Stop it. This is ridiculous. Elex paced past the long bend of the mahogany dinner table, past those sharp corners that left bruises on many hips, and darted for the house's front rooms. Runner rugs marked many a hallway with their damask patterns. Pedestal columns and meaningless knick-knacks and paintings who lost their flavor and meaning lined each of the hallways in a stale recipe. They since ceased their religious rotation with his mother's death; no one else kept tabs with Ms. Beauregarde to recognize when neo Dadaism replaced french impressionism as the hot new domestic display. Elex seldom cast a glance in their direction anymore.
The foyer felt as empty as it always had. Wax fruit perched primly in their hand-spun bowl, which sat as an accent to the black lacquer table beneath. A crystal chandelier overlooked the display from its alcove in the ceiling. The room itself split into three corridors at right angles, between which sat curved booth seating with their seasonally-appropriate colored cushions (but he knew, by now, that the color palette was passé). Travertine tile walked to the very threshold of the front door, where glass laid into mahogany with a gaudy gold filigree. Looking out now, he watched an all-too-familiar vehicle claim its place in the curved driveway. Elex didn't dally.
An intercom faceplate sat flush in the wall, with its brushed gunmetal finish butting up against the wine accent wall. What an ironic color choice. A thin finger depressed the call function. "He's here. I'll keep him occupied if you'll pull dinner out of the oven." I'm sure you'll remind me that I've never touched a stove before in my life.
And that I've never proven myself as an officer, either. He touched 'end call' and waited for the bell.
It had been a surprise, but a welcome one when the invitation to dinner had been presented. Considering that neither of them had introduced the other to their families it felt like a large milestone was going to be passed. A step in a direction that took their relationship from ‘feeling each other out’ to ‘solid couple’. Of course, that was assuming that Elex had intentions of introducing Rowan as something more than a reconnected childhood friend. With the indication of meeting his mother though...Rowan had high hopes. Plus, the previous nights escapades certainly gave credence to the train of thought. Just thinking about the evening brought a grin to Rowan’s face as he pulled up the driveway, parking the silver vehicle with a casual laziness that was a cover-up for on-edge nerves.
Taking a moment to glance in his rear view mirror and do some last minute primping he fixed a few stray wefts of hair that weren’t lying quite how he liked. In an effort to present himself in the best manner possible he’d tied the purple locks back in a low ponytail. Pieces hung around his face while others had been carefully tucked up. A dark burgundy button down peeked out from under his black leather jacket. Black slacks and shoes had been opted for to finish off the look. The dinner wasn’t necessarily formal but Rowan wanted to look good for Mrs. Yorke. Like he was a young man worthy of dating Elex, which he was.
The comforting scent of his cologne filled the car and followed the young man from the vehicle as he finally stepped out of it. He fussed and smoothed out his shirt as he walked up to the door. The mahogany with glass inlay had quite the traditional feel. Much different when compared to his mother’s own modern contemporary. The more traditional look though had a much warmer and welcoming feel to it. The Yorke house itself was initially more inviting than he had originally thought with the nervousness he was experiencing.
A finger pressed the doorbell button. The chimes filled the house and Rowan stepped back to fuss with his shirt some more when the door sprung open. He had been expecting a servant of some sort but instead was pleasantly surprised to find Elex on the other side of the entryway. A smile lit-up Rowan’s face at the sight of the other young man. “I hope I am not too early.” He said. “I was feeling antsy and needed to get moving.” Rowan knew he wasn’t terribly early. He had even taken his time driving over, taking the longer route.
How do you smile at someone when you're about to end their life? The question dogged Elex for the hours since the decision was made. Time spent with Rowan felt strained for Elex's natural propensity to withdraw from impending hurt. But he knew the costs, the alternatives, the rewards. When he smiled, he felt the deepest pain from his sincerity.
It's good to see you. It's also awful to see you. Strange how these opposites can coexist so easily.
"She's not going to mind," Elex returned. "The food hasn't finished cooking, but I doubt she'll mind meeting you outside the dinner table." He took in the sight of his companion for a long moment -- hair wrangled at his back, a trim jacket hugging all the corners of his muscles, a deep and dramatic burgundy huddled behind the lapels -- he dressed sharply, even outside of formality. He showed all the earmarks of the haughty and overconfident; she wouldn't miss any of it. Elex worried over Rowan's performance that evening; his fate was cupped in her hands.
Shaking his head at himself, Elex stood aside. The door swung wide to admit entry soundlessly. Once Rowan crossed the threshold, the door snapped shut with a certain finality. "We sent Chelsea home early today. I'll take your coat."
Elex opened the closet to find a hangar, and his mother's rose perfume pushed its way into him. It still clung to the clothes she left hanging inside -- the boleros, the jackets, the shawls. He anchored teeth to his lower lip as he forced himself to exhale. Now isn't the time. Not here. His delicate fingers skipped over the shoulders of coats and suits, lingering once on an ermine trim to a frock, then found an empty wooden hanger. He turned with the item brandished.
"She doesn't like it when her guests turn up with their coats on. She wants them to stay a while."
Under Elex’s dark gaze Rowan grinned as each part of him was taken in. Rowan hoped that he passed muster with his attire. Or is he thinking of something else, perhaps? Perhaps he was thinking too much into it, but Rowan didn’t flinch away from the prolonged look. If nothing else he flowed under it. There was something about the way that Elex looked at him that just sent nerve endings into high alert.
Stepping through the threshold, the warmth of the house was deeply appreciated. Heat began to quickly make work of diminishing the cold that winter had set into the teen. The mention of his coat had him unbuttoning it to slide from his shoulders and arms. Odd that they’d send their maid home early on an evening they are expecting a guest. Mother would have made sure everyone was on so that everything was taken care of.
“Well, I certainly don’t want to give her the impression that I am itching to leave.” He responded lightly as Elex took his coat to hang in the closet. The soft scent of a perfume managed to lodge itself in Rowan’s nose and the teen looked over to the closet full of other articles of clothing. Likely his mother’s perfume. I wish I had known she liked rose scents. I could have brought her something. In truth, Rowan was mentally berating himself for a lack of a gift for his hosts. It had been so long since he had been to anything but large dinner parties or casual events of friends that a host gift had completely slipped his mind. I’ll need to pick something up and send it over as a thank you.
A nervous energy began building up in him. It felt similar to audition day and awaiting his turn for the floor, but here he had no routine run endlessly in his head as a distraction. Instead, there was only one thing, one person, who could help and Rowan selfishly intended to take full advantage of the fact they were still alone. While Elex was hanging his coat, Rowan walked up behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned in to kiss the Yorke boy’s cheek.
He moved halfway around Elex to give him a proper kiss. His hands shifted around the dark-haired boy’s waist in the process. The kiss was energized in a way Rowan hadn’t felt before. He couldn’t quite put a finger onto why, but there was something about it that felt different and not necessarily in a bad way. It had him pull back momentarily before diving in once again for one small peck before finally pulling away. “Mmmm.” He said, eyes roving Elex’s face. “Alright.” He said, finally admitting his nervousness aloud. “I am as ready for this as I am going to be to meet your mother.”
The touch to his waist was surprising in its unsurprisingness -- months ago he never imagined engaging in these behaviors, let along considering them commonplace. But now, with Rowan's arms having ensconced him many times, the gesture almost felt expected. Like a ritual kept between the pair.
He also learned to turn and reciprocate each kiss, not for expectation, but because he wanted to. He liked kissing, he decided, for all the expressions it could share. In Rowan's kiss came interest, excitement, gladness, perhaps a little neediness. And Elex could reciprocate with his own responses in little more than a movement of lips. You're as welcome here as I am. You're endearing when you're nervous. We can't linger here for too long.
Elex looked to Rowan's eyes to find the fear in them. Maybe he knows. Maybe he can smell the danger.
Or maybe Elex's imagination got the better for him.
"She's not that bad. You just have to agree with her on everything." Elex shut the closet door, then pried himself from Rowan's grip just enough to lead him by the hand. He split off down the right hallway, one that led to the kitchen through a circuitous route, as a small concession to himself and his companion. Seconds spent away from Anna in any iteration were never wasteful, and the hallways still displayed their abstract impressionist paintings proudly. They were last season's item, he knew, but Rowan liked them anyway.
He gave but one pause before the pair stepped into the kitchen. "I'm sorry for everything that's about to happen." On they went.
Small begat small, as Stroud was no party to at her height. Mother Yorke’s closet was also fake label, which was never high on Stroud’s list for wearing- thrifting and upcycling with style, and games of 3-minute costume, were standbys of entertainment for high society, but knockoffs trying to be as close as possible to the runway without being on the walk bled bourgeoisie in the same way as Ethan Allen catalogues and vehement dislike for the existence of tchotchke. The lady Yorke surely had reason for her choices of wardrobe and banally classic hygiene products. To the antiquarian it seemed the woman had been posing herself the wrong questions to come to those. Still, the review was necessary, as with the house. People matched their homes in perceptible ways, and a missed design cue would create a visual dissonance that invited defensiveness in a way that money-ite table banter never would.
So was conjured and image- one of Stroud’s own designer, but simple black numbers so that the cut wouldn’t ride hooker-high. It was a form-fitted dress, to lend credence to nerves of trying to remain sexually alluring to a possibly roaming husband. But it wasn’t desperate, with it’s mandarin collar and long sleeves to preserve skin or secrets. Or in Stroud’s case tattoos and dermals. Likewise, platinum hair was pulled back to a restrained and controlled gather behind her neck, but still ‘down’ rather than an updo. As it were, the boys’ entry found her having unfoiled and uncorked a bottle of wine to breath, setting it into a ice bucket.
“Punctuality is a virtue. ” Her smile was enigmatic, practiced and small, like the statement. The Austrian way of introductions was direct and handshake, so it was that she set corkscrew aside to the counter, then turned to offer hand like it’s own demand of Rowan’s name and eye contact.
Rowan followed behind Elex after regretfully needing to disengage from the boy. As much as this introduction to Mrs. Yorke was an important one, he also would have much preferred to just spend the evening in Elex’s solo companionship. Alas, life didn’t always go the way he wanted, and sometimes things less interesting needed to be done. So, the Cameron boy followed just behind his boyfriend as they moved through the halls closer to the source aroma of cooking food.
”I’m sorry for everything that’s about to happen.”
Rowan couldn’t help the smile that came to his face as Elex made yet another verbal hit upon his mother. The youngest Yorke boy certainly had strong opinions to the woman on the other side of the door. There was a want to reassure Elex that it would all be fine, that his mother couldn’t possibly be that terrible, but the dark haired teen pushed open the door leaving Rowan with no chance to respond.
Stepping into the kitchen, Rowan was greeted with a similarly clean yet traditional kitchen, but that wasn’t the sole focus of his attention. The woman, dressed in an all black number that was tastefully catered to her body and stature was busy freeing the cork stopper from a bottle of wine. The soft, resounding pop of the bottle was what greeted the pair as they entered the room followed quickly by the smooth timbre of the woman’s voice. Her smile was neither warm nor offputting. Curious perhaps? Interested? Rowan couldn’t put an exact adjective to it, but he found himself returning her smile with one of his own.
The proffered hand was quickly scooped up in Rowan’s own. Though he hadn’t expected such a direct greeting, Rowan was thankful for it as the handshake was quickly exchanged. “I try to be. I have never been much of a fan of ‘fashionably late’ if I can avoid it.”
Golden eyes danced to Elex for a moment to see the others reaction to the quick exchange, but he dared not linger. Instead he turned his focus back to the blonde woman, his smile never faltering as he put his best foot forward. “Mrs. Yorke, I assume. I must confess, I remember little of our encounters when I was a child so it is lovely to finally meet you again formally. Thank you for the invitation for dinner.’
At least she knows how to play pretend. Elex watched the exchange with nervous earnest, his placid gaze darting from one actor to the next. Like we're all part of a tragic play and none of us knows how it ends.
Elex absconded with some of the plates and took them to table in a servant's role. They wouldn't spend much time on eating, he was certain. As their conversation drifted back to him, Elex noted their turns of phrase. You use so many empty words, Rowan. Words that don't mean anything. Did you pick that up from your ballet rehearsals? Maybe it's easier to say nothing and let others ascribe their meaning to you. That's not very becoming for a future officer.
When he returned, frosty resignation ruled his tone. He shot a sidelong glance to 'Anna' as he spoke. "I'm sure he's hungry, Mother. We shouldn't keep him waiting." His gaze spoke differently -- you're going to kill him instead, aren't you?
More dishes waited demurely for their carry to the table, and Elex paused little in doing so. The next sides were swept up into small but sure hands. While he lacked his normal strength, he remembered enough of his lessons and rehearsals to know the coming part. He couldn't stand shoulder to Stroud or Rowan in acting, but he didn't have to -- the next parts played were terribly true to his character.
Assumption was useful here, for the name, and it played into the technique from the start. The interrogator was to answer no question from the victim. Questions were agency, agency was power, power could be turned to resistance. Barbs in this case, where geniality and hope for Elex’s safety were both cloaks, had to be heavily masked for regular snobbish, parental authority. Rowan had to be allowed to be a wolf, or a mustang, or a dragon, or whatever ephemeral protector creature he adolescently fancied himself. It would want for matters of sides, and talk of unbalancing things, the glib were always the least guarded, the most heartwarming to bond over. Humor turned swords to plowshares: the ‘cool’ but ‘ew gross’ parent that offered wine at dinner and didn’t balk at the realities of adolescence.
The fancies of lateness- nor of fashion in general it would seem. Hazel gaze lingered in the middle distance of taking in Rowan’s hair against the dark wine color of his shirt:
“When I am an old woman I shall wear purple.
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
But it seems you’ve cleverly reversed that old piece. Jenny Joseph isn’t well read these days. It is her most famous poem, early as it was, I fear. It has been too long. “
The boy was pleasantly taller for his age than her black-eyed b*****d. Less also of the rabbity, anemic sort, and trotting toward the realm of meat and growth potential unfrozen. Elex was nerves and tragedy, his eyes talking with glamour in ways that were terribly lost to regular life. “Elex, you may be hungry to show your guest your bedroom, but if he is equally as hungry, then he’ll need the calories to take you the course. A wonder if you wait long enough to put on raincoats? A little conversation to warm your tongues won’t hold you up so long. “ She pulled a glass from the counter and poured expertly, then held it out to Rowan.
“At least grapes can be swirled, to get a head start. The meat has to rest it’s 5 minutes, Elex wanting or no. Can you spare an old woman at least as long as a glass?”
As if rehearsed, elex went about gathering dinnerware and setting the table with each piece. It was an odd sight to see as Rowan was accustomed to servants doing such things at dinner parties, even ones as small as this. But, considering the dismissal of the servant, there was no one else to work upon the setting. His countenance and frost laced tone gave hint that perhaps Elex was as anxious and nervous about this entire meeting as Rowan was. Kind words but your voice reveals more than your words. What’s wrong, Elex? He itched to show support, to attempt to ease worried nerves, both Elex’s and his own, but there was the worry that Mother Yorke may not approve of such displays.
Mrs. Yorke took her son’s words in stride. She didn’t falter in her countenance and instead continued on as if cold words were a norm. What he hadn’t expected was the matter-of-fact way the woman hinted upon any extracurricular activities the two teens participated in. In fact, it took Rowan by such surprise he caught himself starring with raised brows and wide eyes for more than what one would consider polite. Obviously his and Elex’s relationship was out in the open. Perhaps a bit more than Rowan would have thought. I never got the feeling that Elex was terribly close enough to his mother to disclose our relationship so...completely. But, I suppose if these were assumptions on her part I just confirmed them.
Clearing his throat he smiled at ‘Anna’ and did his best to recover from the obvious social mistake. Taking the proffered wine glass, Rowan smiled and swirled the contents in the glass, his gaze fixed upon the blonde. “Starting with a glass of wine and conversation is perfectly amicable.” He tore his gaze from ‘Anna’ to look to Elex who had taken to helping prepare the table for the upcoming dinner. Is the constant movement your way of dealing with nerves? Your disinterest in your mother? If you were so worried about this meeting, why set it up? Or would this always be a stressful situation for you?
He raised the glass of wine to his lips and sipped carefully at the liquid. The dry red wine was a pleasant surprise. Rowan had found many preferred the sweeter varieties which, while not terrible, weren’t his favorite. “Wonderful taste in wine.” Rowan complimented Mrs. Yorke with genuine approval and appreciation.
“Perhaps I should help Elex with finishing setting up the table so we can all sit down and chat together.” He said as he set his wine glass down to grab hold of two bowls each sporting a different side dish. Broccoli in one, still steaming from it’s removal from the stove and a creamy risotto in the other. “After all, it’s the least I can do for the work you’ve put in for dinner tonight.” He flashed one of his charming smiles, one well rehearsed and used when conversing with people of import. With sure steps he followed elex’s path and when he felt Mrs. Yorke couldn’t see his expression he exhaled slowly, smile fading as he worked to ease his own anxieties. There was just something about Anna, and it wasn’t just her relationship to Elex, that put Rowan on edge.
'Cleverly' reversed Jenny Joseph. Reversed the gender role. Rowan, she wasn't paying you a compliment. One day you'll pick up on how much she degrades others, but not today. Elex kept to his constant pacing of dining room to kitchen to dining room to kitchen, ever under the pretense of holding this or carrying that. He distrusted the waiting game, though not for Stroud's acting or Rowan's pretenses.
Then she opened her mouth further. Yawned it right open and unhinged her jaws. Aren't you crass. He sidled up to the table, all muted sourness, and coaxed the bottle out of bucket to pour himself a drink. Wine often smelled terrible and never tasted much better, but posed a clever excuse for any bitter expressions. And with the way she steered conversation so, lighting up Rowan's face with a rare glimpse of honesty, she wouldn't care what he did with it. Besides, she -- the real and the fake -- knew of his brother's underage drinking habits. "I see why Father asked for a divorce." Briskly he took a sip of his drink,
and found it every bit as acrid as expected. His face wrinkled into a grimace. It's not worth getting drunk on.
Shooting Rowan a serious stare, he hoped to divulge a few hints. Dispense with the pleasantries. 'Anna' did as much already through her unsubtle calling out of their intentions. She didn't care to beat around the bush about it.
With the wine glass now a home for restless fingers, Elex tried his own hand at steering the conversation. Plainly Rowan saw fit to play subservient to any topic of conversation, unless to abscond with Elex away from the threat of the evening. Second guesses webbed over his throat, and he cleared them roughly. The extra rasp to his voice betrayed him, however -- an easy tribute to the wine.
"Rowan said he'd help me with my problem. Not the bedroom one," he added with a look askance. "For as much as you might hate his taste in clothing, he's been good to me. He might know someone who can help. Then I won't have to be under house arrest anymore, would I?" His look to Anna drifted from tepid to algid. "No more driving Mother mad."
“Wouldn’t that be something. “ The words mused, turned on a wistful exhale. “Hope is a most dangerous thing. “
She looked between the boys, lingering longer by a hair on Rowan, who was the supposed source of this grand and damning thing. Her own smile thinned from milk to a watery, tired, hopeless thing. It was the wounded heart-limp of those who finally came to a problem that money couldn’t buy off, where it was usually the option. She gathered the roast last to carry slowly to the table while they found their seats. “Unless help be very grand, the best we can do is as we have done. He hasn’t scared you off, I hope, and take it that you’re here having dinner? Dreadful stuff. ”
Shall you reassure us, bravado-boy? Shall you save your dear Elex, as his parent cannot, the hero of your own story? Save him, Rowan.
This whole situation was not what I was expecting at all. Rowan sat down in one of the vacant chairs after retrieving his glass of wine. He took up his seat next to Elex and nearest to Mrs Yorke. The table spread was certainly more food than the three of them could possibly eat but it made for a delightful display with steaming bowls and platters of hot food. Rowan’s perusal of the food didn’t mean he missed the pointed look Elex shot him and the young man fumbled mentally with himself. Being courteous to people he was meeting and needed to make a good impression on was a lesson learned since he was young enough to speak. Mrs. Yorke appeared to not care much about such pleasantries which seemed odd. Hadn’t Elex mentioned she was a woman who worried about her appearances? This all seems a bit odd for a woman like Elex described.
Turning to look at anna, Rowan’s eyes met hers as she looked from her dark haired son to him. “Hope can be a rather powerful tool.” He remarked, working to suppress the need to continue his facade of niceties. “Get people moving in a direction they otherwise may have given up on.”
He looked towards Elex and offered the boy a smile. “And I have a strong hope that something can be done for Elex. There’s someone out there that has information that could liberate him. So, all it will take is a little work.” He shrugged and turned back to Anna and raised a brow. “I am sure you’ll be doing everything you can to help of course. I can’t imagine someone’s mother just throwing her hands up and saying ‘we’ve done the best we can’.”
There was a hint of accusation in his words but the honey syruped coating was still heavily running over each word he spoke.
Eye’s turned back to Elex. “I couldn't not at least try to help.”
Elex looked after 'Anna' with eyes wide. It's like you have real emotions. Something different from cynicism and glee. Had she simply learned it from watching faces, or felt it herself?
He followed as the last to seat himself, and where Rowan had expectations of sitting side by side in camaraderie, Elex deliberately chose the spot across. He sat on the stiff chair by its very edge, as if his back were allergic to the woodgrain. The sea of bowls and shining silverware between them shored up enough that they could see each other plainly. Elex's wine glass sat poised over an empty plate like it searched for a place to dock. He swirled it as he learned from so often watching Lazarus. "Hope is talk," he offered with their adversarial seating. "and talk doesn't fill glasses. Actions do.
"Tell me, Rowan -- what actions have you taken? Have you found anyone?" He looked on in genuine concern. The number found by Rowan's own words were as much a death knell for those people's present lives. But as Rowan said once before, Elex asked after the few buried in the millions. Maybe he knew no one. Maybe he didn't start looking. Maybe the few asked reacted with as much audacity as Rowan did when Elex confronted him on the existence of monsters.
Wishful thinking, all of it. He knew he needed the outcome.
Elex retired his wine long enough to pluck the gifted pocket watch from his pants pocket. The long chain glittered under examination-table overhead lighting, like a beacon at sea. He placed it on the table, face-up, with the cover open and exposed. The time read nearly three. It was far from it. "I'm running out of time."
What can be gleaned from this chaff? Interrogation, even at the latest stages, was a measure of subtleties, behavioral science and assumptions. Without the application of physical methods, Rowan met eyes without hesitation. It was fitting and usual to the acculturation of a male bodied human raised male within the American set. He should be so bold in the face of an enemy ( even one he didn’t recognize). He had no problem correcting a female ‘superior’ of status on an opinion, replete with an accompanying mansplanation. He tried to reassure without any solid substance or substantiation of a proof. Elex did well and demanded the verification. The question of effectiveness or hot air remained in the answer.
There have been examples of officers with use of the all bluster variety, still effective for Metallia’s goals in other arenas. Buddingtonite. She put down her glass so that the flat base thocked before the swift swish uptake of a napkin. It covered her mouth, a face downturned as swiftly while she stood up and turned to preserve whatever dignity regarding ‘overwrought emotion’. Anger, despair, offense, that was up to the boy to decide in his reassurances of ‘trying to help’ and answering Elex’s question. Anna moved towards the kitchen portal.
Seemed Elex and his mother were similar in their mindsets about progress and the intent of progress. Perhaps he’d barked up the wrong tree with his spouting of hope and intentions yet to bare fruit. Still, he could at least look Elex in the eye when he answered the question. “I’ve started.” He said with surety. He could at least let Elex know that he hadn’t just spouted pretty words in an effort to make himself sound impressive or masculine. He took his promise seriously.
“I just haven’t had any luck yet in speaking to anyone about it. There hasn’t been anyone of promise that has popped up. It could be the holidays or perhaps they’re truly just going to be difficult to track down. Wanting to find them in a few days is a bit optimistic I guess, but I am sure something will come up.”
A thonk of glass on the table, red wine swirled in it’s bowl as Mrs. Yorke stood, napkin to hand to depart in haste. Well, that hadn’t gone as I’d hoped. She’s a curious thing, though. One minute talking about Elex and my bedroom habits and now insulted by my insinuation? Perhaps he had been better off with his niceties despite Elex’s looks demanding otherwise. What was done was done now though. It wasn’t like he’d be able to go and comfort the woman. That would be up to Elex if he saw fit.
He sighed, turning his eyes away from the kitchen in which Mrs. Yorke had disappeared to to find Elex sitting there, pocket watch on display. “Running out of time?” He raised a brow. “I know we needed to move fast but is there something else going on?” Eyes flicked back down to the watch as his brain caught up with what he had seen. The pocket watch was ticking to three. Rowan knew for a fact it was pushing six by this point. Maybe he forgot to wind it? An easy enough solution to the wrong time, but Elex didn’t seem bothered by the incorrect display.
“Elex, are you alright? Did something else happen?” Worry furrowed brows.
Rowan's bold disagreement caught in a lattice of hypervigilant thoughts. You've 'started' but you found nothing. You have nothing. That's a poor position for a new recruit -- if you want to be whole. Maybe you don't.
He spoke with a tone bereft of those criticisms. "It makes a pretty story. You going out every day, searching around, risking your life for me. Making yourself a target by looking for my answers. Romantic, isn't it? It's storybook devotion."
Toward but not through.
"Much like the prince in Cinderella. Do you remember that story? Magic remodels a poor girl to look like a princess, and she falls in love with the prince. But the clock strikes midnight and the magic starts to fade. All the good of that evening dies as the girl runs away."
Where is he going with this? Fingers reached for the smoothness of the wine glass to cover his growing uncertainty and edge.
"Cinderella and I have something in common, Rowan. We're both bound by our short timers. We both rest our happiness on the benign lie of powerful magic. As for you and the prince, you both share that consternation. You with our limit of three meager hours, and the prince with the disappearing dame and her glass slipper. It's a frustrating puzzle, isn't it?"
"But this is where our story diverges from the fairytale. This is where you get the truth without having to chase me out of my hovel. I lied to you, Rowan -- I'm not under house arrest." His gaze sat steady on Rowan, cataloguing the twitch of his mouth or the furrow of his brow.
A genuine concern etched onto Rowan’s face. He knew it wasn’t house arrest.
Stopped, turned soft and silent on heels while shadow spread the picture from perfect pales and black to lurid golds and greens. A lifted hand, a cost sent for and paid, to take up a lion’s mane and mantle over shoulders and found perfect silence.
Elex raised his watch on its glittering chain, where it turned pendulously over pale fingers. "This watch wasn't meant to keep the time. It never will. It counts from 12AM to 3AM -- the same three hours I have for spending time with you." A split drew its stark line down the side of his index finger. Elex pursed his lips for a moment. "You should be putting it together by now, but I'll give you the last clue: 3AM is the devil's hour. It's when ghosts and monsters and demons come to life." The crack furrowed further and a wet rip sounded the skin split. Protruding now from the shriveled remains of his index finger was a black digit and its equally black nail. More splits formed across his other fingers, each tearing into meaty ribbons, yet he kept his hand steady and the pocket watch held high between them. 3AM it read.
Horror. Fascination. Disbelief. Fear. Worry. Rowan wanted this, all of it, to be some bizarre nightmare created by his own imagination.
"Three hours is all I have for playing human." His watch finally lowered, and unfurling skin strips began to smolder. They fell uselessly to ash against the pristine dinner cloth, and that ash whorled away in vaporous smoke. The black reigned its greater claims over his hands. "I spent every hour being human for you."
”For me? Why?” Eyes wide, brows high Rowan shook his head slowly. What do I do?
The clatter of glass hitting the table. Red stained the cream tablecloth. Rowan barely noticed his blunder as muscles seized unwilling to respond to his brain’s command he move. Make some distance. No. Move closer. Give reassurance. Hold him close. Instead, hands grasped the edge of the table as he half pushed away, half held himself in his seat.
"Why," he echoed. "You're asking the wrong question."
The sclera of his left eye collapsed like a wet piece of paper. Wordlessly he picked it out from his lower lid and it smoldered in his hand. His right eye followed suit. Pipes wetly wrenched their way from his back. His clothes dissolved to cinders with his uniform beneath. "But that doesn't matter. This is where we make a new tale, Rowan. One that carries a moral worth learning: that there's always a little more innocence left to lose."
A flash of a dark face in the night, smoke backdropping the same black eyes that stared back at him now. The memory as vivid as the weariness he had felt that night. “You. You were the one from the tea shop. I wish I…”
Walked and listened, she was assured as in his utterances, beneath prey’s pressure, were no names. He bore up Elex’s and Tiberius’ earlier mission. Kill and confirm went the motto of the snipers. The chair back for his midback’s cradle, and keep him steady and away in his flailing from table knives? There was no need to speak, to announce intent, before her hand had Rowan’s scalp and lifted. Through his shoulder blades with her second hand was as good as a grip through his chest, and this way he might arch more prettily.
A well laid plan and surprise made Rowan an easy target. The pain was unbearable. The grip on his hair forgotten to the grasp upon his fragile starseed.
“Cold meat, mutton pies, tell me when your-” Mother. This charade.
“Lover dies. I’ll be there to bury him.”
What was she saying?
Drown and lift them up again anew…. But there was resistance to the pulse of chaos around her hand, his starseed. A resistance that was a lesson already learned once. “Call Axinite, his is a space case.”
His body arched away from the violating hand while supported by fingers twisted in his hair. He didn’t even notice his own screams. The chaotic energy, dark and twisted, attempted to pour into his very soul.
Despite his show of ballet proficiency, nothing of Rowan changed. Black and burgundy painted him staunchly, with no show of Schörl's influence. The watch struck the table as black fingers curled into fists. He watched, focused; his jaw clenched. He tasted the iron of every second that passed through his mouth. Breath quickened. Sightless eyes focused to a point.
His hand struck the table, jostling silverware, painting the ends of his fingers with claret. Faustite rose wordlessly, his gaze lingering too long on a lion clung to shoulders. Whispers of their subspace void echoed back to him with a pen.
He spoke to its starseed tip. "General-King Axinite, we have an unawakened senshi. Please attend at your earliest convenience. Elex Yorke's old residence as listed in the Database. Front door is unlocked. Faustite out." When the pen faded from hand, he began his pace.
What will be our next surprise?
The Space Cauldron
We are ready for you!
Strickenized
Ivynian
Syrie
