he leads you down the street towards the theatre. “You’re turning into quite the sophisticated gentlemen.”
“Please,” he chuckles. “I’m wilder than ever. I ain’t been to one of these in years.”
You squeeze his arm affectionately as he opens the door for you. Inside, you stop, admiring the tall, circular room. You gaze at the white, stone walls, their carved faces painted in gold leaf, the huge crystal chandelier hanging above you. Your boots thump gently across marble floors. Glancing down the hallway leading to the stage, you notice the dark red walls and gold carpets, more chandeliers hanging above.
“I swear, this city…” you say as Arthur pays for two tickets.
“What?” he says, offering his arm again.
“The architecture is beautiful, but it just seems like it’s for the people here to pretend they live in the lap of luxury, and yet the streets still smell like shit.”
Arthur laughs loudly as he pushes the double doors open. You notice the large stage, hidden by the velvet curtains. Arthur gestures for you to find some seats, which you do on the left side three rows from the stage. Just as Arthur sits, allowing you to take the end seat, the curtains open.
You listen to the man who introduces himself as Aldridge T. Abbington to the crowd. He gives a drawn out speech about the first act, which turns out to be a fire-breathing woman.
“Catch on fire!” Arthur hollers as she begins to dance with a long stick, both ends aflame. You laugh as the crowd intermix cheers and boos. She takes a mouthful of liquid and spits it into the stream of fire twice, pulling oohs and aahs from the crowd. She does so a third time, but twitches badly and catches a man’s hat on fire in the first row.
“Oh my God!” you yell out as Arthur laughs. The man stomps his hat out and abruptly leaves, cursing madly, as the fire breather panics and runs off the stage.
Arthur sighs and drapes his arm behind you, letting you squeeze closer to him as Aldridge comes out, trying to make a bad joke about the incident. He introduces a woman whose talent is to sing. She steps out, followed by a small group of musicians who pick up a tune. She begins singing a rather boring song about how wonderful the town of Saint Denis is.
“Sing Otis Miller!” Arthur yells out. You laugh, knowing how much he loves that song. You rest your head on his shoulder, placing a hand on his thigh.
The woman finishes her song as the crowd applauds and the curtain closes. Aldridge comes out again and introduces a magician he met on the streets of Italy. He dashes out of sight as the curtain opens, revealing a noose tied to a single gallows and a man, standing next to a young woman.
For the next five minutes, the man laughs and tells about his trick. You’re growing weary of his speech.
“Is this guy gonna do a magic trick or is he just going to talk us all to death?” you whisper to Arthur.
He smiles and calls out loud. “Let’s see him die!”
“Arthur!” you squeal quietly, giggling into his shirt.
The magician gratefully falls silent, allowing his assistant to wrap him up in a straight jacket. He walks up to the gallows and turns, continuing to speak.
“Good Lord,” you say.
“Let me tie the noose!” Arthur cries out.
You giggle and the man stands on the short stool beneath the noose, his assistant tightens the rope around his neck. A few tense moments pass as he attempts to escape, but to no avail. The small stool he stands on suddenly tips, causing him to dangle by his neck. His assistant screams and tries to grab him by the waist and lift him up as he gags.
“Somebody do something!” she screams out as the crowd begins to mutter, a few women panic. Arthur pulls himself from your grip and stands up, pulling out his pistol. He shoots the rope holding the man up and sits back down.
The magician, having slammed into the ground, huffs angrily. “You absolute pillock! You ruined everything! Sod off, all of you!”
“You’re welcome!” Arthur responds loudly.
The curtains close as the magician continues yelling insults to the crowd. Aldridge comes out, looking flabbergasted.
“What true marksmanship!” he calls out, trying to make the accident look as though it were planned. He says his final speech and bids the audience good night.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Arthur says, patting your leg. “Need to get to the art show.”
You stand up and leave the theatre, looking happily over at the man beside you.
“What?” he asks as you walk down to the horses.
“Nothing. It’s just… I’m happy, Arthur. I ain’t been this happy in a long time.”
He chuckles and stops besides Artemis, pulling you into a tight hug. He kisses your head.
“I’m happy too, darlin’.”
He holds you for a second, his arms almost too tight around you. You giggle and pull yourself away from him.
“Come on, cowboy. Like you said, we have another show to see.”
“Alright, alright.”
You hop up onto Rannoch and follow Artemis to the other side of Saint Denis. Arthur wanders down a narrow road where the buildings are formed close together. You see the front of the gallery, colored a light purple. Arthur hitches and hops off, bidding you to follow him.
He leads you up a set of stone stairs and into a small room, a ticket master hidden behind a gold grate. Arthur approaches him and tells him he’s here to see a Charles Chatenay. The ticket master waves him in.
You enter the gallery, spotting paintings and statues placed throughout the room. Arthur ignores them, heading into a blue room. You spot on the wall photos of horses running in the Heartlands, alligators in the swamps, wolves and then a photo of Arthur, standing in front of a line of pines.
“What’s this?” you say, approaching it.
“Huh, forgot he’d taken that.”
“Who?”
“You recall that Albert Mason feller? These are his. Wonder if he’s here.”
Arthur leaves briefly to speak with the ticket master. He comes back a moment later.
“He ain’t here.”
“Ah, that’s too bad. I liked him.”
“As did I. Now come on, let’s get this over with. Like I said before, stick close to me. This feller’s… different.”
Arthur leads you through a wide arched doorway into a room with red walls and an ornate carpet. Over half a dozen paintings are displayed of various styles but all depict nude people, mostly women in sensual poses. Several other couples observe the paintings, making comments. Arthur approaches a small man smoking a cigarette by a painting of a naked woman standing by a window.
“Look at these idiots,” the man says to Arthur in a heavy French accent. Arthur blocks you from the man with his body. You stick close to him, feeling extremely self conscious surrounded by these paintings. Many of the other women in the room look about the same as you feel. An older woman walks across the room to your little group looking extremely ruffled.
“Excuse me, Mr. Chatenay,” she says in a raspy voice, “but couldn’t you have painted some drawers on her?” She points to a painting of a woman, her back and buttocks completely exposed.
“Madame,” the man says, walking to the painting slowly, “I paint her in her natural state as she was and will be in paradise. Clothes are civilization, repression, death. To be naked is to be free, innocent, alive. Like Buddha said, we are all here to fuck.”
The woman gasps. The other couples have begun to gather around him.
“The artist?” you ask Arthur. He nods, wrapping an arm around your waist. He’s begun acting very possessive of you for some reason.
“Hey!” a man says near another painting. “You got a picture of my wife here in her delicates!”
“Henry!” a woman says to a man near another piece. “Is that your behind? Why would you be showing that man your behind?”
“That’s my mama!” another man says, approaching one of the more lude pieces. “As nude as the day she was born!”
“Stop looking at my husband’s buttocks!”
“Stop looking at my mama!”
Arthur gives a soft laugh as the mood in the room escalates.
“This is disgusting!” one man points a finger at the man defending his mother.
“That’s it!”
A fight breaks out between several men, their wives fleeing.
“You filthy little man!” the woman who had first approached the artist yells, slapping him with her handbag. Arthur laughs loudly and helps him to his feet.
“I’m comin’ after you, Frenchy!” a man hollers.
“Shit!” Mr. Chatenay hisses, dashing out of the room. The man barrels after him, only to be stopped by Arthur.
“Leave it, friend.”
“He painted my mama, the bastard!”
Arthur throws a punch, knocking the man out.
“Excellent shot, cowboy,” the artist says from behind a pillar. That’s when you see he’s eyeing you.
“Best get you out of here,” Arthur says to the man. He notices the artist staring at you hungrily. “Charles! Let’s get you out of here before I get a reason to hit you.”
“Oh alright, fine! Follow me, cowboy!”
He walks quickly out of the empty gallery, you and Arthur following. Once on the street, he begins talking about how he’s confused about his role as a painter, walking through an alleyway. “We artists provoke emotions, no?” he demands.
“You keep provoking emotions,” Arthur says, “and all your canvases will have punch holes through ‘em.
“I told you I was a whole ass!”
“That you did,” Arthur says with little humor. “Now maybe go be an asshole somewhere else.”
“I know a lady over here, I can stay with her a few days.”
Charles Chatenay stops by a door. “That picture I gave you, it will be worth something someday, I can feel it!”
“Perhaps, but right now the only thing it’d get me is a kick in the balls.”
Arthur pulls you close, partially placing himself between you and Charles. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the artist.
“Hey listen, cowboy,” he says, excitement flickering in his eyes. “An artist’s work is never done. Listen, if you wanted to… come inside and help with your lady friend? Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two, eh?”
Arthur straightens up and takes a step towards Charles. “Give me a reason and I’ll teach you a thing or two about pain. You look towards my girl again, I’ll kill ya.”
“Ah ha ha! You Americans!” Charles says, completely unphased. He raises his arms up in delight. “Always looking for a fight! That’s what I love about you! You are funny!”
He turns around and knocks on the door. “Mon ami! It’s me!” The door opens and he gives a delighted chuckle before dashing inside, snapping the door shut.
“Well, Arthur,” you say, relaxing. “If that’s how all art galleries are, I hope that’s my last one.”
He sighs heavily and turns back to you, gesturing towards a break in the stone wall blocking the alleyway from the street.
“I don’t think they are, darlin’, just his. Pretty sure he was doin’ more with his subjects than just paintin’ ‘em.”
“You think?” You step out onto the street, facing the city’s gallows, which are empty for the moment. Arthur follows and whistles for the horses.
“I hope that’s the last time I see that man,” you say, your hand nervously coming up to clutch your elbow. You still feel thoroughly uncomfortable by it all.
“I’m shoar it will be, darlin’,” he says, seeming to sense your unease as he stands closer to you. “Besides, even if he sees you again, I doubt he’ll do nothin’. He knows you’re my girl.”
“Or he’ll take it as an extra challenge, Arthur!”
“Nah, he owes me. I only saved his hide twice now.”
The horses come trotting up the street and stop close to you, both snorting in greeting. You pat Rannoch’s neck affectionately after mounting up.
“Should we head back to camp?” you suggest.
Arthur hops up onto Artemis. “In a bit, need to make one more errand. Think there’s a fence near the trapper and I got some things to sell.”
Arthur leads you to the east side of the city, which is a drastic change from the other side with its big houses and fancy gardens. The buildings and houses here are older, smaller, and dirtier. The roads are no longer cobbled but dirt. Round pigs and skinny, cowering dogs roam the streets, searching for anything to eat. The people here are just as roughed up and downtrodden as their homes, their clothes dirty and torn, their eyes slightly sunken from too much work and not enough food.
You follow Arthur down onto an extremely narrow street. It doesn’t help that the trolley moves along it, almost completely filling the street. You pass by a sad looking bar and then Arthur stops. He’s about to walk through a stone archway into a small marketplace when a monk asking for spare money for the poor stops him.
“You, kind sir, will you help the poor?” he gestures to Arthur.
“I ain’t so kind,” he responds, stopping.
“Yes, you are sir. You have it in you, I can tell.”
“I’m a nasty bit of work, father.”
“Ah, you’re wrong on two counts, my friend,” the monk says with a kind smile. “I’m a humble brother, a penitent monk, not a priest. And you are a magnificent bit of work.”
You walk up and stand close to Arthur, unconsciously wrapping your hands around his arm. The monk spots it.
“Ah, you see? Even the young lady sees it. I can tell by her eyes she finds you to be a glorious man. Now you may have made some poor choices, but which of us hasn’t?”
Arthur chuckles and looks at you fondly. He leads you over to the wall next to the monk, still laughing. “Oh, you have no idea, brother.”
“But you do and God does; that’s enough for me. But perhaps if you’re not so sure, why don’t you offer two bits to the poor?”
He gestures to a collecting tin near his feet. Arthur ponders for a moment.
“Shoar. Least I can do.” Arthur takes out a few coins and plops them into the tin. You do the same.
The monk looks at you both proudly. “Bless you both.”
“How you gettin’ on anyhow?” Arthur asks, folding his arms over his chest.
“Ah, these are a somewhat apathetic lot I’m afraid.”
“Hm. My mentor says that America is designed to induce apathy in people.”
You know he’s talking about Dutch, who has spouted these types of philosophies over and over again.
“He must be a wise man, your mentor.”
Arthur huffs a small laugh. “Well, sometimes he’s a downright fool, but most times he’s the best man I know.”
“That’s wonderful. Well, poverty will always be with us, but slavery…” the monk peaks over the stone wall into the marketplace. “I thought we had abolished that. Unfortunately, Saint Denis is acting as a staging post for shipping slaves out to the islands.”
“Nah, I don’t believe that; it's 1899,” Arthur says.
“Perhaps you should take a look for yourself. I’ve heard the pawnbroker sells more than forlorn trinkets.”
Arthur steps away to look through to the marketplace. “Alright, ‘scuse me, brother. Y/N, stay here a minute will ya?”
Arthur heads down the marketplace, leaving you alone with the monk.
“Your companion is a fine man, miss,” the monk says, returning to his collecting tin.
“He is. He doesn’t like to believe it. I swear though, every time we’re in a city or a town, he’s helping someone.”
“Like I said, a magnificent work. As are you, if you don’t mind me saying.”
You look at him with a small smile. “Ah no. I done some… some real bad things myself, brother.”
“And like I told him, we all have. Who is not without sin?”
“You ain’t sayin’ that just because you’re hoping I’ll give more money to the poor, are you?” you ask skeptically.
“Oh no, my sister,” he says, clasping his hands in front of him. “I took an oath never to lie, not even for the benefit of others. I simply state what I see.”
“Well, I guess that’s a slight comfort. Still, there’s no place for people like me in the eyes of God. I done real bad things when I could have… just walked away.”
“We’ve all done things we wished we did differently, my friend. Each of us has something to be guilty of. But if we dwell only on the bad, we make no room to try and do good. And remember this: God cannot forgive you if you don’t forgive yourself.”
“Ah, I stopped believing in God a long time ago, brother. Forgive me.”
“That may be so, but he has never stopped believing in you.”
You glance over at him and smile again. In your past, you’ve met a few priests and monks, but they all seemed to lack something he has: genuinity.
Arthur steps out from the marketplace, closely followed by two thin and dirty Mexicans, shielding their eyes from the sun.
“Brother...?” he says, holding his arm out.
“Brother Dorkins, my friend.”
“Arthur Morgan, and you were right: I found these two imprisoned in that shop.”
The two men stand nervously beside the wall, looking around. Brother Dorkins smiles at Arthur.
“They are blessed to have met you, Arthur.”
Arthur narrows his eyes slightly. “Trust me in that they’re very unusual. I don’t think they speak English.”
“My brothers,” the monk says as Arthur approaches you. “Come, let’s get you something to eat. Comida.”
The men look at him in surprise as he gestures for them to walk ahead of him and down the street. Just as they begin to leave, Arthur picks up the collecting tin on the ground.
“Hey, you forgot this!”
“Oh, thank you, I…” Brother Dorkins turns to grab it, but hesitates. “Take it as payment for your services.”
“Give it to the poor, brother,” Arthur says, handing it to him.
“Thank you, I will. Like I said, magnificent.” As Brother Dorkins begins leading the men again, he calls back to ask Arthur to meet him again at an old church he often works at. Arthur waves two fingers at him.
You and Arthur cross the street to mount your horses. You look up and see the sky has turned pink as the sun has begun to set.
“You wanna head back to camp or stay here for the night?” you ask.
“Up to you, darlin’. I know ya ain’t too fond of this city.”
You shrug your shoulders. “Ah, let’s just stay here. I’d love to take a bath in some hot water for once.”
Arthur nods and directs Artemis down the street, leading you back towards the main street of Saint Denis. Once there, he hitches his horse next to a large hotel. You hitch Rannoch and walk side by side with him inside. You’re greeted by a large room with multiple tables in front of a long bar, a group of men play poker at one of them. A chandelier dangles above, watching everyone in the room. Up a short stairwell on the landing leading to a longer stairwell sits a piano, a man playing happily on it.
“Come on, let me treat ya to dinner,” Arthur says, gesturing to the bar. He gestures for you to find a table as he goes up and orders. He sits down across from you. “Guess they actually got waiters here,” he says.
“Impressive,” you say sarcastically.
“I know, this city really tries to make ya think life is great, don’t it?”
“Maybe, but I still prefer the open country. Smells better.”
He laughs as a waiter comes over and sets down two plates of prime rib on the table. A moment later, he returns with a bottle of wine.
“Since when were you a wine drinker, Mr. Morgan?” you ask.
“Ah, I ain’t, but I figured we might as well try and enjoy the luxuries this city offers.”
“Oh yeah, along with corrupt politicians and Italian strongmen.”
He laughs again softly as you both begin to eat. When you’re done, Arthur stands up and walks over to the bar again to pay for a room and a bath. He offers you his arm again as you both walk up the stairs, passing the piano and up the next two flights. On the second floor, you see a large and comfortable sitting area. A few men lounge about, accompanied by working girls smoking from long sticks.
Arthur leads you to a hallway off the sitting room and gestures to a door on the left. A plaque on the door reads “Bath”. You open it and are surprised when Arthur follows you in.
“What you doin’?” you ask.
“Figure we might as well pay for only one bath,” he says, shutting the door and taking his hat and shotgun coat off. You shrug your shoulders and begin to undress. After a moment, you’re about to step into the tempting hot water when Arthur stops you. Your eyes rake his naked body.
“Now come on, darlin’,” he jokes. “You’re makin’ me blush.”
“Sorry,” you giggle. “Ain’t my fault you’re so handsome.”
“Hey, I thought we agreed not to lie to each other.”
“Who said I was lying?”
He chuckles and shakes his head before stepping into the water. He leans back and gestures for you to come in. You do so, leaning your back against his firm chest.
“This is nice,” you say as he folds his arms around you.
“Shoar is.”
You sit like this for a moment before Arthur releases you from his grip and pushes you forward so he can wash your back. Once he’s done, you both get down to scrubbing your hair and limbs. You feel as though you’ve lost the top layer of your skin and are surprised to find the water isn’t all that dirty, but the bubbles probably hide a lot of it.
Once you’re both clean, you settle back against Arthur. He embraces you once more and sighs. You’re so comfortable and warm, you feel yourself beginning to drift off.
“Hey, none of that now,” Arthur says with a small laugh, patting you. “We still got one more thing to do before the day’s out.”
“What’s that?” you say, looking up at him.
“Well, we’re in this nice hotel, we got a room to ourselves. With all the noise going on around us, we ain’t gotta worry about being quiet ourselves.”
You blush a little and bite your lip, smiling.
“Okay, you got me.”
You pat his arm and stand up, grabbing a towel and drying off. You wonder if it’s really worth getting dressed when Arthur’s just going to undress you again, but then you realize it’s highly probable that people are still in the sitting room. You simply throw on your shirt and jeans, not worrying about your boots or even your undergarments. You stuff those under your arm and head out of the room just as Arthur’s pulling on his pants.
You take the three steps across the hall and open the door to your room, marveling at it. The room is large and comfortable with dark walls adorned with paintings of scenery and elegant women. A fireplace sits at one end, emitting heat from the fire. A small couch sits across from the door, a finely woven Afghan covering the back. Between it and you is a large four-poster bed, covered in red fabrics and a mountain of pillows.
“You’re blockin’ the doorway, darlin’,” Arthur says.
“Sorry,” you say before moving out of the way. You see he’s done the same as you and dawned only his pants and shirt, the rest of his clothes tucked under his arm. He smiles at you as he tosses his clothes and shoes into the corner. You do the same. Your back is to him when you feel him wrap his arms around you. He kisses your temple and hums.
“What say you we get our money’s worth for this room?” he purrs in your ear.
“Arthur, you paid what, a dollar for this?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, but that’s a dollar I coulda saved if we decided we just wanted to sleep.”
His hands wander down your body until he finds the untucked hem of your shirt. He lifts it up and strips it off your body, quickly folding his arms around you once more.
“Arthur, we can’t do this if you don’t let me go for at least a few seconds,” you say as he massages your breasts. He laughs again but finally releases you. You take the opportunity to remove your pants. As you straighten up, you see his shirt and jeans go flying past you and land on the pile of clothes.
You’re just about to face him when you feel his hands on your shoulders. You stop as he runs his thumbs delicately across your skin. You feel his right hand gently trace the scar on your shoulder that your ex-husband had given you the night you murdered him. Suddenly, his lips trace the mark. A warmth blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with you being naked.
Arthur folds his arms around you once more, his lips studying your neck. You sigh and tilt your head back, enjoying it. Without warning, he picks you up and carries you over to the bed, lying you down on your back. He hovers over you, a smile stretched across his face. You raise your hands to tangle into his chest hair, caressing the skin beneath. He kisses your lips, his tongue coming out to explore yours. Your hands travel up his shoulders and into his hair, pulling it slightly. His lips leave yours, wandering down to your jawline, your neck, your collarbone and then down to your breasts. He spends a moment focusing on your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your chest.
His lips leave your chest and then trail down your stomach. His hands squeeze your hips before sliding down to the backs of your knees, lifting them up and spreading your legs. You groan as his right hand leaves your knee and spreads your folds, his finger gliding over your wet and sensitive nub.
“Aw, Arthur!” you moan, your fingers scrape his scalp.
Without warning, he lifts himself up and hovers over you again. You stare at him pleadingly. He smiles mischievously before his lips crash to yours. You grind against his rough fingers, your breath leaving your lungs in fast bursts.
You wish he would slide himself inside of you already, the waiting is almost unbearable. He continues to brush your center with his fingers. You suddenly realize he’s teasing you; he knows what you want him to do.
You decide two can play this game. You place your hands on his chest and shove him, pushing him onto his back. You lift yourself up to straddle his hips, keeping your core away from his cock. He looks up at you, almost surprised. Before he can say anything, you lean down and begin kissing his neck. You make your way down to his collarbone, spying the scar on his shoulder from where the O’Driscolls shot him. You know he’s been self-conscious about it since it became a scar, and you’re determined to show him that it’s a part of him and therefore worth loving. You gently pepper it with kisses. His hand reaches up to tangle into your hair as he groans.
Remembering how he teased you moments ago, you sit up again, straddling his thighs. Your eyes wander down his body, drinking in his every detail until you find his erection. Your hands slide down his chest, his sides until they stop at his hips. Your eyes find his as you reach down and stroke him, tenderly at first and then you begin to apply more pressure.
His head tilts back against the pillow, his eyes closing as you study his cock with your hands. His hands plant against your knees and his hips begin to buck, though you keep your folds away from his hips. You take your thumb and run it across the slit at the end of his tip. He grunts loudly as he throbs in your hands, his hips thrusting again. You circle his head multiple times, alternating in speed until his hips are snapping up and down in a slightly unsteady rhythm, his length throbbing.
“Oh God, darlin’,” he begs. “Quit torturin’ me.”
“You started it, cowboy,” you tease with a small snicker. His eyes open as you circle his head again. His face begs for you. You smile and lift your hips up, not releasing his length. You angle yourself above him and guide him into you until you sit on his hips. He groans again as he reaches deep into you. You sigh pleasurably and begin bouncing up and down, building friction between you. Within seconds, you feel him erupt inside you.
“Sorry, darlin���,” he groans, his hands stroking your hips. “Ya got me worked up.”
“That’s okay, Arthur,” you sigh.
You feel him slide himself out of you, causing you to twitch slightly. “Let me return the favor at least,” he says. He guides you down onto your back and begins kissing you, worshipping your body, as he positions himself so he can reach between your folds. You feel his warm, thick fingers press into your clit. He pushes against your body hard several times until two fingers slide into your center. You close your eyes with a happy sigh as he pushes them in and out of you. His thumb circles your nub tenderly as he begins kissing your neck.
After a few moments, you feel his fingers slide out of you, although his thumb remains pressed against your core. Within seconds, his hardened length presses into your center once more, stretching your walls. He begins pounding himself into you. After only a moment or two, that familiar warmth blooms in your chest and travels down to your stomach. You spread your knees farther apart, angling your hips to reach his better. He pounds again into you and kisses just below your ear. Without warning, your head tilts back and a yell escapes from your lips. He chuckles softly and pumps into you a few more times, growing more frantic. His length throbs inside your walls before he erupts a second time inside of you.
His body collapses onto you, nearly squeezing every bit of air from your lungs. You pat his back, letting him know your discomfort. He lifts himself up and rolls onto his back, grabbing you and dragging you onto him.
“Mm,” you sigh, snuggling into his chest. “That was amazing, Arthur.”
“I’ll never say no to doin’ that,” he says, his fingers trailing up your spine.
The next morning, Arthur treats you to breakfast before stating that you both should go back to camp. You’re not entirely sure you’re ready to go back. The truth is that ever since Kieran’s death and the O’Driscoll ambush, you ‘ve been nervous about Shady Belle. It was a risky hide out before, due to the fact that it acted as the safe house to the Lemoyne Raiders. Now it’s hard to say if you’ll be ambushed there again. You bring it up to Arthur over your meal of eggs and ham.
“Ah, I wouldn’t be too worried, darlin’,” he says. “Think they were surprised by how well we defended the place. The few we didn’t kill ran off pretty quick.”
“Exactly, Arthur. They probably ran off to tell Colm. He’ll be better prepared next time.”
“Well, I mentioned to Dutch that we probably need to find a new place and quick after that whole mess. Course, he don’t seem too concerned. Just said we need to find another big take. Think he’s hesitant to leave the city, might have somethin’ here.”
You just shake your head and finish your meal. If Dutch has a fault, it’s that he doesn’t take threats seriously. When the Pinkertons first found you and Arthur out fishing with Jack, he hadn’t been too worried then. The O’Driscolls had butchered Kieran and sent him headless into camp and still Dutch didn’t find it worrisome.
“Well, I hope a score comes soon. I don’t like it down here,” you say.
“Nor do I. I just hope we can make it out west like we planned before that whole mess with Blackwater.”
You both leave the hotel and make your way through the city. Arthur decides he wants to stop at the post office in case any mail has come in. Once there, he finds a letter addressed to him from the mayor of Saint Denis.
“You met the mayor for all of five minutes, what does he want with you?” you ask as he tears the envelope open. Arthur quickly reads the letter and then hands it to you.
“Shit, how did he figure out you stole those papers?”
“Don’t know. Guess I wasn’t being as careful as I thought,” he says, taking the letter back. “Well, guess we’ll have to come to the city more often while we’re down here.”
“You want me to come?” you ask.
“No. No, darlin’. I ain’t too sure what he’s plannin’, but if it’s bad I don’t want you involved.”
“Arthur, I don’t think you should go by yourself. Like you said, you don’t know what he’s planning.”
“Darlin’, he ain’t gonna have me killed. He’s the mayor, not a murderer.”
“Yeah, and as mayor of this big town, he’s gotta have a lot of people in his pocket, don’t you think?”
Arthur just shakes his head and puts the letter in his satchel. “I’m fairly sure he ain’t gonna do nothin’. Maybe just some of the usual scare tactics or call in a favor. Like I said, it shouldn’t be too much of a worry.”
“Well, fine. I just don’t want you to get yourself into trouble again.”
You both mount up and start heading out of the city. Just as you’re passing the police station, you see a vaguely familiar man pounding on the door of the building across the street.
“Hey, where have we seen him from?” you say, nodding to the man. Arthur’s eyes follow yours and he squints. Two taller, dark men stand close behind him.
“Think we saw him at that godawful party,” Arthur says.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Wait, I know who he is.”
Without another word, Arthur dismounts and approaches the small group of men.
“Come on, we have an appointment!” the man yells as he pounds on the door again.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” Arthur calls to him.
The man turns and you instantly recognize him, mainly due to his beard.
“Evelyn Miller?” you say.
“Why, I do believe we’ve met. At that ghastly party,” Evelyn says.
“That’s right, I thought I recognized you,” Arthur says. The two shake hands and Arthur introduces himself and you. Evelyn kindly shakes your hand, his grasp surprisingly gentle.
“Forgive me, Mr. Morgan, but can I say something rude? The mayor thinks you robbed him.”
“Does he?” Arthur responds, saying nothing about the letter.
“To be clear, he didn’t seem very upset about it. He rather liked you.” Evelyn pauses, looking to his companions nervously. “Do you, I mean, can you steal things, sir?”
Arthur glances at you, his face irritated. “Is there a reason you’re asking me to incriminate myself, Mr. Miller?”
Clearly wanting to ease the situation, Evelyn lifts a hand to his companions. “Have you met?”
You take a good look at the men accompanying Evelyn. You can tell by their facial structures and their skin they are Native Americans, one quite a bit older than the other. The elder has an inquisitive face, his quiet eyes seem to hold a gentleness you’ve rarely seen. The younger holds his jaw tightly, his brow heavy.
“This is Rains Fall,” Evelyn says, “a great chief and his son Eagle Flies.”
“We saw you on the wagon train,” the man named Rains Fall says in a deep and gravelly voice. “Crossing the river at Cumberland Falls and at the party, you and your wife were upstairs.”
“You have great powers of observation,” Arthur says. “Except she ain’t my wife. We’re together, but not like that.”
“Ah, my mistake,” Rains Fall says gently. He looks at you and you smile softly at him. You wouldn’t have minded at all if Arthur had left the bit out that you weren’t married, but you have to remind yourself that he surely has no interest in that.
“My people,” Rains Fall continues, a note of sadness in his voice, “if we are even a people, we fought hard. We made peace treaties and those treaties were broken. We have been punished and moved, and moved and punished.” He looks at his son sadly. “And now I am told we are to be moved again.”
“Clearly going against the peace treaty signed three years ago,” Evelyn says.
Eagle Flies takes a step forward. “This will lead to war.”
Rains Fall puts a hand on his shoulder. “No, my son. We cannot fight another war. They have got stronger and we have become weaker.”
“It’s a bad business,” Arthur says.
“It’s to do with oil,” Evelyn says. He explains how a few months back, a group of prospectors visited the reservation occupied by Rains Fall and his people and they made reports, stating the high probability of oil in the earth. He also mentions these reports were given to Leviticus Cornwall.
Arthur tilts his head and gives a knowing nod, a disbelieving smile on his face. “So you want me to go and steal it.”
“Well, obviously they can’t,” Evelyn says, gesturing to the two men. “And I would be useless.”
Arthur begins to shake his head, scratching his neck.
“Listen, I realize this is a ludicrous request,” Evelyn goes on, “but we’re very desperate.”
“I’m not a do-gooder, Mr. Miller. Gentlemen, I’m very sorry for your predicament, but I got problems of my own.”
Arthur takes your hand and begins walking away. You’re just about to say something to him, to try and convince him to help them, when Rains Fall calls to him.
“We will pay you very handsomely, Mr. Morgan.”
He stops and looks back. “How much?”
“I told you, they’re all mercenaries,” Eagle Flies says with a raised lip.
Arthur chuckles and looks at him hard. “I got a price on my head in two states, my friend. The government doesn’t like me anymore than it likes you. Like you, I been runnin’ as long as I can remember and like you, my time is nigh on done.”
“We understand and we will pay,” Rains Fall says. He tells Arthur where to meet Eagle Flies in the Heartlands. Arthur thanks them and is about to walk away.
“I will meet you there, too,” you say, stepping forward to the men. You don’t know if you’re overstepping your bounds, but you don’t care. “I will help, and I don’t want your money in return.”
“Y/N,” Arthur says from behind you.
“Leave it, Arthur. I’m just as wanted as you are, but these men… they need our help.”
“We can’t help everyone, darlin’.”
“No and I’m not asking you to try.” You turn back to Rains Fall and promise him that you will be there to help. You glance quickly at Eagle Flies, who stares hard at you almost as though he suspects you.
“We are very grateful for your help,” Rains Fall says.
“Well, gentlemen,” Evelyn says to them. “That appointment with the senator. I apologize, we must leave. Thank you, both of you, for your help.”
You step away and rejoin Arthur. As you mount up, he catches your attention.
“What was that, Y/N?” he says.
“What?”
“I didn’t want ya helpin’ me with this, darlin’. And then you go shootin’ that off to ‘em.”
“Why don’t you want me coming?”
“It’ll likely end with us gettin’ shot at, that’s why,” Arthur explains, urging Artemis into a steady walk. “We’re gonna be sneakin’ into Leviticus Cornwall’s oil factory. That man’s already gunnin’ for us, and now we’re about to rob directly from under his nose.”
“Arthur, I’ve been runnin’ with you for months now. I’ve been in my fair share of gunfights. Besides, if you’re really worried, I can stay back and help Eagle Flies.”
“Well, that’s fine. But what’s with the not wantin’ to be paid, darlin’?” You can tell he’s getting irritated. “You know all the things we got goin’ on.”
“I know, a lot of pots boiling. When don’t we? But Arthur, what does it hurt to help someone who has been given as raw a deal as they have? Our country was built by spilling their blood. The least we can do is try and fix some of that.”
“We can’t change the past. You know that better than anyone.”
“I do, and that’s why I want to try. Please, Arthur.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “A’right, fine. Can’t stop ya anyways, you already promised them you’d be there.”
You both walk down the street and towards the edge of the city in a slightly awkward silence.
“Well, maybe let me lift your spirits?” you say.
“What?” He doesn’t look back at you. He drives with one arm, his other hanging leisurely.
“You remember a few days ago you wanted to go up to that lake near Colter? Why don’t we do that? We can leave today or tomorrow and meet Eagle Flies on our way back.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. You wonder if maybe he’s going to come up with an excuse to get away from you for a while, clearly irritated with you.
“Yeah, a’right,” he says. “Let’s get back to camp first, make sure Dutch ain’t got no fresh leads on jobs.”
The two of you speed up to a canter and travel quickly through the swamps until you reach Shady Belle. Arthur heads up to the balcony where Dutch stands. You watch him until Grimshaw leaps on you, squawking angrily.
“You been gone two days havin’ a grand ol’ time while we been here slavin’ away!” she shrieks, making to grab your ear. You dodge out of her grasp, covering your ears.
“No you don’t girl!” she says, making to grab you again. You back up and immediately crash into a firm barrier. You look up and Arthur smiles down at you, gripping your forearms.
“Sorry, Ms. Grimshaw. Afraid this girl’s mine for the next few days.”
“Mr. Morgan! We ain’t carryin’ her for free. Just like with everyone else, she needs to earn her keep.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, m’lady, I’ll be puttin’ her to work. Actually goin’ up to do a job, something we found in Saint Denis.”
“You folks aren’t going hunting, are you?” Pearson says, jogging over.
“Yes, we were planning on it,” you say, giving a nervous glance at Grimshaw.
“Oh, excellent. We could really use it. Make sure to bring back as much as your horses can carry.”
Grimshaw huffs irritatingly and stalks away, muttering to herself. You sigh in relief.
“Thanks, Arthur. Thought she was going to tear my head off.”
“Ah, now I can’t let that happen, darlin’,” he grins down at you. “Now come on, let’s go. You still got our coats packed on the horses?”
You nod and start walking to the horses. Arthur explains that Dutch only just got word to Trelawney about the riverboat job with the high stakes poker game, so it’ll be a few days until the gang hears back from him. “Perfect time for us to get away,” he finishes as you both trot away from Shady Belle. You’re glad for an excuse to leave the swamps.
#Red Dead Redemption#rdr2#rdr2 fanfic#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x oc#arthur x reader#arthur morgan x reader smut#arthur morgan x reader#Van Der Linde Gang#R*#rockstar games#fanfiction#red dead fanfic#I'm awkward#second chances
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse
Chapter 93: Three Villains Walk Into a Room
Where did his ideas come from? Were they his? A future only the Seer saw? The Dark Ones of the past whispering their own plans into his ear? Or some combination of all three? Sometimes he knew. Other times he hadn't a clue who was responsible, only that when he had them, they were fully formed and, more often than not, perfect.
Since his first trip to Bald Mountain, he'd come up with a plan, an idea that he knew in his heart and soul would work, even if it had to be planned and executed quickly. He knew the right people to ask, he'd only needed the right language and the right tools.
He would think that after a century of waiting, he'd be used to it, but he found himself in his tower itching to pace, to work through his plan all over again. Pirithous had arrived earlier in the morning to tell him that the letter had been delivered and received by his first target. A few moments later, he watched through a mirror as Jefferson kissed his daughter good-bye and took his hat with him, a message for the second target. As for the third, he was going to leave that up to himself, but only once Jefferson returned and offered confirmation that all had gone according to plan. He had nothing to do but wait. He'd been watching the Apprentice and grown nervous when he realized that he had a visitor, none other than Ingrid of Arendelle, the former crowned princess. What she wanted with the Apprentice he didn't know. But a visit from someone of Arendelle after the current Princess had taken the hat with her…he could feel in his bones that if the Apprentice didn't already know the hat was gone he would soon. Somewhere in his mind he heard the sound of a ticking clock. He had to work faster. He had to get that Curse before the Apprentice discovered what else was amiss.
This could work, he just had to work quickly, a far cry from the pace he'd taken with everything thus far. But he managed. He swallowed the potions that he crafted to prepare himself for Bald Mountain. He reviewed his plan over and over. He spun wool into golden thread, gathered up a few jewels that would feed Jefferson and his daughter for two years, at least, he avoided watching his old accomplice in the mirror, acknowledging that it wouldn't help things move faster. Finally, he was considering going back downstairs to fool around with the fairy wand a bit before he felt the air around his Tower change in a familiar old way.
Jefferson.
"It's done?" he questioned despite not being able to see him.
"I dropped her off in the woods just like you requested," he answered, moving around his back to the table before him. "I left her and her two beasts with your instructions, just as you asked."
"Beasts?"
"Her dogs."
He sneered at him. "That's two more than I wanted and asked for."
"They never leave her side once they smell an intruder, not unless she calls them off and she didn't. It was the three of them or none of them."
He took a breath. In a few hours, the sun would begin to go down. They didn't have time for arguing, especially not when the object of his desire was where he needed her to be. If push came to shove, he could send the little beasts to the other side of the Enchanted Forest.
"A fair assessment. Fine. It will do no harm."
"So...are we done here? We're even? No more favors?"
He'll return a favor! the Seer hissed at him again. But it did no good. A deal was a deal, and he'd fulfilled his part of it. It was already done, no matter how painful it was for him.
"A deal is a deal," he answered, removing the pouch of goods that he'd gathered together for the man. He placed it into his hand with a clank and was pleased to see that Jefferson didn't check to see what was inside, just trusted it was there as he always had. At least they hadn't lost everything between them. "Your debts are forgiven."
"Good," Jefferson pocketed the pouch and moved away from him. Carelessly he removed his hat, flung it into the middle of his Tower, causing a storm of wind just as it always did. Though he heard glass shatter and paper tear, he remained stoic as the Realm Jumper turned back to him and nodded. "Have a nice life, Rumpelstiltskin."
And with that, he jumped inside the swirling vortex so that it closed, and the winds died down, leaving him several jewels lighter and a very messy workspace. With a snap of his fingers, everything was righted, but he offered a nod to the place that Jefferson had once stood.
"Until we meet again," he muttered confidently. Though the Seer wasn't whispering to him, she'd never been wrong yet. If Jefferson was going to return a favor then one day he would be back to earn it. This wasn't the end.
He didn't linger long after Jefferson's departure. If Cruella was outside the Forbidden Fortress, then there was work to be done. With his Tower sorted as it had been before he now turned his attention back to his crystal ball and watched.
He had to be careful and precise about his next steps. Those that the world was so quick to label as "villains" could be finicky to deal with, especially considering his past with Ursula and Maleficent. He wasn't too worried. He had a plan, a pitch, to convince them that what he wanted to do was a winning plan. And after they accepted, he had another plan, one that really was the winner, that used the three of them to get exactly what he needed to get to Baelfire. But plan or not, it was still a delicate operation that could fail if he wasn't smart about it. He'd come this far and his time was running out. If he said something or did something that spooked even one of them, then someone might suspect something. And he was certain that if one turned him down, the other three would as well in a heartbeat. If this didn't work, there was no backup plan. Nor was there time to create one. He had one chance to make this work. He'd never felt more nervous in all his life.
He had to choose the timing of his introduction to these women wisely. It was all about knowing which parts of the conversation to skip, and which parts to intrude upon. He watched for a while, until the sun was nearly ready to set as Cruella continued to read her instructions and made her way to the castle in the distance. She was nearly there, but meanwhile, Ursula had arrived. Instead of watching Cruella, he chose to turn his attention instead to the sea witch and the dragon as they exchanged words, probably loud ones, with one another. Neither appeared happy about their meeting, which he was prepared for, but didn't really want or need to have any part of that discussion. Finally, Cruella barged in with her two massive annoyances at her side, just as Jefferson had told him now and years ago. They alerted the women first, their barking and yapping making both take a step back in the face of their jaws. It was a surprising reaction from someone who could turn themselves into a dragon, but even he had to admit, the dogs were terrifying, nothing like the sheepdogs he'd known in his youth. Cruella trailed behind the two of them, but it was only when he saw Maleficent put magic into her staff and point it at the great beasts he realized this time had finally arrived.
Now was the part that he couldn't ignore or simply attempt to translate. He had to hear them. Unfortunately, he knew that Maleficent was too smart not to cast spells on her mirrors, hence using the crystal ball at the moment. There would also probably be spells set up to detect a foreign presence in the castle, but he was betting that with two strangers staring her in the face, she probably wouldn't take notice of him. The women were in a long hall, and atop it there were large dusty windows with long ledges that he doubted any of them would think to look up at. It was to that place that he transported himself, securing himself close to the edge and listening carefully to the conversation that followed.
When he glanced down at them he saw Cruella rise, it appeared that she'd been talking to the two dogs beside her who were now silent and composed.
"Now who's gonna tell me what in the hell I'm doing in this ghastly place?"
"Lovely question, because this 'Ghastly Place' is my home," Maleficent spat back at her, obviously irritated. "And I didn't ask for any visitor."
Villains. They never saw the benefit of working well with others, only of working for themselves. That was the beauty of this, he saw the benefit of working well with these woman, and surprise, surprise…it was to his own benefit. Not that they needed to know that.
"I received specific instructions," Cruella insisted.
"As did I," Ursula inserted.
"I don't care," Maleficent huffed at them both. "You're trespassing. And do you know what I do with trespassers?"
"Don't even think it!"
That was his cue to enter, preferably before the dragon killed them both.
"Now, now, ladies," he called out using his magic to set him down on the floor and approach the women. Their eyes widened when they saw him, even though he was certain only two of them knew who he was. As far as Cruella was concerned, it was probably his face that shocked her. Being in her world she hadn't seen magic on the scale that they used it here. "Don't tear each other apart. I need you all in one piece...or rather, three pieces."
"Rumpelstiltskin, it was you," Maleficent sneered.
"Guilty," he admitted taking a bow before the three.
"Someone wanna tell me why I left the sea for this?" Ursula questioned looking thoroughly unamused.
"Oh, yes. The reason for this little tete-a-tete-a-tete...a-tete," he finished appropriately before pointing to Cruella who was sneering at him. He didn't particularly care and took steps forward so that he was standing at the center of their little group meeting. It was both a way of taking control and of containing any magic if things got too…heated. "We all have something in common, apart from mutual distaste," he went on. "We're villains. And it's time the villains got their happy endings."
#Rumbelle#Rumple#Rumpelstiltskin#Dark One#Jefferson#Mad Hatter#cruella de vil#maleficent#Ursula#Sea Witch#ouat#ouat fanfiction#fanfic
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
The 5 Golden Rules To Tinder
Web dating sucks. I have heard several a man say this line to me, and also it's typically the individuals who have not had a day in months that claim it. I comprehend if you are obtaining no love online after that the first thing responsible is the whole Web, however similar to we can not condemn the entire hen market for a weak poultry leg at KFC, we can not condemn the internet for our dating issues. The blame lies with just one person. YOU
Tinder IS the most exceptional dating application since ... well, permanently. Never have my good friends and I had many days in so short a time with little to no initiative. The greatest thing about Tinder is that it allows you to virtually "speed up day," you match with a girl, fire a little small talk back and forth, and get a date. Yes, not every girl will say yes to your ask for an enchanting evening under the celebrities, but they are on Tinder for a factor, as well as if they have swiped right on you, then they are already taking into consideration fulfilling you. So without further trouble, allow me damage down the five principles of Tinder to make sure that you as well can take pleasure in the benefits that Tinder supplies to so many men available.
1.) 5 excellent images: Now individuals, I'm NOT discussing mirror selfies, or shirtless selfies. Please delete these from your phone promptly. These would certainly be wonderful if you got on Mill, however luckily for us guys, the lady of our types isn't searching for a six-pack online. She can locate that any day as well as anywhere. The images should be clear, so a minimum of an Apple iPhone 6, however I suggest a far better camera than that. You require a face shot, a full body shot, a shot of you enjoying a task, and also just demonstrating how incredible your life is. I would certainly additionally recommend that you do not have pictures of you drunk, and hanging off some ladies. Some men will undoubtedly place photos up with them surrounded by girls at a club. This looks strive. Show yourself with some buddies, in sophisticated scenarios, looking like an awesome guy. End of story. Selfies are a huge NO NO. Oh, and also no photos of you... manhood, no matter exactly how remarkable you assume it perhaps.
2.) The Opening Line: Okay, get rid of the adhering to line from memory "Hey, exactly how are you?" NEVER!!! State this line once more. You understand the number of suits a gorgeous woman might obtain a day? And you are opening with the most monotonous, generic, mundane sentence of all time. Put yourself in a girl's footwear for a moment. She has jumped on Tinder. Possibly because she's bored and also a little curious, the majority of ladies will play it like a computer game, without any purpose of ever before satisfying anybody from it, so the only method to get across these girls is to MAKE IT FUN. Make it rhetorical as well as don't ask a concern. She can reply if she desires, otherwise, that cares. It has to be without requirement, without treatment, and also look like a straightforward expression of the awesomeness that is emitting via you. Here are a few of my much-loved opening lines.
1. I pick up by your amusing as well as an innovative tagline that you might probably be doing not have a little magic and seasoning in your day, so I am supplying you a chance for your day to be boosted by the visibility of my awesomeness.
2. (Insert name below) I think you have a confession to make ...
3. I'm currently trying out a selection of clothing for my dress-up party tonight. I believeBatman, however, the soreness of Superman's underclothing makes my eyes pop.
4. I had the strangest day today. I got up thinking it was Saturday, however then I rapidly knew it was (insert day right here). The good news is I am rapid and also made it operate in time.
You can see that all these opening lines have one point in common. They connect that I do not care, that I'm not taking this as well seriously, that I am a satisfied individual, that I'm making it fun, and that I'm possibly a rather amazing man too.
3.) Get offline quickly: The globe of Tinder moves fast, much like the real world relocations quick. Women are psychological creatures, and when they stop feeling, they start failing to remember. You might be incredible on Monday, however by Tuesday, you can be entirely neglected if you don't remain fresh in her mind. This is why you should end up being an actual individual as quickly as you can. Tinder must be the approach of meeting as well as opening. Afterward you require to get offline as fast as you can. Obtain that telephone number within 4-6 messages. Make it fun, enjoyable, fun, fun, and after that say the following sentence.
" Hey I have reached run. I have lives to inspire. You seem like you may not be a creep or a stalker. I dig that. Provide me your number and also probably I'll message you."
4.) Obtain the very first fulfill promptly: My suggestions are to obtain it for that night. Yet I comprehend that some people may need to function weeknights so you might have to wait a little. However get it as swiftly as possible, and afterward once daily till the meeting send out an amusing message so that you remain fresh in the woman's mind. Bear in mind, females follow their emotions, keep providing her passion, and she will certainly remember you, the moment you end up being boring, goodbye to you kind sir.
5.) Do not bite off more significant than you can eat: This might be a top-quality issue. But once you have obtained actions 1-4 handled then this can come to be a problem. If you begin matching way too much, and also begin talking with way too many, after that you can in fact begin to get absolutely nothing. "Person that chases two rabbits captures neither.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Shakespeare Demystified: Macbeth afterthoughts
I got a confession to make: I have never read a single work of Shakespeare, except for his poem “ Life’s Brief Candle” during Form 1 literature class (which appeared in the play of Macbeth). I had this notion that Shakespeare literature is too fancy and hard to understand. So when my Critical Appreciation class had a field trip to KLPAC to watch Shakespeare Demystified: Macbeth, I jumped at the chance because of the word “Demystified”. And because I miss KLPAC. So much love for that place…
I did a bit of research on the tragedy play and about Shakespeare. Fun fact: Shakespeare has a colorful range of insults. Now THAT’S my kind of person.
The play was a stripped down version, with 5 actors playing multiple roles and minimum props and costumes with the right sound effects, hence the audience have to use a bit of imagination to visualise the play. Between their dialogues and narrations, they manage to cleverly insert some Malaysian references, paying homage to Shakespeare, who was a genius in reaching out to his audience in his plays. Some scenes were omitted and performed differently to fit in the 100 minutes time frame. Finally, at the end, there is a Q & A session for the audience to ask any questions about the play.
The first thing I have to say is the moment we entered Pentas (stage) 2, it was about 20 minutes before showtime. There was a red satin cloth covering something in the middle of the stage and I wondered idly is a person hiding in there. But since the thing underneath was very still, I banished that thought. The show began with the entrance of the 3 Weird Sisters prophesying about the coming of Macbeth. They circled around the red cloth in a ritualistic manner (which is eerily enchanting to watch). As the chanting and mumbling of the sisters grew frantic, THE THING COVERED BY THE RED CLOTH SLOWLY ROSE TO REVEAL MACBETH, who was played by veteran stage actor, Lim Soon Heng. Veteran, as in, not very young. That man has more stamina and flexibility than most 20-something people, namely me. As a person with some theatre experience, playing more than one character in a play is challenge. What more these actors had no intermission and no rest between their role switches. And the amount of difficult dialogues to remember… like whoa! Just. Whoa. My love for the arts intensified. Much respect for them who wishes to reach out to more Malaysians through their art. I still don’t know some parts of the play but at least I no longer afraid of the name “Shakespeare”. All in all, I paid RM40 for this, sacrificed my me-time on the weekend, got stuck in jam, drove for an hour to get there, and I am not disappointed. #WorthIt
#macbeth#shakespeare#demystified#klpac#sentul#acting#stage#theatre#wow#lim soon heng#soon heng#literature#art#life's brief candle
4 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
purplefloyd
Aladdin & Other Art
rough-daddy-dwb
Your Favorite Daddy
eruvin-danchou
eruvin.danchou
deleo30
Just me
witchcraft-and-zodiacs
Some random witchling