#offering her service should the lamb fail because she's all me actually

[paintedpawz]

POV: When you misspell God as D-O-G...

CULT OF THE WATER-DOG... Coming never to a Gamestop near you.

Actually, you get TWO versions of the same drawing because I wasn’t sure which lighting version I liked more.  The brightest setting gives off more a vibrancy and helps with a strong-marker lines combined with my neon pens which I’m proud of!  The darker setting matches the spooky aesthestic a little more though and makes the red fully look more blood-colored instead of apple-picking red. X’D

[robininthelabyrinth]

noncon-anon🔪🔪🔪...2!: Regardless of how much jealousy he holds toward his half brother, Meng Yao never expected or wanted to have Jin Zixuan on his knees before him. Certainly not like this, at least (his half-brother wrapped in chains, in the middle of the Sun Palace’s main hall, with Wen Ruohan and who knows how many other people watching) but he hadn’t been expecting Jin Zixuan to get captured either, and if this is what he has to do to remain in the Chief Cultivator’s favor, then so be it; may the gods forgive him for this violation of his kin (...and maybe if he puts on a good enough show, Wen Ruohan will let him keep his half-brother alive).

ao3

warning for adult content (full warnings on ao3)

Meng Yao had spent years not thinking of Jin Zixuan as anything other than an obstacle in the way of his ultimate goal – his father’s recognition, himself as the heir and eventual master of Lanling Jin – and he bitterly resented Wen Ruohan for trashing all that effort.

It was impossible to keep the image of Jin Zixuan that he’d had in his mind before: the spoiled, arrogant princeling in the same make as Wen Chao, less a human being than a statute of gilded gold, all fancy clothing and flawless appearance.

There was nothing of that now.

There was nothing arrogant about the frightened young man on his knees in front of him, chains carved with suppression arrays wrapped around his body – they’d been designed for a much stronger cultivator than he, Wen Ruohan’s mind lingering too often on his chief-most enemy in the war, Nie Mingjue, and Jin Zixuan was as helpless beneath them as a lamb, shivering in blind terror at being taken away from all he knew dear. His retainers had all been taken off to the Fire Palace or killed where they knelt, their corpses dragged off leaving smears of blood on the ground, and only he remained.

Meng Yao’s envy.

His brother.

His mother had always wanted to give him a brother, he abruptly recalled, and hated Wen Ruohan all the more for making him remember it. Her womb had closed after him, such that she couldn’t try for another even if she’d wanted to, but she’d day-dreamed about him making friends with the legitimate sons her sect leader – that was how she always called him, her sect leader – would undoubtedly have, pointlessly giving him advice on how to make friends with them, impress them, make them like him.

Not – this.

Never anything like this.

“Look at the gift I got for you, Meng Yao,” Wen Ruohan said, smiling. “A twin from another womb, born on the same day as you, but unlike you planted in the legitimate belly and so hoarded like a treasure – I would wager that you wish you could peeling his skin off and wrap yourself in it, wear it back to Lanling Jin.”

Meng Yao smiled. “Sect Leader Wen does me too much honor. This lowly one does not deserve such a gift.”

We may be born on the same day, but I’m three years older than him, and my mother isn’t a disgusting vicious old hag like Madame Jin. How dare you compared them.

“And yet I have chosen to give it,” Wen Ruohan said, brooking no disagreement as always. “You do such fine work in my Fire Palace, Meng Yao, with strangers who have never looked at you twice – I cannot wait to see what marvels you will accomplish with a target that you actually abhor. Which of your fine instruments will we try on him first? Should we break his spirit by removing his sword hand, or cut off Jin Guangshan’s hopes along with his balls?”

He laughed, endlessly amused by himself.

Meng Yao smiled along – mother wanted me to be his friend – and mentally ran through his options as fast as he could. He couldn’t risk angering Wen Ruohan, not when the other man held the entirety of the Nightless City in the palm of his hand, not when the only thing keeping Meng Yao himself out of the Fire Palace and strung up on his own instruments of torture was the quality of his service.

“I will of course not disappoint the Sect Leader,” he says smoothly, and pretended to ignore the way Jin Zixuan flinched, with his face so similar to his own, to the face his mother had loved so foolishly. “Only…”

“Only?”

Meng Yao ducked his head bashfully. “Sect Leader is too generous to me, it makes me go beyond myself; I start to think of things I should not. When I was young…ah, but it does not matter.”

“Don’t equivocate,” Wen Ruohan ordered, but his attention was caught, as Meng Yao had intended. “What were you going to say?”

“It’s only that when I was young, my mother would tell me stores of Lanling Jin,” Meng Yao said, and hated, hated, hated Wen Ruohan for making him have to share such things. “Her hope was that my father would accept me as his recognized son, but failing that, she had always assumed he would take me at least as – as a servant for the one he already had.”

He didn’t need more than that: Wen Ruohan got it right away. “And so once you were rejected you dreamed of the opposite, is that it?”

“It would satisfy this lowly one’s most fervent dream, Sect Leader.”

Wen Ruohan smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile – it was full of hidden dangers. “Ah, Meng Yao, you dare to dream so high! There’s only one problem with your suggestion that I see. This well-born child, this treasure of Lanling, what possible servant could he make? His hands are so clean and soft, he would not be able to do manual labor nor even sweep your floor. What possible use could you make of him?”

The answer came to Meng Yao at once, and he hated himself this time even as he responded with a pleasant smile: “Well, Sect Leader, in the absence of any other use, I could always have him serve me in bed.”

Wen Ruohan burst out laughing, caught by surprise.

He loved the idea, of course, as Meng Yao knew he would. Wen Ruohan was a man with esoteric tastes; he enjoyed torturing and humiliating his enemies, and the prouder the man the more he longed to ruin them. Even within the time Meng Yao had worked in his Fire Palace, he had seen Wen Ruohan offer a brother his family’s freedom if only he would forcefully take his sister’s purity, which the unfortunate man had done, weeping piteously all the while.

Yes, Wen Ruohan loved the idea, and because of that, Meng Yao had a chance of saving Jin Zixuan’s miserable life that he’d only need to later end, if he was to truly achieve all of his desires.

He would, too. He wouldn’t hesitate to end Jin Zixuan’s life if it served his ends.

Just not - like this.

My mother wanted us to be friends.

“Very well,” Wen Ruohan said, waving his hand. “You may have him as your bedwarmer.” Meng Yao had not even begun to salute in thanks when he added, “But before you accept such a gift, you should try it out.”

Meng Yao was not so foolish as to let his smile freeze. “Here, Sect Leader?”

“Why not here? It may as well be witnessed.”

Like a marriage, he meant, and Meng Yao hated him.

“Of course, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao said, and this time he completed the salute, bowing deeply, and made his way over to his hapless younger brother who was shaking like a leaf, just as unable to flee.

Meng Yao knelt before him and began to open his clothing, taking a moment to lean forward and hiss in his ear, “Keep your mouth shut. Play along and you will live; resist and you will die.”

It was neither threat nor reassurance but merely fact, but Jin Zixuan clearly needed the words – needed to think that there was someone here on his side, however illusionary the sensation was.

Whatever he was thinking, it worked.

Jin Zixuan stopped trying to fight and submitted as best as he could, even if he couldn’t help but flinch any time a new piece of flesh was exposed.

He was quivering like a quail, and Meng Yao sighed and reached for his half-brother’s cock, making him squeak in an undignified fashion as he started stroking it.

“Is that entirely necessary?” Wen Ruohan asked, sounding bored.

“I intend to get plenty of use out of him, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao replied, his tone equally bored as if this were merely a chore even as Jin Zixuan’s cock unwillingly started swelling up beneath his palm. “If I tear him up the first time I bed him, I’d have to stitch him up and wait for him to heal before I can take him again, lest I want to risk his death. And there’s only one legitimate heir, isn’t there?”

Wen Ruohan chuckled. “I suppose so.”

“Besides,” Meng Yao continued, because he knew he had to keep Wen Ruohan’s interest. “There’s some fun in this as well: look how responsive he is, getting hard for me already. He’s tied up in chains and bared for half the world to see, and all he cares about is his dick.”

“Reasonable, for a son of a pleasure-lover like Jin Guangshan,” Wen Ruohan agreed, and he sounded much less bored now. “Your shared father.”

“Our shared father,” Meng Yao agreed, and reached down with his free hand to open his own robes, pulling out his own cock. “Would you like to see how similar we are?”

He lined himself up next to Jin Zixuan – they really were similar, in both look and size, and Wen Ruohan laughed as Meng Yao shifted over to pleasuring them both at the same time. Jin Zixuan had his lips pressed tightly together, but he couldn’t help the little whimpers and mewls that broke free now and again, nor the way his hips bucked up under Meng Yao’s skillful work. He wasn’t the first man Meng Yao had pleasured like this, and, if anything, he seemed almost unexpectedly inexperienced.

Meng Yao would have assumed that Jin Zixuan, as Jin Guangshan’s son, would have had his fill of brothels by this age, have fucked every hole in every way that whores offered for sale and then some, but perhaps his jealous bitch of a mother wouldn’t let him.

Certainly it didn’t take very long before he was coming helplessly in Meng Yao’s hands.

“Did you like that, brother?” Meng Yao asked him, and Jin Zixuan looked at him in betrayal. “You came so quickly – you liked having your brother’s hands on you, didn’t you? The same blood as yours. They say mine is less pure on account of your mother being born in a palace and mine in a brothel, but in the end it seems that you’re the one that turned out the whore.”

Jin Zixuan’s face was red and flushed, but he didn’t say a word, didn’t resist as Meng Yao pushed him down and spread his legs, merely grunted when Meng Yao slid fingers slicked up with his own come into him one a time.

“You’re tight here, which is to be expected,” Meng Yao continued, aware of their audience – the one on the throne being the only one that mattered, although there were plenty of guards watching avidly as well. “I doubt anyone’s ever made use of you before, unless our shared father has even more interesting tastes than I thought…”

Jin Zixuan flushed even redder and shook his head furiously.

“No? Then let your older brother be the first.” Jin Zixuan’s body was involuntarily relaxed after his orgasm, and Meng Yao was in a hurry, knowing that he couldn’t draw this out too long lest Wen Ruohan grow bored – he stretched him roughly, making as much space as best as he could, then put his cock at his entrance. Before he did anything more, he reached over and grabbed Jin Zixuan by the hair, forcing him to bend forward so that he could see Meng Yao’s cock about to breach him. “At the brothel, they say a woman always remembers her first man. They say it’s because her body shapes itself to him, molding the inside to accommodate him, never to be the way it was before – making her the perfect fit for his cock and no one else’s, no matter how many others she might one day take. I’ve heard the same is true for men. What do you think, little brother? Are you ready to take me into you? Are you ready to watch as I turn you into something fit only for me?”

Jin Zixuan couldn’t tear his tear-filled eyes away.

Meng Yao pushed in, and Jin Zixuan whined, high and loud, pathetic. It didn’t stop Meng Yao at all, pushing in inexorably – Jin Zixuan was hot and tight, about what he’d thought he’d be, same as anyone else. There wasn’t any magic to incest, no matter how much it got Wen Ruohan off.

(It got Meng Yao off, too. But he’d be a very poor whore’s son indeed if he didn’t know how to separate business and pleasure - and this was a performance. Would he say such ridiculous words, words that no one would believe if their dicks weren’t hard, otherwise?)

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he said, because he knew Wen Ruohan liked to hear it, and maybe also because he liked the way it made Jin Zixuan have to turn his face away in shame. “You really were a virgin, weren’t you? Look at you, giving yourself to me like a bride on her wedding night, taking me all inside of you. What a good little bedwarmer you’re going to be.”

He settled in all the way, hips pressed against warm flesh, and enjoyed the sensation of Jin Zixuan futilely clenching around him in an attempt to get him out.

“I’ll teach you all the tricks to please me,” he said, starting to rock back and forth, moving in and out. “Every morning you’ll present yourself to me to use; every evening too, and if I get bored during the middle of the day I’ll use your mouth. Once I’ve gotten you properly broken in, I’ll rent you out to anyone who asks – I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Make you the good little whore and me the master, make you earn on your back that gold you’ve always worn as if you deserved it.”

He was thrusting in earnest now, Jin Zixuan’s legs around his waist, and to his amusement it looked like Jin Zixuan was getting hard again. It wasn’t really a surprise, a natural reaction to the strange and confusing sensations he was enduring, none of which said anything as to whether or not he was enjoying himself at all, but Meng Yao dropped his hand onto Jin Zixuan’s cock yet again.

“See, you’re halfway to a whore already,” he mocked. “Getting hard on big brother’s cock like a good boy. Good and obedient – you’re going to come with my cock inside of you, and belong to me forever.”

Jin Zixuan was whimpering, tears streaming down his face, but it still didn’t take long for him to come.

Meng Yao finished shortly after.

He allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the sensation, and then pulled out, pulling Jin Zixuan’s leg up so that Wen Ruohan could see the come dripping out of his abused hole.

“Well done,” Wen Ruohan said, clapping. His eyes were avid. “Well done indeed. As always, Meng Yao, your craftsmanship is exquisite. You may keep him – although perhaps another show might be in order, soon enough.”

“Of course, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao said, and snapped his fingers for a guard to take Jin Zixuan to his room. Sad and miserable and pathetic, but still alive – just as he’d promised.

Naturally, the situation of keeping Jin Zixuan as his personal pet wasn’t tenable in the long run, and so it was only a few days later when Meng Yao kneeled in front of Wen Ruohan and said, “Sect Leader, I have an idea for something we can do with Jin Zixuan.”

“I’m listening,” Wen Ruohan said lazily. “What do you have in mind?”

“I have left him alone and isolated in my bedchamber these past few days, growing increasingly nervous and paranoid,” Meng Yao said. “I propose to allow him to ‘escape’ with some information to deliver to Sect Leader Lan, who will believe his peer well above he might believe some anonymous sender of notes. And he, in turn, will pass the information along to Sect Leader Nie…”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes lit up in immediate interest, as Meng Yao had expected. He was always keen to hear any word about Nie Mingjue.

“I believe this mechanism will allow us to lure Sect Leader Nie into a trap,” Meng Yao said. “And then…”

He let his eyes drift over to the chains that had so recently housed Jin Zixuan.

“Do as you suggest,” Wen Ruohan ordered at once. What did one little Jin Zixuan matter to him, next to the possibility of gaining a Nie Mingjue?

Meng Yao saluted and left. It was settled, then – Jin Zixuan would be let go and make his way back to the Great Sect’s side of the war, they would both put this unfortunate incident out of their heads, and life would carry on as if nothing had happened.

(Years later, when Jiang Yanli coaxed Jin Guangyao into a bedroom where Jin Zixuan waited, shivering in a completely different way, it finally occurred to him that he hadn’t told Jin Zixuan that that was the plan, and also perhaps that the other man lacked his own talent for compartmentalization – but in the end it all turned out all right anyway, even if it did mean he’d need to revamp his plans for conquering the Jin sect to find a way to keep his new pet alive in the long run.

Damn Wen Ruohan. It was all his fault!)

[woshivn]

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[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

“Berliner Fernsehturm” * Foto: BernardoUPloud

After her marriage with Frank Randall has failed and Claire Beauchamp flees from her violent husband, she finds refuge in the house of the Fraser/Murray family in Berlin-Wilhelmshorst. But then tensions arise between Britain (which has since left the EU) and some EU member states. All holders of an English passport are required to leave EU territory within six weeks … and suddenly Claire’s fate looks more uncertain than ever.

This story was written for the #14DaysofOutlander event, hosted by @scotsmanandsassenach​

Chapter 5: 14 Seconds (3)

         They had stayed like that for a while - Jamie kneeling in front of Claire, one arm around her and Claire, crying while clutching that arm. When they had separated, Jamie had stood up. He had stepped up to the minibar hidden behind a small cupboard door. There he had emptied four small whisky bottles into two glasses and handed one of these glasses to Claire.          At the end of that evening they did not speak much to each other. Claire asked at some point if he could lend her a T-shirt. Since all his T-shirts were sweaty from sports, he gave her one of the shirts that the room service had brought back from the cleaners that morning. She disappeared into the bathroom with it.          Meanwhile, Jamie sat down at the small desk next to the sofa that had been folded out to form a bed and opened his laptop. Then Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre began writing an email to the management of "In Vino Veritas" ordering a bottle of champagne for a friend's wedding and asking that the Magnum bottle be delivered as soon as he returned. Jamie knew that there would be someone sitting in the basement of the In Vino Veritas office building who would understand this "order" perfectly.          The "special office" (as they called it), which was hidden behind an easily movable wall of shelves full of exquisite wine bottles, was manned 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Between four and ten "employees" of the wine shop took care of the very special "orders" that arrived there from time to time from all over the world.          Jamie also knew that people in the cellar of "In Vino Veritas" would not be happy about this "order". But there was no question that they would do anything to fulfill his "wish".

“Weinkeller” by designermikele

         After he had pressed "Send", Jamie stretched his arms and legs. Then he considered whether he should let Claire in on his plans that very night, but decided to let her sleep for now.

          Shortly afterwards, Claire came out of the bathroom. Out of the corner of his right eye, Jamie saw that she was wearing the big white hotel robe. She disappeared immediately behind the bamboo screen.

         "The bathroom is free now," she shouted.

         "Thank you, I'll be going now," he returned. Then he took his pyjamas out of his suitcase and went to the bathroom.

         When Jamie came back a quarter of an hour later, also wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, there was still a light burning behind the bamboo screen. He lowered himself onto the sofa bed and thought for a moment. Then he turned out the light.

         "Good night, Claire."

         "Good night, Etienne."

         Now the light behind the screen went out.

         Jamie wondered if Claire would be able to sleep that night. He hoped so. Whether he would sleep at all was doubtful to him. Again and again he played out in his mind the plan he had already made during dinner. He was not sure if Claire would accept his suggestion. But he had to try, at least.

         At 5.20 am, Jamie was awakened by the pressure of his bladder. He turned off his smartphone alarm clock, which would ring ten minutes later. Then he went quietly into the bathroom. When he returned, he had put on his sports clothes. He quickly wrote a short message for Claire on a Post-It sticker he put on the bathroom door. Then he  quietly left the room. 

         At 6.40 am Jamie returned from the gym. Carefully he opened the door of the hotel room. But everything inside was still dark. He stopped for a moment and listened. From the area behind the bamboo paravent a slight snoring could be heard. Jamie had to smile. He took his clothes, removed the Post-It sticker from the bathroom door and went inside.

         When he came back into the room just after 7:00 am., Claire was sitting in one of the chairs. She had both legs hanging over the armrest and was drinking in bulk from a water bottle that Jamie had taken from the mini-bar the night before and put on the table. When she had put the bottle down, she yawned heartily and stretched her arms away from her. Only now did she notice Jamie. She flinched briefly and pulled her legs from the armrest.

         "Oh! Excuse me!"

         Jamie smiled. 

         "There's no need to apologize. Good morning, Claire. Did you get … some  … sleep?"

         She looked at him and for the first time since he'd met her, a radiant smile went over her face. 

         "I didn't actually think I could sleep," she said, "but I must have fallen asleep at some point, When I woke up, I heard the shower and I was extremely thirsty."

         "I'm glad you did. Are you, uh ... hungry too?"

         "Not at the moment, but after a shower I could certainly use a strong coffee and something to eat."

         "Good. I'll call the room service.”

         "Thank you.”

         “You're welcome.”

         She got up and went past him into the bathroom. Jamie had to force himself not to look at her. Why should such a beautiful woman apologize for her stunning legs, he thought, grinning like a honey cake man. Then he felt the blush shoot into his face. He picked up the receiver of the room telephone and ordered breakfast.

“Frühstück” by contatoartpix 

         It took Claire almost forty minutes in the bathroom and that could only be right for Jamie. When she came back, he had cleaned up a bit and packed his suitcase. Then the room service rang and brought breakfast. After Claire spread the food out on the small table and Jamie poured coffee into their cups, they started eating in silence. Jamie waited until Claire had had her first cup of coffee. As she finished her first croissant and turned to the scrambled eggs, he thought the time had come to let her in on his plan.

         "Have you thought about," he asked cautiously, "what are you going to do now?"

         Claire didn't answer, but Jamie saw her face darken slightly. He knew that this question had thrown her back into the very reality she so eagerly wanted to escape from. But he could not spare her that now. She took a deep breath, then she said:

         "No, I haven't done that yet."

         "Do you have any obligations?"

         "What do you mean?"

         "Well, professional, maybe? A job where they are waiting for you?"

         "No, I don't."

         Again she was silent and Jamie decided not to pursue this topic further because Claire seemed uncomfortable with it.

         "Are there any friends that you could stay with for a while?"

         Jamie knew that question was dangerous. Claire could say ‘yes’ and then turning down the offer he wanted to make. Still, he chose to ask about it. He wanted to avoid any appearance that he was pushing her on anything. 

         But his concern was unfounded. Claire looked down.

         "No, my best friend ... married an Australian doctor six months ago who's gone back to his home country. She ... now lives in Canberra. And ... another friend of mine ... flew to the Congo last week - with his wife. They're doctors, and ..."

         "The Democratic Republic of Congo? The recent Ebola outbreak?"

         "Yes, they're helping the local doctors ..."

         "I see. And there's no one else?"

         "Well, there are people I know, but I wouldn't confide in.”

         Jamie nodded. 

         "Claire, if you have no work commitments here and no friends to stay with, I have a suggestion ..."

         "What kind of suggestion?"

         "Well, how about a vacation?"

         Claire had to laugh out loud.

         "A vacation?" she asked incredulously.

         "Yes. What would you say if I invited you on a holiday to Germany? I know this is going to sound crazy to you. but it really wouldn't be a problem. My family has a big house, you'd have your own big room with a bathroom. My sister would take care of everything. There are forests and lakes nearby ... very close. You could see Berlin, Potsdam, Dresden ... if you like. Maybe together with my sister and the children. Whatever you like ... In any case, you could keep your distance from the ... situation here and ... you could decide what you want to do in the future on your own time."

“Schloss Rheinsberg” by 70650

         He was silent. Even Claire could not utter a word out of astonishment.

         "But how can this ...?"

         "Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it. I just need to know if you want me to. And I assure you, if you don't like it in Berlin, I will get you a ticket back here. You don't have to worry about that or the cost.”

         "But ...”

         "No buts. Yes or no?"

         Claire couldn't believe it. Was this a dream or reality? Last night she had asked him how far Berlin was from here. 6,000 kilometres he said. What a distance. 6,000 kilometers between her and the monster who still called himself her "husband" ...

         "Do you ... honestly mean that?"

         "Yes, Claire. And I have no ulterior motives. If it makes you feel any better, I have to work during the week and so I'm usually not home. So during the day, you'll be dealing mostly with my sister, the kids and staff. And that's only if you want it. You are completely free to do whatever you want."

         Again her mind was spinning. Could she really trust this man. He had not approached her that night. But would he maintain this restraint if she flew with him to another, a foreign country? But maybe he really only wanted to help her? 

         "You ... said you were flying back to Berlin tonight ... “

         "Yes, that's true, but if we hurry, I can still fix all this. Will you come with me?"

         Did she have a choice? Did she have an alternative? Traveling, discovering another country, meeting new people. All that had determined her childhood and youth, the time she had spent at the side of her beloved uncle Lamberth. And how much she had missed it all. While she thought of uncle Lamb, a verse from a children's opera she had attended with him more than two decades ago suddenly flashed through her mind. It was the well-known last verse from Humperdinck's 'Hansel and Gretel' - 'When adversity rises to its highest, the Lord God puts out His hand to us!’ Without noticing it, Claire hummed the melody softly to herself.

         Jamie, still waiting for an answer, looked at her in wonder.

         "Claire? Yes or no?"

         "Yes," she replied, and her voice had regained a firmness that had been one of her defining characteristics long after she had finished medical school.

         "Yes," she said again, adding, "I'm coming with you to Berlin."

         Jamie's heart was beating faster. Until now he had hardly dared to hope that she would accept his suggestion. And yet it had happened. 

         "All right, I'll make the arrangements. Do you have your passport with you?" 

         "Sure, in my handbag. But don't I need a visa?"

         "Yes. I'll arrange it. You don't have to worry about that.”

         Jamie had got up and went to his laptop, which was still on his desk. The night before, he'd prepared an email for this case. Now he sent it. In this new mail, Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre asked that the bottle of champagne he had ordered be accompanied by a greeting card.

         After that was done, Jamie sat down at the table with Claire again.

“British Passport” by Gustave.iii - via WikimediaCommons 

         "Claire, is it far to ... your apartment and will ... your ... husband ... be home?"

         "No, it's not far, maybe 25, 30 minutes by car. I suppose that ... Frank will be at the university by this afternoon ..."

         "Okay, then please write your address on this piece of paper and give me your passport."

         She did what he asked. 

         "Thank you. Eat some more. We'll have to leave soon to get your things. I don't know if we'll have time to have lunch."

         She nodded. 

         About half an hour later there was a knock at the door and a voice called out:

         "Room service."

         Claire looked at Jamie in amazement, but he just nodded. He put her passport and the note with her address on a plate and spread a napkin over it. Then he went to the door. Claire looked after him and watched as he handed the plate to a waiter. When Jamie returned to the room, he saw her amazed look.

         "Please don't worry. Trust me. I'll explain everything to you ater."

         Claire gave a slight sigh.

         "I guess that's the price I have to pay for this adventure," she said, and put cheese on another croissant before wrapping it in a paper napkin and putting it in her handbag.

         An hour later, after Jamie had checked out and paid her bills, they were back in the hotel limousine and had Carl drive them to Claire's address.

“Boston” by thefastandthefanagle          Once there, Claire carefully opened the front door with her key. To her great relief, Frank was nowhere to be seen. Jamie heard Claire exhale freely. He looked around and a chill ran through him. Everything he saw was old, but not in any antique sense. Jamie had a thing for tasteful, antique furniture. But the decor did not have the taste or warmth of an old place. It almost seemed as if it had been furnished in a pragmatic way in the 50's and then forgotten until now. Everything here seemed purely functional, impersonal and cold. It was a furnished apartment, but definitely not a home.

         "Claire, we have to hurry. Where are your things?"

         She pointed up and he followed her up the stairs. When she reached the first floor, she stopped in front of a door for a moment. Then she pushed it open and went inside. Jamie, who followed her, saw that it must be the Randalls' bedroom. But there was no marriage bed. There were two single beds on the right and left side of the room. To his surprise, the sheets were scattered all over the beds. And … there were bloodstains on one sheet. He did not dare to imagine at that moment what had happened here. Now it was time to keep a clear mind, use the time and then get Claire safely out of this danger zone. Afterwards there was still enough time to let his anger about these things run free. When he was back home in Wilhelmshorst, he could maltreat the sandbag in his fitness room with his fists for as long as he wanted. But now ... Then he noticed how Claire had put some suitcases on one of the beds and was now busy packing clothes into them.

         "Claire, when you've packed all your clothes, please pack everything else that you care about. Documents, books, whatever belongs to you."

         She just nodded and put more things in the suitcases. When she had filled three large suitcases, the wardrobe was empty. Jamie carried the suitcases down the stairs and put them down near the front door. When he returned to Claire, she had another smaller suitcase and a backpack filled with documents and other things.

         "Is that all?"

         "That's all I can take with me in suitcases."

         "Is there anything else that belongs to you and that we should keep safe?"

“Box” by bluebudgie

         "There are several boxes in the cellar with things my uncle Lamberth left me, but we'll hardly be able to take them on the plane."

         "Don't worry. We'll get them on another way to Berlin. I'll take care of that."

         Slowly they went down the stairs. But before they got to the last step, they heard someone unlock the front door and enter the house. Jamie saw him first. An obviously drunk Frank Randall staggered towards him and, seeing the strange man, began to scream:

         "What are you doing in my house?"

         A tremendous rush of adrenaline shot through Jamie's body, followed by a rush of rage. He could barely contain himself. He knew it couldn't be. The man he now faced could not be the demon he had fought with years ago in a prison cellar in Edinburgh and to whom he owed scars that would remind him all his life of the time he spent in that dark vault. Jamie's mind told him that Jack Randall, better known as  'Black Jack', was dead. But Frank Randall looked so much like him and it cost James Fraser all the strength he could muster at that moment or he would have forgotten himself.

         But then Frank Randall noticed Claire next to Jamie.

         "You slut, you whore! I knew it! I kneeew it! You're whooooring around with a muscleman, but you're not gonna let meeee have a little funnn with women who are nicer than you everrrrrrrr were. You frigid, cold bitch, you ..."

         He had raised his right arm and was now trying to punch Claire. But before she could duck, Jamie had grabbed Frank's arm and turned it onto his back. The drunk cried out in pain. Jamie let go of him and gave him a gentle nudge. Frank landed, face down, lengthwise on a yellowish sofa. A light cloud of dust rose above him. Claire looked at Jamie in shock.

         "Is he...?"

         "No," he assured her, "he's not dead. He's just dead drunk and will sleep it off in the next few hours. Before we leave, I'll turn him over."

         Suddenly the front doorbell rang.

         Claire looked at him again.

         "Open the front door, Claire. The men will get your bags."

         "The men?"

         "I'll explain later. Go and open. Now, Claire! I'll keep ... an eye on Frank."

         She had a million questions, but Claire decided to just go for it. When she opened the front door, there were five men in overalls that looked like they'd come from a moving company.

         "Mrs Randall's suitcases?" asked a tall man who reminded her of an actor from and who was obviously the boss of this group. 

         "Here you go."

         Claire pointed to the suitcases and two other muscular men stepped in, took the suitcases and carried them to a black van with "New Castle Movers" written on it. 

         "Is there anything else that needs transporting?" asked the boss of the troupe.

         "Yes, down in the basement. I'll show you."

         The man waved at the remaining two men and together they followed Claire into the basement.

“Bellhops loading a truck“ by Bellhopsmarketing - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=75018108

         Thirty minutes later, the men had loaded Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall's entire belongings into the black van belonging to the “New Castle Movers” company. The boss of the troupe had briefly exchanged a few words with Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre, then they drove off. Claire would have loved to know who these men were and what they would do with her belongings. But then Frank started to stir again. Jamie turned the drunk man, who was mumbling incomprehensible things, onto his back. He tried to stand up and talked to Jamie. But he just looked at him and Frank sank back into the cushions of the sofa. Shortly afterwards he started snoring loudly. Claire could only shake her head. This nightmare had to end. She wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

         "Who were those men, Etienne? And what happens to my things?"

         "They are friends of a friend. Your things will be on their way to Berlin in a few hours ... on a cargo plane. They'll probably arrive a day or two after we do. Don't worry, my company will take care of it. Have you got everything now?"

         Claire nodded.

         "Good, then we'll go to the airport now."

         He took her small case and the backpack and went to the door. Claire followed him. She was tempted to look back. But she did not. It had to end. It would end right here, right now. She pulled the front door behind her into lock. Then she pulled the front door key from her key ring and pushed it under the pot with the little buxus that stood on the top step of the stairs to the entrance. Jamie, who had stowed the hand luggage in the trunk, held the door of the car open for her. She got in and he took a seat next to her.

         "To the airport, Mr. Alexandre?" asked the uniformed driver.

         "Yes, Carl, straight to the airport."