I Was Put On This World To Bring Laughter And Happiness.

“You are bound to serve me...." 

Jardani Jovonovich comes home

We are all Princes here.

THE GENTLEMAN’S GUIDE TO VICE AND VIRTUE, mackenzi lee

we are not broken things, neither of us. we are cracked pottery mended with laquer and flakes of gold, whole as we are, complete unto each other. complete and worthy and so very loved.

R.I.P Helen Wick

"It is under the shelter of each other that we flourish." ~ Irish proverb

Trope challenge JohnxHelen

Prompt: I’m your new neighbour and I got locked out, help!

Some days didn’t end. This one certainly wasn’t about to anytime soon. In fact, it had successfully earned a spot in Helen’s top three bad days of all time and I once lived in a house with twelve girls and two bathrooms.

Jesus.

I run my fingers through my hair, the stress seeping through me. I slam my fist against the door, fully aware that it will do me no good. I fucked up. I massively fucked up.

I had been in such a hurry to make it to my new job on time after oversleeping that I had grabbed the wrong keys. Rather than my new little house that I had scraped enough together to set a downpayment for, I had grabbed the keys to my old apartment out of habit.

I set my head against my door, eyes closed as the rain pours just feet away. Between the hectic and overwhelming first day at work and the lack of a vehicle, I’m ready to pass out and not wake up. I’m already soaked from the mile it took to walk back from the bus stop.

But I can’t get inside.

I loop around the house in a last, desperate plea to the universe to have had past me leave a window open. No such luck.

“Fuck!” I scream, coming back around to the front.

I’m in the rain now. There is no point in seeking shelter as I am soaked to the bone.

I rub my temple.

I’m locked out.

I haven’t made a spare set of keys.

My best hope was the realtor office in New York City, which was thirty minutes by car, much longer by bus.

I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. I still have the number of the realtor saved but as I turn the phone on, I am only met with a blank screen. I click it on again. Nothing.

“No, no, no.” I half-sob, trying a hard restart. Nothing.

Water damage. That was the only explanation. I hadn’t protected it and the poor phone hadn’t stood a chance in this utter downpour. I couldn’t even check the bus schedule or call for a taxi to take me to the train station.

I close my eyes and count to ten, even as my body shakes in the cold.

Radical acceptance, I remind myself. I preach it every day to kids I have worked with. Some things are beyond my control. I cannot change the circumstance. I can only accept them and move on.

God, no wonder my kids thought I was nuts.

How the hell was I supposed to accept this?

I don’t know when the next bus is coming but my only other choice is to break a window. And I can’t afford to fix that, not yet.

No point in wasting time. I walk to the end of my driveway. I chose the house because it was affordable. Partially because of its size, and partially because it’s in the middle of nowhere.

The realtor had told me that there were no neighbors close by. There were a few closer to town down by the bus stop but I had been warned that the homes were gang affiliated. The other was a man about half a mile up the road. I hadn’t met him and the realtor told me not to expect to. The old owners had lived at the house for six years and they had never spoken a word.

I like the road itself. On a bright day, it’s peaceful. You can almost forget how nearby Jersey City is just listening to the birds chirping and the quiet rustle of the trees. Today, though, it seemed unending.

I see headlights on the trees before I see the car. It’s small and black and must belong to the man up the street. No one else comes this way.

The car slows down and pulls off to the side, coming to a stop ten feet ahead of me.

The door opens and a man steps out. “Need a ride?”

He’s tall and handsome. Dark hair down to his shoulders with a beard to match. He was wearing a three-piece suit. He doesn’t seem to mind that its being quickly drenched in the downpour.

I shake my head, “Just going to the bus station.”

“The bus doesn’t come back around until nine tonight.” That’s what I was afraid of. “Are you the new owner of the little blue house?”

I nod.

“Where are you trying to get to.”

“New York.”

He nods, assessing the situation. “Why don’t you go home and change and I’ll drive you to the train station?”

Fuck, I really don’t want to have to admit this to myself let alone the attractive neighbor.

“It’s okay.” I tell him, “I’m fine with walking.“

"And waiting in the rain? At least let me take you back home so you can dry off and wait there.”

“I’m locked out,” I say, and I’m suddenly desperate to explain myself to this stranger. “I grabbed the wrong keys and my phone is water damaged and I sold my fucking car to get enough money for a downpayment on the house.”

He nods, “is there a set of keys in New York?”

I shrug, “it’s where the realtor is. It’s my best shot at getting in.”

“I live a mile up the road. Why don’t you come with me, get dried off. We can look up to see if the realtor is even open this late.”

“I…” it’s far too much to ask a stranger, “I can’t ask you-”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Please.”

The rain was pouring down around us. Two minutes to help a stranger and he was as soaked as I was.

I bite my lip, “are you sure?”

He nods and motions towards the passenger door.

I notice the logo on the car as I get closer. He’s driving a Mustang.

Fuck.

I open the door and he climbs back in. The seats are leather and I can’t imagine what sitting on them soaked will do.

“Don’t give a damn about the seats.” He says, “come on.”

I slide in and he turns the heat up. I only notice now just how fucking cold I am.

He starts the car. I wrap my arms around my middle and clench my jaw to try and stop the chattering of my teeth.

“Thank you,” I say as he drives us up the road.

He nods. “I’m John.”

“Helen,” I reply. “I, uh, obviously just moved in.”

The corner of John’s mouth twitches. “You work in New York?”

“Jersey City. I’m a social worker.”

The twitch becomes a smirk. “That’s a place that needs it.”

He wasn’t wrong. Not only was my new place of employment massively understaffed, but the entire city was also lacking enough social workers to reach all the adolescents in need of support.

He drives through an open white gate and his house comes into view. Christ. It’s modern. Sleek. A mansion in its own right, sloped and slated. I can’t even imagine what he must do. He taps a button attached to his sun visor and the first of a four garage spots opens. He pulls in and I see no other cars.

He puts the car into park and climbs out easily. I unbuckle my belt and follow. Everything is white. Pristine. I’m almost afraid to step on the floor but I am more afraid to make him wait. I hurry after him as he walks up to the door.

We come up into a huge living room.

“I have a shower upstairs you can use. Warm up.”

“Please.”

We go up another set of stairs. There’s a small hallway with a few bookcases and a set of leather chairs. There’s an open door to a bedroom. Plain and white walls with white furniture. He enters and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow him. He opens a bureau and pulls out a dark grey henley and a pair of black sweatpants.

“Shower’s through here.”

I follow him into the room and to the master bath. Christ. The view from his balcony is gorgeous, looking out over the green hills. The bathroom itself is huge. There is a large shower, stand only, with blue tiles. The shower alone was the size of the bathroom at my old apartment. He sets the clothes down on a vanity table and pulls a towel from beneath it.

“Take your time.” He tells me and leaves me alone. As soon as the door closes, I undress, desperate to get these wet clothes off. I let them fall to the floor and cross the room, turning on the shower.

The water pressure is amazing, the warmth spilling from the faucet and over me.

I stay under the water until I no longer feel my teeth chatter and then I wrap up in the fluffy towel supplied to me.

I dress quickly, drying my hair with the towel.

His clothes smell so fucking good.

I step out of the bathroom. His bedroom is empty but his clothes are left, airdrying, on a hook by the door.

I follow the path that I came up, through the door, down the stairs. He walks out from a door as I come down the stairs.

“Feel better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

He nods, “It’s a bit late for coffee but I have some. Or tea.”

“Honestly, with the day I’m having, I’ll take coffee.”

That corner of his mouth twitches yet again. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Cream. No sugar.” I follow him into the kitchen. He has a laptop set up on the breakfast bar. I climb up on a stool. “Can I…?”

He nods and I search up my realtor. Office hours… closed at five.

“Fuck.”

“Closed.”

“Yes.” I rest my head against my hand. Next step, next step…

“I might be able to help.” He hands me a plain green mug and I gulp down the bitter drink.

“You’ve already helped me so much.”

He smiles softly and climbs up onto the stool next to me. “I had… a rocky past as a kid. May or may not have done some breaking and entering. Do you know what kind of lock you have?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. It’s standard in the knob lock.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“Five minutes, tops.”

“Seriously?”

John nods. “Honestly, my advice to you is to get a new lock. A couple. Houses without obvious security, especially away from neighbors, are easy targets. You would have been a classic mark back in my day.”

I smile, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’ll go grab my tools. Take your time.”

I nod my thanks.

He comes back with a handful of lock picks.

“Jeez.”

“I was quite the rebel.”

“I imagine. What do you do now?”

“Contracting. Political.”

I hum, “In New York?”

He nods, “Center of political culture.”

“How’d you get into that?”

“I was recruited. What about you? How did you get into social work?”

I sip at my coffee as he sits back next to me. “I was a foster kid.”

John nods in understanding, “I grew up in an orphanage in Belarus till I came to the US at six.”

“Dead or abandoned?” I wouldn’t ask so carelessly for most people but I got the feeling he was like me. It had been coped with and he had moved on.

“Dead. Dad died before my mom even know she was pregnant and she died giving birth. You?”

“Taken from the home when I was four. I had an aunt who tried to adopt me and got in the way of any couples adopting me until I was eleven. And eleven-year-olds in the foster system…” I shrug, “Bounced around some. Group homes for a bit during the teen years. Then back in foster care until I aged out.”

John nods again, “This world is fucked. I ran away the people raising me when I was fourteen.”

“Street life?”

He nodded. “I was lucky that I could pass for eighteen as soon as the beard came in. Picked up jobs where I could find them.”

“Broke into houses when you couldn’t?” I asked, not unkindly.

“Something like that.”

I finish my coffee.

“It’s hard, trying to navigate the world without guidance.”

“But you had a good social worker?”

I shake my head, “God no. He was the fucking worst. Maybe he just had too many kids on his caseload but I was at the bottom of his list. He would ignore my calls, not call me back for weeks at a time. Didn’t listen when things were bad.” I shrug, “He’s why I became a social worker. Because I want the next generation to have it better than I did. So less kids fall through the cracks.”

I stand up from the chair and John leads me back down to the garage. I’m thankful we don’t have to go out into the rain just yet. It barely takes a minute to make it from his garage to my driveway and, this time, John has preppared us with an umbrella. He climbs out of the car with it and runs over to my side to open my door.

Together we rush up to my house.

John takes out a set of lockpicking tools and kneels at my door.

“Really glad no one drives down this road.” I say with a small smile, “I wouldn’t want to have to explain this.”

John chuckles and inserts two of the tools, eyes squinted in fixed concentration. I watch as he wiggles one of the peaces, tilting his head to the side in what looks like slight confusion.

“If you can’t get it, I can look for a locksmi–”

There is an audible click and John twists the knob open.

My mouth drops. I look to him and the open door in awe.

“That was it?”

He smirks and climbs to his feet, “Like I said, you need to get some new locks. Nothing with a tumbler. At the very least, you need a deadbolt. But even that can be picked.”

“Jeez. Thank you. So much. You literally just saved my day.”

“No problem.” He says picking up his tools, “I appreciated the company.” He opens the umbrella, about to walk back to his car.

“Think, maybe, you could teach me to pick locks sometime?” I ask, “You know, if you have the time.”

John gives me a nod with a soft smile. “Tomorrow?”

I nod back. “Tomorrow.”

Maybe it wasn’t the worst day.

Part One.

Across the oceans, as the sun had set on a wet English afternoon, Judeth Clayton had arrived by private car and been deposited upon the street at the doors of The Continental London. She wore a magnificent floor-length ebony evening gown designed and hand made in Persia with flowing caped sleeves. Her dark hair was pinned in elegant coils and waves about her head. From her ears, she wore singular white pearls, a set that complimented their matching necklace as it adorned her décolleté. Upon her feet, she wore spectacular black Christian Louboutin heels whose timeless red soles were Judeth's absolute trademark. The picture of refinement. The car door was held open for her exit and as she was escorted along the red carpet that led to the hotel doors that were also held by doorman for her arrival. She was flanked by two guards. A man and woman in immaculate black suits. They were inescapable and silent. And they watched the Hand Maid like a hawk. Before leaving the White Tower of London, they had searched the contents of her evening clutch, checking her phone for unsolicited messages and calls. Rifling through her belongings where they displaced her lipstick, pen, tampons and other inconsequential trifles that were typical of a woman's evening purse. Her belongings were insignificant to their interest. What they searched for were pills, hyperaemic needles, and morphine vials. For that was the source of their employment in this mission.

Master Karth Piaf had made it clear that they were to ensure the woman was at no time left unattended or be remotely permitted to interact with, engage or otherwise fraternise with anyone or anything that even remotely looked like they were capable or allowing her to indulge even in the illusion of narcotic use. The pair that served her now were one of two sets of four total guards from Athena's security detail that were assigned to monitor the Hand Maid day and night without fail. They worked in 12 hour shifts between them, rotating at 6AM and 6PM respectively. Their tireless routine was not once interrupted. They had attended to this uneventful and tedious duty without fail or incident every day for the past two months. Karth paid them a generous four digit wage and a single gold coin for every shift they completed where they could report back that Judeth had not evaded their notice or succum to her visceral urge to inject herself. Yes, it was a mindlessly boring task watching the 38 year old woman day in and day out attend to a monotonous routine. But they did not mind entirely for it kept them from the field of battle and off the streets. They were breifed that if questioned as to why they kept up this peerless duty, that the lady was on "death watch". Athena forbade her Hand Maids the luxury of suicide and Judeth's mental health had deteriorated greatly under the strain of high-functioning depression since Lalienna's banishment from the Iron Fortuna Syndicate. The misinformation was readily accepted. The four rotating guards were paid to keep the true meaning of their duty absolute secret on pain of death. They were hand selected by Karth Piaf for their loyal and unshakable qualities amongst hundreds of possible candidates from Athena's Black Guard. They knew what Karth was capable of. Iron Fortuna was revered and feared for its brutal human torture techniques. They weren't about to rock the boat.

Thus, when their search of Judeth's purse revealed nothing that they considered incriminating; they handed it back with a wordless nod. She snatched the designer clutch with abject fury. Her patience was running short with this ridiculous facade. Karth had kept to his word. She was never given a moment's privacy. Not to eat, sleep, work, pray, study, bathe or relieve herself. She had done everything Karth had demanded of her, handing over her list of street and professional drug dealers across the city of London. Her rooms were searched daily. Her phones, laptops, email accounts, text messages and files were scrutinised without mercy. Twice daily she attended Doctor Tanis's treatment rooms to have herself injected painfully with detoxification substances that were administered to reduce her borderline biblical morphine withdrawals. To the rest of the world she appeared outwardly normal. In so much as her removed and cold exterior could facilitate. She only ever showed any semblance of sincere human emotion when in the presence of her son, Philip, who adored and embraced his mother, singing her praises and demanding her attention as he revealed all he'd learned in his school rooms. Those moments of matriarchal tenderness were short lived as the boy was removed from her presence to attend his studies and she forced to attend endless council meetings with the Queen and her advisor's facilitators, debtors and underlings. Athena had denied her permission to return to the field on any further espionage missions until Karth and Doctor Tanis cleared her of being a danger to herself. A concept she found repugnant and laughable.

Alas, she was forced to submit to Karth's will, for he held her son a captive pawn over her, threatening to reveal her addiction if she relapsed. His goal was clear and unquestionable. He'd hide the sin of her drug addiction from the world at any cost, but in turn she would get clean. Karth was never a man that made idle threats. She'd tasted his tortuous wrath more than once. Even if his intentions were pure, it was clear that he and the deceased Gregory Piaf had very much been brothers. Both of the men were disposed to monstrous acts of sinister violence against women.

Judeth was left without a choice. He meant well for her. She knew this. But she didn't expect this surveillance mission to prolong more than a month before he'd get tired of his little game, acknowledge her good behaviour and return her freedom. As the weeks rolled on in London, she realized she had been sorely mistaken. And wondered to herself, how much longer he'd keep this bullshit up for?

Alas, she was escorted by these guards into the familiar glittering warmth of the hotel. It's lobby fireplaces crackled happily to keep out London's Autumn chill and a dozen or more patrons looked on admirably at the statuesque woman and her security detail. Wondering as to who she was and why she appeared so important. Judeth kept her eyes forward and walked the length of lobbys red carpet with elegant strides approaching the grand marble desk and being met by the tender smiles of the Iris twins that beamed at her happily. It was almost 8 o'clock.

"Welcome back, Lady Clayton!"  Began Chantelle

"To The Continental London!" Finished Chervonne.

"Sir Sable is expecting you in the dining room." The blonde ladies trilled together. In perfect pitched unison. The words spoken in stereo.  They were still positively feline in their elegant mannerism and reminded Judeth very much of a pair of sleek Siamese cats. Their deep blue eyes alluring and twinkling with promised mischief. 

Completely beautiful. Judeth offered the ladies a disarming smile and nodded politely before turning off to the right and following the marble floor to the famous hotel dining room. Still flanked by her guards that walked three paces behind her at all times and would not deviate no matter what.

Closed off from the other diners, Judeth was led by the attending maître d'hôtel to the exclusive and private dining quarters of the hotel concierge. The prestigious and decadent 'Table Twenty One' was a positively royal affair with a floral centerpiece adorned with white tiger lilies, tulips, carnations and roses; bordered by a sterling silver candelabra that bathed the white linen, its luxury china and sparkling cutlery in the glow of four candles. Together this complimented the low light of the dimmed chandelier above them. The dining chairs were overstuffed French provincial elegance. Two black and white uniformed waiters in white gloves stood to discreet attention in the corner of the room with their silver meal carts and exotic culinary delights freshly prepared and covered over by silver serving domes. All of this was positively majestic in terms of elegance and refinement. But none of the grandeur of the private dining room held a candle compared to the man that stood at the head of the table and stalked his way around it to stand at proud attention in a faultless silver-grey three-piece dinner suit. That was The Continental London's concierge, Jermey's personal retainer and confidant. The gentleman was known to the London criminal underworld as Sable.

He was breath-taking to behold. His chestnut brunette hair combed delicately away from his statuesque features.  His eyes were the deepest blue and his beard and mustache were the picture of masculine elegance.  The scent of his cologne arrested her senses. Exotic dark spices, rich Italian leather, mid notes of Winter rose and top notes of sandalwood.  Her breath caught in her throat. He was everything a classical male Adonis could captivate. He didn't say a word, but his eyes filled with a sincere and intimate joy as they took in her regal beauty. She was as glorious and arresting to him as she thought him to be of her. He came forward on elegant strides and she met him, raising her right hand and presenting her emerald and gold ring. His lips found the stone, sighing quietly as he bent his head in reverence to the arresting woman before him. He dared... his lips found her knuckles, she did not retract her hand as his kiss rested warmly atop her bare skin. He heard her sigh... inaudible, she suppressed a shudder but he noted the intake of breath as her breasts heaved beneath the plunging neckline of her gown. It was all she could do not to swoon in his presence. He was purely glorious and entirely disarming. And when at last he rose and smiled at her it was with tenderness and complete sincerity. He'd not seen her face since the day he had delivered the blood oath marker she had requested to burden Lalienna with at the Tower. He noted, her eyes appeared colder. Her beauty sharper... tempered into a super models near otherworldly, exiguous charm. There were shadows and dark secrets, endless suffering under the veil of her sea green eyes. Her cosmetics had been applied by a master's practiced hands. But that did not detract from what he saw reflected just beneath the woman's determined veneer. Hunger... sufferance... He'd seen it at the Tower. He'd seen it build in her over the years for every time she entered the hotel and sought safe harbor in his walls. In his private rooms.  She was, detached... disconnected from the world around her. Something about her demeanor always suggested she was both looking at you and through you at the same time. Reading between the lines, off the page... into your soul. The cracks were starting to come through. He'd been one of her morphine suppliers for extended periods of time after battles and altercations. He'd injected her personally. Directly into the vein and watched her chase the dragon. He'd received her message two months ago that said she wished to make a reservation for M. Holt. That was a coded arrangement of words exclusively understood by them alone. It meant her addiction had been uncovered. The repercussions would be devastating. He destroyed any evidence of her supply that linked back to him. He did it instantly to protect her. But he knew what would come its place would be devasting.

He greeted her warmly, tender tone from his silken tongue. And did not fail to note the guards at her back. Two. One male, one female. Hired muscle with a mission. Athena's security detail. The Black Guard. Elite pawns, but pawns none the less. Expendable. He'd not tolerate them in his presence infringing on his privacy with this woman in his own hotel. They had to go.

" Alex Rothman and Margaret Styl, am I correct?" He addressed the pair sharply.

"Aye, that be us, Sir Sable. A good evening to you." Replied the man named Alex. Margaret nodded in wordless approval. Sable continued,

"And tell me, Sir, Madam, what brings you to our fine hotel this evening?" Pointless question. He knew exactly what was going on. But he wanted a confession.

"We have orders from Master Piaf senior to keep Mistress Clayton under twenty-four hour surveillance, Sir. Under no circumstances is she to leave our sight. Thus we escort her to your fine company this evening. We beg of you, dine and enjoy yourselves. We will be as silent and inconspicuous as flies on the wall. You needn't concern yourself with our attendance. We are merely here to monitor the Lady's behaviors and ensure she does not deteriorate." Answered Alex Rothman in fluid, Welsh accent. His companion Margaret nodded in approval.

"I see." Sable returned, nodding his head curtly. He smiled at Judeth politely, almost apologetically and returned his attention to Alex Rothman.

"And tell me, Mr. Rothman... how has your wife been keeping? I'm given to understand the dear lady birthed your...what was it... second child this May, if I'm not very much mistaken?"

He'd chosen his words carefully... and watched, entertained as the colour drained from Margaret Styl's face. She fought to maintain composure. This... this had been news to her. She shot Alex a withering glance. Alex... began to sweat at his brow.

"I...I... Uh... that is..yes... Yes Sir Sable, she is well. T-thank you for asking, Sir..."

"And, tell me... Has she become privy to your evening affairs with Miss Styl at your side there?" Sable pressed... ruthless. Like a blade. Margaret looked infuriated. Positively sick to the stomach.

"You never mentioned you had a wife, Mr. Rothman." She snapped at last, her brows arching high.

"No Miss. Styl, I wouldn't concern yourself. I dare say there are a great deal many things in this profession of ours that Mr. Rothman is likely to keep from you if it means you'll continue to warm his bed on the cold and lonely evenings of the coming Winter. I dare say you do it far better than Mrs. Rothman ever could, encumbered as she is with two baby boys."

Sable's words fell like a revelation upon Margaret's lap.

"You fucking bastard!" She erupted, turning slap Alex fair upon the mouth. Rothman took the blow with stunned ignorance, turning his head back to register the shock.

"Margo... please... you need to let me explain." Alex stammered out

"Why use words Mr. Rothman? I have a perfectly good video of your indiscretions that I'm certain Miss. Styl would be all too pleased to witness." Sable drawled dispassionately. His eyes twinkling in sadistic amusement. They were like insects to him these creatures, these lowly guards.

"And I will show her.... even if she has to be tied down to the chair.... For you see Miss.  Styl, you are not the only woman whom Mr. Rothman makes good his affections with. Our video surveillance shows many private visitations to and from The Red Door with... frequent abandon."

"Sable, you fucking bastard! You're going to ruin me, man!" Alex snapped.

"Nonsense Mr. Rothman, you've rather already done that for yourself. I merely had the opportunity to witness your fall from grace. And your repeated rutting of Miss. Styl in our hotel car park. You really should lock your doors, Mr. Rothman. It's a rough crowd out there, in the dark."

Now Margaret was whimpering, her eyes flooding with tears, her hand flew to her mouth in abject horror as she looked the man at her side over and shook her head no. The words died in her throat.

"What the fuck do you want from me Sable? What's it gonna cost me to keep you fuckin' quiet about this?" Rothman was distraught. Furious in his anger, he paced forward and Judeth stepped out of the way, disinterested in being caught in the crossfire of this argument.

Sable smiled however. And it was the smile of a shark that knew he had his prey on its dying breath.

"How much is Master Piaf paying you to guard Judeth Clayton?" He asked.

"Two thousand Pounds a week, a gold coin per shift for every time we report no incident for her." He bit out vehemently.

"I'll double it. " Sable replied. "I'll give you four thousand Pounds and two hundred gold coins. Plus, I'll destroy the videos of you and Margaret fucking in my hotel if you turn on your heel, and attend the bar for the duration of Judeth's stay in my company. Whatever menial task Karth has put you up for, I can assure you I'm more than a thousand times equal to. Now... take Miss. Styl with you and buy the poor woman a drink. She looks as though she may either spit fire or suffer nervous collapse. Do not leave the hotel grounds. You may collect Lady Clayton when I decide to release her back into your hands for return to The Tower, when and only when I see fit. Do I make myself clear?"

Alex was beside himself, Margaret was openly weeping in infuriated shame. He glared poison daggers at the hotel concierge but relented, dragging his colleague and lover out of the private dining room.  The maître d' shut the door behind them.

Finally, Judeth and Sable were left alone.

His attention returned to the White Woman who rested her hands on the back of her dining chair and looked at him with an intensely satisfied smile.

"Well played, Sir Sable... Well played indeed." Invigorated, Sable helped the lady into her chair before rounding the table and taking his own. The moment they were seated the waiters came forward to immediately grace the table with wine and their dinner plates. Sable thanked and dismissed the wait staff. The moment the door closed... Judeth realized, she and Sable were finally safe...and completely and entirely alone.

"It's been a very long time since I laid eyes on you last, Lady Clayton. I propose a toast to our eventful reunion. " Said Sable, raising his red wineglass in invitation.

Judeth met it with own, a clink of approval as the glasses kissed before both came away and deposited their blood red contents into the lips of their respective holders. The toast complete. The glasses were set down.

Sable and Judeth talked. Over dinner. Three courses, two wines, sparkling Italian mineral water and finally, dessert and coffee.

Sable leaned forward with his brass lighter igniting the lady's cigarette before attending his own. They were comfortable in each other's company. In conversation and in silence. They were old friends. Very old friends. With history. Deep history. Dark history. Intimate history. They knew things about each other they weren't certain they understood about themselves. It was stimulating, enlightening exchanging wits, ideas, ideologies, theories, hopes, dreams and desires with one another. The way only solid companions with a similar wavelength and rich mentality could encapsulate and platonically adore one another. For those two hours, over that sumptuous French dinner, Judeth and Sable danced with words. Complimented each other. Finished one another's sentences. They were both very much alive... and Judeth... for once...she was very much present. In the moment. Fully focused. Everything in sharp detail and attentive comparison. She came alive. Truly. Fully. And it was not the wine. It was not the detoxant that protected her internal organs from catastrophic failure. It was him. Sable. His presence, his very existence was doing this for her. Drawing her, like thread through a weaver's table and building her into a tapestry of rich ornamentation. She didn't need artificial stimulants to get this high. She was alive and had a living breathing son. That was enough for her. In this moment. He was enough for her. More than enough.

So he took his chance. Now that she was in bloom. A flower whose petals were opened before him.

He came to her, words like the wings of a passing butterfly.

"Judeth.... Darling... What are we to do about your Lalienna?"

She exhaled the smoke she held from her lips, the plume billowed into the air and disappeared floating away. He watched her shudder and immediately regretted his decision. He didn't want to watch her fade.

"I don't want him to have her, Sable. I don't want anyone to have her. Save for you and Jeremy. You're the only people in this entire fucking world that I dare trust with my life. And hers."

"You know this time would come though, surely? A blossoming young woman like Lalienna was always going to draw attention. Unwanted or otherwise. We could only ever host her as our ward indefinitely."

"She didn't last a single night, Sable. Not one... The moment she walked through your doors, that bastard D'Antonio and his gang of Italian street thugs had their claws in her. They're vultures, the Camorra. Animals."

"They're steadfast, Judeth. If nothing else, they're loyal to the crown. Loyal to us. They believe in family, solidarity to the death. They'll protect her."

"He fucked her."

"Santino?"

"Who else?"

Sable nodded. He knew the truth. He'd seen the video. It was almost as though he'd filmed it himself. He wouldn't let Judeth know what he knew though. He sighed heavily. Refilling her wine glass and then refilling his own. This was their second bottle of the night. He felt they'd need more for what was likely to come.

"I think, you need to let go a little, darling. And stop playing the wounded martyr all the time. It doesn't suit you."

"Don't insult my intelligence, Sable, I'm not in the mood for your cuts at my tarnished humility. There's nothing martyr-like about grieving the loss of a daughter, in marriage, separation, adoptive or otherwise. "

"That's not what I meant and you know it. But if you're going to force my hand-"

"I'm always interested in forcing your hand," She returned sharply,

"Then.. listen to me when I tell you, you've done the right thing. Having Lorenzo draw up this contract for her probation was a masterstroke. Very clever indeed. But it's not going to last. Lalienna is peerless if she was trained to be a faction of what you're like. He's never going to let her go. And sooner or later you're going to have to admit defeat, Judeth. This is outside of your control. You need to accept that and stop letting it eat you alive. The moment you make peace with this realization is the moment you stop taking to the needle to silence the demons in your head. "

His words seemed to cut at her. He didn't mean to. He was the last person in the world that wanted to watch her bleed.

"Judeth... Darling... You can't go on like this. Destroying yourself. Over things you can't control. Things you'll never control. There's hope while you breathe, while you live. But what you're doing... You're not living... You're barely existing. You've lost control. Of everything. Including yourself."

Silence between them. Judeth smoked... and watched his eyes. Warm... delicate, sincere. Those eyes saw through her. Into her. She was aching.

"So what do you propose?" She asked at last.

"Come back to me. Here... right now. Leave the dead in their graves where they belong with the ghosts and the ashes... But come to me. Like you once used to."

"Don't... do this to me, Sable... I can't."

"You can."

"I won't."

"You will."

"Sable, for God's sake have mercy... My husband's just been killed."

"You never loved him, Judeth. You took his hand in marriage because he promised you shelter he didn't have. He promised you a daughter and retirement from servitude to Athena... But he only ever had his own interests in mind. You know this."

"I know."

"It's not too late to break free." He pressed her, drawing his chair closer now, around the table so he could sit with his knees to either side of her thighs. Close... So she could drown in his presence. He was overwhelming her. Intoxicating her. And he was being cruel about watching her suffocate.

"Athena won't ever let me go... Not until Philip is married to her daughter."

"In what? Ten years time from now? When he's twenty four and you're a hollow husk of subdued madness screaming against the chains of your enslavement? Fuck that! Fuck them, Athena included. Judeth... come to me. I want you. I've always wanted you. You should have never married Gregory, he was a demon to you."

"Sable, please... I didn't have a choice. I had my duty."

"Fuck your duty. You had me and you know I could be twice the man he ever was. He raped you, Judeth... You married him, lost his daughters in torrents of blood and he still fucking raped you. Repeatedly. And you let him do it to y-"

His words shocked into silence, for Judeth threw her wine in his face, horrified... then rose and pitched the glass with such force it sliced through the air like an arrow and exploded into a hundred shards as it impacted against the back of the dining room wall.

"Don't.... do this to me.... Sable.... please.... Please... I'm begging you." The tears came. Slipping over her waterline. He watched them track a path across her cheeks and disappear away onto the floor. He dropped his eyes and wiped at his face with her linen napkin. Irritated. Red wine stained Italian silk. He'd have to take his clothes to the laundry as quickly as possible to ensure the damage would not be irreversible. This outfit had been hand-tailored and cost a fortune in imported luxury fabrics.

He met her eyes again. His heart was breaking in his chest. The light had gone from her eyes... He'd had it there. For a moment. He'd seen it. Ignited like fire. Pure. Beautiful. She was so alive. And now... crushed in her fury. In her depravity. In her loss and suffering. She was empty again. Hollow. A reflection of what a woman could have been. Would have been... If only her ex-husband had not treated her so badly. She might have survived her traumas. Like this. She wasn't surviving. She was dead.

So then what attracted him to her so powerfully.... if not his ravenous desire for necrophilia?

He got to his feet. And launched for her. His hand at her throat, she gasped, frantic as he pinched at her airwaves for a moment then spun her around, forcing her hips to butt against the dinner table. Trapping her between the timber and his body. And she flung out her arms, meaning to dislodge him, but he was faster and had drunk less wine. He caught her upper arms and pinned them back against his chest with one arm, the other, with its free hand took her throat again and brought her head back forcing it to rest against his shoulder. And he felt it... The rush of power take him. Flood his veins. Soak his mind. Drive his libido with something sadistic, twisted. His hot breath in her ear. She was tense... ready to react. To respond on basic instinct because she was a fighter, a warrior. And he knew it. He knew she could have come up with at least a dozen different ways to break out of his grip right now and break his arms, his face and his ribcage if she wanted to. But she didn't. She didn't. She let him hold her... subdue her like this. Dominate and control her. She shivered against him. Feeling the heat of his manhood as it pressed into her rear. Feeling her restraint fail her. Too much suffering... Too much red wine. He was weakening her... Overpowering her with every passing moment.

"Stop fighting..." He whispered, against her earlobe. "Give in to me..."

She tensed... struggled. He held her tighter... Watching. The way her breasts rose and fell against her gown... Intoxicated by the surge of power that radiated out of her skin. His lust was ascending. For her flesh... for her blood.

"What do you want from me, Sable?"

"One night...." He breathed. "In my bed."

"I can't... Please.... Don't make me do this."

"One night... Judeth... Just come with me... Taste it... Against your tongue... Against your skin. One night is all it takes to remind you,  you're still human. You're still alive. That his memory won't be the tombstone that marks your departure from this wretched world."

"It won't be me... You'll be taking." She breathed the words. Barely an echo. Her lips moved but her body was betraying her. She was losing the will to resist him. He was kissing her now. Her skin sparked where his lips touched her. He wanted her. Needed her to submit entirely. To give in. To give way. To let him in. Not just inside her body... inside her head. Even if he had to make her bleed. Under the kiss of his whip. Straining against the bonds of his black velvet rope and insatiable passion. He'd have her this night. He'd tasted her blood before... And he wanted more.

"Beg for me...." He breathed... Lacing the edges of his teeth to her shoulder edge of her neck, just before the junction of her shoulder. She shuddered against him. A roll of electric current exploded like fireworks against her spine. She sucked in the air... But he was drowning her.

"I can't... do this.... Sable... Please... please..." She weakened against him entirely, it took every ounce of strength she had. She said the words he needed to hear in that moment.

"I'm begging you... Sable Ducourt... Release me."

That was enough. It was all he needed. She wasn't ready. And he wasn't about to rape her the way Gregory had. He loved her. Had done so for years. Suffering in silence. She wouldn't let him save her. Even though he begged her to. She wouldn't let him save her now either. He let her go. Stepped away. She deserved her freedom. Precious flower. Black swan. Dark Angel.

She turned to face him.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Until she came forward of her own will. Surrounded him in her embrace. She yielded her lips to his.

She was alive still.

Very much so.

In the depths of that kiss.

She was drowning him now.

And he was letting her drag him under.

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You…you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt… and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this…this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So…worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

W.R.A.T.H

Hannibal (2013-2015)

There's something pure, in their final moments. When you watch Death. The light leaves their eyes.... It's intimate, primal. It grounds you. Reminds you we are not permanent on this world. Just passing shadows, moving through time and space. I weigh their sins against my hands as their soul departs. I take them in against my blade, like a lover's confession. Cradle the body with infinite respect. I am Death. Their final destination. I pray for their safe passage to the Underworld. Eventually, one day, I will take my place beside them.

“This is, uhm… You’re gonna see Keanu really turn on this sort of reptilian John Wick. It’s just, you know, the audience has been chuckling and laughing and then… John stabs a guy in throat and everyone’s like, “What?! Wha… What?” There’s a little intimacy there. It’s just…the boogeyman’s out of the bag.“ —Chad Stahelski and David Leitch, taken from the John Wick director’s commentary.

Darth Maul-line art and colors by me using Procreate

Medusa Risen: Indiscretions 

“This was the noise that started it all. And it must have been good at the time, under the haze of black fingernails and red wine. Girls are Angels. When they fuck its glorious. When they love its to the moon and back. No reservation. No regrets. Just passion. And I get that, really I do. But it’s The White Women that are the problem here. They cast her out. Threw her to the Dogs. Athena disowned her for her indiscretions. Even if she didn’t know at the time that she’d been proposed in arranged marriage. The Director cast her out too. Because she’d allowed her son, her Jardani, her Baba Yaga to deflower her. To give over her first time because it was love. But was it really? When a man gives himself inside a woman, the cost is high. He’s bleeding himself dry. Loosing part of his soul to give in to her pleasures and needs. And a man will do it again and again and again, self destructive, completely possessed. It’s an addiction, sex. It’s dark, it’s dangerous. And you want it, crave it 24/7 once you’ve had your first taste of the fruit. No wonder they cast Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. Wouldn’t you bite the apple too? Wouldn’t you also bleed a little for an indiscretion?”  ~ S. D’Antonio

“Santino...he’s going to kill me right?” Her voice was hoarse from screaming, raw with passion. Lalienna bit her lip, turning to her ex sister.

“Yes...and then me.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, hiding a smile. “God, he’s going to kill me. He’s jealous. Jealous jealous jealous. He hates when a man even so much as looks at me...” she laughed, shaking her head, falling back on the mattress.

“Hmmm...I suppose not telling him is out of the question?” Devina turned on her stomach, kicking her feet distractedly. Lalienna nodded.

“No, I could never lie to him. Plus, he’d be able to tell. He’s smart. And I’d smell like another. He’s picky about the perfume I wear.” She smiled, thinking of her lover. So far away...where was it he said he went to? Rome? Austria? She couldn’t recall. Somewhere far and annoyingly distant. She was so bored. And then she saw her sister from the tower...and they drank...and then she snapped out of her daze after cumming. To be fair, it wasn’t as good as when she was with her dark Italian, but it wasn’t bad. “What about your husband? Hmm?” Lalienna prodded, turning the attention to devina as she stood, finding a large shirt to slip over herself. She threw devina one as well, stretching.

“He doesn’t pay attention to me like that. He won’t notice.” She rolled her eyes, standing as well. “I’m hungry.”

“I’ll order room service. It-“ She was cut off by her phone ringing. She already knew who it was. He was the only one to use that cellphone. She swallowed. “Don’t make a sound.” She warned, grabbing it and answering it. “Papi!” She smiled, falling on the mattress.

“Hello, bella. How are you, amore mio?” His accent sounded throughout her ears bringing a heated sensation to her core once more. She sighed. It had been too long.

“Missing you.” She replies simply, playing with a necklace he had gotten her a while ago distractedly. “How is your business?” Her tone sounded more annoyed than she intended. He chuckled deeply, making her sigh.

“It’s good, my bella. I’ll be home shortly. We will have a nice romantic dinner.”

She groaned, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want food, papi. I want you.” Another chuckle. He was killing her.

“I know, darling. I miss you deeply...” he sounded distracted. She hoped he was as disturbed as she was. If not, he was about to be. She looked to where devina was. She had gone to the bathroom.

“I miss you deep inside of me.” She smirked as he gasped, shocked. It was her turn to laugh, biting her lip. “I just want to feel you. I want your touch. I want your moans as you thrust into me, calling me your good girl...” she paused. She was no longer a good girl. He was going to be pissed. So so angry. “Papi, please come home soon...” she finished her thought, whining.

“A few more days, bella. I’ll be home soon...fuck, you drive me insane. You have me all worked up now...” he growled. She smirked and laughed.

“I can help with that, papi. All you have to do is ask.” She enjoyed this. She was going to pay for it later...but she’d enjoy the hell out of it now. There was a pause on the other line. She waited patiently, humming softly, teasingly.

“Please, Lalienna. I need to see you. My angel...my goddess. Mistress.”

“Give me a few minutes, papi.” She hung up, throwing her shirt off and setting it to the side. With the right angles, she sent herself to her sugar daddy, waiting for his response.

A minute passed. And then another. Ten minutes. He hadn’t responded. She was getting nervous. Then he called. Angry.

“What the fuck is on your neck?” He snapped. No hello. She cursed herself, not realizing what she had done.

“I-papi...please-“

“Lalienna, answer me.” Was his strict reply. She sighed, shifting to sit.

“I missed you. So much, papi-“

“So that gives you the right to fuck some other man?” He snarled. She shrunk into herself, shaking her head.

“No no. It wasn’t...it wasn’t another man, Santino. I swear. I swear. It was my ex sister in arms from the tower... we- we ran into each other. We drank...fuck, I’m sorry papi. I’m so so so sorry.”

There’s was silence. Only the sound of his breathing could be heard. “Say something, Santino. Please...”

“We’ll talk about this when I get back.”

The phone disconnected. She let out a cry, eyes wide. The way he said talk implied there would be no talking involved... well, maybe her on her knees, begging. Begging for forgiveness. To her master. Her god. Her daddy. A beating. Maybe a bit of blood and that would satisfy him. He’d forgive her... then fuck her until she couldn’t walk, showing her who she belonged to...who could really make her cum and scream. She shivered at the thought, her flower throbbing. She’d be screaming his name. She’d be writhing under him.

And she’d take it. And she’d love every minute of it. Because she was a good girl.... his good girl.

————

@laserglassspider // 😇 @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat

What I heard on the radio…

Fracture | One | Two | Three | Four

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