Latest Posts by small-fortunes - Page 5

"No matter who comes...."

- John Wick - Various Artists

Uneaten

Dorian Cleavenger // Various Artists

Just Keep Breathing

H. R. Giger

Neon Halos

- Various Artists

The disconnect between us is not permanent.

H. R. Giger

Swallow

What they tell you.

When they tell you.

As part of the biomechanical environ.

Keep breathing.

In

Out

When will you stop being part of the system?

When will you breathe without the pipeline to the rest of the network?

Magic and Gardens

Photographed Winter/Spring 2019 at The Grounds, Alexander. The Paddock, Surry Hills and Central Station, Sydney, Australia.

Sky and Mountains

- The Blue Mountains, Katoomba, N.S.W Australia photographed Sping, 7th September 2019

The Incredible Marble Bar, Sydney, Australia. Iconic, heritage listed, dated 1893. - Photographed 5th September 2019, Spring

Not everything is myth and legend...

Ambiance in Melody

Father‘s Day 2019

And you stood beside me on the stairwell.

You smiled and held my hands.

And as I cried and laughed you hung onto me

And proved you were the better man.

I wanna thank you, Dad

I just wanna thank you, Dad.

Laser Glass Spider takes a moment to thank all Father’s around the world on this special day. You’ve all done something wonderful for your children. May you continue to be their light and love.

Thank you, Dad!

Time & Pressure

Everybody needs somebody.

Everybody needs someone.

Everyone will need somebody.

You're not the only one.

"The problem with youth is death is an incomprehensible concept. Even as you hold the dead bird in your hand as a child, the weight of it's loss does not seem to penetrate the carapace of seeming immortality the child lives within. The truth comes later."

- Musings - L. G. Spider

Thank you for the information. HC actually means head cannon or a ship that is not in the official fandom.

Well! Look at that! I've learned something new. Thank you for the advice. I appreciate the assist friend!

Yes, in that case, Mr. Wick and Miss DeMentriento do write original Head Canon (see what I did there? 😂) Content.

The relationship is naturally, not part of the franchise universe, but makes for some brilliant exchanges.

Enjoy friend!

L.G. Spider ✌️

You’re friends with f0rtis-fortuna-aduviat right? Where are they? And are them and that Lalienna DeMentriento blog a shipped HC? They charactarize as such.

Hi there Reader!

Thank you for your question. To the best of my understanding our fellow writer Fortis is currently on extended leave and will remain offline for an indefinite period of time.

Fortis and Lalienna are two individual authors who collaborate together frequently as John Wick and progressive lady assassin Lalienna DeMentriento. I'm not familiar with the term 'HC' ship, but if it stands for (and I'm guessing here) 'Hetro Couple', then yes, you're right. On occasion John and Lalienna have been written to engage in heated physical exchanges. ☺️

If you're currently looking for a writer to take on the role of Mr. Wick, Lalienna's author or myself may be available. Please feel free to send an Ask request for more info.

All the best,

L.G. Spider

😁✌️

- Buddhist Affirmation

"It is from the mud that the lotus blooms."

John Wick || Blood of the Raven King

Act Two || Scene Two || Concurrence

Bobby woke with a start!

A loud thump in her room caused her to bolt upright with a panicked shout atop her bed. Her blurred eyes took seconds to adjust to the low light of the room and even as her sleep blurred vision clarified, the unfamiliar surrounds did nothing to lessen her anxiety. If anything, she cast her sight about the furniture, unsettled, displaced. Slowly, recollection dawned upon her. No, this was not her dorm room in Oxford, nor was it her old bedroom in Essex. The wallpaper was too elegant and the cornice moldings were too ornate. This was not even her bed.

No, it took a few long moments to pull herself together but given time she realized this was her Uncle's hotel and she was once more a guest to his rooms. This was not England, but the United States of America. The digital clock on the bedside table read 2:34pm. And that thump that she swore came from within the room was certainly her doing. In her sleep she must have thrashed about and swung her arm out, knocking the brass bedside lamp clear off its table. It lay upon the carpet beside the bed with its pale lampshade askew.  She could not remember when it was that she had gone back to sleep after her frenzied writing earlier that morning. Only that she found herself extremely tired afterwards and laid down for what she promised herself would only be a half hour. The sound of the rain so soothing and the hotel so impeccably quiet it seemed. So much for that! 

Swinging her legs free of the bed linen, Bobby bent to set the lamp back upright and found her phone flashing face down on the carpet. The lamp cable had also knocked it free when it came crashing down. 

Sliding her thumb along the slick glass screen, she noted a half dozen messages from her friends Connie and Nate. All which followed the same pattern. 

'Bobby?! Are you awake!? Charon tells us you're fighting jetlag and we don't believe him.' That was Connie at 9:17am.

'Ahoy Bobbette! We're coming to The Continental at midday for lunch and your elusive company. Make yourself decent. Or not, you know I'm kinky.' Read the message from Nate at 11:12am. 

'Bobby! New York doesn't sleep and nor should you, idle princess. We demand your company, and a glass of lemonade, to douse you with.' Connie at 12:15pm. 

'Shall we send Mario round with a plunger? Did you fall in again or have you discovered Narnia?' Wrote Nate at 1 o'clock.

Bobby could not help but chuckle at her friends and their teasing. 

'Heaven forefend Roberta Kent! It's 1:30pm! If you're in bed with a man, throw him out at once and come downstairs! Your Uncle is making eyes at me and I'm feeling conflicted. If you're not down within the hour I'm coming up to get you!' Wrote Connie. And no sooner did she read the last word than she jolted sharply, for there came a powerful knocking at her room door. Connie's clear British accented voice could be heard from the other side. 

"Bobby? Bobby, it's Connie, won't you let me in?"

"Yes, yes I'm coming! Give me a moment!" Called Bobby rushing from the bedroom and out into the lounge. 

In moments she was at the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open to reveal her friend, colleague and confidante, Constance Blakehurst in a chic deep blue pencil dress and black patent leather heels. Her mane of shoulder length blonde hair had been curled into elegant waves and her ice blue eyes assessed her friend in her pajamas although it was well past two in the afternoon, with gracious good humor. 

"Good Heavens, Bobby Kent! Have you any idea what time it is? Do not for an instant tell me you were still abed this hour?"

"Well...I, uh-"

"Read your messages? Yes, I know, your phone's in your hand and still in one piece which is miraculous considering Nate and I blew it up every hour since this morning. Well? Are you going to let me in so I can greet you properly or are we going to continue this conversation in the hallway?"

"Oh, Connie! It's so good to see you again! I missed you dreadfully!" Said Bobby brightly, stepping aside and letting her friend enter before shutting the door behind her. The two women exchanged an excited school girl's hug that was complimented by many cheek kisses and hair caresses. 

"And I you, to be sure! And Nate hasn't shut up about you since you emailed to say you were coming back to New York! You should hear him darling, every thirty seconds he repeats your name. He's positively beside himself in joy. You really should change your mind and date him already!" 

"Connie! Won't you give up the match maker game?! I've told you before, Nate and I are just good friends." 

"Then can I assume that along with the destruction of your walking cane, you've regained the confidence for other prospects?" 

"No! Honestly, I'm not looking." 

"And even if you were they'd abandon your room in screams of terror if they saw you in that choice not sleepwear!"

This drove a flush of colour to Bobby's cheeks and peel of laughter to follow.

"What's wrong with these pajamas? You were the one that bought them for me to begin with!"

"That was four years ago, Bobby darling. I'm surprised you've not worn holes in them by now, you wear them so often."

"Well, you should be honored that I treasure your gifts so intently and make such good use out of them."

"And I am!" Exclaimed Connie, taking her friend's hands adoringly in her own and beaming in pride.

"Oh, even with your hair a mess and your those old PJs, you're still a picture of loveliness! Go on, give us your runway swagger, sweetheart! Everyone's been absolutely raving about how the magnificent Roberta Kent has gone from wheelchair bound with partial spinal paralysis to walking unassisted on heels! You should hear your Uncle rave about you!"

Bobby complied to her friend's request turning a graceful pirouette on the ball of her foot and then taking to strolling a lap about the living room, circling the coffee table twice in a figure eight before coming back to stand before Connie with a graceful bow. Well! Connie was beside herself in pride. She applauded loudly, cat-calling in the most unladylike fashion and rushed her friend to smother her in a multitude of kisses. The two girls were in fits of laughter.

"Oh Connie! Don't, you're smudging your lipstick, I'm sure of it."

"Don't be silly darling, that's what kiss proof is for! Oh my God! Two years and nine months to the day and I never thought when I saw you in that hospital, that I'd ever watch you walk without assistance again. Oh my sweet God! It's a miracle, I swear it."

"Shh, Connie, sweetheart, don't cry now. There's truly nothing miraculous about it. Honestly. I just got lucky that they didn't damage something irreparable. The rest was all science and dedication."

"And you're truly not in pain at all?" Asked Connie sniffing and wiping at her nose for she could not stem the flow of happy tears.

"No, thank goodness. I mean, not like I used to be. It comes and goes intermittently and I'm more sensitive in the cold. And I'm stiff in the mornings getting up and moving about but once I get going for the day I'm right as rain." Bobby replied, pulling a tissue free of its box on the side table and seeking to wipe at her friend's eyes.

"Oh, Bobby! I'm so happy for you! Truly! You wait till Nate sees you walking. It's all he could talk about the entire trip from Ireland."

Again the girls crushed each other in another warm embrace.

"Well, I'll be more than happy to show him my walk in person. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, honestly. It was a long journey over and you'd think I'd be used to travel by now. This stupid injury has slowed me down somewhat. But never mind that, you look stunning, honestly! Did you tint your hair? It appears a lighter blonde than before."

"I did, you charming girl, do you like it?" Connie beamed, caressing her tresses.

"Oh most certainly! It sets off your eyes! And that dress! It looks so expensive!"

"Vivienne Westwood my darling, only the best to walk about in such a swanky hotel." Now it was Connie's turn to spin a circle allowing her companion to admire her fully.

"Startling! Honestly!" Bobby exclaimed. "Hey, is it true what you said in the text? About Uncle Winston?"

"Coming on to me? No of course not, silly girl. I was just trying to get you downstairs sooner. He's as charming as ever. He ages so regally in his silk cravats. Honestly, what a perfect gentlemen he is. I can't believe he never married."

"Well, you could always propose yourself as willing."

"Roberta!" Connie cried, "He's like, what? Thirty years my senior?!"

"Don't let him hear you say that! I made a casual reference to it last night over dinner and he fixed me with the most wounded pout."

"I'll bet he did! Now come on, girl, out of these bedclothes at once and into that bathroom. We need to have you presentable inside of fifteen minutes or the boys are likely to drink themselves to death waiting for us. And I've a million things to tell you, but first, please tell me you were good enough to pack a few decent dresses. I'll kill you if you're going about a classy place as this dressed in nothing but your tactical gear."

"What's wrong with jeans?" Bobby complained with an amused quirk of her lips.

"Are they designer labeled?" Connie asked with an arch of her brow and her hand on her hip.

"What if they come from Target?"

"Then your obituary will say you were strangled by cheap, poorly made denim."

The girls shrieked with laughter and sure enough, Connie rushed her friend back into the bedroom.

As good friends do, Connie helped pick a pretty blue and white dress with laced sleeves and shapely contours out of Bobby's wardrobe. She was greatly relieved that her companion had the foresight to bring an array of casual and formal day and evening wear that was certainly not cheap, poorly made denim and simple t-shirts. Within twenty minutes Bobby was washed, brushed, made up and dressed, looking every bit the alluring young woman Connie remembered her to be before her tragedy had befallen her. And all throughout her toilette, the girls exchanged vivid chatter and gossip. For they spoke frequently on the phone, via Skype and even exchanged letters and post cards whilst on their travels around the world; but nothing compared to being in the same physical room with each other. Connie kept tearing up and wiping at her eyes, having to readjust her eyeliner and hair before finally taking her friend by the arm and guiding her out the door.

On the way down the hall and into the elevator, Bobby turned the conversation round to the dream she'd had the night before and had written about extensively in her dream diary that morning. Connie was accustomed to listening to and attempting to decode Bobby's dreams over the years. Both ladies had taken on a particular interest in the intermittently reoccurring nature of the dream wherein Bobby found herself walking a suspended bridge that seemed to have no ending in sight. Connie had noted that the dreams seemed to occur more so in times of duress. Especially, it seemed, after Bobby had reported to having had a panic attack. They appeared to be the aftermath of symptoms associated with post traumatic stress as a repercussion of her trauma for which Connie was exceptionally sympathetic towards. Naturally, Connie questioned her friend about her general health and made a mental note of her assumptions. That Bobby had just undergone her longest flight across the globe since her recovery in years and was attending her Uncle's domain whom had a disinherited hand in the events that had befallen her friend's ill fate. This, she reasoned, was likely the cause of the dream's resurfacing.

What Bobby had not gotten around to explaining was that this time the man she'd seen on the bridge in her dream had taken on distinct and ominous features. What's more, she'd not had the opportunity to express that she had been overtaken by some inexplicable dizzy spell that was seemingly detracted by the black dressed couple on the stairs that she had met the night before. Or that the gentlemen in question shared the face of the man in her dream. That for the first time ever, she felt positive she was making some sort of connection to something, somewhere. Only she had absolutely no idea what or where. But that couple was haunting. She'd almost forgotten about them in Connie's company. At last, when they exited the elevator and meant to cross the lobby's ground floor to attend the dining room, Bobby could not help but stop and stare at the staircase, alarming her friend.

"Bobby? Is everything alright dear? You look positively pale. Are you going to be ill?"

Bobby shook her head slowly. The stair case was being attended by bellhops and hotel guests that came up and down in orderly lines about their business.

"No, not at all. I just... I'm being silly. Let's go, we've wasted enough time already and I'm sure Nate and Uncle will be put out." Taking a deep breath, Bobby smiled and took her friend's arm warmly.

As they passed the reception desk and its moderate line of patrons, Charon and his neatly dressed lady assistant were busy attending to their bookings. Even so, Bobby called to the Concierge over the sweet melody of classical music and guest chatter. The dark gentlemen in his pristine suit looked up from his monitor and fixed Bobby and her friend with a gentle smile and a polite incline of his head in acknowledgement before returning to his work, booking in his latest client.

"My goodness! Are they always so busy?" Connie asked as they made their way to the dining room doors.

"I imagine so. I've never known it any other way. But it does quiet down at night." Bobby responded.

"Welcome back, ladies." Said the maître d'hôtel, gesturing the two friends within. "The manager and your companion has been awaiting your company."

"Thank you so much, that's very kind of you." Bobby replied, smiling at the young man with his sparkling hazel eyes and exotic features. Generally, Winston was renowned for housing much the same staff in his hotel. His turn-over was infrequent at best. But this gentleman who was the same fellow that hosted front of house at dinner last night seemed to be a fairly recent addition as far as Bobby could recall. All the same, he was gracious and neatly uniformed, gesturing the two ladies into the dining room where a number of tables were filled with other guests enjoying their afternoon repast.

"Oh my goodness! There she is!" Called Nate, rising to his feet and rushing a beeline toward Bobby. Winston too was on his feet, beaming in his tan sports coat as his niece was once again reunited with her two friends. The two men had been chatting amicably while the girls were upstairs. Winston was such a sharp witted and well spoken gent, that conversation came easily between the two men. They had much to discuss and much in common with regards to Bobby's fortuitous good health. They were each enjoying a glass of rich French cognac before Nate spied the ladies being led in.

"Well, hot damn, lil' mama! Look at you! Walking!"

"Shh, Nate, not so loud, you'll embarrass her!" Connie urged, squeezing her friend's arm.

"No more than she should be, surely!" Nate replied brightly, hugging Bobby tightly and kissing her cheeks. "Oh, but you look wonderful, babe, for real! How are you feeling? No more walking cane! I can't believe it. I'm so proud of you! Hard road, eh?"

"Well, it wasn't easy, I tell you. But look! I'm in heels and everything!" Bobby beamed, looking down at her dainty black point-toed shoes. Nate nodded appreciatively and turned to give each lady one of his arms to escort them back to the manager's table.

"You certainly are darling, but were it up to me, heels or not, you'd never walk unescorted. Now, come on, your Uncle was sharing the most riveting tales of his guests with me."

The trio crossed the floor happily rejoining Winston who came forward to kiss his blushing niece on her cheeks.

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty. Why, we thought you'd never join us." Winston greeted.

"I did warn I was tired, and your beds are remarkably comfortable." Bobby returned warmly, reaching to take her Uncle in an embrace. Nate meanwhile sought to help Connie into her seat whilst Bobby whispered against her Uncle's ear. "I'm sorry about last night, Uncle. Will you forgive me?"

"For what? Having an opinion? Perish the thought. It's all been forgotten darling girl, now sit with me and your friends a while and have something to eat." The elder gentleman whispered back, breaking away to give his niece yet another kiss upon her cheek before helping her into her seat.

"And here we have her, our lady of the hour, Bobby Kent. In the flesh." Winston introduced to the table as he took his seat. Connie and Nate could do nothing if not smile appricitively. They'd been waiting for their friend's company a good long while and were delighted to have her in their grasp once more.

"Waiter," Winston called, getting the attention of a passing gent in this spotless white apron, "a bottle of wine for the table if you please. The '97 Pinot Gris from South Australia I think, considering the occasion." The waited bowed his head at the order politely before dispatching to the bar.

Bobby put her hand on her Uncle's arm, raising her brows in alarm.

"But Uncle, it's so early in the day."

"What? It's past two o'clock, my girl. Did you have pressing plans that required your express sobriety?" Winston replied with a laugh.

"No, I suppose not." Bobby returned, shifting in her seat and feeling very suddenly like a child being permitted to sit at the big people's table. She must have blushed for Nate and Connie both took each of her hands adoringly and laughed.

Between them, the four set to amicable and lively conversation. Their meal was served in relatively short order. Both Connie and Nate were in awe of the expansive seasonal selection of platters and delicacies, heaping great praise upon Winston, whom directed it all back to his international team of passionate and creative chefs whom took it upon themselves to curate a spectacular rotating menu that was always fresh and complimenting of the season. Outside the New York storm seemed to have passed and finally the wet weather had given way to the first rays of afternoon sunshine that cleared away the dreary grayness and picked the colours from the leaves in the garden window.

Winston was delighted to hang back in conversation, watching as his niece and her friends brought a constant smile and a ring of bright laughter to her lips. She looked happy. Happier than she had been in a very long time. And his heart ached for her. He had left New York and stayed on with her in Essex for a long as business would permit during her recovery. What he saw of the young woman disturbed him entirely. In spite of her tan, she grew pale and sickly even after being discharged from the hospital. Her eyes took on a vacant gleam and she spent much of the day and night crying bitterly in his arms. She had become a struggle to feed and only took the smallest amount of food with the highest amount of persuasion until at last he'd returned her to the doctor to have additional medication added to her roster. Something to open up her apatite, for she had lost weight whilst in the coma and was not doing her health any favors by continuing to refuse food.

He'd slept close by in the guest room beside her own in the country manor house. And it was often that he lay, by lamp light, reading into the night and listening out. Bobby would cry into the night, weeping in pain or at the demons that plagued her mind. Often she would wake to screams of nightmares and he would rush back into her room, laying with her whilst she wept and whispered gentle placations in her ear. That she would be alright. That he was there and he would not leave her. That she would grow strong again. That she needed faith and time to heal her. That he was so sorry for her suffering. She'd sleep fitfully in his arms and he would eventually sleep beside her. His heart broken. Terrible things should not happen to good people. But they did. And he ached within, for he was at fault.

When he could no longer stay away from the hotel because business demanded his attention, it was Connie and Nate that returned to Essex and took to living with Bobby permanently adding new life and colour into the old house. They bought books and films and music and study with them. They bought wine and laughter and encouragement that lead the young lady to eat and take to her recovery with vengeance. He was satisfied, she would be well given time. These two dear friends provided more to her than he could. And so Winston withdrew with a promise to come and visit again regularly. To write and call often. That when she was better, he'd arrange to have her visit and stay at his hotel. That Charon would be delighted to see her in person. Charon was so tender, after shifts he would call in and ask for her. Bobby would weep at his kindness, thanking him for his attention that he would wave away. He insisted, they were family now. And he had just as much a vested interest in her recovery as did her Uncle.

What a remarkable difference two years and nine months made to a person.

Now Bobby ate her plates clean happily. She laughed and joked with her friends. Her blue eyes gleaming, her skin and hair lustrous. She'd gained weight again. Her features filled out away from that cadaverous expression she had previously worn. She was on her second glass of wine and was keen to take on cake and coffee much to the cheers of the table. On a few occasions Winston excused himself from the table to take calls and confirm requests from his darker professional patrons. Contracts were opened. Contracts were closed. Names were rubbed off the boards. New names were added. The High Table, as it seemed, were bent on tying off loose ends. And his phone was a constant stream of information that added to the current of order and chaos. He checked in on Charon at the desk who was finally getting a reprieve from the stream of visitors that had attended in the morning.

"Take a break, old friend. Stephanie, take over for Charon, won't you? Have five p.m. hand over competed once your done with next week's reservations."

"Yes, sir. Immediately." Answered the pristinely dressed brunette who was the Concierge's booking assistant. Charon was grateful of the break and thanked his employer graciously.

"Is Bobby well?" He asked after her.

"Oh, splendid!" Winston replied. "Enjoying a long lunch with her friends. Hasn't said a word about her research yet, bless her heart."

"She did say, last night, that she was sorry for a disagreement with you at dinner." Said Charon quietly as the two men made their way through the lobby and back to the dining room.

"I was partly at fault for it. We've made amends now. It's just this talk of the Raven King and he's resurfacing has her obsessed. It seems our associate at the Bowery has some definitive lines of information he's been feeding her. If you don't mind, we'll go pay him a visit later, just before dinner say?"

"Certainly, sir." Charon replied. His features becoming drawn sharply. He'd read all of Bobby's letters and had noted her references to their "mutual friend" with interest.

Now however, the two men returned to the manager's table, the trio of friends were laughing and sharing an amicable exchange but were quick to rise as Winston and Charon approached.

"Charon! Finally! You work far too hard out there!" Bobby exclaimed, rising from her seat and coming forward to hug the dark gentleman tenderly.

"Of course. The weekends are always exceptionally busy."

"Charon will join us on during his break, I trust this is agreeable?" Asked Winston of the table.

Much to the good hearted cheers and calls of "of course" and "by all means".  Nate rose to shake Charon's hand heartily and Connie also rose to press a polite kiss to the elegant gentleman's cheek.

The observant waiters who noted Winton's re-entrance to the dining room with Charon at his side and were quick to set an additional place at the table, taking the Concierge's order for a strong cappuccino and a slice of chocolate torte.

"These desserts are so decadent!" Connie exclaimed, "Are they also made in house?"

"Daily, by our French pâtissie." Charon replied proudly.

"And tell me, Charon, is it some pretty, available blonde girl that's currently looking for a willing suitor?" Nate teased with a twinkle in his eyes.

"He's forty-six, married for eight years and has a two small children, putting him directly out of your range." Charon replied curtly, his lips curling in jest. The table took to laugh as Nate smacked his hand upon it with mock disappointment and a cry of,

"Damn! Bested again!"

Now the table settled with seconds for coffee, tea and sweets, accompanied by Charon's masterful knowledge of city, took to conversing rapidly about all of New York's finest sights and sounds. It seemed the friends were keen on taking Bobby out and away from her expansive research and allowing her the opportunity to simply have fun. Bobby immediately chimed that she wished to visit New York's Public Library for she had heard they had very particular books in the stacks that were available for limited reading sessions that she was absolutely bent on viewing. Nate and Connie both groaned insisting they instead attend an array of vibrant bars and night clubs. Teasing her about finding a boyfriend before spinsterhood set in.

"Connie!" Bobby cried, giggling and blushing profusely.

"Well, it's true, isn't it, Nate? Tell her! I mean, look around you, there are so many charming gentleman in his very hotel. Isn't it true, Winton? I dare say you're conspiring to have only the most elegant men and women stay on. There's not a badly dressed man about."

"She's got a point there, Bobby, I'm starting to feel dreadfully deficient." Nate agreed, sipping at his coffee cup.

"Oh, you're both impossible. See what I have to deal with, gentleman? See how they try to twist and pervert me?" Bobby complained to Charon and Winston whom looked at each other knowingly with deep smiles.

"So go on," Nate pressed, "For the sake of the girls, because none of them will look at me with a yard pole, which of these guests of yours are eligible bachelors?"

The ladies giggled profusely and Winston and Charon set to give each other yet another knowing glance.

"Well, which one takes your fancy?" Winston asked with a raise of his brow, sipping at his coffee cup.

"How about that gentleman over there in the sports coat on table seventeen?" Connie began inclining her head and whispering conspiratorially.

Amused, Charon sought to play the game.

"That is Mr. David Macavoy. He's thirty-six and said to have a sweetheart who works as a dental hygienist and is currently dating her employer. Just as well. Mr. Macavoy keeps a string of causal mistresses as he travels to and from stock broker's offices securing stocks and trades."

This made the table "ooh" and "ahh". Bobby simply rolled her eyes.

"The torn adulterant businessman is not my forte."

"Then what about the fellow leaning on the bar?" Connie laughed raising her brow in his general direction to a smart dressed young man in a tweed coat that had the air of a dandy and was drinking a nip of scotch whilst checking his phone.

"One of our frequent, fly in, fly outs from Italy." Charon explained. "Antonino Borguesso, son of wine importer for Borguesso Limited. He's waiting on his companion as we speak."

Winston chuckled to himself at this admission, shaking his head knowingly. For shortly thereafter, Mr. Borguesso's companion came through the balcony doors at the far end of the dining room, having finished his cigarette and returned to Antonino at the bar. The two men embraced warmly and kissed.

Nate fell into a fit of laughter, reclining back into his chair.

"Rotten luck, Connie, your radar's right broken, love. Give it up!" Connie pouted huffing at her friend whilst Bobby simply rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Her radar's not the only thing that's broken." Bobby admitted.

"Oh, Ha! Ha! Laugh it up why don't you!" Connie returned sarcastically, ignoring the laughs of the table and casting her eyes about the dining room for other prospective suitors.

It was at that moment, just as the clock stuck four in the afternoon that a very particular gentleman wearing a dark Italian suit and tie, his coat unbuttoned, and his long dark hair framing his face; came strolling into the dining room casually. He was tall and classically handsome. His beard and moustache impeccably groomed. He had dark eyes and an easy smile as he nodded to the maître d'hôtel who gladly waved him toward the bar.

More than one of the guests in the dining room looked up from their meals or conversations, fixing the gentleman with polite glances that seemed to boarder on knowing familiarity. Connie could not help but look him up and down and audibly gasp as she elbowed Bobby's ribs and inclined her head in his direction.

"Bobby! Bobby, shut up a minute and look at him."

"Ouch! What? Who?"

"Him, at the bar. Be discreet, it's like the whole room's watching him. God, he's handsome!"

Bobby followed her friend's gaze, for she was caught in conversation with her Uncle and did not see the gentleman arrive. Now however she watched him ease himself with effortless grace against the bar some three stools away from Mr. Borguesso and his lover. He leaned in quietly and ordered a drink of the bar tender who smiled and set to serve him.

Bobby swallowed thickly watching him... And the world... slowed down.

It was as though time it's self was reluctant to move forward. Every moment seemed to hang in suspended animation, dilated in space and time. Hanging like a droplet of water to a flower petal and clinging to the edge... Unwilling to let go.

That ringing in her head cascaded forth once more to the beating of her pulsing heart. Growing in volume so as the sounds of the dining room around her became muted and inconsequential. The clink of silverware against porcelain. The chatter of the guests, the sounds of the staff as they set down plates or spoke instructions to each other in hushed voices.

The air seemed to grow colder, for her skin edged with goose bumps against her arms and across the back of her neck.

It was him.

It was certainly him.

The same gentleman she had met on the stairs last night escorting that beautiful woman in her dark dress and opera gloves.

That face... that was the face of the man on the bridge in her dream.

This ringing in her head... As if she were underwater and all sound was now coming back to surface. She closed her eyes a moment and gently shook her head before asking,

"Uncle... who is that gentleman at the bar?"

Winston followed his niece's line of sight and exchanged a quick glance with Charon. Both men lost their gracious smiles. Winston hesitated to answer but his niece pressed him.

"Uncle Winston? Please, his name at least?"

The tone of the table seemed to grow darker. Now Connie and Nate read the changing vibes and stilled in their seats.

"That... my dear girl... Is Mr. Johnathan Wick. Retired ex-military man for the U.S. Marines once stationed in Hawaii. Widowed, recently, to our great regret. He was once one of The Continental's most exquisite professional retainers. Unfortunately, poor circumstance and bad choices have inadvertently lead him back to my doors. Our professional relationship is rocky, to say the least. I would highly advise against crossing his path. Some men, are best left to their own devices. Mr. Wick is just such a man."

"He's too mature anyway, Bobby, you need the attentions of a younger man." Connie whispered to her friend regretfully. Bobby however, ignored her friend's misguided assumptions and pressed on.

"I saw him last night as I was going up to my rooms. He was escorting a lady with him down the stairs. Who is she, Uncle Winston?"

With a deep sigh, Winston answered, draining his coffee cup first before rejoining,

"That was the Lady Judeth Clayton. Marchioness of Exeter and head of one of England's most powerful families."

"Royalty? Here?" Bobby asked, aghast. Whilst she was no royalist, she could not recall the Clayton family name having such a distinguished title in recent British history.

"My hotel caters to many of rank and title, dear girl. You know this."

Bobby nodded to this admission. Her Uncle had more than once admitted to accommodating traveling Barons or Dukes. Now Bobby wondered how many of these established men and women of title were as corrupt as the governments for which they served. She pressed on,

"They seemed very close to each other. I only met them for a moment before attending the lift."

"Mmmh. Afraid so." Winston replied. "Mr. Wick serves as Lady Clayton's royal consort. Engaged in her personal service, under protection of her family name."

"Consort? Does this mean they're romantically attached?"

"The title implies similar connotations, I would imagine. Yes."

"I see."

"Right out of your league, love," Said Nate apologetically, patting Bobby gently upon her shoulder. The contact seemed to bring her back into the present moment. Connie nudged her knee with her own under the table cloth. A polite reminder to look away for she must have been staring, transfixed.

Even so, all she could think of in that moment was the irrepressible urge to look into his eyes once more.

'Look at me.... Look at me...' Whispered her thoughts.

Mr. Wick however, did not turn to face her. Rather, he settled himself comfortably against the bar, thanking the bartender who served his bourbon over ice. He gave the rest of the dining room his back, as if disinterested in their existence and content to be left alone. Lady Clayton was not at his side. And his gentle terrier was upstairs in the penthouse napping comfortably upon a lounge in the rays of late afternoon sunlight that shone through the balcony windows.

"Bobby? Bobby, are you listening to a word I'm saying?" Asked Connie, leaning forward to take her friend's hand which she fixed with a gentle squeeze.

"Yes...sorry... I was miles away for a moment there. What were we saying?"

"We were saying, we were about to excuse ourselves for the afternoon, my darling. An infinite pleasure as it is to languish with you, business unfortunately needs our attention." Said Winston affably, rising from his seat, Charon at his side.

"It was a delight to see you again, Mr. Savoy, Miss Blakehurst." Said Charon, shaking hands with each of the friends in turn and taking Bobby's hand in his own, smiling at her tenderly before fixing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Thank you for joining us, Charon. Your company has made the day even greater." Now Bobby turned to her Uncle who also said his goodbyes of Connie and Nate and came forward to hug his niece warmly.

"Thank you, Uncle, once more. For everything." She whispered against his ear.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Always." He held her there in his embrace a moment. Breathing in the flowery, fresh scent of her classic perfume. And wanting to give her a stern warning which he held in check, for he saw the way his niece's eyes lingered, unfocused upon Mr. Wick. A gaze for which he did not approve. His heart hammered in his chest in nervous anxiety. If only the timing had been better. If only his niece would not have set eyes on him. But what could he do? Large as the hotel was, he could not sequester a member of The High Table nor her esteemed consort to their rooms indefinitely. And so he pulled away, saying his final goodbyes for the day and inviting the trio to return on his treat for dinner at The Continental that evening. He regretted, he'd not be joining them that night as he had other affairs for which he must attend, but he hoped whole-heartedly that they would enjoy themselves entirely on his account. That hospitality was his greatest pleasure in life and seeing them reunited in good health filled his heart with good cheer.

"Oh, and Charon, before I forget." Said Bobby, as the Manager and Concierge made to walk away.

"Yes?" Asked Charon with a smile, turning to face the young woman once more.

"I don't mean to make a fuss, it's certainly nothing of any pressing importance, only, I couldn't help but notice this morning that my dressing table mirror seems to be broken. There's a large crack that I was sure wasn't there yesterday. Unless it was, and I'm very much mistaken. But I'm concerned with the way the mirror seems to be splintering, that the glass might give way from the frame entirely and smash all over the carpet. Could you, perhaps?"

"Of course." Said Charon, nodding earnestly. "I will arrange to have a pair of servicemen attend your room within the hour and have the mirror replaced while you're out. Is this acceptable?"

"Yes, more than anything, thank you. Please, ask them to take care. The glass appears to be cracked strangely, as if it was forced outwards from its backboard. I fear any movement may make it come away badly. I wouldn't want anyone hurt on my account."

"We'll take that into consideration when we tender our report." Winston replied, Charon also nodded in assent. The two gentlemen said the final goodbyes and retreated from the dining room, leaving the trio of friends behind.

No sooner, did they make the grand lobby once more than Winston's gentle smile dissipated into an expression of aggravated tension.

"I want every glass mirror in her room, ornamental or otherwise replaced immediately with iron backed plastic imitation. We're not taking any chances." Winston commanded in a low murmur that only his friend could hear.

"She said the mirror appeared to be forced outwards. I'll go investigate at once."

"And be quick about it! If she's challenging her energies as a conduit seer, then it's only a matter of time before her very presence starts to bring forth occupants whose relations we can do without."

"And Mr. Wick?" Charon asked quietly, his own features tight as he scanned the patrons sitting about the fireplace or attending their friends and family. Winston sighed heavily, taking his phone from his coat pocket and readying to make a call.

"It appears that die has already been cast. We've no choice now than to enter damage control."

"I understand." The Concierge acknowledged.

"When you're done with your inspection, Charon, bring a car round to the front. We're going to pay the Bowery a little visit."

"As you wish, Sir." Charon replied.

Thusly, the two men separated to attend their duties. Their minds clouded in warring concern.

The Continental, it seemed, would not remain the oasis of calm and civility they had hoped to foster indefinitely for much longer.

Within the dining room, Connie and Nate had reseated themselves and sought to chatter vibrantly with suggestions of places the trio might go together that very evening for drinks and entertainment. Bobby however, continued to cast sideways glances at the gentleman at the bar, much to her friends amusement.

"Bobby Kent... Since Mr. Wick's arrival you've been as attentive as a goldfish." Connie teased. "Look at you, you're positively smitten."

"It's not like that at all. It's... the dream I told you about earlier." Bobby replied, waving away her friend's inappropriate suggestion.

"What's this?" Nate questioned, coming close with a raise of his brow.

"Bobby's endless bridge dream seems to have come to the forefront again as of last night." Connie explained.

"There's just something about him. I can't shake the feeling that I've seen him somewhere before."

"And have you?" Nate asked quietly, setting aside his wine glass.

"I... I don't know. I can't be sure. But... In the dream I had last night, I could have sworn... It was his face. For the first time in what seems like forever, the man at the foot of the bridge in the distance had a face I could see clearly and a voice. And I heard it clear as a bell, as clearly as I hear you two speaking with me right now."

"Bobby..." Connie whispered, taking her friend's chin in her fingers and gently redirecting her eyes away from Mr. Wick's turned back.

"Bobby listen to me, darling. What are the chances of you being wrong, hmm? These dreams of yours. They seem to resurface under times of stress. Now, think about it clearly for a moment. You've traveled out of the United Kingdom for the first time in years. You've done nothing but bury yourself in research and the mind has a way of playing tricks on us. Loneliness and longing can-"

"I'm neither lonely, nor longing for anything aside from the answers for which the world around us is too blind to perceive, Constance Blakehurst." Bobby snapped sharply, cutting her friend's conversation off cold. Connie pursed her lips and lowered her eyes.

"I'm telling you, there's a connection that is definitely coming to surface and its closer than anything we've ever known before." She lowered her voice, leaning closer toward the centre of the table.

"I have a feeling, deep intuition, that screams that the Raven King is closer to the physical plane than we have ever known him to be in at last half century. Now, you swore to me, when I set down this path that you would both stand at my side, come what may and you would assist me in bringing to bare the magic for which our mortal nature has long since suppressed from human knowledge. Now, I know, I've been wheelchair bound and out of my mind with madness these past two years, I was there. It happened to me. I've not forgotten. And I'm not likely to anytime soon. But you saw it yourself that day what came out of that mirror when we enacted the Rite of Exquiro."

"We, know Bobby. We all saw it." Nate murmured "And we're as with you today as we were back then. But, the Rite.. it's not reliable, there are too many pieces missing, lost in translation. We may have bungled it, for all we know."

"Our mutual friend, says he has the answers we seek. That I'm to wait here at The Continental until he sends word for my arrival." Bobby returned.

"And when will that be?" Connie asked, her brows furrowed together as she sought to shake the memory of the creature in the mirror away.

"I don't know." Bobby admitted at last. "But what I do know... is that I should take this clear opportunity to make my acquaintance with that gentleman at the bar."

"Wait! Bobby... You heard your Uncle, love. He clearly said that bloke is not someone you want to tangle with. I mean, look around you. These people. Well dressed and finely mannered as they all seem on the surface, they're like hand-grenades. Just waiting for an opportunity to go off at any moment. We don't know what they're capable of. And after what happened to you...." He let the thought trail heavily between them.

"This is consecrated neutral ground, Nate." Bobby replied sagely,  "My Uncle has assured me that the laws that govern the people in this premises are irrefutable mandates. Their very lives might be made forfeit if they so much as consider attending to their business within these walls."

"So what happens when you go outside?" Connie asked, searching her friend's eyes deeply.

"What happens to anyone that goes outside?" Bobby returned. "We leave ourselves to the hands of the Fates. To the Wheel of Karma. To the laws that govern man in ethical and moral code. We cross our 'T's and dot our 'I's and do our best to live out our days without provoking the wrath of the gods and weather the force of nature as only humanity can. Our days have always been numbered and death does not discriminate. It waits. Patiently, at our shoulders with an ever-draining hourglass. Just watching for the right moment."

"Then you are surely familiar, that if ever a gatekeeper to the fates and all their ill temptations ever existed, this very establishment and your Uncle are it. I'd take his word, if I were you." Nate intoned, his smile vanished. His dark eyes flashing in worry.

"But you're not me." Bobby replied, rising to her feet and straightening her dress. "You can't be. So you'll stand by and watch, whilst I go have a conversation with the fates and see where they lead me. Because I swear it to you, I've seen this man before. And I can't pinpoint how or where. But I'm going to find out, with or without you."

Silence fell upon the table as Connie and Nate exchanged tense glances. They both nodded, reluctantly and watched as Bobby Kent excused herself and walked away.

Many of the guests that had partaken of meals earlier had since paid their cheques and excused themselves to other pursuits, leaving the dining room a great deal quieter than it had been but an hour prior. In fact, Mr. Borguesso and his companion had also departed the bar and sought to seat themselves in a quiet corner to take their drinks and talk amongst themselves. This left Mr. Wick as the last remaining attendant seated at the bar, sipping at his drink and idly casting his glance over his mobile phone.

Bobby considered the timing fortuitous, yet realized with every advancing step closer to the dark dressed gentleman, that she was decidedly under-prepared for the conversation she hoped to undertake or the means by which she would establish the exchange. None the less, she had made up her mind in the passing half hour, and turning back now no longer seemed an option.

And so, with a deep breath and a quiet step, Bobby sought to attend the empty stool beside the gentleman, but did not presume to sit down. Instead, with a quiet voice, feeling the eyes of her companions at her back, she sought to engage him in conversation directly.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wick?" She began gently. The dark gentleman set down his glass slowly, turning his attention away from his phone on the bar. He regarded the younger woman with docile, warm eyes.

"Yes?" His voice quiet, deep. He sought her eyes with his own. And the moment seemed to again still the air around her. Heartbeats passed between them until at last Bobby answered in almost a whisper.

"Forgive me... for intruding on your privacy. I don't mean to disturb you, only... I know... This is going to sound completely absurd but, we did meet, briefly last night on the staircase as I was entering the elevator."

"We did." The gentleman replied, quietly once more. His expression unreadable. "And you were wearing quite a beautiful rose coloured evening dress." He continued, turning now in his stool to face the young woman more completely.

The compliment brought a smile to Bobby's lips.

"Thank you, you're too kind, sir. And you were a escorting perhaps one of the most exquisitely beautiful ladies I have ever set eyes on. She really is quite remarkable. I'm sorry I did not get the opportunity to greet you properly then... And you'll forgive my boldness, but... Seeing you again now, I... I can't help but feel as though we've perhaps met somewhere before."

Silence passed between them for long moments as the weight of this admission hung in the air. Bobby searched the gentleman's eyes, ensnared by the way in which the light seemed to be drawn into them, like pools without reflection. The colour of deepest ochre. He seemed to be thinking. Weighing her words for long moments. Grateful of her compliment for his companion. For she was a rare beauty, that much was true.

At last he replied, his tone as measured and quiet as ever.

"No. I'm sorry, I don't think we have." He said. But his eyes... His eyes continued to draw her.

"Are you sure?" She breathed, almost without thinking, she took a step closer. Stepping it seemed, directly into his shadow.

"I never forget a face." He replied. "And I wouldn't forget one such as yours."  

"Would you forget a name?" She pressed.

"No."

To this she nodded, slowly. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat.

"Then perhaps, I should introduce myself. My name is Bobby Kent. I am... or was... An English cartographer and travel journalist. Up until a few years ago when I was met with an.... accident." She hesitated, swallowing thickly.

"I take a different line of work now. Research, academics mostly. You'll forgive the forwardness of my address, only, I asked my Uncle for your name. Silly as it sounds, I could have sworn we'd met in the recent past. I'm sorry I appear to have been mistaken and disturbed your peace." Here, she put out her hand.

"I'm Winston's niece." She concluded.

The gentleman, with his dark eyes leaned forward very slightly and sought to take the young woman's hand in his own. His grip was warm, firm. And sent a shockwave of energy riveting through her veins and up the length of her spine. The air around them grew cold... still.

"John Wick." The gentleman said.

The mystery unfolds slowly, like a flower unfurling its petals in the night. Who is The Raven King and what dark secrets does Winston and The Continental hide from the world around Bobby and her friends? Mr. Wick has finally been brought to the forefront. And you dare not look away. Be mindful, when you step into the shadow of a damned. Can you hear the beating of a butterfly’s wings?

Join us next week to for the third and final scene in Act Two - Blood of the Raven King.

Write us to have your name tagged in the reader’s list below and never miss a chapter.

Act One || Scene One & Two

Act  One || Scene Three

Act Two || Scene One

{[ @rubydian @lalienna-dementriento @rubydart @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat @cynic-spirit @jardanijovonovichs @overheardatthecontinental @sapphowinter ]}

What if we were villains, Madam? Would you think less of us? I doubt it. Like moths to a flame, you just want to come closer. Don't you?

you can justify anything if you do it poetically enough

-If We Were Villians

{dark academia men} 

And one day.... She'll take it all back.

JW. Blood of The Raven King

There are some places you go when you cannot rest.

When you lose the one you love.

They say your soul crosses over to the other side. What comes back is a shadow.

What comes back cannot be bought or sold. It cannot be burned or drowned.

But he came back for love. For vengeance.

And she gave him the last gold coin.

JW. Blood of The Raven King.

New Chapter Coming Sunday.

John Wick || Blood of The Raven King

Act Two || Scene One || Broken Mirrors

The dinner hours always began at 6 P.M. and concluded at 9 P.M. for guests that were interested in joining the glittering, pristine hotel dining room for a late night meal. Winston was never above dining in the main room with his guests. In fact, he had a table for six that was always set in the corner by the window overlooking the terrace gardens with their sculpted myriad of magnolia bushes and charming trees that were wrapped in twinkling fairy lights. This table was always reserved exclusively for management and on this evening Winston, in his dark greys and burgundy silk cravat, had the table set for two as he awaited his niece's arrival anxiously. He was not made to wait very long at all, for on the stroke of seven, Bobby appeared by the dining room doors and was escorted to Winston’s table by the maître d'hôtel dressed in a stunning blush pink evening gown upon dainty nude coloured heels. Her hair arranged in an artful suspension of waves that framed her delicate features. She wore a beautiful antique necklace of champagne pink pearls that complimented her matching earrings and bracelet. Winston rose to his feet at once, absolutely beside himself in pride. Bobby walked completely unassisted. Her walking cane was nowhere to be seen and you would not believe she had ever needed it. Or that she had suffered anything that even remotely looked like capture and torture. Her skin, though paler than the sun-kissed tan that was characteristic of her wilderness exploration, radiated with good health and her deep blue eyes were still a twinkling shade of sapphire that suppressed her withheld turmoil. Not entirely however, for Winston knew intimately the depths of suffering that were hidden behind that veneer of order and beauty that a woman was so capable of masking with an elegant dress and artfully applied cosmetics. 

Regardless, he came forward around his table and took his niece in his arms with the embrace of a man that could not be prouder for the achievements of his own daughter. Her embrace was equally powerful. She tucked herself into her Uncle’s arms and for a moment negotiated with the urge to weep again as she had in her rooms.

No.

No, absolutely not.

She’d ruin her eye makeup and she’d spent considerable time blending and perfecting her eyes-hadow and concealer just as she had witnessed in the tutorials of those other girls online. She wasn’t about to let that hard work go to waste. At least, that thin veil of vanity was what she reasoned to herself was the purpose of her refusing tears. In actual fact, it was the sting in her heart that reminded her she was an orphan now. She had been for nine years and anything that even remotely appeared as though it was parental affection was enough to break her down to components she was afraid of. And then of course, the promise she’d made to herself since her ordeal. That she would never allow another human being to witness her cry.

 Winston sought to pull her back at arm's length so he could admire her fully.

“Oh Roberta! Look at you! You’re magnificent! You are positively radiant!”

“Bobby,” She corrected happily, coming forward to give her Uncle a kiss on his cheek. The elder gentleman lead the lady into her chair and kissed her forehead with fatherly affection before rejoining his seat. 

The moments that passed thereafter were a heartfelt reunion of affection and good nature. Uncle and niece sat for the longest time over a three course dinner, sharing a bottle of wine and deep discourse of everything that the letters they had exchanged over the last nine months could not possibly convey with the profound depth and intensity they so wished. 

“You know, Bobby, I’m still not entirely certain as to why you decide to write letters in this day and age when everyone else your age is busy on Snapchat and Skype.”

“We’ve discussed this sentiment before, Uncle. You’re a man that predates Snapchat and Skype. Do you really want to Face Time me? Don’t you think the English language should be preserved with handwriting and the art of cursive passed down into our post-millennial generation? So that they might be capable of communicating in full sentences moving into the modern world of business, trade, arts and academics with more than a one-hundred and sixty character limit on their already atrociously short attention span?”

“Accurate as this summation of general modern society is, I believe the power to move with the ages is paramount to our perpetual existence. And I can’t help but feel stung, I think you’ve taken a side-swipe at calling me old.” 

“Vanity, Uncle. Amongst the seven deadly sins that I needn’t remind you of.” This admission made the elder gentleman laugh. He gestured generally at their glittering environment with a very definitive meaning. 

“If I’m not the purveyor of hedonistic pleasures that are dangerously straddling the line of the seven virtues, then I’m quite certain my establishment has been a marked sham.” 

The meal concluded with dessert and coffee that Bobby hesitated to partake in. Complaining that the bodice of her evening gown was becoming painfully tight. 

“Nonsense, child! Chef spent all morning making these fruit tarts and you’ll be doing him and me a professional injury if you don’t sample at least a few bites to appease his voracious French attitudes.” 

 Begging a few moments to rest before taking the rich tart was acceptable to her Uncle. And given time, the pair were eventually served a stunning glittering dessert piled with an artfully crafted allotment of fresh glazed fruit and served with rich Italian espresso. 

The conversation between them was as easy as ever. And twice as intimate knowing the involvement they had together that transcended the nuances of human thoughts and feelings. Their expressions and words were amongst the closest in each other’s company that they could come to. At last, their conversation came around to Bobby’s latest research. Following the thread that she had discussed in her latest letter. Winston let her speak for the longest time mindful of not interrupting her train of thought for he was accustomed to his niece being taken by a passionate stream of consciousness and leading the conversation into a maze of tangents that she kept track of in her head and eventually tied off neatly. He marveled at the depth of her philosophical grasp was pleased to see that her Oxford education had returned such a well-rounded individual. 

But this study of hers. This obsession with the other side, and they way she burned under the focus of uncovering magic. Of uncovering creatures of legend and fantasy. It frightened him. To some extent. And he was not readily a man that ever felt fear. He was a tactician after all. A master of stratagems that he had spent decades honing into a network of planning and focus. But this was something else. This fire that burned in his niece's eyes.

“Our mutual friend says-”

“Bobby, please, if I can stop you there for a moment darling. Really, I think I’ve heard more than enough about this hypothesis of yours for one evening.”

“Uncle, don’t! Don’t shut me down like this. I need you to help me uncover a universe, not push me away because you think it all too hard-”

“And then what?!” He snapped at last. Growing tired of her willful demands. “Have you given this any more than a moment’s deeper consideration? What do you hope to achieve if your theorems for the other side prove to be correct?” He could tell he’d stung her badly with this rebuke. Anger flashed in her eyes. Wheelchair bound as she had been, she’d dedicated years of her recovery to do nothing but study, research and theorize. She’d spent years traveling the world in the houses and lecture halls of scholars that did nothing but discuss the disappearance of practical magic and alternative species of other realms. He regretted his choice of words instantly as she dropped her eyes. 

“Bobby, I’m sorry, really. I just-”

“Do you what you’re looking for?” She cut him off. “When you got yourself caught up in all this? This perpetual nightmare that your believe you’re protecting the better part of the city from? Did you fathom for one moment in your life that perhaps you’re not the dark knight you think you are? That all you’re doing is feeding the machine? That you’re a corrupt vigilante creating a safe-haven for criminals and usurpers that our livelihoods would be a great deal better without? Did you consider that the power you have in your hands here is so great that if you wanted to really do something good for what you consider to be your people, your city, your community; that all you need do is turn yourself in to the authorities with a confession and take the entire slate of the criminal empire down with you in one fell swoop?”

“Keep your voice down, Roberta. There are some things that cannot be said in polite company.”

“We’re not fucking polite company any more, are we?”

“No, I suppose we aren't. But there are rules and consequences that govern our behaviors so as we may be elevated above basic instinct. That said, I was simply expressing concern about how you seek to blow the lid off a world you haven’t the slightest understanding of and seem to have no future contingency to protect yourself against what you may find thereafter. You’re being childish and hard-headed and I’ve already watched you knock on death’s door once. If you had any regard for my person, I would have assumed you’d take this into consideration and spare me impending hardship."

This time he did not regret his rebuke at all. He could not fault the young woman for her tenacious will to latch onto the world around her and pull it apart to components only she could see. He was even forgiving of the fact that her outburst was fueled only by her lack of complete understanding to which he was playing a principle role in keeping her uninformed. Again, he reasoned this was entirely for her own protection. The less she knew of the other side the better. But he was fearful for every passing moment she presented him that evening with facts, figures, accounts and case studies of times and events wherein the denizens of the other side might be there amongst them, at their very shoulders. Waiting. Watching. Listening to every word. Knowing that what would come, would come whether they wanted it or no. And nothing unnerved him more than the source of her obsession. That of all the creatures of folklore and legend, she would hunt the greatest creature known to man or indeed fae kind. The Raven King.

For the first time in that evening, his heart did not soften as she sat in wounded silence, looking every bit as stung as he felt. She had offended his pride, hit at a nerve that he had tried to reason with for years.

She was right, though he hated to admit it. When he set down this path of darkness and became the eventual owner of The Continental, he not expected the bloodshed and suffering that would have him forever question his own moral code and force him to make ethical judgments based on the process of elimination.

Even so, when she rose from her chair, his heart dropped in his chest.

"If you'll excuse me, Uncle Winston. I think the journey has left me overtired. I'm perhaps not the best company I could be were I better rested. I've obviously offended you and you have pricked me in turn. I don't think we can progress any further given my current condition."

"Bobby, please.. We've not seen each other in months, we shouldn't let a disagreement end our conversation like this. Won't you sit down a moment longer an let me make this right again?"

"No, Uncle, really. I'm tired. And maybe a little overwhelmed with everything. If you let me go on in this state, I fear I may devolve into something less than agreeable. I think it best I retire for the night and join you tomorrow afternoon, if it's all the same to you."

"Bobby..."

"Goodnight, Uncle Winston. And thank you very much for your hospitality and dinner. Please, give my compliments to your chef."

And with that she was off, in a flutter of blush coloured skirts. The other guests were courteous enough to at least pretend they'd not witnessed the young lady walk away abruptly. They concerned themselves with their meals and coffee whilst waiters bustled about the dining room clearing plates and resetting tables.

Winston however, sighed deeply at his niece's departure. She was always such a willful girl. So argumentative and dominant in her personality. He gave her a great deal of credit for it. Even so, he maintained his better judgment. Their 'mutual friend'  that she referenced repeatedly was none other than New York's Bowery King. A man of whom Winston proposed to have a deep and meaningful conversation with before the week was out. For he was greatly responsible for feeding Bobby much of the knowledge that she now sought to dislodge from him, seemingly against his will.

Alas, he raised his hand to take the attention of a passing waiter and requested a nip of brandy be served to him. He would take it with a smoke on the balcony and then seek to retire for an early night himself. He had no doubt that whatever antics Bobby meant to partake in during her visitation, he'd need as much rest as possible to recover from their aggressive turmoil.

Outside the dining room doors, Bobby made to take a few deep, calming breaths before crossing the lobby toward the elevators. The hour was just past nine o'clock and the foyer was markedly empty in comparison to the vibrant collection of people that were working their way in and out of the hotel when she arrived earlier that afternoon. Charon was completing his evening paperwork and preparing again for the night shift hand over staff that were due to relieve his place at reception.

"Did you enjoy your dinner?" He asked warmly as Bobby approached on rapid footfalls.

"Quite Charon, thank you very much. And thank you for the rooms once more. I'm used to a great deal less so every time you let me stay I can't help but feel a little displaced."

"It is always our pleasure to accommodate you, Bobby." Charon returned as he pulled his glasses from the bridge of his nose.

"But, if you don't mind my saying, Miss. You do not seem entirely pleased. Was something not to your liking?" He probed gently, reading the tense lines in the young lady's brows. He felt he'd instantly overstepped, for she lowered her eyes and looked somewhat uncomfortable before again meeting his gaze and leaning forward a little over the marble counter.

"Oh, no, no not at all. Everything was perfection incarnate. Only, I feel, I'm likely overtired from the journey and Uncle Winston and I drank a bottle of wine with dinner that's relaxed me more than it should and I... well..." She hesitated here a little, struggling with the truth before finally admitting,

"I think we rather just had a little falling out by the time coffee and dessert were served." She sighed deeply with the admission.

"I'm sorry to hear it, dearheart." Charon intoned earnestly. The tenderness of his affectionate naming shook Bobby to the core. She'd rarely ever been called upon with such sweet endearments since her parents had passed and her suitors were set at arm's length.

"Oh, I wouldn't let it worry you, Charon. It's nothing a good night's sleep and a heartfelt apology won't repair given time. You know how it is with family, we argue about the silliest of things sometimes. I wager I'm largely to blame. I find I lose my temper a great deal faster now compared to how I did when I was younger. I've much to answer for and can't help but feel cast out when I'm trying to make an important point."

Charon nodded to the young woman sagely. The tension in her features seemed to dissipate just with the act of being listened to and supported. He offered her his advice and hoped she'd take it to heart.

"If there is one thing, this hotel has taught me, with people, is pull when you want to push. You may find the world a great deal more forgiving when you keep those you'd class as enemies onside."

For many heartbeats Bobby took in the depth and clarity of Charon's eyes. The lines of his face. The way he smiled at her gently, willingly. Un-provoking and completely open. A pillar of support is how she reasoned she thought of him. Now the weight of his words filled her soul with hope and revelation.

"You're of course entirely right." She conceded at last and leaned forward over the countertop to press a kiss to the Concierge's cheek.  

"Goodnight, Charon. I'm going to my rooms to retire. I expect I'll sleep well into the morning so I doubt I'll be down for breakfast. Connie and Nate will be around tomorrow afternoon though for a late lunch and a little tête-à-tête and I've no doubt they'll want to drag me around the city now that I'm not so encumbered with my wheelchair or cane."

Charon nodded to this statement, making a note in his ledger.

"The manager's table will be open to you and your friends when they arrive." He replied, looking up to take the young woman's expression again.

"Thank you, Charon. For everything. Really."

"Goodnight, Bobby. Until tomorrow."

"Goodnight." She said once more, offering the Concierge a tender smile before smoothing down the lines of her dress and making her way across the foyer toward the elevators

She could not help but think the sound of her own footfalls against the echoing walls to be sharp and ringing as each click of her heels cast back upon her like a fan of sound in the otherwise quiet lobby.

Bobby pressed at the brass button that would call her elevator and opened her clutch to prepare her gold room key. A card with an ornate design and a RFID chip that kept a record of her movements in and around the hotel.

She had just freed this card from her clutch when all at once a sudden blackness seemed to overtake her. A ringing in her ears grew to a maddening crescendo that set her somewhat off balance. She put out her hand to steady herself against the marble wall, shocked and wondering what on earth could have caused such a strange turn as she shook her head to free the ringing in her ears... That was when she saw them.

A couple. Dressed in black.

They appeared on the curving marble staircase to her right and she noticed the shadows of their movement first in the peripheral of her vision before at last she turned her head to acknowledge them fully whilst the bell of the elevator that was descending from the top floor pinged out at regular intervals the closer it got to the lobby floor.

And she could not help but stop and stare. They were glorious to behold. A lady in an obsidian, floor-length gown and matching gloves that rested above her elbows. Her skin was as pale and ethereal as the autumn moon. Her mahogany hair was pinned delicately away from her face. And what a face! Her features sharp and stunning. Her lips the colour of deepest red wine. And her eyes... Oh, those eyes were otherworldly. They were the deepest cascade of evergreen. Bobby stood, transfixed, unable to look away. For the lady was escorted by a gentleman of equally handsome fixture. He too was dressed in a pitch black suit. A single glittering ruby caught the light and shimmered from his tie pin. His long, dark hair cascaded classically handsome features that were accented by a dark beard and moustache that were well-groomed and seemed to accentuate the darkness of his allure. In contrast to the lady at his arm, his eyes were dark pools that seemed to absorb the light of their surrounds. His strides were confident, easy. He flowed with the lady at his arm down the stairs and spoke with her quietly, almost reverently, his head inclined slightly toward her shoulder. It was impossible to discern what was being said by the pair.

And they were coming, closer, closer. And Bobby, could not look away. The sudden dizzy spell and ringing in her head seemed completely replaced. She was vaguely aware that the elevator had arrived and was awaiting her boarding, it's polished brass doors rolled opened.

Who were this pair? Who on earth were they?

It was the gentleman that finally looked away from his lady and took her eyes. It was but a moment in time. Fleeting. Like the passing of a cloud over the sun. He smiled at her, inclined his head. And Bobby's breath caught in her throat. She was acutely aware she was being rude, gawking at them like this with what she was positive must have appeared as a half stupefied expression. Now the lady inclined her head toward her as well and offered her the slightest curvature of her lips in greeting. The couple were but two feet away, having cleared the staircase and paused for half a moment.

"Goodnight, Miss." Was all the gentlemen said, before he and the lady carried on across the lobby.

And she meant to reply. She was half certain she had at least said "goodnight" in turn as she stepped into the lift and turned about, watching the pair recede into the distance. The elevator doors rolled shut blocking them from view.

It was then that Bobby realized she'd been holding her breath for goodness knows how long. She sighed heavily, unable to organize her thoughts. The room key in her hand. The elevator still, awaiting its next command.

She came forward, waved the card across the small glass panel and pressed the button for level five. The elevator began its climb and Bobby took this moment to lean against the brass rail to brace herself against what, she wasn't entirely sure. What had come over her, she wondered?

My goodness, this was a strange day after all.

The travel must have exhausted her more than she bargained for.

Now she longed to attend her room and lock the door behind her and put this entire episode well out of her mind. Had she skipped her medication? Yes, perhaps that was the cause of it all. For the doctor had assigned her a mild antidepressant pill that she was to take once every forty-eight hours. It had the duel effect of acting as a manager to her anxieties. Only now with the shifting time-zones, she wasn't sure if she had missed a dose or not.

 Within her rooms at last, Bobby ensured the door was locked and latched shut. She had placed the 'Do Not Disturb' sign upon the handle outside so as cleaning and room service staff would leave her be. And her first port of call was to set down her clutch and room key upon the lamp table and then attend to pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the sideboard. She'd take another pill. It was safer to double the dose than skip it entirely. Perhaps that was why she was feeling queer. Agitated and overwhelmed and that horrid darkness that took her downstairs in the lobby had left her shaken.

That lady. That gentleman. Who were they?

This question continued to repeat its self for the better part of an hour as Bobby sought to undress and draw herself a bath with lavender salts.

She'd washed off her makeup and unpinned her hair. Brushed her teeth and sank into the steaming tub. Just laying. Quietly. Thinking to herself.

That face. That gentleman's face. She almost felt as if she'd seen it before.  Where or how she could not discern. And the lady. She was purely beautiful. Statuesque and refined. She'd seemed to glide down the staircase on her gentleman's arm.

She would ask Uncle Winston about the couple tomorrow, this much was certain.

She was not sure when it occurred, but shortly after this self-affirmation, lulled by the soothing scent of lavender and the solitude and peace of the night. Bobby dozed in the bathtub.

It was a spider.

Small and black on the rib of the tub at her feet by the brass faucet. It had a small bulbous body and spindly legs hesitated to walk into the gathered droplets of water. Rather, the creature stepped over them, like a dancer. It was too little for her to make out its tiny red eight eyes, but they seemed to turn and acknowledge that she was there before turning back to make its way up the heavy golden shower hose. There was something important it meant to do as it reached the top. And there, suspended from a glittering web that shifted in the rising steam was a butterfly. Large... massive actually. It had great black and blue wings that were pulsing, slowly. The insect's delicate little legs were caught in the sticky threads of the web that was hung by the showerhead. And as the little spider made its way closer, the butterfly did not seem to fret. Rather, it continued to pulse its wings, open, shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. Open... Open...

Now the spider stood face to face with its prey. The butterfly was at least three times its size and seemed to regard its spider hunter with little to no regard. And Bobby could not help but feel the clutch of nerves take her.

Anxiety crawl across her skin as she found herself almost begging for the beautiful insect to tear free of the web, to come away. To fly.

’Please..' Begged her thoughts, 'Fly.... damn you... fly!'

Why wouldn't the butterfly move? Could it not see the danger? That this spider, though tiny would eat it in time?

She watched in horror, for the spider reached out its foreleg and sought to tap the butterfly upon its head. Beating it. Admonishing it for its stupidity. There would be no escape. There would be no mercy. This was the dance of evolution. The strong would prey upon the weak. The beautiful would be eaten by the very grotesque.

It was more than she could bear. Bobby rose in the water, she would free the butterfly, let it escape from the bathroom window. She would upset the natural order, just for one day.

Just... for one day.

And then his voice.

'Goodnight, Roberta.'

She jolted awake. To the splash of water and the sound of her own choked cries. Where was it? The spider? The butterfly? She looked about herself disorientated. What had happened? Where did that voice come from?!

The showerhead and its heavy brass hose.

There was no spider. No spider web. There was no black and blue butterfly. There had been no voice. Aside from the ones in her own head. She was alone. Entirely. Of course. She'd had a long day. A longer night it seemed. And an argument with her Uncle at dinner. Too much wine. The food perhaps too rich and still digesting.

Bobby pulled herself from the tub. Pulling the bathplug and letting the lavender water drain. She sought to dry herself. To put on her clean, lose fitting silken navy pyjamas with their pink carnations and took herself promptly to bed. The clock on the mantle read just past midnight.

No wonder she was tired. Too tired it seemed.

Before long Bobby had drifted off to sleep. Her bedside lamp cast a warm low glow over the room and reflected the surfaces of the furniture in the mirror of her dressing table at the far end against the wall.

And as she slept, she dreamt.

And such dreams were these.

There was music, up ahead. The sound of violins and flutes playing in harmony, a cascade of shimmering notes that were lulling and beautiful. She wanted so much to get closer, to hear them. To see the people who played such wondrous melodies. But she looked down and could not help but notice she was barefooted. And beneath her, a bridge spanned out into the distance. Narrow and suspending by ancient heavy ropes that were set by the roots of trees. Trees whom if she craned her head and looked up, there seemed to be no canopy. And no light. It was cold... and dark. And this bridge... Now that she looked down between the planks at her feet she noticed, to her horror that there was no end in sight. Some, hazy darkness, indiscernible, swelling, moving, breathing, a nothingness that went on forever and ever and made her sick. She clutched at the ropes that were cold to the touch. And rough. Bark perhaps? Feathered in vine leaves and dappled poisonous looking flowers crowned in thorns and swarming with occasional moving shadows. But there was music up ahead. And if only she would walk forward she might chase its beauty. And not find herself so horribly alone. She turned her head, to look back over her shoulder. There was nothing there. Just the endless expanse of this bridge that seemed to go on forever. And this feeling that sank in her heart that told her she'd been walking this bridge for the longest time already. She was tired. Tired and worn down and the music, it called to her. Lulling her.

Where is your coin?

The expanse asked as she set out. One foot in front of the other.

A favour in gold, repaid it must be. Where is your coin?

"I haven't one." She breathed to the expanse, clutching at the vines. Fearful of disturbing the silence in the break of swelling music. She would walk across the bridge. But the end was as indiscernible as the darkness below her feet. It went on forever.

Open your veins then... Pay in blood.

"Blood?" She asked... her brows furrowed, stitching together. Her hand in her pocket, something cold and hard. A disc. She pulled it forth and noted... it was a gold coin. Emblazoned upon it, the image of a raven in flight. Where had it come from?

She offered it to the expanse.

"Will it do? This?" She asked the emptiness. The bridge did not sway beneath her. The wind picked up, and gathered her hair, exposing her throat.

"Please... It's all I have."

In blood.

Said the expanse. And the coin she pro-offered the nothingness before her slipped from her fingers. She watched it arc down, spinning, spinning... and disappear between the boards of the bridge. Her panic reared. It was the last one. The last one and she'd lost it. Lost everything.

Lost it all.

The beating of wings overhead. She looked up for the darkness above the bridge and the melody of violins and flutes were taken away by the sound of cries. Birds. Black birds in their dozens seemed to fly on ahead. In their claws, each one carried a single golden coin. They gathered in the distance, cawing, screaming out, gathering the darkness under their wings. Their eyes were white, their beaks sharp and their cries heart-wrenching. There...in the distance, she saw him. In a black robe. And he turned to her. His eyes the deepest green. Illuminated from within by a fire it seemed.

And there was blood on his fingers and a silver blade in his hand.

"Please!" She called to him, reaching out... desperate to get closer, only every step seemed to place him further away.

"Please... how do I get back?"

There's no going back. Ever.

She woke then. Sweating profusely, disorientated. Her throat dry and her hair stuck to the nape of her neck. Outside it seemed to be raining for she lay upon the bed, kicking back her covers and listening to the constant patter of the rain upon her windowpane. The drip, drip, drip of droplets striking the glass.

And for the longest time Bobby covered her face in her hands. Uncertain with what she had seen and heard. This dream. Like so many she seemed to be having these past nine months or more made no sense. No reason. Coins and blood and birds and butterflies. Bridges to nowhere.

But this was a first.

There was a man.

She had always dreamt there would be a man. He wore dark robes that hung over the edges of the footbridge and were lifted by the breeze that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. And she could never discern his face. Never.

But this time, she saw him. And he had a clarity that was unlike anything she had remembered before.

This man... his eyes... They were inhuman. Abnormal. But his features, his voice. It was the same gentleman that was escorting the lady down the staircase last night, she was sure of it. Absolutely certain.

Positively certain.

God!

She wasn't certain about anything. Let alone the cacophony of thoughts in her mind.

She rose from the bed and sought to take her battered, leather-bound dream diary from her hatbox and her trusty fountain pen that she had written a hundred letters or more with since the day her father had left it behind for her in his will.

Armed with these tools that she understood, Bobby pushed back the curtains letting in the grey light of the late morning penetrate with the warmth of the lamplight at her bedside table.

She attended her dressing table now and sat before her mirror. And she wrote what she saw in her dreams. What she felt in her heart, what she heard in her head.

She wrote and wrote for a quarter of an hour. Perhaps more. Her pen filling page after page with descriptions, imaginings, visions, the sounds that she heard and tried desperately to describe. For it was music she swore she had heard somewhere else. Violins and flutes.

At last she looked up, the nub of the pen stopping short at the word, 'madness'.

There was a crack on her dressing table mirror. It seemed to gather from the lower right-hand corner and spider out into a web that arched up along the glass. It was quite large, incredibly noticeable. Hardly something that she would have missed even in her excitement and exhaustion the day before as she milled about the bedroom to unpack and place her belongings upon the dressing table around her. And she'd stared into this mirror for the better part of an hour the night before applying her makeup. She'd sworn it was not there the night before. Surely. Something like this? She would have seen it and mentioned it to Charon.

Her fingers reached up to run along the cracks in the glass. To trace them against her fingertips.

How long had it been like this?

These cracks were unusual. The appeared to have been forced from the other side, the glass slightly protruding outward. Against the mirror's frame.

Careful!

She pulled her fingers away as they caught over a jagged edge that threatened to slice at her skin.

She would tell Charon about it.

Because there was something dangerous about broken mirrors.

Dearest Readers,

 We hope that you are enjoying our dark fairy tale! There is great intrigue and mystery that awaits on every corner. Every stage holds hidden paths and rising darkness, coming forth from the shadows to swallow the light. Do you have a favorite character? Are you excited for the next turn? Send an inbox message and have your name tagged in the reader’s list so you never miss a new chapter.

Stay tuned for Act Two || Scene Two coming next Sunday, Eastern Standard Time.

JW. || Blood of The Raven King

Act One || Scene One & Scene Two

Act One || Scene Three

{[ @rubydian @rubydart @lalienna-dementriento @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat @cynic-spirit @sapphowinter ]}

There’s no going back. Ever.

They never doubted he was coming. Like the rain deep in the night. A storm. To swallow them whole.

JW. Blood of The Raven King.

Act Two. Coming Soon.

{[ Art: @rubydart || Graphic: @laserglassspider ]}

And if she bled like a bad idea in the heat of the morning sun...

It wasn't because I didn't love her deeply enough. She may have pushed me away but I remained with my back at her door and I loved her though she screamed for solitude. Knowing, that when this darkness would abandon her, I would be the first and last she would come to. And I would comfort her tenderly and wipe the blood from her halo.

I remember what it was to be broken. I remember how to forget and live on.

Dark Academia Ask Game: I was born in 1834 to a seamstress and barber in a back-alley dilapidated Victorian townhouse in Whitechapel, London. At 14, I committed my first murder, wherein I broke into my neighbor's yard and killed his prized Australian Lorikeets because the damned things sat outside my bedroom window early of a morning and chanted their irritating songs. it was not my first murder. I since regretted my poor fortune and have worked to make amends in a new secret society. Who am I?

finding eachother with bloody hands, whispering in dark alleys and running from people who aren’t really there. conversations increasing in volume and secrets stumbling out between meaningless words, considering if friendships are even worth the effort anymore. do i want to kill you or be you? should we run away or put in the work? societies either end in glory and redemption, or snapping eachothers throats to stop more birdsong from waking us up. 

Santino rose early the following morning. Before the alarm which was a struggle, for baby Cerberus woke at five and began pawing over his chest whining in his adorable little way.

"Che bambino? Sono sveglio, devi andare?" (What baby? I'm up, you need to go?)

The puppy responded by licking at his nose and cheeks, making him laugh as he captured the little dog and hugged him to his chest. Beside him, Lalienna rolled over muttering something indiscernible in Spanish in her sleep.

"Shh, quiet bambino, you'll wake Mami. She'll be cross at us, no?" Gently as he dared, he took the little pup in his arms, kissing his sweet floppy ears and made to slide out of the bed as quietly as he dared. Mindful to not make a sound as he opened and closed the bedroom door behind him and then padded on naked feet down the stairs. Cerberus thought this early morning adventure to be very entertaining indeed. It was usually the quiet lady and big brother Christov that helped him go outside of a morning. Going with daddy was new indeed and the pup thought it all very interesting. In his little head, Cerberus had already given each of the members of the household a definitive designation complete with rank and pack order. As far as he was concerned, Mami was the lady alpha followed by daddy whom the humans named 'Santino'. He liked this man, Mami liked him a great deal too, even though he wasn't pleased about being made to sleep at her back when he wanted to be at her chest. Regardless, daddy Santino spoke kindly to him and was always gentle. As it was now, Santino deposited the little pup with a compliment about his weight and let him out the patio door to run off and attend his business in the garden. The security lights flashed on when they sensed the pup's movement, preventing the little dog from having to go in the dark. The sound of morning birdsong could be heard in the air whilst the sky was still an inky shade of darkness.

Around him the household was just beginning to rise. Whilst Panchelli, Chef and the rest of the estate's domestic staff were permitted Sunday's off duty, this particular Sunday was a special occasion with the pending arrival of the Lady Gianna and Lord Lorenzo coming to visit for dinner early that evening. Santino had promised the staff the following Monday and Tuesday off duty for their troubles and afforded they all receive double pay if they agreed to once more take to their uniforms and attend the household as a complete compliment. Panchelli ran this request by each of the maids and Chef whom all agreed happily. Two days off duty during the week was a luxury that none of the other domestic servants received and few in Rome were permitted to live in a wing of their master's manner, let alone be afforded double pay for a day. They would each sacrifice meeting their friends and family at Rome's famous churches just this once and attend a make up mass on Monday evening instead. It was an agreeable condition.

As such, the maids in their pristine blue and white uniforms, complete with frilled caps and soft house slippers padded down the stairs in double-file on their way to the kitchens where Chef was already busy preparing the morning breakfast for the servants. They paused however to bow and greet their master, some averting their eyes and blushing furiously for Santino was naked from the waist up. His disheveled curls and tattooed back with the laurel that housed the Camorra crown was a sinful revelation that had many of the young maids lusting and giggling to each other.

Santino's warm smile and gentle greeting to the girls made many swoon and curtsey lower than perhaps was necessary in a bid to hide their naughty thoughts and flushed cheeks. They didn't expect the master to be present so early. He usually did not rise until after seven in the morning and began his day with coffee that they all noted had not been prepared. The senior house maid, Marie, was first to break formation from the line and ask her master if he wished to be attended and if the young lady Miss Lalienna had also risen and wished for assistance showering or dressing?

"No, grazie Marie, Lalienna sta ancora dormendo e potrei unirmi di nuovo a lei per un'ora prima di alzarmi." (No, thank you Marie, Lalienna is still sleeping and I might go join her again for an hour before I get up.)

Just as he completed this statement, Cerberus came bounding back up the garden with a tennis ball in his mouth that he'd been looking for all of yesterday and could not remember where he had left it. His clumsy little run, coupled with the flapping of his floppy ears at each step made the girls swoon entirely. Almost all of them with except for Marie who thought it best to remain dignified, came down on their knees and called to the puppy who ran up to each of the girls happily. In his little mind, this pack of females were of far lower station than him, but classified as a heard of happy sisters, for they each patted his little head and rubbed his belly when he flopped over onto his back and teased them into giving him a scratch. One of the girls tried to pry his ball from his mouth, he let her have it reluctantly, much to the girl's joy, but he quickly followed her hands and their quick movements, with an arf of delight. Would they throw it please? He liked playing fetch.

"Please, Signore Santino, can we play with the puppy at breakfast? We promise to look after him?" Begged little Lucile in her brown curls and cherub lips.

"Certo, if he'll go with you, he's yours for a few hours." Santino acquiesced. He earned the delighted squeals of the maids that warmed his heart. He pet the little pup's head once more and cautioned him to be good and not cause the ladies any trouble. Cerberus wagged his little tail in acknowledgement, but was too excited by the girl holding his tennis ball to really understand what daddy was talking about. He was always good. And never caused any trouble. Except that time when he was in the quiet lady's room and he jumped off the bed, his paws got tangled in her cables and he's accidently knocked her laptop down to the ground with a loud thud. He'd dropped very low then and rolled immediately over onto his belly, expecting to be scolded. The quiet lady huffed and stamped about the room in some frustration righting the expensive equipment and detangling his paws. He did not earn the reprimand he thought he'd get though. Instead she merely picked him up and scuffed his ears. He was very sorry. Those loud noises that human things made were scary!

All the same, the many ladies gathered him up in their arms and took him to the kitchens were all the delicious smells came from. He'd be fed something yummy if he waited patiently and was extremely cute.

Santino shut the patio door behind him and made his way back up the winding grand staircase yawning and meaning to return to Lalienna's side. On the second story he was waylaid by Hector who had just finished working out and was now headed downstairs to swim some laps of the pool.

"Buongiorno Signore!" (Good morning sir!) "You're up early. What happened? The bed on fire?"

That earned a laugh from Santino that dismounted the staircase to  the landing and came forward to give his commander an embrace. The two men exchanged a kiss and tight hug before Santino came away and rejoined,

"I hadn't thought about it, but I suppose I could go try." A chuckle from each of them as they smiled at each other knowingly. Hector was assured that his little sister Lalienna was being well treated, but he was not about to let it go to chance considering her fragile condition. He was still haunted by the questions and implications of his employer with regards to miscarriage and child birthing that Santino had alluded to earlier in the week. He was not about to allow their tenuous relationship suffer for an oversight on his part. Therefore, he bounded ahead directly.

"Actually, Signore, there's something important I've been meaning to talk to you about, man to man. Would you mind coming to my room to chat for a bit? I can make you a coffee if you want?"

"Hector, it's not even six yet, can't this wait until a little later? I was hoping to lay down a few more hours before I have to greet today. Gianna is coming later." Santino complained.

"I know, Santino, honest. It won't take very long. I just need to run a few things past you, then I'll deliver you back into Lalienna's arms. Promise."

Santino scanned Hector's face and when he saw the sincarity across his features, he raked his hand though his head and gestured the commander lead the way. He followed along until both men found their way to Hector's private rooms on the second floor. Within, Hector's apartments were furnished in modern contempory classic style with pale grey toned walls and accented cornices. Much the ex military man, Hector kept his rooms respectable at all times. The large bed that dominated the room's centre was neatly made. The writing desk, though busy was tidy and the general air of the environment was one of well kept masculine elegance. Santino made his way around the coffee table to sit upon the plush upholstered pale fabric sofa and was joined shortly thereafter by Hector who paused at his sideboard to prepare a post workout drink. He offered the mixture to Santino who wrinkled his nose at the glass and waved it away.

"You're getting soft, amgio." Hector warned.

"Quasi." (Hardly.) Santino replied, with a crude gesture at his groin that made the commander laugh.

"So, what's on your mind that you won't let me go back to bed to my woman?" Santino inquired at last.

"Your woman." Hector replied, earning a characteristic brow raise from his employer that made him laugh.

"You can't have her. I saw her first." Santino returned matter-of-factly.

"Two things," Hector began sitting closer to his employer. He'd long since learned that the best way to disarm Santino if not by sheer force of will, was to use basic sensuality do the talking for him. As Santino seemed to reciprocate male attentions, he thought it might be a good card to play.

"The first is, I found a discreet clinic in town through the Soretti's. Their daughter works in the laser skin correction office and has agreed to remove Lalienna's... eh... scaring without asking any personal questions."

Santino considered this a moment. Noting Hector's proximity and bristling under the heat of the other man's eyes. He watched him take a drink of that vulgar post workout potion and nodded his ascent.

"So make the calls. Book her the first available appointment." Hector thanked his boss and promised he would.

"And the other thing?" Santino prompted.

"Well, Signore. The other thing, is intimate."

"I'm not selling, so don't ask." Santino replied, earning a flushing laugh from Hector that couldn't help feel slightly uncomfortable when his employer made vague references to propositioning. He was already aware that at least Christov viewed Santino with warmer eyes than most. He however could not play that card to direct completion. He drank down the remainder of his glass to regain his composure and went on all the same.

"No, Signore, really. It's more than that. Only... Ares."

"Fuckin' Ares."

"Yeah, Santino, it's a big house, but nothing keeps a secret for long. Look, obviously you and Lalienna are tight and that causes a bit of contention in terms of the family. Y'know?"

"I know, I know. I shouldn't be dating a woman hired as a guard. If it makes you feel better, we were sleeping together before she accepted the job."

"That's not what I heard."

"You're going to take my word for it anyway, and get to the point, Hector. Jesus."

"No boss, Hector will do. I'm not up to the walking on water bit yet." His attempt to diffuse the heat between them obviously worked. He earned his boss' laughter and that was a good start. With a deep breath, he carried on. For Lalienna's sake.

"Signore, look, I know, it's not my place to tell you how to run your love life, and that's definitely not what I'm trying to do here. But, what I mean to tell you is, Lali's young, man. Real young. And you know that not all girls fall well into the submissive role that takes the whip like some of us guys want them to." Santino tensed beside him at these words. His body language growing defensive. So Hector played the sensuality card a little harder. He rested his hand upon Santino's cotton covered thigh and gave the firm muscle a squeeze that made the younger man tense for another reason entirely. He became passive and listened for Hector did not give him the chance to interrupt.

"Look, we all know, that like some of us, you like to play rough and hard with the girls. You have in your past, you made mistakes and flowers bleed a little more than they should. There's lines, man. Just like us as family, there's lines on what a lover is willing to take before they consider it domestic abuse." He took his warm hand a little higher against Santino's thigh and lowered his voice drawing close so that his employer had to listen intently to what was being said next.

"We're worried for her. That's all I'm saying. She's not the kind of girl that will take a beating laying down, Signore. And you shouldn't make her do it just because it feels right to you. We know you love her. But we need to ask you to be mindful of her consent and not drag her into any of those deep BDSM scenes without her telling you she wants to explore them."

"Non ho bisogno di questa lezione." (I don't need this lecture.) Santino whispered back.

"It's not a lecture, Signore. It's just me asking you to be careful with her. Seriously. Stupid as it sounds, don't take her raw and finish inside her. It's too risky. A baby would only slow her down and pull you out of the game. Lorenzo won't like it, it's too early."

"Hector, please.."

"Shh, Santino, let me finish. Listen to me..." His caress of his employer's thigh relented, now Hector grabbed the other man's chin and held his eyes, drawing in close, millimeters from the other's lips so as Santino could almost taste his breath.

"If you want to keep her, and you want her keep coming back to your bed, abandon your whips and knives. Give her everything another man never has and never will. Give her your caresses, your massages, keep her fed, keep her happy. If you're going to love her, let it be on her terms. Women... women can become incredibly malleable to a man's desires if they're well treated. You know this. You saw her eat last night. She struggled with her plate but she did it for you. And when you praised her, she lit up like the sun. Just like the puppy. Please... Santino, please. I'm begging you. We like her. All of us. You found a diamond that day in London. We should polish and keep her. Imagine what she could do for the Camorra if she's kept satisfied? Imagine what she'd do for you if you only slow it down?"

Santino was only then aware that he had been holding his breath. He nodded, slowly. The heat of his commander's eyes. The proximity between them was becoming overwhelming. He pulled away at last, getting to his feet and wishing he had a cigarette.

"Yeah, yeah I hear you." He admitted at last. "It was a mistake, what I did to her in London. I know. And we're only now making amends for it. I wasn't expecting her to ever return to me willingly after how harshly I treated her, but she did. Of her own accord. And she was hurt last fortnight at the party, when I said no to her and pushed her away. She looked so sick."

"And scared, Santino. And pissed off because of the kiss with Christov. I know you guys were tight once too."

"Not at any more. It was just a phase."

"You should tell Christov that."

Santino stopped at the sideboard and poured himself a glass of water.

"He say something to you?" He inquired.

"Enough.  Marcus has been looking after him last week. Those two have an understanding. And I already had a word to Tony and Curtis to keep it cool in public."

"Those idiots. I don't want any lapses in front of Gianna of our father. Lorenzo's leaving the palace to meet Lalienna especially. I want tonight to be perfect. No fuck ups. I want you in uniforms. All of you."

"Ares will want a tie." Hector hazarded.

"Ares wants a smack on the mouth if she's not in a uniform skirt like Lalienna. Red and black." Santino retorted. He wasn't adverse to Ares' boyish sense of uniform code but in front of his father he wanted the impression to be a great deal more formal.

"Red and black, Signore. We know the drill. Relax. Tonight's going to be fine. Panchelli and the girls have the house gleaming. We've checked over the stocks a hundred times or more. The rest of the gangs are keeping steady and Rome's working the way it should be. It's going to be just fine. You keep stressing like this you're going to start losing hair." Said Hector with a warm smile.

Reassured, Santino thanked Hector for the drink and excused himself back to his bedroom upstairs on the third floor. Hector had given him a lot to think about. No sooner did he hit the landing than Ceberus came running up the stairs with two gigging maids in toe. The ladies explained that he'd been a good boy and was enjoying the attention but was growing restless and wanted to be returned to his rightful owners.

Thanking them for their kindness, Santino lifted the pup in his arms and returned to his bedroom shutting the door quietly behind him and setting the pup down on the bed where the little dog immediately snuggled under his Mami's arms. Tired still, Tino sought to take residence beside the young woman quietly, mindful to not move the mattress. The moment he lay down her arms took his chest with a murmer of the word, "Papi."

He embraced his lover and closed his eyes but in truth he did not sleep another moment. The only thing he could consider was calling the chemist later that morning and making arrangements for his lover to be put on the pill.