#charles even defended him in front of the press yet again when they were fishing for information

[leqclerc]

[banditthewriter]

Trust Is Earned - Charles Vane - 2

The response to the first part of this series was so amazing. Thank you to everyone who has read/commented/liked/reblogged. I appreciate it so much. Here we have part two.

Remember, we’re not really supposed to like Vane yet. 

Pairings: Eventual Charles Vane x reader. Past Billy Bones x reader.

Warning: Mild violence. Also a general dislike of Eleanor Guthrie, sorry!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

------

“You look like you could use a drink,” a feminine voice said from your side. You looked over and gave half a smile to Eleanor Guthrie. “On the house?”

You handed over a package to Mr. Humphries, one of your most loyal customers. He smiled as he paid the rest that you were due, but the look on his face said that he didn’t think you should be standing so close to the Guthrie woman.

All of the people who had been friends with your parents protected you on this island, but that didn’t mean they protected you from just the pirates. They also protected you from the Guthries as best they could. 

You were one of the very few people on the island who didn’t rely on them for anything and they didn’t like that.

“I’m actually just heading back to my shop,” you said politely as you tried to turn past her and back into the street.

“I understand. It’s just that I’ve heard some worrying talk of late and I wanted to have a word with you about it.”

You hoped that your face didn’t show the irritation that you felt. Instead of fighting her on it, you gave a tight smile and gestured down the street towards the tavern. Inside she grabbed a bottle of something or other from her man Mr. Clark before she ushered you into the room she used as an office.

It wasn’t your first time there. She’d brought you in not long after you’d taken over the shop from your parents. They hadn’t been willing to bend their knee to the Guthrie rule, had their own contacts in and out of Nassau, and you had kept up that tradition.

She hadn’t been happy to say the least, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it when the entire island was basically against her in that regard.

You sat down across the desk from her and when she poured you a drink, you accepted the glass but didn’t actually drink any. You didn’t have much tolerance for alcohol and the last thing you needed was to be inebriated while not safe.

“What’s this worrying talk and what does it have to do with me?”

Eleanor gave a bit of a laugh as she poured a drink of her own.

“You just cut right to it, don’t you? That’s why I like you Y/N; you’re not afraid to say what’s on your mind.” She swished the liquid in her glass before she took a long gulp from it. “The talk that I’ve heard is that you were sheltering a thief on your land.”

You simply stared at her, not giving credence one way or another. When she realized that you weren’t going to give anything away, she cleared her throat and stood up to pace towards her balcony.

“Thievery isn’t acceptable and the man that’s accused is someone that you know; Billy Bones, from The Walrus.”

You put the glass down on the desk.

“Again, Miss Guthrie, what does this have to do with me?”

That seemed to throw the woman off her stride. You had to admit a perverse pleasure in ruffling her feathers.

“As I’ve just said–”

“You’ve said that there’s been talk. You can’t even be sure that Billy Bones is actually the thief since you’re referring to him as the accused and not the culprit. So it seems, Miss Guthrie, that you’re putting credence in a pirate’s word and dragging the citizens of Nassau into it erroneously.”

You had seen plenty of fish on dry land and you had to applaud Eleanor’s impression of one. Her mouth opened and closed as if you had stolen the words straight from her throat.

She cleared her throat and marched back to the desk, her hands going flat on the surface as she leaned down towards you.

“Where is the map?”

Gossip in a place like Nassau wasn’t just frivolous. Gossip was almost a currency. You might have just called Eleanor out on putting belief in word of mouth, but you knew that there was some gossip that could be relied on.

At one point in time, Eleanor Guthrie and Charles Vane were together. You weren’t sure how serious it had been, but you do know that it had ended rather messily. It was whispered among merchants and pirates alike that since that split, Vane’s crew hadn’t been getting the same treatment they used to in the way of leads.

You’d never given it much thought before, but with her in front of you, you had to wonder if Eleanor was what was called a scorned woman.

You were tired of living your life at the hands of others. Your store was still in shambles and now you were dragged in front of Eleanor as if she was a parental force and you were a naughty child.

No more.

“It’s curious,” you said as you sat up and straightened out your skirt. “Billy Bones supposedly stole the map which means it’s going to Flint already. I can’t think of any other captain that you would’ve sold the map to besides him.”

Her eyes went wide. The hands she had placed on the desk twitched, not nearly proof that you were right but you continued anyways.

“I almost thought that the issue was that someone had been stolen from, but you wouldn’t have cared if Vane lost in this. I bet that’s part of the draw. No, your issue is that the map means something to you. You couldn’t care less that Billy might have stolen the map. You just want to have it back for your own reasons.”

“You’re out of line,” she said as she raised a hand to point at you.

“I thought you liked that I spoke my mind,” you reminded her with a pointed look. Then you stood up, enjoying the look on her face as she scrambled a bit to come around the desk and face you. “I have no idea where the map is or who has it but if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t find myself moved by your facade and I would rather not help you benefit from it.”

Without waiting to be dismissed, you simply turned and walked back towards the door. You had no intention of staying longer than necessary.

“Charles Vane won’t stop if he thinks you have answers for him. What was done to your shop is just the beginning.”

Your hand rested on the handle of the door. For a long moment you just stared at the wood. Then you turned over your shoulder to meet her gaze once more.

“Then I suggest you find a better way to spend your time rather than wasting mine.”

------

It occurred to you as you approached your shop that perhaps there was a layer to the theft that you weren’t aware of. Maybe Eleanor had sold it to Flint as you suspected but it had either been stolen before she was able to get it or the inclusion of the cook was a variable she hadn’t foreseen. He was a new recruit to The Walrus so it was possible that she was worried he would sell it to someone else.

He didn’t have loyalty yet, but Billy did. That would explain why Billy was with Silver when they came to your shop. It wasn’t because Billy stole it, but he was making sure Silver did right by the captain.

As caught up in your thoughts as you were, you almost didn’t realize that the door of your shop wasn’t locked anymore. You pushed it open and stepped in before you realized you hadn’t had to unlock it.

A hand wrapped around your mouth and you were pulled further into the room, your back slammed against a wall. The door had been kicked shut so the room was mostly in darkness, but the man that held you stood close enough for your eyes to pick up an outline.

You hadn’t had much interaction with the man, but you recognized Charles Vane. You reached up to grab his wrist just in time for his other hand to wrap around your throat and give a squeeze.

“Don’t even think about screaming.”

You were tempted to bare your teeth and bite the hand that held you silent, but you kept your calm. Instead you pressed your nails into his wrist about as hard as he squeezed your neck.

“Careful. I could snap your neck in an instant.”

This time you did bite him. Not hard enough to draw blood, but just enough to surprise him. He pulled his hand away and glared at you.

“I couldn’t exactly speak with your hand over my mouth, could I?” Your own glare paled in comparison to his, but you didn’t let that stop you. “I don’t suppose you’re here for some of my highly requested candles, are you? A lot of them were ruined by your crew yesterday, but I’m sure I can find some somewhere for you.”

The hand around your throat squeezed until you didn’t have enough breath to continue.

“Where is my map?”

He released your throat to allow you the chance to respond. After you took a few gulping breaths, you dropped your hands to your sides. It was best to try to appear nonthreatening when he was this pissed.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. When he started to squeeze again, you pressed against his shoulder as hard as you could. “Goddammit Vane, I mean it. I have no idea where the map is. I have no idea where Billy or the cook is and strangling me won’t get you the information any faster.”

The hand he had used to cover your mouth slammed into the wall beside your head.

“I should kill you for lying to me.”

Where was the spine that had you standing up to Eleanor Guthrie and calling her bluff? You took as deep of a breath as you could with the grip on your neck and how close Vane was to you.

“You could,” you allowed in a cold voice, “but think of what hell that will rain down on you. There are few merchants on this island that are as necessary as I am and there are none that could step into my shoes.”

“What makes you think I care about that?”

You knew there were plenty of crews on the island that would defend you if something happened. And the merchant’s would be less than pleased, would stop selling to anyone on The Ranger crew. Perhaps Vane couldn’t see that far ahead or maybe he was just blind to it at the moment. 

Either way, you didn’t want that to happen. 

“Is the boatswain worth dying for? Is that why you lied?”

“I lied to protect someone I care about. Isn’t there anyone in your life that you would do that for?”

His hand let up on your throat a bit. Not much, but you noticed it. You thought about your conversation with Eleanor and realized that maybe you had more options than you first thought.

“I can’t help you find the map but maybe there’s something else I can do for you.”

He stepped in a little closer, his body pressing along yours. It made it clear what he thought you were offering. The hand that was still on his shoulder shoved hard to put some distance between the two of you.

“I was thinking something a little longer lasting,” you said forcefully. And then with a tilt of your head, “Although it would be easier to explain the proposition without a hand around my throat.”

He released you and then stepped back. He gestured for you to speak before he crossed his arms over his chest.

“The whole of Nassau has heard about how things ended with you and Miss Guthrie. And the whole of Nassau has whispered about the effect that might have had on your business relationship with her. My proposition is this. Instead of selling your haul through her, you come to me. I have more contacts than she could imagine, more than anyone on this island is aware of.”

“You want to be the new fence?”

You shook your head at that.

“Not at all. This is a one time deal, offered to you and you alone. We’d negotiate terms like any deal. I’d be able to garner a profit that Guthrie would only be able to dream of.”

You knew that you had him on the fence, could see it on his face as he looked away from you. He was most likely thinking about the last few prizes he had brought in and what the profit had been. 

“There’s a flaw in your plan,” he finally said as he turned back to you. “If I stop going to her, she’ll stop giving me leads. Can’t bring in a profit on a haul that doesn’t exist.”

“Has she been giving you any real leads lately? I hear those are going to much smaller crews.” You shrugged your shoulders purposefully. “I would be able to provide you with leads without contest since you’d be my only client.”

He took a step towards you.

“Where do you intend to find these leads of yours?”

This time you smiled. This was something you had thought about, but you’d never needed the complication or extra work. If it tempered the anger of the captain, you’d happily take on the extra work.

“Again, I have contacts that span the entirety of the globe. I can get the leads from anywhere. I know of three large prizes that launch in the next few weeks alone at this minute and that’s without me actively searching for leads.”

He seemed impressed but not sold yet. You had one last card to play but it was a tricky one. If you misread his feelings on the matter, you could be setting yourself up for trouble. 

That in mind, you took a few careful steps away from him.

“Think of how much it will piss her off. Not only would you no longer need her, but you’d be thriving without her and she won’t know why.”

The gamble made, you could only wait. His face didn’t show any inclination as to what he felt. Then he turned towards you and held his hand out.

“We have a deal. We’ll sit down and draw up some terms on the particulars another time.”

You let out a breath before you stepped back towards him. Carefully you took his hand and gave it a brief shake.

It was the first touch that didn’t have the hint of violence. You had to admit that the roughness of his hands felt nice against your skin.

Then you dropped your hand back to your side.

“Now that that’s been decided, I suggest you get out of my shop. I still haven’t repaired everything from your last visit and I’d hate for that to color my opinion of our new partnership.”

You thought you could see a hint of a smile on Vane’s face before he turned towards the door. He stopped before he opened it.

“If I find Billy Bones, I might kill him.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you won’t. We’ll see.”

He didn’t say anything else, just slipped out of your shop. You went over and did your best to lock the door again even though it had obviously been kicked open when Vane had snuck in before you got there. 

Hopefully you made the right choice.

------

The morning sun had already started to heat the shop. You cursed under your breath as you moved the broom around the backroom, sweeping up the last of the damage from Rackham’s rampage as you had started to refer to it. 

There were plenty of things broken, but not everything. Nothing that you would have trouble replacing at least. 

A shadow passed over where you were sweeping. Startled, you looked up to see who it was.

Ah, this wasn’t a meeting you expected. Standing in the doorway to the backroom was Captain James Flint. His hair was partially tied back, clothes in order for a man who spent most of his time on the sea.

You thought he might have been in the Navy before… before Nassau, before his piracy days. Everyone had a life before, even the fearsome James Flint.

“Captain Flint,” you greeted as you continued to sweep up the broken bits of pottery on the floor. “What do I owe this pleasure?”

He took in the general disarray of the shop and then looked back at you.

“I’m looking for my boatswain.”

You nearly snapped the broom in half at that. You were getting really tired of people asking you where Billy Bones was.

“I’m sorry captain, I honestly have no clue. Last I saw him, he said he was going back to the beach.”

Flint nodded. He gestured around the room with one large hand.

“I doubt he did this.”

“Does it matter who did it? It’s been done and it must be fixed.” You looked down at the floor and then sighed. “Billy and the cook, Silver, did come here for shelter but once it became knowledge that The Ranger crew was aware of my connection to Billy, we decided it was best if they left. He told me to tell Vane and his men that he went to the interior, to someone named Mr. Blackwell.”

Flint’s eyes grew wide at that, the corner of his mouth turning up.

“Thank you Miss Y/L/N.”

So the name wasn’t just to confuse Vane; it was a code for the captain. Hopefully he would have better luck at finding the men than just about everyone else on the island had at this point.

Flint turned to start to leave but he hesitated at the door. His hand tapped once, twice, before he turned to face you again.

“Billy is sweet on you. He wouldn’t want to think of something happening to you because of him. I can… take you to the beach, put you on The Walrus until all of this is done. You’ll be safe there.”

You smiled and crossed into the store properly. With one hand on the counter, you looked around the store fondly.

“This is my home, Captain Flint. No danger will make me leave it. When you see Billy, tell him I said he’s a fool, but he’s not to blame for this.”

You could actually see the surprise and respect in Flint’s eyes at that. He gave you another nod and then opened the door. On the other side you saw Mr. Gates, the quartermaster. He gave you a quick nod before the two of them disappeared, heads together as they discussed what they now knew.

That Flint would offer to shelter you from danger on Billy’s behalf made you pause in your cleaning. The two of you were close and you did care for the man, but it wasn’t anything more than that for you. He was good company, surely, but you had never made any indication that you wanted more or that you felt more for him.

Hopefully the captain was speaking generally. Otherwise you might have to have a difficult conversation with Billy once things settled down.

------

The map had been located but in a turn of events that no one could’ve seen coming, it had been lost to the sea in the ensuing scuffle to retrieve it. The mere idea that this map which had been the cause of so many problems was gone without anyone able to salvage it was almost laughable.

And more than that, Silver and Billy hadn’t been able to decode the map before it had been lost. 

Billy had come to see you once but it hadn’t been for more than an apology. He helped you lift some of the shelves that Rackham had torn down but he hadn’t even looked at the door that led to your rooms.

You weren’t mad at Billy for what happened. It might not have been a smooth transition, but it actually led to you having a growth in business. You and Vane had come to agreeable terms in your negotiations and both of you benefited greatly from the new business venture.

You’d be tempted to thank Billy if you didn’t think it would anger him beyond belief that you were in business with the man who had threatened to kill him.

Such was the life with pirates though. Threaten to kill you one day, work at your side the next. Your neck was still sensitive to the touch after the night Vane had visited you. You knew the feel of his hand on your throat but you also knew the feel of his hand in yours. 

Money had a way of making other things seem insignificant.

And maybe the next time that Billy did make overtures towards you, you might think twice before you let him back into your bed. It was merely to protect your new business venture.

X

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[path-of-fire]

can we get the f!RO’s reaction to the MC being blatantly hit on in front of them (in a relationship)

(I'm going to go with the worst cast scenario here, and say that the MC has made their discomfort clear to the person flirting. As well as their relationship status, but the person still doesn't heed their words.)

Loreena: Hazel eyes narrow as she stares across the market square. She had left your side only for a moment so she could get a gift for Cedric, but the moment she turned back she could see you. Normally the sight of you would bring butterflies to her stomach, but the butterflies immediately shrivel up and die. Not because of you but because of the man standing before you. His dark gaze clearly showing his hunger for you. She could clearly see how uncomfortable you were too.

Every time the man stepped forward you would step back. Bringing up your hands to ward him off from approaching even further. It was a sight that caused anger to curl in pit of her stomach. Eyes flashing with an intent that is only ever seen on the battlefield. A look that only her enemies ever see.

And, that man was one of them.

Moving with the grace of a panther Loreena makes her way back to your side. Her voice reaching you before she does. "Dear, I'm so sorry but I couldn't find the ingredients you were searching for." Adding an almost apologetic tone certainly helps as she stops to stand beside you.

Your gaze automatically searching hers, but she only smiles gently. Though the smile soon falls away the moment she levels her gaze with that of the man. Her entire being hardening even more when she recognized him.

"Charles what do I owe the displeasure of seeing you today?" She asks with a barely there smile. Trying her best to stay cordial for you, but she couldn't stop herself from wrapping an arm around your waist. Making sure that he knew exactly what he had done.

And by the look of sheer panic he had, she could tell she did a good job. "Ca-captain," he says, his voice stuttering out. Choked in his throat because of how much he was trying to breathe. "I wasn't aware you would be out at the market today."

Tilting her head Loreena surveys him. Clearly seeing the way he flinches underneath her cool glare. "Now why wouldn't I be here Charles? After all my dearest and I were out shopping. That is until you decided to make untoward advances towards them."

Floundering like a fish Charles tries to defend himself. Trying desperately to defend his honor in the face of his Knight Commander. Not wanting to here his petty excuses, however, Loreena simply holds up her hand. Stopping any words from coming out. "I suggest you don't speak, soldier, I also suggest that you leave right now before I actually get pissed off." A dark smile flits across a normally joyous face. "But I hope you know that you're going to be the palaces stable boy for the foreseeable future."

Puffing up Charles once again tries to speak, but Loreena wants none of it. "Go."

Not needing to be told another time Charles scampers away. His bulky frame disappearing into the crowd of people. Smiling to herself Loreena turns back to you. Eyes turning softer as she gazes upon your form. Offering her arm she speaks with all the warmth of the sun. "Shall we, my love?"

Robyn: Golden brown darken to a burning whiskey as they gaze upon the sight standing before them. Your form being pressed slightly into the bar of the tavern. Your arms crossed in front of your chest in a defensive position. Brow crinkled in the way that clearly showed your distress.

Standing from her seat Robyn could feel her normally jovial smile fall. Her face starting to burn with her anger at the events transpiring. She could feel Edmund standing to join her, which on any other circumstance would have caused her to make a quip about his loyalty.

But she couldn't even bring her gaze to meet his, let alone open her mouth to do so. No, all of her attention was completely on you. And the woman standing before you. Her slight frame pressing into all the parts that you couldn't move. Causing you to be wedged against the bar and her.

Moving through the sea of drunken bodies she makes her way towards you. Her gaze locking on yours over the woman's shoulder. Clear relief becoming apparent on your face the moment you notice her. It was a sight that both warmed Robyn's heart, and made her even more pissed. No one made you afraid.

No one.

Stopping behind the woman, Robyn simply taps her shoulder. A fake smile plastered on her face as she turns around. Sparkling eyes glowing with anger. Robyn watches as the woman recoils slightly away from her. Blue eyes widening at the sudden sight of her. Robyn doesn't even give her a chance to open her mouth before she's punching her. The woman's body slamming into the ground of the tavern.

A common sight so no one paid it any mind. Especially if it was Robyn Hood getting into said fight.

Turning her head Robyn focuses her gaze on Edmund's. "Take her out of here. I think she needs to be alone for a little while," she says, a smirk forming on her lips. "To clear her head and all."

Edmund follows her instructions without a second thought. Grabbing hold of the woman and disappearing out the front door of the tavern. Some other merry men in tow.

Robyn brings her gaze backs to yours and smiles. Offering her hand to you she pulls you along back to the table she and her men were occupying. "How about I get the drinks for the rest of the night, dove."

Esmé: Sharp iron eyes stare across the room at you. Well, to be more honest, she was staring at the man that was in front of you. Well, to be even more honest, she was glaring at him. Her full lips pressing themselves into a thin line. Her displeasure clearly showing by the stiffness of her frame.

"Jezebel, dear, who is that with my angel?" Esmé asks, bringing her gaze to her assistants. The question coming out with all the innocence she could muster. Even though in her mind she was plotting murder. A crime that she knew she could get away with.

"That's Duke Leopold of House Jermaine. He was one of the last to accept the invitation to this soiree." Her dear assistant says, but she doesn't say anything more than that. Knowing that by the dark look in her bosses eyes that she wouldn't listen to anything else.

"A late bloomer? How quaint for him to actually show up," she says, a sharp smile spreading across her face. Steel slowly turning silver with the intensity of her glaring. Turning her head she meets her assistants slightly frightened gaze. "Jezebel be a dear and invite Leopold and my dear angel over here. I would love to meet the man that has gotten their attention."

Not needing to be told twice her assistance quickly scampers across the room. Her movements quick as she spoke. Gesturing towards where Esmé was standing. The Duke's eyes meeting hers with barely contained desire. It was a look that she had seen from countless others, and it causes her lips to thin even more. If it was possible it was even worse that he was looking at any perceived eligible person at the party. It was like he didn't see you as the special creature you were.

Good, she thought, because you'll only ever be for me.

Esmé watches as the Duke and her angel move towards her. Her gaze never leaving yours because she could now see the clear relief you had on your face. Which made this whole conversation shift completely. Not only had he been flirting with you, but he had also made you uncomfortable too? No, that would not do. That would not do at all.

Moving Esmé meets you and simply pulls you into her embrace. Her wings coming out to gently wrap around. Blocking the Duke from seeing you. Shifting slightly Esmé pulls you tighter to her body and glares at the Duke. Relishing when he cowers under her stare.

"You'll listen to me and you'll listen to me now. If I ever see you speaking to my angel again when they do not wish you to, I will personally make sure that you never see the light of day again," Esmé hisses, her eyes flashing with clear intent. "Do I make myself clear?"

The Duke simply nods as he stumbles away. His eyes growing large at the threat standing before him. Smiling to herself Esmé gestures for her men to take the Duke out of her party. No need to mix bad fruit with the good.

Ayleth: Fire caresses the palms of Ayleth's hands as she makes her way towards you. Her eyes glowing with her magic. She could feel the way it thrumed within her. Beating just like her pulse did. It was as alive as she was.

And just as pissed too.

Brown eyes flashing as she comes to a stop beside you. Flame covered hands coming out as a shield. Staring at the woman that dare try to take you away from her. Take away the only thing that mattered in her menial existence. Ayleth could feel the way the ground was starting to shake underneath her feet. It was a clear sign of her agitation, but she wouldn't let anything happen.

Yet.

"You dare try to force yourself upon someone that was unwilling?" She snarls, the flames in her palms growing that much larger. She could feel the way the heat was caressing her palms. She knows exactly how excruciating it would be if it was directed towards someone else.

"I didn't know, I swear," the woman pleads, her eyes growing large at the sight of Ayleth's anger. Her rage starting to streak across the night sky in rumbling waves.

"Then leave," is the only thing she can get out through her gritted teeth. Eyes flaring even more when the woman hesitated, but a lightning bolt hitting the ground near them is enough motivation.

Turning back towards you Ayleth takes your face in her hands. "Are you all right, my dragon?" At your nod of confirmation Ayleth brings her arms around you in a tight hug. Her face nuzzling into your neck.

"Good."

Revian: Teeth bare at the sight in front of her. Her wolf begging to be let out the moment she sees the man put his hands on her mate. The lowly god should know by now that you were off limits. That no one should be touching you in that manner.

Moving through the shadows Revian could clearly see what was happening the closer she got. The god had you trapped between him and one of the tables. You were clearly tipsy but coherent enough to know that something was wrong, and the sight of you inebriated brought a whole new feeling of rage to course through her.

How dare he try to take advantage of you? Silver eyes turn molten as Revian strides from the shadows. She could see the man's friends trying to pull him away from you. Clearly knowing who you were and the wrath that was about to put onto them. Only to see her approaching, and Revian relishes the fear that immediately appears in the gaze. Automatically letting go of their friend to leave him to his fate.

Because it was common knowledge among the gods to never mess with another's mate. Let alone Revian or Phenir's.

Stepping behind the man Revian doesn't hesitate to grab him by the scruff of his neck and slam him into the nearest wall. Flipping him around so her hand comes to his throat. Applying enough pressure so he has no choice but to stop floundering like an imbecile.

She watches with amusement as the man tries to blubber his way through an excuse. But, Revian hears none of it instead she bares her teeth. Her elongated canines glinting underneath the light of the tavern. A growl rumbling from deep within her chest that would cause any being to submit. Or piss their pants as Revian found.

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she decides to make this quick. Because being in his presence was making her lose brian cells. With an almost kind smile, completley fake of course, she begins to speak. Her tone holding the promise of death. "Now listen to me and listen to me now. Because this is the only time I will tell you this. If I ever see you speaking to my mate again, I will personally hunt you down and kill you. And trust me it will not be a quick death. Do you understand me?"

The man simply nods his fear tangible in the air. With a satisfied Revian let's the man go. Causing him to crash against the floor, but he immediately crawls away from her. Shaking like a leaf the entire time.

Bringing her gaze back to her mate she couldn't help but feel it soften. Caressing her loves cheek she lowers her head to gently nuzzle their head. Calming herself and her wolf down with the simple action. Her mates scent calming her down more than anything else ever could.

"Let's get you home, my love."

[durex-on-a-bible]

Self-Defence (5/5)

Contains brutal mannequin murder, implied suicidal depression, blood, and laundry folding

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Much later, and much further away, a large pair of plimsoll-clad feet trod their way through the desert. Caliban turned back round to look at the distant water tower, moon-shadow trailing in front of him, then carried on away from it. He’d made sure beforehand to check inside, peering at the sleeping, prone man: Charles was lost in some old, incomprehensible dream, and Logan had stayed out overnight in the limo.

A spare few hours… they had to count.

Scratching at an itch on his scalp, the chalk-white mutant instinctively felt for a phantom hat, then relaxed. While it was still certainly warm on his skin, the sunlight lost its potency when reflected as moonlight – he absent-mindedly felt where his t-shirt had ridden up, tugging it back down. The few essentials he had needed were bundled in one arm, pressed up against his chest: a small paperback book that he’d bought online, with Logan’s help; a bottle of water; his poncho, in case he had to make the return trip in daylight.

A heavy cardboard box.

Gradually he saw the outline of a nearby ghost town, of about 50 buildings, take shape. Finding it for the first time had been pure accident: he’d merely been taking a night’s stroll to get some fresh air, when he saw it. Drawn to the ruined houses, he had walked among them as another mass of bleached angles. Since then, it had become somewhere to go when he had the time, when he needed to acknowledge his distance from humans and mutants alike.

At least, that had been his initial reason. As it happened, the place had other, more pragmatic benefits.

Caliban ducked his head under a low-hanging doorway, entering the floorspace of an old tailor’s shop. Whoever the people were who had once lived here, they had left in a hurry – There had been no time to take the exquisite clothes, nor the fabric-polystyrene mannequins which they rested on. With care, he unbuttoned a moth-eaten suit jacket from its stand, then, after some rummaging, pulled out a rusted wire coat hanger from the rubble; reaching up with one long arm, he managed to hang it up onto a narrow beam, where it joined a long, smart line of decaying garments. Pointless, perhaps, but something of a ritual now – misplaced guilt for inanimate objects turned habit.

The dummy now stood with three others in a lopsided triangle. He stood to the edge of them and stretched as much as his stooped posture would allow, until loose. Rummaging through his items and prizing open the noisy plastic, he once again found himself with the knife, clutched in a firm hammer-grip. The hunched mutant took his place in the centre of the mannequins and closed his eyes.

And breathed.

He yelled, throwing his weight into the knife-hilt as he descended upon them. A small kettle of nighthawks startled and took flight, calling in alarm while Caliban tore into the starchy, padded bodies, a harsh nails-on-blackboard screech with each thrust.

Then, he stopped and massaged his temples. Each of his “victims” lay discarded on the desert dirt now, frayed and ruptured where they had been attacked – with no resistance.

“For fuck’s sake.” said the mutant quietly, to no-one.

He rose now, tenderly picking up a mannequin in each hand by its splintered wooden base, and carried them round the back of the store; a neat stack of curved busts, riddled with slashes and stab wounds, awaited the new arrivals. The two recently-destroyed stands landed on top of the pile, followed by the third a moment later. Arms crossed, the thin man glared at his previous efforts. How many months had it been? Four? And he was still coming out here, still trying to ‘train up’ by himself. All his efforts, against prop opponents. It wasn’t enough, not to keep the other two safe, and the risk of Charles waking up in the night while he was gone was-

No.

No, not yet. Caliban wasn’t going home until he’d finished. Discipline, that was the key.

At that, he sauntered through the rubbish back to his essentials, taking a quick swig of water when he arrived, and uncovered a second-hand copy of ‘Knife Fighting: A Practical Course’. The convenience of being responsible for online orders to their PO Box meant it was easy to slip the book in with other items, squirreling it away before Logan could see it; no point starting that headache all over again. But then, the few hours the older mutant would return, he would instantly wrap himself in the rust-holed cladding of the water tower, following his ailing mentor around in vain; or he would stagger through their shared living space, hackles raised at any attempts to communicate.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned a few chapters in: ‘Zones of Attack and Defence’ – that would do for tonight. He studied the pages, his eyes adapting to the moonlight as he read. A series of diagrams caught his eye, as they tended to: a balding man in his 40’s, wearing casual polos and denims, posing defensively and confidently with a thick blade. Each still of him was divided into four, showing areas where an attack could strike, and how to defend each area. Something about the man unsettled Caliban, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

Propping the book open with a small chip of masonry, he tried to picture the quadrants reflected ahead of him, and readied his defensive stance, knife in hand: by now, he had lost his form due to lack of practice, but it serviced regardless. A quick glance at the book again, and he threw his posture into a crooked parody of a ‘zone 2’ parry, protecting his left flank. Another peek, and he shifted his arms, putting them slightly further away from his body.

Zone 5, centre. Zone 1, top-right. Zone 4, bottom-right. Zone 3, bottom-left. Zone 2, top-left. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.

Then he saw the sky.

The moon had begun to set, pushing long shadows into the old shop. All around, the hues began a shift from all-encompassing navy to a warmer shade of green.

Time was up.

He finished the bottle, crushing it in his hand, then pulled his poncho and hood over himself – sunrise wasn’t due for another hour, but he’d made that mistake before. The knife was cleaned and returned to its box; the bottle balanced on top, nestled in the great drapes of cotton as he scurried back out of the ruin, leaving the dead settlement to sleep, and striding back across the stretch of dry earth towards the ancient plant he called home.

For the time being, at least.

It had just been a casual observation, maths-wise. The limo driving brought in roughly half a thousand dollars a week, which was cut down by about three hundred dollars once food, medicine, utilities, and other things had been factored in. That left just over a thousand left over… which then vanished every week, for the past year. Which, by Caliban’s estimate, left a total of sixty thousand dollars unaccounted for.

From there, he hadn’t needed to wait long before he found out: a newspaper clipping left out on the table, pinned down by a cup of stale coffee, listed an advertisement for a “1996 Sunseeker Manhattan”. The grey pointillist photograph showed a moderate-sized motor-yacht, parked somewhere on a distant port – priced at seventy thousand dollars.

When he first saw it, the blood had drained from his face. He tried to imagine himself going with them, confined to the lower decks like a vampire, then realised: of course he couldn’t. He was never meant to come. He’d left it where he found it, but brought the coffee with him to flush down the sink. A few days later, he had managed to calm down, to rationalise; it made sense for Logan and Charles to do so, to get out to sea, and as far away as possible from anyone the seizures could hurt.

Including him.

Still, he’d figured, it would be a pleasant way to end the elder mutant’s days. And after all was said and done, he could arrange afterwards to collect Logan… and help him through the loss, just as he’d done for the past year.

Back in the present, he found himself once again spying on the sleeping Charles. A small mercy: their patient was long overdue his diazepam. He sniffed the air, hoping to catch wind of Logan’s arrival. Nothing. His – he paused – ‘employer’ was still a distant light in the peripheral of his head, weaving through an empty, black space.

Might as well do some laundry, he thought to himself.

The knuckles in his hands peeked through his skin as he picked through the three men’s clothes: Soft, comfortable woollen items for Charles, cloying with must and age; ragged, beige t-shirts and button-downs, his own cobbled-together wardrobe; and lastly the formal wear of Logan’s chauffeur uniform and his many vests – some with holes, some with tears, most with blood. He grimaced, sorting the clothes into different wash categories, into repair jobs, into lost causes. As he went, he felt along each piece, searching for anything left over in the pockets; he’d told Logan to check before putting it in the pile, but by this point he was better off just doing it himself. God knows how many time’s he’d fished out coins or pen lids, even some sticky humbugs from Charles’ pockets-

His fingers ghosted over something solid in Logan’s trousers.

He hadn’t noticed until just now, since most of the shorter man’s clothes had a strong scent of blood, and the metal that leaked like poison from his bones. But, whatever was in there? It reeked, the tang settling on his tongue. Reaching in, he unfurled his hand to see a small, silver cylinder rolling on his ash-white palm. It was rounded at one end, flat at the other, and was wrapped in a thin casing. Rightly, he guessed it to be about nine millimetres in width.

A bullet. He sniffed it, and recoiled.

Adamantium.

He clenched the thing in his fist.

“It’s too late,” Logan had told him. At the time, Caliban hadn’t understood why.

Now, he did.

His free hand found his face, and they crushed into each other as he tried to steady his breath, shaking like a wire in the wind.

 After a long moment, he released his pink features and rubbed his finger and thumb under his eyes, wiping the wet drops off onto his shirt. The cage of his other hand released, the bullet settling back into the creases, and he stared at it. Then, he opened up his chest pocket and slipped it in, a cold weight against him.

“No,” he muttered, resuming his chores: “It’s not.”

Logan would likely be back in a few hours.

He’d talk to him then.